Alder's Grove

Written to clare_dragonfly‘s prompt. Doug is a character from Addergoole (The Original Serial), Addergoole: Year Nine, and the current Addergoole: a Ghost Story.

Doug was not a Mara; he was not one of the pure-blooded Warriors, the Protectors of the fae.

He had been aware of that since the moment he Changed – if he hadn’t been pretty sure of it long before that.

His father was a Mara who did not have Mara children.  His mother was the halfbreed daughter of a Daeva (the Inspirers, the succubi, the pleasure-givers and pleasure-takers); said Daeva did not bear Daeva children any more than Doug’s father could have Mara.  The chances of Doug being Mara were about as slim as the chances of him being elected president of the world.

His Change had just cemented that: his wings that would never sustain flight, his body that could not take damage the way that a Mara’s could.

The thunder that rumbled out of him when he was particularly irritated.

The fact that he was, when touching someone, when touching someone with his feet on the ground, stronger than his father or than any other Mara he’d ever gotten to spar with him.

He wasn’t a Mara.

Right now, he was damn glad of that.

His student Hestia – his newest, his youngest, his smallest student, Hestia – had felled the monster.  She had done a damn good job of it, especially for someone whose Change was not warrior-related.  But then the monster had made one great final heave – and landed on top of Hestia.

Hest weighed maybe 110, most of it muscle – but there was only so much muscle could do for you without any leverage.  Her spear was still in her hand, but she’d dropped her blade.

And the monster weighed almost as much as three elephants combined, and was twice as fat.

Doug grabbed the nearest long thing – part of the building they’d been fighting in, a beam or something.  The building probably needed it.  He needed it more.  He set his feet in the dirt, let his toes feel the ground below him, and pulled on the thunder.

He shoved the stick under the monster, aiming carefully, not wanting to hit Hestia, and he pushed.

Three counties away, they were closing their windows.  The sky flashed and sparked.  The ground  flashed and sparked.

The corpse of the monster lifted, an inch, a handspan, a foot, two yards.  Doug heaved, the world sparked, and the monster flew a couple feet through the air and landed with a wet thump.

He scooped Hestia up into his arms, muttering healing Workings and curse words at her indiscriminately.

 

 
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Mirrored from Alder's Grove Fiction.

He'd tried "no," "fuck no" and "no way in a billion fucking years." Doug had tried everything he thought he'd work and a few things he'd known wouldn't, but in the end, he'd lost anyway. His father had put his foot down, and Doug had found himself sitting in his own office, staring across his desk at a new student.

"I'm going to be your Mentor."

She glared back at him and worked her mouth for a moment, like the whole idea tasted bad. "They told me. Thought we were supposed to get a choice."

Doug swallowed most of a laugh. "Yeah, me too. Guess we blew that one."

She raised her eyebrows, raised her bic, and lit up a tiny flame. "Rock on."

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Un-slump-me prompt call

Written to Clare's commission for "More Doug."

Nineteen-sixty-nine (or so, as canon suggests)

“This is the place.” Luke twitched his shoulders in the way that meant, somewhere under his Mask, his wings were flapping. “There’s the village, over here. We’re still building the houses. Regine calls them cottages…”

“I thought there was going to be a school.” From where they were standing, what Doug could see was a barn and a wheat field. The gesture his father had made indicated, as far as Doug could tell, more wheat field.

“There will be. Here.” Luke started towards the barn. Doug sighed, because what else did you do when your centuries-old father decided to be laconic, and followed, because he’d come this far; he might as well hear the old man out.

The barn, inside, looked like other barns Doug had been in. The sunlight poured in through the cracks. The smell of old hay permeated the air. And, hidden behind a half-wall of cracked, grey wood and under a hidden trap door, a long stairway led downwards.
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the below cut for author snidieness.

( and a bit of personal backstory. )

Year One:

Doug watched the new students coming in to the brand new school. They were fresh-faced, some of them, while others were already bitter and untrusting. They were so young, all of them, and so human-seeming.

His son was among them, Donegal, who he hadn't gotten to raise. He watched the boy moving through the crowd, and found himself fading into the background. Now was not the time to try to raise the kid; now was the time to do his job.

Two tall, dark boys - brothers, Doug thought, but not twins - moved their way through the crowd as if they were pushing aside brush. Doug watched the way they moved, the shorter one aping the taller one's movements. They were going to be trouble.

"First day of school." The woman standing next to him finally spoke up. Laurel, Doug thought her name was. "This'll be interesting."

Doug cleared his throat, and found he had nothing to say. He settled for "yeah."

Year Fourteen:

Ana was pregnant, and Doug was doing everything in his power not to glower, hover, growl, and in general act like (as more than one woman had called him) a royal pain in the ass.

He was fairly certain that he would have been a hovering, miserable, overprotective dinosaur (as Ana gently teased him) even if she hadn't been carrying his child, his child, as well as the boy Teal's, but he couldn't guarantee it. Doug was in love, and it messed everything up.

He watched the fresh-faced new Cohort, just a month into the year and still looking so very young, so very human. A short, stocky irish boy - notable in that he was shorter than either Doug or his father - met Doug's eyes and grinned, arrogant and insouciant.

"They're shaping up to be interesting." Laurel Valerian laid fingers on Doug's arm in a way that would have, from another woman, seemed possessive. "I think this is going to be a good year."

Doug shifted his weight onto his heels. The Irish kid was looking at Ana. Looking was fine. Looking was fine. He cleared his throat and made himself look at Laurel. "Yeah."

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I'm not really sure what to put in for context here...

The first of two commissions I'm very behind on. Hi, Rix!

This story could go on for another ~4K, but I'd never get it posted. So here, have Luke & Doug in the Addergoole years leading UP to the apoc.

Approx. 1970

Luke stood in the doorway of the garage, studying his son silently. Superficially, they looked very similar - Doug had gotten very little of his mother’s coloration or face shape, except the set of her eyes and their startling blue.

The set of his jaw, on the other hand - Luke didn’t know who to blame for the sad, sullen expression his only living child seemed to carry around like a shroud.

Doug was dancing.
( Read more... )

For imaginaryfiend's prompt. Doug and Ana are Addergoole characters. Addergoole has a landing page here

"She's a dancer."

That's what Luke had said.

Doug looked at the girl. She was short, muscular, and lush, her black curls tied into a ponytail. She'd shown up ready to dance.

"Dance." If she couldn't handle him being short, she wasn't going to be able to handle him.

She set down her MP3 player, turned up the music, and started....

It was dancing, Doug had to admit, but it was just about having sex with an invisible partner. He found his pants getting tighter. Shit. "Not this bump and grind shit," he snarled. "Dance."
( Read more... )