#danae-b

[wilwheaton]

I really love your bedhead pics, they're such a little thing and yet they give me (and so many others) so much happiness? Thank you so much for sharing them with us, Wil.

You’re welcome. Thank you for sharing your own joy with me.

[lozenger8]

(re)united - Sam/Gene, rated G, 1,750 words. 

@danae-b gave me the prompts of “reunion” and Sam/Gene, so I wrote this. This fic is titled after this song, because I am me. 

They haven’t spoken to each other for going on three weeks and Sam’s past the point of admitting he misses Gene’s voice. He misses its cadences and rhythms, the way Gene intersperses informal with formal speech so you can never quite be sure if what he’s going to say will sound grandiloquent or down-right ridiculous. He even misses the often derogatory pet-names, God help him.

Sam misses Gene’s surprising wisdom and his infuriating brutality, but he refuses to do anything about it, because Gene was wrong.

Gene’s been wrong before, of course, this shouldn’t feel like such a surprise, or a betrayal. He used to take hand-outs, stitch up crims, use abusive, underhanded tactics to get what he wanted when he wanted it. But lately, throughout the past few months, Sam thought they’d come to some sort of agreement. An unspoken one, sure, but he’d plenty of evidence to back it up. If they didn’t see eye-to-eye on how to proceed on a case they’d make that clear away from the prying eyes of their team. It was Gene who first started using plural pronouns, referred to their and them and they. It was Gene who’d first hauled Sam away to cuss him out. It was Gene who favoured late-night arguments at pub tables, away from the throng and buzz of everyone else.

Sam doesn’t understand how this time, this crucial time, when almost everything is at stake, Gene chose to humiliate Sam in front of everyone in CID. And not only did Gene humiliate Sam, but everything Sam said about the case was correct and Gene ignored him. It put the case in jeopardy, it reintroduced unnecessary tension back into the team and it… it hurt Sam’s feelings. It’s stupid, but it’s true.

“The Guv told me to talk to you to ask Annie about the Morrissey file. Or he asked me to tell you to talk to Annie about the Morrissey file. Or he— ”

“Thanks, Chris. I get the picture.”

“In the file?”

“What?”

“You’ll get the picture in the file? Is it only a picture that the Guv wants? Seemed to want to read over the facts.”

Sam narrows his eyes.  This isn’t the first time Gene’s sent Chris to communicate with him to disastrous results. Better Chris than Ray, though, admittedly. “I think we’re at cross-purposes here,” Sam says. “I’ll get the file and give it to DCI Hunt. You go back to writing your report.”

Chris gives him a gormless grin and goes to his own desk, begins hen-pecking at the keys of his typewriter.

Sam sucks in a deep breath, two. He can do this. He’s had to do it within the past few weeks a couple of times. Get the file, leave it on Gene’s desk, leave the office-space and back to his own area within fifteen seconds, twenty at the most. Once he did it and they didn’t even glance at each other, it was so smooth and efficient. And if, in his heart of hearts, Sam wants to linger a while and poke the bear; he’s always been a bit of a masochist.

Sam pushes the door as quietly as he can, steps within the walls, eyes fixed on the ceiling, to remind himself he’s not so much alone in a room with Gene again, but only within a partitioned area of the wider office. This was a mistake, because Gene’s not at his desk, he’s apparently standing just past the doorway, and they collide with a smack, bang, wallop. Sam lets out a grunt and damn near topples backwards, but he’s stopped by Gene’s hands on his upper-arms, holding him still.

Sam looks into Gene’s eyes, shocked, and is taken aback by how blood-shot and world-weary they look.

“You all right?” Sam asks, reflexive, and fuck.

“I’m not the one who almost went A over T,” Gene counters, sounding weirdly offended by Sam’s courtesy to enquire after his health.

“No, but you are the one who looks like shit warmed up.”

Gene pushes him back with rather more force than necessary, sits on the edge of his desk. “You require my assistance?” he asks, in perfect mockery of Sam.

“Uh, no. Just dropping off the Morrissey file like you asked.”

Gene crosses his arms. “I never asked you for any file.”

“Well, no. Apparently you wanted Annie to get it for you, but I figured I’d cut out the middle man.”

“I never asked for any file. Someone’s been yanking your wang-dang-doodle, Nancy.”

Sam could murder Chris, he really could. With his mind, if possible, so as to reduce the mess.

“Bloody Chris,” Sam sighs.

Gene looks positively amused, his lips quirking at the corners. “And you call yourself a detective, Tyler, honestly.”

For a moment, two, Sam forgets about his disappointment in Gene and shares in the humour. He tips his head, his own small smile stretching as the gravity of the entire situation sets in – somehow, someway, he was bested by Chris Skelton.

“So how have you been?” Sam asks, because no one could ever say he’s a coward. No one could ever say he doesn’t adapt, either.

Gene shrugs a majestic shoulder. “Fine. You?”

“Fine.” Sam rocks back on his heels, makes an awkward gesture towards the doors.

“Fine’s not the same as good,” Gene ventures, because he’s one of the bravest people Sam’s ever known. His gaze is piercing. “Sort of like the difference between surviving and living. One’s okay, but the other’s preferable.”

Sam studies Gene, sees the metaphorical olive branch floating in mid-air between them. “I know what you mean.”

“So what will it take to get you yammering in my ear again like a particularly excitable gnat?”

Sam raises his eyebrows. Gene’s direct, and blunt, and often brutal. But this seems more than that. Sam can match him, if need be. Sam can best him, when pushed. “An apology would be nice.”

“Gene Hunt doesn’t apologise.”

“Gene Hunt’s a mythical creation you’ve built to help you deal with the world. I don’t need a sorry from your larger than life persona. I just want one from you.”

“Because I made you look a fool?”

“Because you made us look foolish. Because up until November we were putting on a united front and it was working, Gene. We were working. But you had to throw it all away because your authority must be absolute, because you must be the big man, because you must be obeyed.”

Sam expects Gene to either go deadly quiet or shout his head off, but he doesn’t. His shoulders slump and his smears a hand over his face, as if he could rub away the past three weeks.

“You ended up being right this time,” Gene says.

“That’s an admission, so we’re creeping closer.”

“And I should’ve dragged you to Lost and Found to make my disagreements known.”

“Another concession, you’re on a roll.”

“And I’m sorry, Sam.”

Sam waits a beat, two, waits for the punchline he’s sure will be coming any second. But Gene just gazes at him, a mixture of patient and anxious, like he’s worried what Sam’s reaction will be, but he’s willing to wait for it.

Sam doesn’t know how to respond. He literally has no clue. Never in his wildest dreams did he ever think Gene would actually say what he wanted to hear.

“I accept your apology,” Sam says eventually, moving forward to pat Gene on the shoulder.

Gene looks at him as if he has two heads, but Sam likes making contact. He hadn’t worked out how touch-starved he was, forgotten how much they tapped, swatted, nudged each other. There’s a frisson of delight up Sam’s spine from all the points they’re connected.

He hasn’t only missed Gene’s voice, Sam realises, but this too. They’re close, like this, close enough Sam can count Gene’s eyelashes and smell the whisky on his breath. Close enough Sam can feel Gene’s warmth, through musky-scented polyester.

Sam’s hand drags down Gene’s shoulder to his upper-arm, more of a caress than anything else, and he has a moment of clarity – he was as angry as he was not only because of a wounded pride, not only because it set the team back, but because they’d been building to a nearness that was frightening, before Gene had pulled his little stunt.

Gene rests his hands on Sam’s hips, thumbs hooking into his waistband. He looks up at Sam through his lashes, gusts out a sigh. Sam stares at him, edging ever closer, tilting his head down and to the side.

When their lips are almost touching, Sam lets his uncertainty take over. “You really want to do this?”

Gene tugs him closer. “Don’t you?”

The kiss, when they finally kiss, is slower and more deliberate than Sam was expecting. It’s softer and sweeter too. Gene kisses like this is where he’s put all his restraint, all of his careful consideration; it takes some coaxing to get him to open up and let Sam in. But his hands, God, they’re hot and heavy under Sam’s shirt within a matter of moments, calloused fingers working against the skin of his lower back, his hip.

When they pull apart, Sam can’t help but press his fingers to his lips, can feel the heat of a blush in his cheeks. He’d be embarrassed, but Gene’s hair is ruffled and he looks utterly shell-shocked, so at least Sam knows he’s not alone.

“I should go,” Sam says, adjusting his shirt until he’s neat and tidy again, idly brushing at Gene’s hair to get him looking halfway presentable. Gene sits there like a contented cat, pretending to smooth the material at Sam’s back. Sam has to consciously step away, speaking over his shoulder as he steps. “Talk later?”

“Yeah, yes, fine,” Gene replies, husky. Then he gives the most impish smile Sam’s ever seen, something that almost makes him walk right into Gene’s door. “Good.”

Sam’s looking forward to learning new things about Gene’s voice. Like how he sounds sleep-roughened, or the noises he makes when he’s on the edge, and the words he’ll use when his guard’s down and it’s just the two of them. He’s looking forward to hearing his cadences and rhythms, formal and informal speech, eloquence  and inarticulateness, once Sam gets to touch Gene the way he wants.

He has a feeling, if today is any indication, that he’ll be hearing it all sooner rather than later.

[natalunasans]

3 and/or 19 for the headcanon asks, tensimm or shalkas please

i’ll do both, kind of as a compare/contrast, because i feel like in my mind anyway those TARDIS teams are parallel AUs with different angles on similar stuff:

Sleeping headcanons

the doctor and master sleep together in both AUs and the master helps the doctor with their nightmares. 

s!m is the little spoon but shalka!m is the big spoon.

s!m does dreamleading to avoid nightmares, or else ten never sleeps at all. shalka!m makes sure the Doctor feels safe after nightmares. also, since he doesn’t sleep, he will notice if they stop breathing and make sure they get oxygen or inhaler or whatever. 

the TARDIS cats sleep on top of Alison (HC nabbed from @modernwizard ?)

sometimes Bill visits 10/s!m just so she can get some extra sleep: they can go into the vortex and she can have a rest day (or three) and come back to work/uni roughly the same time she left. especially if ‘Razor’ sets the coordinates. ten sometimes gets the date wrong and has to write a Doctor’s Excuse to UNIT for her.

when companions’ girlfriends are over, the TARDISes make sure they aren’t disturbed by wandering distracted timelords.

Favorite photograph headcanons

ten has a lot of pictures of past companions up, but especially likes this one photo taken by the TARDIS cctv of this one time that they and s!m fell asleep snuggled together on the sofa.

let’s be real both these doctors are awfully nostalgic… shalka!doctor has photos of old companions, too, but they keep them hidden in a carved wooden box. some of the photos are blank, because they are of people who got erased in the time war. they actually don’t look at their old photos because they’re afraid to see more of them go blank.

Alison and Bill take a lot of phone photos during their excurisions, even if they can’t always put them on instagram (although you’d be surprised what alien stuff will pass as photoshopped)Alison likes getting the group selfies, especially later when Shalka!Master can leave the TARDIS to join adventures. she and Levona probably take way too many pictures of each other, except there’s no such thing as too many. Alison just hasn’t yet told her family that her girlfriend is from 100 years in the future.Bill prefers artistic photos that look like manips but are actually just alien stuff from enigmatic angles.

[lozenger8]

Sam and Gene and 6. "Could you be any louder?" :3

Some ne’er-do-well gives Sam a guitar in October. Gene has his money on Chris. Or Phyllis. Sam plays it every day, for an hour a pop, hauls the bastardy thing around with him, even into CID, propped up against a cabinet in Gene’s office. 

“You planning on torture to evince confessions now, Melodious Melanie?”

“Thought I’d serenade you, Guv,” Sam retorts. He has a twinkle in his eye that does his entire demeanor wonders. Funny how Sam can spring to life under the right conditions; a wind-up robot that just needs the right key.

“All right, go ahead,” Gene says, because stepping right back on Sam when he’s being a little shit gets his shoe dirty, but it also squashes him flat.

Sam pauses, frowns. “What, really?”

“Play it again, Sam.”

Sam plays, and even sings along, but softly, softly. It’s a Beatles song, one of the ones Gene won’t admit to liking, a little too pretty for the image he likes to convey. It’s good, though, and it turns out, when you’re not thinking it’s an almighty racket, Sam can actually play guitar passably well. 

Can sing too, sweet-voiced, rich, but still so gentle, like he’s worried his voice will shatter Gene’s patience. 

“Could you be any louder?” Gene asks, when he’s finished the first verse. 

Sam stops playing. Places the guitar down. His expression’s a small storm-cloud. “You did ask for it,” he says, mulish.

“Yeah, I know, and I’m asking if you could up the volume. I’ve old ears, y’know.”

Sam gapes for a second time, fidgets some as he sets up the guitar again.  “You’ve only yourself to blame if you end up with a monster of a headache.”

Later, after three more songs and Sam’s throat’s noticably getting raspy, Gene passes over his scotch. He settles next to Sam on his couch, nudges into his side. 

“I’ve never been able to sing a note nor pluck one from a set of strings or keys. You’ve talent there, Sam.”

“Thanks. Did you really not hate it?”

“I really did not. And looking at us here, I’d say you’ve successfully wooed me with your siren song. Give us a kiss.”

Sam rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile at the corner of his lips, fondness in the placement of his hand on Gene’s knee. “I should’ve known. You were indulging my ego to get your leg over.”

After a kiss or two, when Gene’s feeling decidedly randy, and more candid because of it, he strokes his thumb down Sam’s hand and admits he’d be happy for Sam to play something for him again. 

“Turns out, I like your sweet torture,” he says, kissing those lips and entwining his fingers with those that make such lovely sounds.

[lozenger8]

For the latest fandom ask, Life on Mars ;D

Push off a cliff: Neil

Frick frack: Gene

Marry: Sam

Set on fire: Ray

Wrap a blanket around: Chris

Be roommates with: Annie

[lozenger8]

danae-b

  Does anyone else have any fanfic rituals? Mine is...

I tell myself it doesn’t matter and then I refresh things anyway. Especially when it’s for a specific person! And then I am a failure anyway. The end

We are the best. ;) How are you not asleep right now?!

[lozenger8]

♫ please (hit me with your best shot ;))

Henry Jackman - The Winter Soldier (this is one of my favourite tracks of all time, even though it always makes me uncomfy. The part 2 mins in when it starts ramping up is INCREDIBLE.)

Bec Sandridge - You’re a Fucking Joke

Harry Styles - Meet me in the Hallway (this song ALSO sounds like it coulda been on the Life on Mars soundtrack. Creepy Test Card Girl haunting Sam song, anyone?)

UM. THIS IS A TOTAL COINCIDENCE? BUT: Frankie Miller - The Devil Gun (Frankie’s song I Can’t Change It was used in 1.4 on the DVDs instead of the Stones’ Wild Horses. Fuuuuck.)

Gorillaz - She’s My Collar

[lozenger8]

danae-b replied to your post “The great thing about covers is that they can transform a song so...”

Would you like to tell us some of your fave covers of all time?

YES, DANA. YES I WOULD.

I mean, obviously, we start with the holy grail of all brilliant cover songs: Barenaked Ladies’ version of Lovers in a Dangerous Time. It’s too good. It’s too pure. 

Beck’s Everybody’s Gotta Learn Sometime has to be up there, especially since I didn’t know it was a cover of the Korgis until I was 24. 

Gina Jeffries’ version of Creep is the best ever version of this overplayed (but still great I think) song.

While I still prefer the original, Missy Higgins’ version of Heart’s a Mess is A++.

I downright prefer The Civil Wars’ take on Disarm.

And finally, I have never heard the original, but this track of Keeping Score by Paces and Guy Sebastian is straight-up amazing.