#ok but like what even is the point of writing a horse fic if Pop cant make an appearance

[allylikethecat]

i am manifesting a pop cameo for atkh 🕯️🕯️🕯️

Hehehehe your wish is my command- check out the new chapter of All the King’s Horses for a cameo from the one and only certified world’s best boy ever (even though he was wild in our lesson last night I was like sir you are 17 years old and it is 97 degrees outside what is this ridiculousness)

I hope you enjoy the new chapter! Thank you so much for reading and for the continued support! I hope you had a wonderful Friday and the very best weekend!

❤️Ally

[fanfic-collection]

Loki x Reader: Road Trip ft Bucky

Guess what? I wrote another fic and I DONT KNOW WHATS GOING ON. But I want Loki and Bucky to be best friends and I have a lot of Winter Soldier/Bucky feels and I needed to express them somehow so yea. But don't worry, I'll get back to the honeymoon fic, I just had to express some Bucky feels. There's like no angst in this at all, I just had to write Bucky

-

You walked into the living room and slapped a brochure onto the table between Loki and Bucky. “We’re going on a road trip!” You announced with excitement.

Loki lowered the book he had been reading and raised his eyebrow, looking down at the brochure.

“Route 66?” Bucky read aloud, “Oh man, Steve and I always talked about driving across that.”

Loki set his book down beside him, marking his page. Wistfully he added, “Thor and I once drove a distance along it. What year is it now? I think it was in the 1960s?”

You looked between the two of them bewildered, “Wait what?”

Bucky crossed his arms, “You do realize it was made in 1926, right?”

You cursed softly, grabbing the brochure from Bucky and quickly scanning it. “Am I the only one who hasn’t been to this place?”

“Sorry, love.” Loki stood, wrapping his arm around you and giving you a side hug.

Bucky chuckled, “It’s the most famous road in America, it connects the Midwest to the Pacific Ocean. You can drive the whole distance on one consistent road without branching off and get to California.”

You waved your hands emphatically, “Which is why we should go on a road trip on it! Bucky, my best friend, Loki, well duh, and you two are like, best friends. We would make the perfect trio. We would take turns on snack duty, navigation duty, and driving. Stark has the money for a convertible. Just the three of us, sailing down the road, eating, laughing, hanging out. Just friends being friends! What better a vacation than that?”

Bucky exchanged glances with Loki then the two looked back at you.

Sam and Natasha walked in at that moment.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked.

“Loki’s sweetheart, here, is trying to get us to go on a road trip along route 66.” Bucky replied.

You rolled your eyes at the pet name but smiled as Loki rested his arm on your shoulder.

Natasha nodded thoughtfully, “Yea, I’ve heard of that. Famous road, cutting through the western states, right?”

You pointed at her, “Eh? Does everyone know about this?”

“Don’t look at me.” Sam held up his hands, “Are you lot sure about this?”

“Well we haven’t made any plans, Sam.” Bucky said, also standing now.

“Plans, yet,” You corrected.

“Does Stark know that you plan on using him to finance this?” Loki queried mildly.

“He will. He always finances my plans.” You beamed up at Loki.

Loki smirked.

Sam shook his head and snorted; Bucky laughed.

“Alright, I’m game if you are.” Bucky said once he had stopped laughing.

“As you command,” Loki bowed low before you, “I will go where you go.”

“Good. I wish to go on a road trip.”

“Then I guess it’s settled. What’s the next step?”

-

Loki and Bucky stood with the bags, road trip supplies, snacks, and anything else that might be necessary for a two-to-three-week trip. Loki’s magical pockets may have been employed.

Moments later you came roaring into the lot where they were waiting, car skidding to a stop with a loud squeal of tires.

“Hello, boys.” You said, lowering your oversized sunglasses to stare over the rims to look at the two of them.

Bucky rolled his eyes at you as you popped the trunk of the car and he started tossing luggage in the back.

A tinge of pink rose on Loki’s cheeks and the back of his neck at the crop top shirt you wore, ideal for getting as much sun with the convertible top down on the long drive across the sunny plains.

Bucky sighed looking at Loki, “Alright you two love birds, you can’t be completely,” he waved his hand, “like this, the whole time or I’m getting a cab.”

Loki cleared his throat. True to form, he was wearing a black suit. “Apologies Bucky.”

“Sorry.” You mumbled.

“I’ll get snacks first. I guess Loki’s navigating then? No sense in having you switch from the driver’s seat.” Bucky jerked his chin at you.

Once everyone was settled in, you more carefully backed the dark green convertible out of the lot and took off down the road.

-

“So I thought about using a good old fashioned map to have us navigate.” You explained as you drove.

Loki looked at you aghast.

You grinned at him, “Sure, I thought it’d be fun. We could have a no phones rule, go completely electronics dead except for music.”

“You’re saying to the guy with a vibranium arm.” Bucky called from the back seat, sitting in the middle with his arms stretched out and watching the empty highway.

“Ok, almost completely.” You shot back.

“Your technology backwards planet is already bad enough as it is.” Loki muttered, resting his elbow on the door of the convertible. Despite his hair being slicked back heavily, some of it still fluttered wildly in the wind.

“Don’t you guys still ride horses everywhere?” Bucky called.

You laughed. The navigation indicated you should correct your course and you complied while Loki ignored the comment and rolled his eyes.

“Alright Bucky, snack me.” You ordered. There was a light tap to your head. “Hey!”

“Oh right, I thought you said smack me. Right, right, what do you want?”

Loki snickered and you shot him a glare before saying, “You got my favorite chips, right?”

“Of course.” Bucky passed up a travel sized package of chips to you, pre opened and you set them between your legs and began to eat as you drove.

From time to time, you’d pass one on to Loki.

“Loki, are you sure you want to wear a suit for a six hour car trip? With only breaks for bathroom stops and gas?” You glanced to the right.

Loki shrugged, “I’m comfortable.”

“Hey! It’s the Wrigley Field!” Bucky called from the backseat.

You and Loki looked in the direction Bucky was pointing. It was indeed a giant baseball stadium.

Again, Loki shrugged.

You imagined Loki had seen more impressive things in his lifetime than any sporting event humans could make, but hey, it was still neat. Reaching for the camera, you tossed it back to Bucky and indicated for him to take a picture. “We’re making a scrapbook!”

Bucky shook his head ruefully, “Alright.”

-

Over the next few hours you were on the highway and out on the real road, driving southwest. The three of you had stopped at a number of attraction spots, switched positions, gotten lost once or twice, refueled and now Bucky was driving, and you and Loki were in the back seat as the sun getting low in the sky.

You had packed a few blankets, just in case. The top of the convertible was still down, and Bucky was listening to some music that Sam had recommended, quietly nodding and humming along to it. Your eyelids felt heavy as you sat huddled in the back, the blanket wrapped tightly around you, leaning into Loki. Loki wrapped his arm around you, rubbing your bare arms through the blanket and murmuring gentle words of comfort. Between the roar of the wind, the soft lull of the music and Bucky’s singing, and Loki’s soothing words, you felt a smile spread across your face. You curled your legs up onto the seat and huddled into Loki, resting your head on his shoulder and wrapping your arms around his waist.

You were filled with your favorite snacks and drinks, tired from the hours of driving, and content to be with your best friend and well, Loki. Your heart swelled at the thought as you sank deeper into the soft material of Loki’s suit. All you could smell was him, even his hair seemed to whip around less in the wind. Maybe the blanket was holding it down. It felt so soft against your face. You wished you could stay in this moment forever, capture it with your camera and keep it in your scrapbook. Loki’s tender hands gently sliding over your thigh, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into the sensitive skin as he whispered sweet nothings to you.

The car slowed down and the wind didn’t whistle in your ears so drastically. Perhaps you had reached a town. You weren’t fully aware of your surroundings either way, too engrossed in the complexity of Loki holding you. It wasn’t the first time, and you doubted it would be the last time, but you could never stop marveling at how incredible a feeling it was.

“Love.” Loki murmured softly.

You suddenly realized you weren’t moving, though there was the vague sensation that you still were.

“We’re at the hotel.”

Bucky stood on the other side of the car door, leaning down and looking at you. He looked tired but amused. “No fair sleeping before we got here.” He said mussing up your hair. “C’mon, we got a long day tomorrow. And I am not sharing a room with you two.”

Loki tilted your head down and kissed your forehead. “Come, let’s get you some proper sleep, loathe as I am to move.”

You smiled, “That sounds nice.”

[tomtenadia]

Island dreams

Ok, I had a moment of inspiration and i started planning a long fic... a Rowaelin Modern AU... set in Scotland. I am from Scotland so I am biased and also i love, adore the Outer Hebrides which is the location of the fic. They are amazing, incredible islands on the west of Scotland that stole my heart a few years ago.

Also, in my head in Modern AU Rowan is Scottish. There is nothing that will change my mind to do that.

Anyway... I haven’t written a long in a very long time and it’s a terrifying idea. but it just popped in my head and I had a feeling that I had to write it.

On the islands Gaelic is stilll spoken and I will use it from time to time in the fic. I hope it’s grammatically correct. It’s been year since I studied it and I am rusty. I will add a translation.

So here’s the story

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aelin is a successful doctor in London but her life in the last year has started to take an unhappy turn and she feels overwhelmed. So one day she decides to take a break from her life, book a plane to Scotland and head off to the islands in search of peace and herself as well.

Rowan has a bookstore in Stornoway, the main town in the Isle of Lewis.

Aelin is a bookworm and her first mission once in Stornoway is to find a bookstore.

Have fun reading it....

Chapter 1

Aelin was on the deck of the ferry. The frigid wind was savage against her cheeks. She tugged closer her jacket and a shiver ran down her spine. She was freezing but she had no intentions to get back inside the ferry. She had left Ullapool early that morning on her way to Stornoway on the isle of Lewis.

She needed a getaway. An escape from the busy life in London and from the bad turn her life had taken. 

Without thinking, she went to grab the ring that was at her fourth finger on her left hand to then quickly realise it was not there anymore. And then remembered the reason why the band was missing. The nasty divorce she just had to go through was another reason, if not the main one, for the fact the she had now been on a ferry for almost two hours and a half.

The landscape had been breathtaking, other reason for why she was braving the cold. Once departed Ullapool, all around her there were mountains and the raw wilderness of the landscape tugged at something hidden in her. She was born and bred in London and skyscrapers, traffic and noise was all she knew. She realised she craved this: the stillness, the peace, the silence, nature.

In front of her the sea stretched peacefully and she was glad the sailing had been smooth that day. It seemed like the west of Scotland was welcoming her with a beautiful sunny day, apparently something quite unusual according to some of the people she heard speaking. The Minch, that was the name of the stretch of sea that separated mainland Scotland from the Outer Hebrides.

At the horizon she noticed land appear timidly and a big smile spread on her face. She was almost there. Her new adventure was about to start. She had taken a sabbatical from work and from her life and decided to go away. She had always been fascinated by Scotland but never had the chance to visit, albeit from London it was only an hour away by plane. So, one day she booked a one way plane ticket to Glasgow, rented a car at the airport and slowly and leisurely started to make her way north.

She had taken her time and the journey took her a week and she was already in love with the West coast of Scotland.

While in London she had bought a guide to Scotland and started doing some research and she had been fascinated by the chapter about the Western Isles or Outer Hebrides. Now she was dying to get off the boat and start exploring and living the island life. 

Over the tannoy she heard the crew announcing they were approaching land. She grabbed her rucksack and made her way down below and waited in queue near the stairs to get to the car deck. She felt giddy. She hasn’t been this giddy in… she couldn’t even remember last time she had felt like this, or if she ever that way at all.

The boat was finally berthed and all tucked in at the pier and a crew member advised the car drivers that they could now access the car deck.

She went to her car and looking ahead she noticed the bow slowly opening to let the cars out. It was her first time on a ferry and even the mere disembarkation process was fascinating. 

One by one all the cars in front of her were directed by the car deck crew to exit and once she was out she took her phone and set up her GPS. She had rented a place for a while and according to the landlord’s directions, once out of the terminal she had to turn right and at the junction turn right again. Her place was one of the many small detached houses along the bay. She fell in love with the house almost immediately when she saw the pictures on the ad online. It had an amazing view of the marina from the bedroom window according to the images and the description. She drove for 5 minutes and the voice told her she had arrived. She parked in the driveway and got off the car and stared at her new place for the time being. The house was painted a very light blue, a small garden at the front and a lovely blue door as a final touch. She grabbed the keys from the secret place she was told and made her way inside the building.

The house was modern and cozy. The owner clearly looked after the property and it actually felt like home. The living room had a big sofa and against the walls a couple of bookcases filled with books. She made a mental note to browse the titles later on. She wanted to explore the house first.

She moved to the next room and found the kitchen. A wonderful wooden and rustic kitchen with a big window that made the light filter in the room. In the middle a wooden table and a couple of chairs. The whole placed smelled like a forest. Her tour took her upstairs to the bedroom and the connected bathroom. The room was quite huge and had a nice king size bed again all made of wood. Childishly she let herself fall on the bed and it was amazing. The bathroom had a big shower room and again was quite modern with wood finish everywhere. The owner definitely loved the rustic style and she was not complaining. It was perfection and she already felt at home.

Her telephone rang breaking the peace and she smiled when she noticed it was her best friend Lysandra. She had been giving her a day to day account of her adventure with a massive amount of photos as well.

“I love it.” She exclaimed excited, sitting on the comfy chair at the opposite side of the bed.

“What?” Asked the woman on the other side of the line. 

“This place. I just got into the house I rented and Lys, this place is marvellous. And the town… I have only seen the marina but I can so, see myself staying here.”

“And abandon London forever?” The woman sounded quite sad.

“You are the only person I would really miss, you know that.”

“Gee, I am touched.”

“Lys… the last year… well you know.” Aelin took a deep breath and lounged deeper on the chair.

“I know darling, I know. I didn’t mean that. I miss you. But I know that you needed this. You haven’t been yourself in a while.” Lysandra replied with a loving tone.

She and Lysandra had been best friends since uni. They went through med school and did their internship together and after they finished they were lucky enough to get to work in the same hospital. They both had raised the ranks pretty quickly and Lysandra had become a kickass orthopaedic surgeon and Aelin had ventured into cardio thoracic surgery. She was good at her job and loved it deeply but the last year had been literally hell for her.

She had been robbed of the chance of becoming head of the department because they gave the position to the son of the current head of the department. And that’s when she started to loose the will to do her job. She kept going on for the patients.

Then Chaol happened and their nasty divorce. Married five years and then months spent battling for divorce and papers and courts and lawyers. He told her she loved her job more than him. They fought. He told her she had changed and she was not anymore the person he married. Then he left her for another woman. As a present she had served him with divorce papers.

She heard Lysandra’s voice and realised she was woolgathering.

“What?”

“I was saying that your ex was in the A&E yesterday, with his new woman.”

“What did he do?”

“Looks like he was horse riding with her and he took a bad fall. His right leg was a big mess and I need to fix it now.” Lysandra paused for a moment “I hope it’s ok.”

“Of course Lys. He is a patient.” Aelin admitted quickly. She hated him but not to the point that she wished him to be denied care.

“He…” Lysandra was hesitant “He asked me about you.” Then she heard her friend laugh “I told her that you were off, taking a break gallivanting around Scotland and making legions of scotsmen fall in love and at you feet professing their undying love to you.”

Aelin laughed out loud at the joke.

“Leave some for me by the way…”

“What about Aedion? I thought you had the hots for him.” Aelin stood and walked to the window and opened it to let the sea breeze come in.

“I do, but I can’t be always the one to make the first move. I gave him a few very clear hints. Now it’s his turn.”

“Poor man.”

“Poor me.”

Aelin heard in the background the sound of a pager.

“Is that yours?”

“Damn yes, Ae, I gotta go. Send me loads of pictures. Love you.”

Lysandra hung up and Aelin stared at the window. The bay was peaceful, with sounds of seagulls and people going about their lives. She smiled and decided it was time to explore and most of all grab some food. She was starving. On the map she spotted a big Tesco nearby perfect for grocery shopping.

She took her backpack and left on foot. No car needed for now, she wanted to see the centre of the town.

She followed the same road she came from the terminal and saw on the corner an interesting building with huge windows and she walked toward it. She arrived and noticed it was called An Lanntair, apparently a community and arts centre with a cinema as well. She entered the place and straight in front of her she noticed a corner selling books and souvenirs. She rushed to the books. Some of them were in the other language spoken on the islands which she had learned was called Gaelic and that still quite a few people spoke. The books were interesting but not enough. She moved to one of the ladies at the counter.

“Hi, I am new here. I arrived this morning and I am out exploring. Do you happen to have a bookshop around here?”

The lady smiled warmly at her “Aye, lass…  just go out here and then right on Cromwell st. and then right again. Rowan has a lovely bookshop. He is quite good and always has interesting titles. Down the road we also have a public library if you are moving here. Not as good as Rowan’s place but still worth visiting.”

“Thank you.” Aelin greeted the woman and left, curious to visit this bookstore.

She followed the directions and there it was. In front of her stood the bookstore. It had three windows, she moved closer and noticed that the main window and it had a very lovely display of children’s books with all the stories from Roald Dahl. She smiled. She loved Roald Dahl. She looked up and noticed the name of the shop “Aislingean pàipeir”. It must have been in Gaelic because she had no idea what it meant. A good excuse to chat with the owner.

She entered the shop and the doorbell rang alerting the owner of her presence. She reached the counter but no one was there. “Hello?” She called out looking around for a sign of life.

“Hi, anyone here? The door was open.”

“Tha mi a ’tighinn a-nis” said a deep voice from a corner of the shop.

The man, Rowan she assumed appeared and she almost forgot how to breathe.

He was tall. A good 1.80m, silver hair and short and eyes of the deepest green. His skin looked tanned and he had a nice healthy build. He was one of the most gorgeous man she had ever seen.

“You must be Rowan.”

------------------

Gaelic:

Tha mi a ’tighinn a-nis - I am coming now

Aislingean pàipeir - paper dreams. ( I know the name of the shop is probably lousy...sorry...)

[eddiestarchild]

Let's Head to the Coast

Here is a little fic

Geralt x Jaskier

The coast

1150 words

Jaskier was happy. 

It didn’t matter that it was a drowner contract that had lured them there, they were headed to the coast. They rode along a narrow but well-worn path, winding its way perilously down the craggy hill towards the shore. The sun was high in the sky and there was naught a cloud to be seen. It was a silent journey for the most part, until of course the bard felt a cool breeze against his skin.

“Oh Geralt, this is marvellous! I can taste the salt on the sea breeze, we must be getting close!”

“Indeed. But remember we’re here for the drowner’s nest.”

“Yes yes, but while you do all that slashing, I shall write a new song! One about the sea as a cruel mistress…”

You can imagine Geralt’s one-word reply, as the two continued down towards the shore. As soon as the horses hooves touched the sad, the bard sprung out of his saddle and trotted off up the beach, note book clutched in hand. No doubt to find a rock to perch himself apon while he composed his new-found ballad. Geralt breathed deeply and surveyed his surrounds, in search of the nest. They were close. Dismounting Roach, he gathered his swords and took a last glance at the bard, before setting off up the beach. Jaskier, as it were was fending off his own enemies. A flock of seagulls had stolen his quill, and gathered around him like a swarm of ants on honey. Geralt wasn’t sure who was squawking more; the bard or the birds.

After about an hour or so, once the drowners were tracked, hacked and dealt with, the witcher returned. Jaskier, from his perch could see a sultry black shape walking up the beach. Or rather smell him.

“Gods you stink to the high heavens Geralt! What on earth did you do to those drowners? Bathe in their blood or something?”

“Save your quips lark, and help me with this.”

By ‘this’ he meant the tangle of sea weed, leather, and straps that comprised his current ensemble. The bard reluctantly slid off the rock, pocketed his notes and wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“I suppose you better have a wash. If I know Roach there is no way she’ll let you near her in that state.”

“Hmm.”

“I know, lets go for a swim! I’ve been dying to for some time now. Truth be told I was waiting for you.”

Geralt’s expression softened at hearing this, until of course the bard continued with his jabber. Souring the moment, if only but a little.

“Yes, I hadn’t wanted to enter the water till you got back, in case there were any of your drowner-y friends lurking there.”

The Witcher just snorted and heaved off his leather jerkin, now he was untangled from it by the bard’s nimble fingers. He slung the dirty garment over the rock on which Jaskier had just sat, earning him a slight scowl. Jaskier followed suit, though he neatly lay his folded clothes a good few meters from the stinking studded jerkin.

“Shall we then? The water looks lovely.”

“Mhhmm.”

“Honestly Geralt, I don’t know why I bother talking to you. It’s as though I’m speaking with a mute!”

“Mmhhmm.”

Geralt replied, just to rile his companion a little more. The look on Jaskier’s face gave him the satisfaction he wanted. The pair headed to the water, Geralt dived right in while Jaskier tiptoed into the waves, straying no deeper than his knees. The Witcher dived beneath the surface, swimming up behind the bard. Gripping Jaskier’s ankles he burst up from the water with a roar.

“YE GODS GERALT! ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME WITH FRIGHT?”

He yelled in surprise, clutching his chest were his heart beat so rapidly it might just pop. Geralt, not one prone to uproars of laughter, smiled broadly as he looked apon the paling bard. Mission accomplished.

Once Jaksier had reprimanded Geralt about his actions, and about how he ‘could’ve struck you in self-defence’, and Geralt had countered that it ‘would’ve felt like a fly’ they both waded out deeper into the ocean. The Witcher, still amused and grinning about his recent attack on the bard, noted that he didn’t dare wade deeper than his hips. Perhaps it was in the new found mistrust for Geralt’s shenanigans. But there was something in the way he winced at each new coming wave that made him curious. After a few moments thought, an even bigger grin crept across Geralt’s face. His pointed teeth gleaming in the sun.

“Jaskier can you-”

“Oh look, the mute can talk.”

Jaskier quipped, still sultry from the scare moments ago. He paused though, actually wanting Geralt to speak. No doubt it would be something boring and responsible like ‘we should leave before it gets dark’ or ‘don’t stray too deep, I don’t want to have to revive you again..’ or some other form of responsibility. But the Witcher’s smile was so mischievous and alluring, that Jaskier stopped to listen.

“Yes Geralt, what was it you wanted to say?”

“I wanted to know if… You could swim?”

He said the last part so softly, almost as if he didn’t want to offend the bard, or at the very least make him defensive. Well, Jaskier would’ve thought that, if it weren’t for the cheeky grin Geralt had on his face. Jaskier paused, his cheeks blushing crimson as he folded his arms across his chest. Turning away slightly he sighed.

“Well, I can.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Geralt. Is that such a surprise to you?”

“A little, actually.”

Jaskier’s cheeks were still the colour of a ripe apple, but he sort of liked being this vulnerable in front of Geralt. After all, the Witcher never meant any harm with his banter. Nor did the bard; and there was in no way a shortage of quips and snipes coming from the latter.

“Ok so I can’t swim well, at all actually.”

“I knew it!”

“Oh shut up, it’s not something I’ve needed to do! I can avoid drowning, but that’s about as far as my swimming prowess goes. Happy?”

There was a pause, where Geralt was thoughtful. Jaskier was sure he was thinking up some way to embarrass him. But all he said in reply was-

“When I was 9, Vesemir threw me into a lake. I suppose he thought I’d swim out of shear panic.”

“And?!”

“I sunk like a stone. He had to dive in after me.”

Geralt’s face was expressionless, and Jaskier feared that the funny story he just told, was not meant to be taken that way at all. That was until the Witcher’s face cracked and he began to laugh. Perhaps at the memory of the tale, or perhaps at the sight of Jaksier’s stunned face. Either way, it was a deep, hearty laugh that made the bard forget his insecurities and laugh along with him. 

[notcatherinemorland]

there is a very specific collection of ideas (an aesthetic?? i swear there’s a word for this) that i’m trying to write road trip!edelgard with & i think it probably says a fair amount about me as well but here i am & i guess the whole thing is just villain from a horse girl film

no i really just have to chat shit about this au for a hot minute don’t mind me im just,, going off 

1. very hung up on the small details that span out to a much wider context. she likes generic pop songs because she doesn’t know what it’s like to live a normal life with normal relationships and the generic normality of it kinda fascinates her.

2. similar to above, she’s got contradictions. ofc she does. everyone does. (character.. character.) where the thrill/fear of breaking significant rules and conventions still hits her but at the same time.. it’s wildly insignificant. 

3. i didn’t explain 2 very well which indicates i don’t know what im going for . ok. but moving along . i’ve deliberately taken them out the monestary . bc it’s a road trip au, but because The Point^tm of road trip fics is to take the characters out the pressure pot and see what happens to them outside the high pressure of the plot line. and then what happens to the plot because they left. i’ve read a few fics where it ties up like a necklace and the characters fit back into the plot after the physical/emotional journey that is the fanfic happens & i gotta say. it’s fine for some situations but it’s not my favourite thing .

4. i don’t know how ‘canon compliant’ i want this to be (quotes because my setting is the equivalent of shrug emote) because on one hand if edelgard comes back just a little bit different, would that impact her actions at all?? would her relationship with dorothea have dramatic impact on the plot? i gotta think about it because i can’t draw the line if i don’t know where im aiming for hghfdj 

5. at the same time.. i don’t think it would. i think encounter in the holy tomb would go down very differently, but edelgard would still do it. this fic isn’t lady of the house of love im afraid . no paper coffins here 

6. ohhh kay. lets zoom back into the characters interacting again . here’s what i have stuck at the top of my page when i write things: Edelgard: emotionally motivated, internal chatter very emotions based, observations and details based. Emotionally very much focused on the immediate. Very ‘self aware’, but secretive about Shit even from her own pov. Ease up on the em dashes. remember edelgard reactions to dorothea & she’s in Denial of crush . Dorothea: cerebral, analytical, can get flustered but rare. Appreciates the very little details and gestures. more action than words & her own actions are far more Romantic capital r. thinks about the bigger emotional picture. Absolutely flirting with Edelgard when she can get away with it. speaks quite scripted/in phrases - not spectacular at cobbling words together on the fly (project ur dyslexia me..).. uses a lot of ‘tempering words’ - quite, rather, a tad - she had the Flair.

6. the state of their relationship changes in each country so -friendship/flirting to getting together/honeymoon period to oh wait oh shit we need to communicate and the game-plot is looming on the horizon.

7. in no way shape or form do i understand how other people are entertained by my writing but i will keep it funny and a touch jane austen til the cows come home.

8. aight my brain moved on 20 mins ago but now this exists. uhhh. posting it bc my drafts are a nightmare and if i think thoughts in a forest and nobody is around, does it make a sound. to torture a metaphor 

[lumiereswig]

Please do the ENTIRETY of Forgotten! Hahaha I’m joking, pick your favorite part because that fic is v long 😍

happily, this gonna get l o n g

“The ball was flawless. In the garden, the roses continued to reach to the sky, and the storm brushed away; the lights shut off in the palace, one by one, and the music faded to silence. The prince went to bed with one or two or three pretty women he wouldn’t care for by the next day. Up in his room, Lumiere popped open a bottle of champagne.”

I set the opening to take place almost immediately after “Lit By The Sun,” though this time showing the evening Lumiere and Plumette never got—the stolen croquembouche up in their bedroom, the sharing of champagne among the servants. In the original timeline, obvs they didn’t get that—they got fire and feathers instead—but yeah. I am totally alluding to my own goddamn fics.

Plumette, lighting the candles by the bed, grinned at him over the flames. He laughed and raised his glass.

It’s not a lumiereswig post if there’s not a fucking fire reference.

“He’s turning just like his father—the prince’s father was like this, too,” Mrs. Potts explains to the musicians, who know nothing about the palace or its politics. They nod and move closer to each other on the bed. “We don’t know what he’d do without us. He’ll be fine, though; we try not to intervene. D’you only have wine up here, Lumiere? I could use a cup of tea.”

Foreshadowing of future bullshit, and also reminding the readers that Garderobe and Cadenza WERE NOT PART OF THIS PALACE-POLITICS SHIT. They did not deserve to be cursed!! fuck you agathe!!!! #justiceforgarderenza2k18

“If you cannot take a little sparkling wine, get yourself to bed, grandmother,” laughs Lumiere, and she swipes at his arms and makes him laugh. He eases into a seat between Cogsworth and Plumette and throws his arms around them.

Really trying to remind everyone how fucking close the staff is. The fam. Also, fuck you bill condon for not letting lumiere hug cogsworth every .3 seconds

“Think how long it has been!” he says. “Forty years for you, Cogsworth, but most of my life for mine. Why, I came here as a teenager—imagine me, only a little older than Chip! Fresh out of Paris and still reeking of the apothecary shop.” He grimaces, thinking of his father’s dusty store in a side-street of the city. He had fled, then, looking for the glamor his missed; in his room in Paris he had practiced dance steps, reveled in fashion, adopted the graceful movements of the court as rebellion against the bourgeois facts of an ordinary existence. He had come to this palace, and he had lit into life; dancing and feasting and glowing like gold made Lumiere’s heart sing.

EYYYY IT’S A HEADCANON I TOTALLY MADE UP

but tbh it makes sense to me (and has always made sense to me) that for all his glamor-gold, courtiers-and-candelabras bullshit, lumiere is not from an upper crust background. he’s too extra to have been born to it. That level of golden eyeliner and tequila has to be aspired to.

“We met in this palace, do you remember, mon trésor?” Plumette is close in his arms; her scent—fresh and light, like candy and macarons—right beside him. “I was only fourteen, and I loved you right away.”

“I loved you before I met you,” murmurs Lumiere. “I could never forget.”

Lots more foreshadowing, and also backshadowing. Gotta remind the idiots in the audience which motherfuckers in this story are in love.

The next day is their day off. It is their one day off in the year.

honestly this makes no sense (one day off a year???) but it’s adam. pre-curse adam. i can write him to get away with pretty much any bullshit and be like “””*shrug* uhhh he’s a beast, dudes, of course he banned puppies and kittens from the palace and hates daisies and sunshine”“

also tbh i hate the whole adam dialogue sequence, it’s really badly written

Adam stands in the lonely, empty halls. If he stands in the tower, he can see them weaving their way through the forest and down to the village, to spend their day in the company of each other, in Lumiere and Plumette’s case, or with loved ones, in the case of Mrs. Potts. No matter what, all the servants have each other. And Adam has nobody.

casual evermore references whenever we can’t get in a flame pun

….after all, at least when he yelled they looked at him.

someone told me this line broke them and i am forever pleased. yes mofos!!! relish my very slipshod, mostly shite grasp of the english language!!!!! revel in my poor grasp of human psychology!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“Lumiere! The night grows old.”

 The crone grows young.

to make up for the shit in the previous chapter, I really enjoy this bit. the whole bashing-between-the-palace-and-the-village nonsense just makes me happy.

Belle wakes up to a jolt in the road, and the rough wool blanket on her face, and the smell of cheese and paint and horse and wind clinging to her skin. She rubs her eyes and tries to wipe away the sleep. They’re in the wagon, again, and Maurice is hunched up in the bench, encouraging Philippe to trot faster. The contents of Belle’s entire life are jammed in around her, a moving nest of drawings and gear-boxes and packets of cabbage-seed.

aaand we’re with belle. I had to rewrite this chapter about five million times because it wasn’t working—I had planned it out too much in advance, you know, and was just like regurgitating the writing rather than writing it—but I’m happy with the textural detail of this bit. Again, sometimes it pays to use the words around what you’re going for rather than the literal sensation; in this case, cheese and paint and horse and wind, and that rough wool blanket. Home, but also chill, and travel, and being uncomfortable, and the 18th century equivalent of going on a road trip and eating crackers in the backseat while dad’s up front and the crackers making the seat all gritty and reading books in the light of the passing streetlamps, ya feel?

Lilles, Reims, Amiens

i don’t understand french geography

A tiny, delicate gesture from his long fingers; it is a surprisingly sophisticated movement for a man in a yellow peasant’s vest, with candle wax creased in the dirt between his fingernails.

this whole chapter is slightly hard to read because it’s clearly trying too hard, but i hope i got across (or at least, whacked you across the forehead with) the bits i felt were important: lumiere’s current emptiness, but the last imprints of who he ought to be hanging around. i also tend to mention the peasant’s vest too many fucking times, just because the image of lumiere wearing anything that’s not satin & silk is fucking devestating. also, it will be important later, and i need yall to remember that LUMIERE DOESNT LOOK LIKE HE NORMALLY LOOKS

“I am nothing now,” says the man, in a flash of vehemence so sharp it is like seeing a flame in the middle of the forest. He looks up to her—his face broad, and white; and it is an empty face, and beyond the fire in his words there is nothing there at all. It is as if someone washed out all his color, and left him only with his yellow vest.  

you can tell, again, this is a lumiereswig fic because suddenly the language is all about fires and flashing and flickers and flames and there’s probably going to be a reference to the sun fucking setting at some point

also, honestly, this was hard to write because i was seeing it as a fucking movie in my head, and transcribing ‘ewan mcgregor lies on a village stoop looking fucking dismal’ is not what literary writing is made of

He welcomes her to the stoop with the flick of a wrist and a tiny nod with the pipe,

just to remind everyone once a-fucking-gain, Lumiere Is Not Normal, And You Can Tell Because He’s Not Being Very Welcoming. like honestly if you don’t say hello by doing a song and dance what the fuck are you doing

“I knew someone once who treasured books that way as well,” he says, and a smile drifts across his face, homeless. Something in him is sparking up at the story: dim, and faint, but laughing. “He once made me read the whole Odyssey—”

ok yes thank god the fic is finally getting good again

Sorceresses turning people to pigs, and the lily-eaters forgetting their homes, and Penelope undoing the days until her husband returns

ON. THE FUCKING. NOSE

also if i make a literary reference in a fic i am almost 100% of the time trying to make an obvious as fuck connection between the two

Deeply, deeply frightened. Not of the man on the stoop—she has never seen anyone more harmless, to be quite honest; he is such an empty man, with such silent, lifeless limbs—but of the thing inside his eyes when he speaks of his past. It is Other—a thing not rooted in a Parisian background, or the empty face, or the subdued soul. It is a large streak of gray inside the man’s blue eyes, a gray empty and unnatural and as hollow as cold ice. Staring at his eyes, Belle finds herself clutching her arms with fear.

ahhhh fuck subtlty has gone totally out the window. yall are kind and see what i was going for, but i swear this could be better done if i knew shit

It is obvious to Belle that this is a practiced ritual, the sharing of the secret wine.

in retrospect this fic would be sadder if cogsworth or lumiere weren’t friends, but uhh…i just couldnt bring myself to it.

“Oh là là, he acts as if the French accent is difficult,” says Lumiere, puffing smoke….

LIKE YOU CAN SPEAK FRENCH ANYWAY, YOU SCOTTISH DIPSHIT.

“Get off my stoop!” yells the woman. “D’you have wine down there, Lumiere?“

“If you cannot take a little cheap wine, get yourself to bed, grandmother,” calls Lumiere.

and that’s called taking yourself too seriously and referencing your own fic from a few chapters ago

“Mrs. Potts, the crockery-man’s wife,” says Lumiere, and takes a large gulp of the wine. “I barely know her. Thank God.”

PROBABLY THE BEST LINE IN THIS FIC SO FAR. fucking love the simplicity that does so much more than every labored reference to emtpy fucking limbs or colorless eyes beforehands. one simple line and we’re all fucking realizing THE EXTENT OF ALL THIS SHIT

i gotta head off now but i’ll do the rest later tonight

[send me one of my fics (or a bit from a fic) and i’ll do director’s commentary on it—ask here]

[wayward-marvel-sommer1196]

Too Tall

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Warnings: Language, drinking, bullying, bar guys being assholes, passionate kissing

Word Count: 1482

A/N: This was supposed to be a drabble but apparently, my head doesn’t know what that means. I apparently can’t write anything under 1000 words lol. This is my first Sam fic that wasn’t like sisterly so tell me what you think. Also, my first request yay!

Request: Oo oo oo! I gotta request for a drabble! Sam comforts a tall (preferably female) reader? Cause I'm 5'11 and get made fun of for my height all the time. (Ps, not sure if this is what you meant, if not feel free to ignore it) - Anon

^ so like they are not this rough in the story but how Sam places his hands on her face correlates to the story 

Tonight's hunt had been a major success. You and the guys were able to kill the vamp and save a child. In your line of work that was about as good as one could hope for. So, in light of this y'all decided it was a good night to hit up the local pool hall and grab a few drinks and maybe hustle a few of the locals to make some sort of money this week. 

As much as you loved going out and scamming guys out of their money you didn't like the getting ready part. You could never find the right outfit to wear that looked good. You see what your problem was, was you were on the taller side for a woman and most of that height came from your legs. You were 5'11 and finding an outfit that didn't make you look like a slut was difficult. Shorts always seemed too short and dresses were to formal for a bar and those always seemed too short as well. 

Tonight, you decided on a simple outfit: black skinny jeans, a nice white tank top, and some black converse, because heels or boots would make you even taller and you didn't want that. 

Suddenly you heard banging on the bathroom door. 

"Y/N, you done yet? Come one we've been waiting forever," Dean screamed through the door. 

"Hold your horses Winchester. I'm just about done," you said as you put the finishing touches on your eyeliner. 

You walked out of the bathroom and both guys’ jaws dropped. "What too much?" you asked. 

"No, you look beautiful, Y/N," Sam said. 

You looked to the floor and blushed a bit. Truth was you always had a little crush on the younger Winchester, but you'd never tell him that. "Thanks Sammy. You don't look too bad yourself," you replied. 

"Damn Y/N, you won't even need to play pool to scam the guys at the bar," Dean said. 

You rolled your eyes and shoved Dean's shoulder and y'all headed out the door and into the Impala. 

The place was a nice place considering the area it was in. There was a nice balance of rock and pop music playing which made all three of you happy. As you looked around the room you saw two guys and knew they'd be the perfect target. 

You sipped your bourbon and approached the men. "Hey guys how about a round of pool," you asked. 

"Naw we're good sweetheart," one of them replied. 

"Come on. What if we put money on it? Make it interesting." 

"We're listening." 

"Ok a hundred to whoever wins." 

"You got yourself a deal sweetheart."

You all strolled over to the pool table and one of the guys racked them up. You grabbed the stick and pretended you didn't know what you were doing. The first round you let them win by a landslide. The second round you upped the price and let them win again. By the fifth round the pot was up to $500 and you knew this was your round to leave them in the dust. You let the first guy break and he got one ball, but failed to get another. You stepped up and shot one in the corner pocket, then another, then another, and at this point the guys were staring at you wide eyed and jaws dropped. That continued till you sunk all your balls and then finally the 8-ball. 

"Good game fellas. Guess I'm a quick study," you said with a sly grin.  

As you went to walk away you heard them mumble to themselves. You just assumed they were being sore losers that is until one spoke up. 

"Hey, Big Bird, you hustled us. That's cheating."

"Excuse me? It's not my fault that you underestimated a woman," you snarked back. 

"You played us gigantor. We want our money back." 

"Whatever sore loser."

"You must really struggle to find a boyfriend Sasquatch."

"What makes you think that?"

"Well your attitude for one. But the fact that you are so much taller than a lot guys. You must have to bend down a lot. Maybe that's why you're here hustling us and not with a guy. Couldn't find one to keep."

"Fuck you jerk," you said as you turned and stormed out of the pool hall with tears running down your cheeks. 

Sam took notice and ran after you while Dean stayed behind to scope out his chances of getting laid. 

You were sitting in the back of the impala with your face in your hands when you heard a sudden knock on the window. "Y/N, it's Sam. Please let me in." 

"Go away Sammy. Just leave me alone," you said. 

"No, not until you tell me what happened. First you were rocking it and then the next thing I know you are running out with years in your eyes."

You knew the Winchesters were stubborn and there was no way you were going to get Sam to leave so you unlocked the doors. He opened the door and slid in next to you. He wrapped his arms around your shoulders and gripped you tight. You squeezed tight relishing in his warmth. 

"What did those assholes say that has you so upset, sweetheart," Sam said.

"It's stupid. I don't even know why I'm acting this way. You think I'd be used to it by now," you said. 

"It's obviously not stupid if it has you this upset." 

You sighed and took a deep breath. "They were making fun of my height. Calling me names like Bug Bird and Sasquatch, which I could handle, but then they had to take it further."

"What did they say?"

"They said it must be hard for me to find a man that I didn't have to bend down for and that's probably why I am alone." 

"You know that's bullshit, right?" 

"Is it though? My height has been a problem my whole life. I have always been taller than most the guys and always had people say all the clichéd things they say. Maybe I am just too tall."

"You know how ridiculous that sounds right? You live with two guys that are taller than you and anyone who picks at something you can't control is a jackass." 

"Yeah, I guess. It just struck a cord in me. It has been a problem in the past with some guys, me being too tall, so it just hit me kinda hard."

Sam pushed you back slightly and grabbed you chin to angle your face to look at him. "Well, you're not too tall for me."

Your heart skipped a beat at this. Was he saying what you think he's saying? Is it possible that the Sam Winchester might share your feelings? Or is he just giving you pity? 

"What are you saying Sam?" 

"This," he said as he leaned down and captured your lips with his. It was slow and soft and just full of passion. It was as if he thought if he pushed too far you'd push him away. At his slight hesitation, you gripped shirt in your fists and pulled him as close as you could and deepened the kiss. With that he brought both his hands up to your face and bit your bottom lip asking for permission and you gladly let his tongue in. 

You guys sat there in that heated make out session for a couple minutes until you had to let go to get some air. He leaned his forehead against yours and smiled. 

"Why are you smiling?" you chuckled. 

"Because you have no idea how long I've wanted to do that for," Sam said. 

"Really?" you said. 

"Yeah, I've kind of had a crush on you since you started hunting with us," he said sheepishly. 

"Well that sucks." 

He scrunched his brows in confusion. "Why?" He said with slight panic in his voice. 

"Because I've had like this massive school girl crush on you for just about as long. It sucks because if we would have both pulled our heads out of our asses we could have had this a long ass time ago."

Sam laughed and pulled you into another kiss. 

You both jumped when you heard a tapping on the window. You looked over to see Dean. 

"You guys better not be screwing in my Baby," Dean said. 

You laughed and rolled down the window and said, "We're not, at least not yet." 

Sam's head flew back in laughter and Dean just rolled his eyes and got in the driver’s seat. Sam held you tightly as you leaned into his chest taking in his warmth.

"You know it's about god damn time you to admitted your feelings for each other. The pining for each other was getting kind of old," Dean said 

You and Sam both looked at each other and said, "Yeah."

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