#and granted do i write on my multi anymore? not really

[analyticallymindedaa]

me, w my (for the most part) Just Normal People ocs: wanting to write more w said ocs

also me: mostly following muses who Don't live very mundane lives, are frequently involved in shit

[titlemewickedwonderland]

Ghoul Game Night - Swiss

Summary: Y/n is Papa's newest ghoul! Summoned during a hectic time she never had the chance to really get to know her new pack mates. What happens when they drag her into a game night of truth and dare? Well, ghoul things!

Fandom: Ghost Band

Pairing: Swiss x Ghoul!reader

Warning: Crack, fluff, and cuteness, sexual tension, dirty talk.

Workshop

The bottle took forever to spin. Well, at least it felt like forever. Y/n swore that if she stared at it any harder her eyes would go cross-eyed. Resting in between the comforting presence of Rain and Mountain as they leaned up against the edge of the couch at their backs she was content to allow them to lull her into a sense of warmth and safety. She hoped she'd get someone good; maybe Rain? he seemed pretty tame in comparison to the others. Calming as he ran his fingers through her hair. Or Mountain even wouldn't be too bad - he was very docile and gave off an aura that was protective as he idly rubbed at her lower back to ease the tension. Like Aether, they had a good quality to them that put her at ease and she could already tell despite not fully knowing them they probably would be the pair she'd hang around often.

The bottle finally stopped spinning and she followed the nose towards a cheeky grinning Swiss who was all teeth and wiggling brows. Y/n puffed out her cheeks like a chipmunk and blew out a breath. Well, so much for her wishes being granted. Licking her lips she straightened up and squinted trying to not show just how nervous she actually was. Satan seemed to favor Swiss anyways; the ghoul had been trying to bed her for such a long time since she'd been summoned - she knew he was going to give her a freaking dare.

"Aw, looks like it's your lucky night, sweetcheeks." he grinned at her before playfully clicking his teeth at her. "Because I'm a gentleman I'll let you decide whether I read a truth or dare for you and to add icing to the cake, I'll do my half first." he offered

Y/n flushed slightly. "That's not very reassuring," she replied softly before biting her lip in thought.

She would imagine a truth would be just as bad as a dare if the girls had anything to say about it - which they did since they were the ones to write the slips of paper. But if she chose a dare and didn't like it...she could always take a shot, right? But would she be seen as weak if she had? Was that even part of the game or just an add-in to get them drunk or tipsy for later-night fun? Groaning she plonked her forehead against her up-drawn knees.

"Okay..." she breathed. "Hit me with a dare."

"Which leaves me with a truth huh? Alright, fair enough. Aether my man, hand those boxes over." Swiss reached for them both as they were slid across the carpet towards the multi-ghoul.

First, he dug into the truth box and unfolded it. "Hmm, alright. My truth is....What do you want me to do when we are having sex?"

Y/n gasped and she scrambled towards him to snatch the paper. "It does not say that!" she protested but as she flipped the paper over she read the words and winced feeling a heat hotter than Dew to creep up her neck. Her ears flattened and she looked up at Swiss who was eying her up and down.

Yep, that's it. She didn't like the Ghoulettes anymore. She swallowed and pointed to the alcohol. "Drink."

"Not your choice and not your truth, baby doll." Swiss smirked leaning loser. "What? Afraid of what I'll say?"

"You don't have to answer it..."

"Who says I don't want to?" Swiss suddenly reached for her and yanked her towards him before hoisting her up by her waist to straddle his thighs. Blocking her backward escape with his legs drawing up to pin her in place as much as a way for her to lean back on if she needed it.

Y/n yelped in surprise and gripped his strong shoulders. Her face heated up like a bonfire at their closeness. At this angle, she was higher than him so she found herself staring down into his dark eyes. His face was tilted upward towards her but even having the higher leverage Y/n felt no less intimidated.

Swiss seemed to understand the rise of panic that had to have been reflected in her eyes before his expression shifted and his flirty smirk softened into a genuine smile. He freed one hand from her waist to gently brush along her flushed cheek and bring her closer until they were pressed forehead to forehead. With his other arm, he tightened his grip drawing the Ghulah tighter to his chest.

The position seemed intimate - far too intimate for the eyes on them. She glanced to the side where she could see Aether and Dew watching intently as if holding their breaths for something extraordinary to happen and their stares did little to lessen the painful thuds in her chest. Swiss didn't need to be a quintessence like Aether to realize she was slipping.

His warm hand cupped her cheek to pull her attention back to him while his thumb brushed soothing strokes below her eye. All she could see were his eyes this close and it help ground her from the prying eyes of their packmates.

"Hey, sweetheart. Don't look at them. You're okay, it's just you and me, yeah?" his smile turned bright as Y/n hesitatingly nodded and squeezed her eyes shut.

"Just you and me..." his lips brushed against her cheek and making her sigh at the sweet contact; allowing her to ground herself in the moment. It was not as if the pair of them were getting naked to fuck in front of their pack mates. It was just...a dare. Right...the dare.

The rest of their pack watched intently as the multi-ghoul cupped the back of the female's head to draw it to his shoulder so that his lips could touch her ear. Aether and Dew had a perfect view of her face that flushed so hot Dew swore he could almost see steam coming from her ears.

Swiss was whispering something into her ear - too soft for anyone but for the two of them to hear in their own little bubble but whatever he was saying was seriously making them question Y/n's innocence with the different expressions that shifted on her face. Even still, she did not move away in mortification but instead wrapped her arms around his neck to hold onto him. She nodded to whatever Swiss said before drawing back.

He tipped his head back to smile at her while his hands ran up and down her sides seemingly content to just hold her for a moment longer. They didn't say anything to each other and instead, Y/n tipped her forehead to headbutt him gently earning her a warm purr of delight and a long leathery tail to wrap around her leg.

"Ahem...." Aether coughed into a fist. "Would you like to share with the rest of the class?"

"Seriously man! What'd you say? You were supposed to tell her what you want to do during sex! Spill the hell beans!" Dew's tail was thwacked impatiently on the ground.

Y/n shared a look with Swiss before the ghoul poured a shot and the female downed it with barely a wince of the harsh fireball going down her throat. She smiled and handed Swiss the glass before climbing out of his lap and going back to join Rain and Mountain.

As she got comfortable again Mountain leaned over to whisper to her with Rain leaning in too to listen to her answer as the three others bickered in front of them.

"So what did he say?"

Y/n smiled touching her lips thoughtfully before glancing at the pair with a cute little blush. "He said he wants to take me out on a picnic dinner later this week at nighttime to star gaze." she replied softly.

"Ah but that wasn't-" Rain began frowning and Y/n grinned sheepishly as she tugged on the blanket; pulling it to partially cover her fac as her voice lowered just for the pair of them.

"He also mentioned something about making love to me under the stars until all I knew was his name and the imprint of his cock. But not before he takes his time to make me see more stars behind my eyelids than those in the night sky and only then will he brand his touch into my skin so that his touch will forever be burned into my memory."

Mountain and Rain gaped at her in silence and then the tall ghoul snorted out a laugh. He bumped his shoulder against hers and shot her a wicked little smile. "Let me know if you need the Greenhouse. I'll make sure Primo stays out of the way." he winked

"Mountain!" Y/n yelped smacking him in the arm but there was a twinkling in her eyes as the trio burst into laughter together.

"Hey, don't get too cozy missy. Swiss did his truth...you, lovely. Still need to do your dare." Aether grinned over at her and the laughter stopped immediately.

"Oh shit" Y/n bit her lip but accepted the box that was handed to her.

Digging around a moment she picked a strip of paper and unfolded it. Instead of feeling embarrassed the female ghoul actually smiled as she read it once before rereading it out loud.

"Kiss me like Mary Jane kisses Spiderman." she looked over at Swiss who was smirking over at her with a crooked little grin.

"Kissing before our date, sweetheart? Man, you know how to charm a man." he winked before pointing at Mountain. "Come on big guy give me a boost!"

The earth ghoul rose to his feet and waited until the pair joined him. Only when Swiss gave him the okay did the tall ghoul holds his hands out expectingly. Swiss ducked in a swift movement to stand on his hands in a handstand. Mountain gripped his ankles and lifted him off the ground effortlessly. This brought Swiss face to chest with Y/n. Laughing a bit the ghulah bent over and grasped the multi-ghouls face and planted a sweet kiss to his lips. She playfully nipped at his top lip earning her a growl as Swiss playfully reached for her but she was already darting out of his reach and stuck her tongue out; a pretty flush on her cheeks.

"There! Now who's next?" she asked clasping her hands together.

Maybe playing this game wasn't such a bad idea after all. She did get a date out of it at least and Swiss seemed content enough as he was placed back to his feet. She rejoined her friends in their circle and shot Swiss a little smile before turning her attention back to what Dew was talking about as he grabbed the bottle to spin next. This wasn't at all was Y/n was expecting but she sure didn't mind it too much...not yet anyway.

Feel free to ask to be tagged for a specific ghoul or for the entire series! I would love some comments too! Don't forget to check out the workshop for future Ghost content!

[bardicbeetle]

WIP INTRO - Safe in the Dark

Oh hi, been a minute, I have finally gotten around to this:

(Image Credit - Ezra Chevalier - carrd - ko-fi)

Summary:

I will try to be concise, which is difficult with a project that has been ongoing for nearly half my life.

Alex Blackwood's first night in the supposedly safe, incredibly small state of Vermont starts with frigid wind and gunshots, and ends–somewhat confusingly–with bad coffee and a warm place to sleep.  Abruptly they find themself slowing down, staying in place when all they've done the last eight years is try to outrun nightmares and parents who aren't even looking for them.  The group that takes them in has its quirks, the nighttime schedule, the lack of any substantial food in the house, answering questions Alex has before words ever come out of their mouth.

When they discover their new housemates are a little closer to dead than alive–and that they're well on their way to becoming the same–their choices narrow to death in every direction.

Between an eternity of murder and a human lifetime of fear–was there really any other option but to stay?

Stats:

Genre: Urban Fantasy/Contemporary Horror (Vampires, it’s always vampires)

POV: 3rd person, Multiple POV character, usually contained to their own chapters with occasional deviation.

Word count/goal: 40k/95k

Draft: hopefully final draft, (Oh, you want a number? Eh, somewhere around 33? I’ve been writing this since 2011. I do not have the energy to count anymore.) It is the first installment of what I am now aware is probably at least a duology if not a trilogy

content warnings: vampire typical violence / mental health issues / mind control / hallucinations / body horror / familial + child abuse / murder / graphic depictions of violence / suicidal ideation / themes of depression, loss, and lack of control.

Character introduction posts to come <3

Feel free to browse the snippets that have already been posted using the Safe in the Dark/sitd tag.

/ Spotify Playlist / Tumblr tag /

With this post also comes the proper launch of my patreon! Which has been up but I did not want to promote it until I actually had an intro posted, and life has been really a lot this year. My patreon is non-hierarchical, meaning all the tiers grant the same rewards. I may eventually start running my fun mail through it again, but that is a project for a later time.

@cjjameswriting / @falling-rivers / @maabonwrites / @blve0 / @inexorableblob / @blueberrypoptart / @betwixtofficial / @drowsy-quill / @ezwriting / @ofinscriptions / @vaguelyhumanekid / @meatandboneasmr / @h-faith-marr-writeblr / @necros-writings / @poetinprose / @flyingbananasaur / @oldestenemy / @multi-lefaiye / @dotr-rose-love / @abalonetea / @albatris / @incandescent-creativity / @kaiusvnoir / @vampireposter

[ceeturnalia]

🍓& 🕯️

🍓 ⇢ how did you get into writing fanfiction? 

picture it, if you will. a farmhouse in the early 80s. a young girl is obsessed with The A-Team. she loves it when a plan comes together. wouldn't it be great, she thinks, to write a story about the A-Team outwitting the feds once again? and so she does. why she does it in crayon on her bedroom wall, however? we'll never know.

🕯️ ⇢ on a scale from 1 to 10, how much do you enjoy editing? why is that?

11. 15. 27. i love it so much. the writing is in the editing, man. writing is rewriting. i can't post WIP because i need a multi-draft process to be satisfied with a work of any substantive length. and i get off on it. this makes me so happy. it also makes me want to walk into traffic, but in a good way?

i don't do it often anymore but on LJ i used to write to strict word counts, usually with a prompt or two provided by my flist. by this i mean i'd have 10 people give me 2 words apiece and then construct the finished work as ten 200-word segments which also had to contain the prompt words. writing like that is almost entirely editing. it's an intellectual and creative challenge. like that really is what editing is about, or at least editing yourself is.

sidenote: if you can develop the skill of writing to tight word counts while expressing ideas in both clear and interesting ways, i guarantee you there's a nonprofit who needs a grant writer and they will be thrilled to turn your yaoi-honed abilities toward not going broke.

sidenote sidenote: one. hundred. fucking. words.

[obsidiangx]

I will keep complaining about Getter Robo High's translation status until someone does the whole thing or I die, whichever happens first. It's not terribly long as manga goes, and has high quality raws easily accessible online. It may seem confusing as to why I care so much about a manga I can't read, considering dubiously canon Getter spinoffs can be extremely hit or miss. Let's go over the bullet points:

"High" is a strange romanization of "Hai," a mahjong reference. Not only is this a strangely mahjong-oriented mecha manga, but the three main characters are adults. It is not in high school, as the name would imply.

This is the only Getter manga I know of that stars three women (rather than men) as the Getter Machine pilots. They are a feral gambling addict, a sadako-styled horror ghost, and a buff robot woman.

The robos are genuinely unhinged but rad feminized variations on the original designs. As a mecha fan I say this with my whole heart, these really feel like someone wanted to fuck the robot, and I love them for it. Speaking of which,

Drill Jill.

Back when I was a teenager, I read quite a lot of hentai scanlated on the internet platonically. My first tumblr was actually an immature, edgy and frankly nasty little hentai blog that I'm happy to have nothing to do with anymore. But that means that when a particular name pops up on the art for an official Getter Robo manga, I have a fun little story to tell you.

Drill Jill is a hentai author, first and foremost. I won't speak to his character, because I don't speak japanese, but know that he specializes in noncon (or "mind break" as the online hentai community would call it) manga. Specifically, he often replaces violence with sex scenes, expressing a battle or argument physically, with a clear victor and plot resolution at the end.

The thing that makes his name really memorable to me, however, is his paneling. Granted, some pages are difficult to follow, with the busyness of the art and complete irreverence for panel borders, but their flow usually remains intact. At times, it can really feel like every single page has something to appreciate and analyze. I haven't found another artist who does it quite like this, in any genre of comics.

I can't say for sure, but I'm guessing that Drill Jill was hired to do the art for Getter Robo Hai because of his multi-chapter genderbent Getter Robo doujin, in which girl versions of the three original Getter Machine pilots get into some situations i'm sure you can predict if you've been reading up to this point. But a love for more than just weird fucking bleeds in through the edges of each chapter.

Hopefully it's immediately obvious here: Getter 3 reaching for the third panel. The beam blasting through the entire second page. The sword cutting through two panels, foreshadowing itself. These are CONSECUTIVE pages. The ero scenes are over in this chapter, but so much was still poured into these moments.

It's a hard sell to recommend people hentai, much less this kind of potentially upsetting hentai, just to gush at its paneling and page composition. So I'd like to have something a little more safe for work to suggest, and a cool robot story as well.

Keep in mind as well that Getter Robo Hai is drawn by Drill Jill, but it is not written by him. Rather, the story is by Bingo Morihashi, the scenario writer for Devil May Cry 3, 4, and 5. I'm not enough of a fan of that series to really gush over it in this post, but that may be an interesting lil detail for u (;. It's the writer and artist together who make this comic what it is, and folks who don't speak Japanese don't have access to that right now.

If you still don't care, maybe you never will. That's fine, we all have our own passions. If you do care, YELL WITH ME, SPREAD THE WORD, RAISE FUNDS FOR TRANSLATOR COMMISSIONS, FORCE EVERYONE TO LOOK AT GETTER 1'S FAT ASS AND BANKO BENIMARU'S SHARK TEETH.

Thanks for reading! After all my talk about paneling and writing, I still would just really like to read a cool robot story about evil women. I think everyone deserves that. So I'll leave you on the last two translated pages of Getter Robo High as of this post. This is what we're missing.

[jessepinwheel]

🕯️🍉🌈

hi sorry for taking so long to respond to these asks I hate using the new tumblr interface

🕯️was there a fic that was really hard on you to write, or took you to a place you didn't think it would take you?

I think of all my fics, probably the one that went most off the rails from my original intention was probably dielectric breakdown. I think I've said this before, but initially it was meant to be more of a story about how obi-wan left and everyone realizes they'd taken him for granted, and to that end it was meant to be more of a multi-POV affair centering on obi-wan who was no longer there

but then I wrote the first few sections from cody's pov and I was like, fuck it, I'm just gonna do cody all the way through now. this is cody's story now. so that's kind of how it pivoted towards cody character study and all the other things going on with the clones, because dammit the clones deserve to have their own culture and endings that aren't just stapled to mandalorians

🍉in what ways has writing helped you process trauma and/or navigate through your own life?

idk man I just write fun stories on the internet where fucked up things happen to people because that's what I like doing. I guess it's kind of organizational because I spend a good amount of time articulating things that I think about in my stories but that's really about it

🌈is there a fic that you worked *really fucking hard on* that no one would ever know? maybe a scene/theme you struggled with?

I mean to be clear I work really hard on all my stories. my plots are really tightly written and organized and that's not accidental, that's a lot of work behind the black (and a lot of pages in my notebook). but also...when I'm done writing a story I'm not really thinking about that so much anymore. I honestly don't feel like any of my stories are especially more difficult to write than any of the others, some of them are just more work. if you break it down into small enough steps it's all about the same difficulty.

of the stories I've published, I guess asynchronous circuit and runner are probably the ones I've had to do the most work on, just because of the intricacy of the plot and the different moving parts. but also, like. I wrote most of asynchronous circuit in about two months and the writing felt fairly straightforward.

I don't know. I don't really find writing stories difficult. it just sometimes takes more time and work.

send me fic writer asks

[mashmaiden]

About Last Week...

So I debated for a while whether or not I was going to actually make this post, but I feel like my disappointment and annoyance needed to be a little explained.

Yes, I realize it was supposed to be a Callen-heavy episode, and knowing that the topic needed to be resolved I was not against that.

The thing that upset me more about the episode is the way it was executed, mostly writing-wise. And to be honest, I don't even know anymore how much that is the fault of our writers, and how much their hands are actually tied with scheduling and the episode appearance limitations.

A lot of my thoughts are similar to the ones I had post-Down the Rabbit Hole. The first thing I learned in my TV writing class, is your main cast should always be at the forefront, don't use guest stars to do the job of your mains. (I am STILL angry at DTRH for how anti-climactic that entire multi-season arc ended cuz Joelle just shot Katya with zero tension when no one was around)

It feels like it was written a bit generically like they weren't sure which actors would be there for the episode. Like, change the sniping analysis to the aftermath of a bomb, and most all of Kensi's role in the ep could have been Sam. When they have done this, I feel we lose the voice that has made each character special to us over the years. (Granted, this has been an issue all season, not just this last episode)

Back to The Reckoning. I loved the scenes in the mission with Fatima and Kilbride and our awesome office team (I loved them, but why are our main peeps not saving the day?!), but even when our baddie was holding guns on them, there was a lack of tension in the situation. Too much talking/explaining versus actually making me worry something might go awry! I guess I just miss the higher-stakes episodes of seasons past?! 🤷‍♀️

And on the topic of too-much-explaining, which again, has been a bit of an issue all season, onto the last scene. I was not a fan of Pembrook explaining Hetty's actions as he's just this third party who we really have no reason to trust. Obviously, a better way to end this plotline would have been an actual conversation with Hetty, so since Linda has not been able/available, I understand they had to figure out another way to do it. But I feel like in this case, even a letter from Hetty would have been a better choice for explaining her own reasonings. Or, they could have had Callen open that "only open when I'm dead" packet from Season 3... I'm sure there's plenty of newer stuff added to it by now.

Basically, I'm just frustrated at the effect the reduced episode counts for actors has had on the show as a whole. I think I'd have rather had only 18 episodes with everyone vs what we've got. It also worries me GREATLY for network television going forward, because it seems like at least CBS seems to be pushing this model on a lot of other shows as well. And that's after we hopefully push through this writer's strike (and whatever happens with the next two negotiation sessions too (actors/directors also have contracts up this summer).

Sorry this got long, feel free to ignore it.

[causalitylinked]

Not really drama-related, per say, but for context, this post was inspired by this recent confession and my overall two cents on the whole female muse debacle that the RPC seems super divided on.

To be honest, you will never see me making a rule that essentially boils down to, ‘If you can’t respect my female muses, you don’t deserve to write with my male muses’, because at the end of the day... if I pick up a muse, it’s either due to them actually being my favourite or I like them more than a normal amount, meaning I’ll always be thrilled whenever people express an interest in interacting with them, regardless of where they may fall on the gender spectrum.

Like, maybe I’m just coming from the privileged place of my muses already being from very niche games and how every muse I pick up is one I tend to autistically hyperfixate over, but I genuinely do not find it sus if someone ‘uses me’ for my male muses or follows me specifically for only one muse on my multi, because I just want to write.

And as someone who once forced herself to write/ship with female muses she secretly considered bland/uninteresting simply to fit in, I do not believe in forcing interactions anymore. Honestly, I’d rather people choose muses they’re actually interested in/can see interactions with rather than a random muse they don’t care for, but feel as if they have to interact with anyways because they’re female.

Granted, it can be argued that the overwhelming majority of my interactions happen to be with female muses anyways, but that’s only because I’m a big fan of the female ones I do follow, whether they be canon or original. Plus, as someone whose own female OC tends to get neglected because she isn’t easily shippable, I want to be known as someone who practices what she preaches by writing all kinds of relationship dynamics with other female muses even if mine isn’t interacted with in turn.

Seriously, I can gripe and whine about the RPC’s unfair treatment of female muses all I want, but it won’t improve the situation regarding them, so I just strive to interact with as many female muses as I possibly can, provided, of course, I genuinely like them. Oftentimes, though, this is done more so with my male muses rather than my female muses, but either way, my point still stands that I don’t really care which characters my mutuals would prioritize as long as they’re genuinely interested in them.

[kryptonitecore]

Re-Read: The Transformers: Monstrosity

So, if I thought digesting my thoughts about Autocracy was going to be tricky, then what about Monstrosity? It’s mostly the same creative team, but with an even larger scale story. I actually liked the multi-stranded narrative, even if the time-frame started to swim after a while, as the comic jumped from character to character and event to event. Megatron’s evil training montage on Junkion was my least favourite, but there we go.

Regardless, I was really happy to come across something addressing the exodus from Cybertron, as it’s the sort of thing that gets referenced a lot more than it’s portrayed. Merging storylines by having the Dynobots be among those who wanted to leave but didn’t have the resources was an interesting move, but I had some doubts about the execution. They supposedly have to leave Cybertron because their monstrous new alt-modes/rages could prove a deadly combination in a crowded place, but the reactions others have to their alt-modes came across as over the top: an Autobot character will be chatting to Sky Lynx one minute, then act as if Grimlock’s alt-mode is the worst thing they’ve ever seen. Granted, they look intimidating and a bit uncanny, but Ramondelli’s art style makes everything look at least vaguely sinister. The art also struggles a bit with facial expressions and it really shows up during argument scenes. The Dynobots bear the brunt of some of the clunkiest bits of writing, but no one is entirely safe from the art, though, not even Alpha Trion: 

Also, everyone is cast in perpetual dramatic shadows, so it seems that even the Convocation aren’t paying their lighting bills anymore.

Another thing that stood out to me was the prevalence of Quintessons. There’s been references already, like in Spotlight: Wheelie, and now Pentius is (briefly) occupying a mentor role for Megatron - seems a shame something more didn’t come of this, or at least I don’t remember the Quintessons going on to be a big deal in IDW1?

With Zeta gone, someone had to take over the role of irascible villain, and that honour has fallen to Scorponok. I’m not entirely sure what he was trying to achieve by blowing up the energon plant with himself and a large chunk of his own faction inside of it - it was certainly jarring, not helped by the assertion that the blast was powerful enough to kill thousands of people further away, yet every named Decepticon and Autobot survived. I found the contrast between Megatron’s order-and-dominance approach and Scorponok’s chaotic, pseudo-‘survival of the fittest’ approach interesting, but it seemed at points as if the author was trying a little too hard to make Scorponok seem a worse option than Megatron.

The real star of this book, however, is Optimus, now unceremoniously dumped from the role of enforcer into that of Prime and gifted the job of holding together the ‘Grand Convocation’, the replacement for Zeta’s ‘New’ Senate. Particularly, this book revolves around the conflict between Dai Atlas and Optimus. I was concerned at first that Atlas was just going to end up being a straw man for Optimus to knock down, but I think the author actually succeeded in challenging Optimus without undermining either his or Atlas’ characters too much. Both of their plans came across as having blindspots and limitations, whether Optimus’ inflexibility (‘I’m all out of concessions’) or Dai Atlas’ willingness to leave Cybertron behind and, with it, anyone not willing or able to leave the planet on short notice (Bulkhead raising the class implications of this was interesting…). Not only do I think this benefits Optimus’ character, I enjoyed the ideas this brought up about NAILS at later points in the continuity: are NAILS more likely to be religious or spiritual? Are they more likely to be from wealthier backgrounds? From Iacon, or at least close to it, is there a regional divide or a metropolitan/provincial divide? Starscream’s sympathy for their motivations also becomes interesting in light of him benefitting from the NAIL/neutral vote in the post-war elections. 

The art is divisive and there are some pretty obvious issues with the plot and continuity, but I am still enjoying these books and the way they fill in gaps from my reading of later works in this continuity! Time to finish the trilogy with Primacy. 

[akaashisupremacy]

Yours Truly

Summary: Having broken off your engagement for an arranged marriage with Gojo, your relationship is in shreds. As you and Gojo try to pick up the pieces, he wonders if you can still give him a second chance. Will you? 

Notes: Broke my heart in half to write this fic for Gojo ✌️😩

Gojo Satoru  x reader

Multi-fandom Masterlist || HQ Masterlist || Ao3 version

Genre: ANGST AND PINING, exes to friends to ??, commitment issues lol, some fluff if you wink (wc: 1.1k) 

“What are you doing here?” you exclaim in the dark, stumbling back at the shadow that looms in front of you.

You’ve bumped into Gojo Satoru in the kitchen commons. He’s fresh out of the shower, hair still dripping. His presence is definitely visible because it’s past midnight and all you can hear up to this point are the crickets.

“What are you doing here?” he looks accusingly at you with his eyes wide, “I live and work here!”

He has one hand on his hip and another on a mug of coffee. His reply irks you. He supposedly asked you out on a date tonight and he cancelled last minute for what you thought was a job that was just taking longer than expected again. Was he home all this time?

You were wary of Gojo when he asked you out recently. Not only was he your ex-fiancee, he also has a playboy reputation.

“I’m here to make myself dinner after a long day of working on the school barriers.” you sniff, “And I’m also here to ask why you couldn't  meet up with me. Again.”

You glare. He shifts uncomfortably on the doorway.

“Can you make up your mind about me? I know you want to fix things, but if you’re going to keep cancelling, might as well stop. We don’t have to date or hang out.” you scowl.

He pulls out a chair for you to sit down. “Let me make things up to you. I’ll make dinner for the both of us. I haven’t eaten either. Just got home.”

“Oh,” you remark. Ok, maybe he hasn’t been home all this time.

You quietly sit as he prepares a quick dinner for the both of you. He’s never cooked for you before. It was always you who did the cooking, granted you were arranged to be married when you were kids and you stopped talking as teenagers. It’s complicated.

You watch him put pots on the stove and chop vegetables up on your old school kitchen counter. It’s too quiet, too late, too dark in here. 

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.” you murmur.

He shakes his head.

“Your instincts aren’t wrong. Part of me wishes that us trying to date would end badly to prove that I was right all along, that there was no way this could work. But part of me wants to be wrong for once. I think you would like to grow old with me and all that stuff.” he admits, throwing vegetables into a pan without looking at you.

“This isn’t going to work if you’re just doing this for me.” you reply.

The sizzling of the vegetables almost covers up his next words, “It’s just difficult for me to admit that I have feelings for you, ok?”

“You’re endlessly kind to me and I’m the type to take advantage of kindness. I don’t want to drain you.”

You scoff, “I’m not 15 anymore. I have more boundaries. Give me some credit. You overestimate my compassion.”

As he continues to cook, his bandages start coming loose. His usual black cover for his eyes is gone. It must be laundry day. You stand to tie them for him. Your fingers are nimble, deftly untying the sloppy knots he put up in a rush and retying them firmly.

“You still remember.” he notes with surprise.

“You taught me. How could I forget?” you remark softly, returning to your seat and crossing your arms.

While he plates the food, he asks another question. The kitchen is barely lit. A single light bulb above the table is all the light there is. His shadow follows him as he moves.

“How could you still treat me like this?” he finally sits across you, words peeling with intense sentiment.

“Like what?” you ask curiously.

“Like I’m worth a second chance.”

You smile drily, trying to hide the pain beneath your eyes. You too wonder if he's worth another shot. Although your head knows that maybe he isn't, your heart says otherwise.

“I’ve accepted my lot in life, that I’m not going to deserve everything I get. Sometimes it’s just arbitrary.“ you sigh, “It sucks sometimes. I did get the short end of the stick, but I don’t want to shut you out of my life because of that.”

Gojo pauses with his chopsticks midway between his mouth and his food. He puts them down.

“You’re too much of a saint for me.”

“And you’re a sucker for that apparently.” you half-snort, half-roll your eyes. He can’t help chuckling.

His pauses then his face is serious all of a sudden.

“You know how Ieiri-san always jokes that I’m always a little in love with you? Well it’s true. I’m still a little in love with you and I grow more in love with you every time I see you. I don’t really know why.” His voice is a mix of bitterness, heartbreak and confusion.

You put your utensils down and reach out from under the table to grasp his fingers.

“I haven’t changed.” he hesitates to take your hand, his face ridden with guilt. He pulls away, “Don’t do this.”

You gently shake your head and indignantly keep your hands out.

“This isn’t about that. This is about being here for you, even if I'm not your fiancée. I’m here as just me.”

“How can you be so kind after I’ve hurt you all these years?” he asks, completely stupefied. 

“I came to the conclusion that you didn’t intend to hurt me.” you shrug,  “When you chose to be with other people, it wasn’t because you didn’t like me or wanted to spite me. It was because of things outside of our relationship: the familial pressure, the control and so on.”

“If it was just the two of us, you wouldn’t spite me. You have no reason to.” you add softly. He finally reaches out to hold you. His hands are not too warm or calloused. His fingers are slender and his grip firm.

Gojo is moved beyond words. He’s used to receiving attention and affection, but always in exchange for something: his time, his body, his power. You’ve never asked any of that. You give yourself unconditionally with all the tenderness you could spare, asking nothing in return.

What is this feeling? Hope? Redemption? Vindication? Whatever it is, it pushed him to look at you, quelling the sob rising in his chest.

How far you’ve both come. How far you have left to go.

After the meal, he insists on cleaning up. He turns to you when he’s done. You’ve passed out with your hand on the table. It’s been a long day.

Gojo shuffles through the nearby rooms for some clean blankets. He drapes one over your shoulders and readies to turn off the light in the kitchen. Right before he leaves, he catches a glance at you. He goes back to get another blanket and pulls out the chair in front of you and closes his eyes. He has a lot of time to make up for.

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

I wrote this as a follow up for another Gojo x reader fic who used to be engaged. This is 3 out 4 so let me know if you’d like to be tagged in the rest of the releases! 😊

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 || Part 8

Comment or message to be added to the taglist! :D

Series Taglist: @shamelessdonutsludgebanana @kageyamakock @shirostrbl @luvang3l @cloudsinthecosmos @httpjungoo @saturnki  @itstheee-ha-chan @gucci-froggy @cherryonigiri

[luke-o-lophus]

5, 16 and 18 for the fanfic writers ask

5. How many wips do you have? What fandoms/pairings are they for?

Hoo boi, that's a tough one. I have quite a few, some of them partially written, some of them just taking shape in my head, But this is a great opportunity to talk abt them and see which ones ya'll would be interested to read!

A. an old FATWS multi-chapter. Bucky/Reader annoyed colleagues to lovers, Sam/Reader friendship with pre-Endgame Steve/Reader. Unsure if I wanna make it a fix-it for EG!Steve or play with canon. Heavy on angst and h/c. It's unlikely I''ll go back to this, although there are some scenes that REALLY pull at my heart. Maybe I'll write those bits as drabbles?

B. Part 2 of Till the Candles Out. Marc Spector/Reader. Reader heals from injuries while they both heal from their shared past that's filled with misunderstandings. Fluffy with wound tending tropes, maybe light smut

C. Part 2 of When We Feel Young. I'm struggling with this one, but i really want Desi! Scholar!Reader x Scholar!Steven Grant meeting at a Conference and sweet domestic friends to lovers!!

D. A very angsty with fluffy ending Moon Boys/Reader where Elias Spector visits them at Steven's flat

E. A Steve Rogers/f!Reader post Infinity War fic where Reader sustains injuries in IW fight that leads to her temporarily losing the ability to walk, and the couple navigating the recovery. A prequel to the fic in A. or a standalone long oneshot

That's all that come to mind! There are a couple in the Asks that I don't really have an idea for at the moment.

16. Do you write by hand, on your phone, or on your laptop?

I prefer writing on laptops. HCs and small drabbles I might do on phone, but I prefer Lappy. I don't hand-write anymore, but I used to.

18. Do you enjoy research? Which fic of yours required the most research?

I actually try not to get too deep into research, because I know I'll lose my way in deep dives, overthink facts, and end up not writing. I do try to look up enough so that I am not disrespectful. Most of my stories focus more on the internal and on intimate actions, so I try not to think too much on say, whether the first aid I am describing is accurate or not. If facts become crucial to the plot, or such a strong presence that wrong facts will distract, I try to stick to fields that I already know a fair bit about, like in Ornithological and Other Oddities, or how I plan in When We Feel Young

Thank you so much for the ask!!!

[scaredyships]

Renegades (Din Djarin x gn!Reader) | pt. I

y’know what, it probably makes more sense to crosspost the entire chapters rather than just post links. :v So here we go! 

summary: You're used to your job as an infochant sponsored by the Bounty Hunters' Guild bringing you the occasional violent incident. But when a certain Mandalorian you've helped out before comes to you for help and accidentally brings his very dangerous problems along with him, it's all you can do to let yourself get dragged into it.

word count: 4.3k 

author’s notes: If other people are allowed to write reader-inserts where the reader character has specific qualities about them then I’m allowed to as well. :v This is going to be a big multi-part reader-insert fic following the show, starting almost immediately after Mando escapes with the Child from the Guild. With how much I’m churning out per part, it’s going to be a long fic. Slow burn, mutual pining, the works - however, no smut. No allusions to it either. I’m ace and this is my own personal indulgent work where Mando is also asexual to some degree, as is Reader. 

Reader is very mildly Force-sensitive, but doesn’t know it. The sensitivity manifests in them being able to sense the presence of people, impending danger, and being a little luckier than usual when it comes to anticipating oncoming attacks. They can also vaguely pick up on others that are Force-sensitive, but it comes off as a weird sense of familiarity. Grogu can tell what's going on, but there's no way for that to be communicated.

Part 1 (you are here) // ao3 link

---

It wasn’t every day that you’d get a Guild member coming through your doors. Granted, you’d get all sorts of customers as an informant, but Guild members tended to be the proud sort that would rather start their hunts from scratch and not bother trying to get help from anyone. Even if that help was in the form of extensive galactic maps and planetary inhabitants that held more detail than most databases - courtesy some archives from a long-established library somewhere on Coruscant - and would come in handy once they determined what direction they were going.

It was even less often that a Guild member would try to sneak in and take you by surprise, trying to keep the knowledge that they’d even been there hidden from anyone that may be watching. Or to try and intimidate information out of you for the fee of letting you live, if they were new to the bounty-hunting field and were preoccupied with maintaining the reputation of a mercenary. Those types annoyed you to no end.

Today seemed to be one of those days.

Without fail, you always got a strange niggling in the back of your mind when someone was around that shouldn’t be. You never could explain why it was that you could do that, but it came in handy and in turn took the visitors by surprise that you knew they were there. You liked to think that’s part of why you were able to maintain your reputation within the Guild as a preferred informant.

The strange sensation was there. But it was… different somehow. You stood from your desk and brought a hand to hover near your temple, focusing on it. No, this was stronger. Not just in the way that you felt when there was more than one person, either. It was stronger, and despite being so foreign, it had an almost familiar sense to it. You furrowed your brow, eyes darting aimlessly as you tried to process it.

You stepped out from behind your desk, the work you’d been doing double-checking and updating your own archives forgotten as you cautiously reached for a hold-out blaster you kept within hand’s reach. You could never be too careful with potential clientele.

There really weren’t many places in your “office building” to go from where you were. A hallway with a small set of stairs that led to your living space, and the front door. There was a back door to the living area and a few windows that would every so often have to have their grating replaced on, and if someone was feeling especially sneaky there was an air vent that dropped into the center of the hallway.

You turned your eyes towards the ceiling, where just above was the modest kitchen area. Whoever was setting off your stranger senses, was there, even though they weren’t making noise. You sighed quietly to yourself and padded your way towards the stairs and the doorframe that led to the area, blaster ready in your hand.

Rounding the corner slowly, face blank, you glanced up and watched for any shadows or other movement on the walls ahead of you. Still no sound - though you swear there was an almost sub-audial humming that wasn’t there before, the kind you’d expect from idle machinery. You hadn’t left anything on, you knew that much.

You rolled your eyes at the thought of some meathead bringing some convoluted contraption to interrogate you with. Wouldn’t be the first time.

Might as well get this over with.

“Hey, I know someone’s up there. Your sneaking isn’t going to work on me. State your business.”

You stepped up the stairs, blaster slightly raised, not trying to be silent anymore.

You barely made it to the top step when a pair of hands grabbed you, one slamming over your mouth and the other wrenching your arm just enough to make you drop your weapon, and you were bodily lifted and pinned against the wall just to the side of where you’d been entering the room. You pushed back instinctively, trying to wrench your arm free and thinking about how effective it would be to try and bite the glove-clad hand over your mouth—

“Y/N.”

The modulated hiss of your name burst through the fight-or-flight haze that had taken over, and with a jolt you registered the Beskar helmet in front of you. All your movements stopped as you stared, dumbfounded. There was no forgetting that “face”, no matter how long it had been since you last saw it.

To be truthful, even though you’d only met him a few times before, this Mandalorian was by far the most bearable of the Guild that came to you for information. To-the-point with what he needed, no awkward attempts at small-talk, and despite how blunt he was, surprisingly polite. It made those few encounters memorable and had you wishing for more in the future over other clients. Of course fate would have it be like this.

In all honesty, the physical closeness of the whole thing was throwing you for a loop and your mind was choosing now of all times to remind you of how touch-deprived you were, and bringing back to the surface those old vaguely fond feelings for this man that occasionally crossed your path. But you were still lucid enough not to let that be at the forefront of your mind.

You quirked your eyebrow at him as he carefully released your arm, motioning for you to stay quiet. You were just barely able to nod your head enough to indicate you understood. He slowly removed his hand from your face, moving as if he went too fast you’d spook like a trapped animal and lash out.

Something was very off if Mando of all people was sneaking around your place and trying to keep you quiet. He was the last person to care about what the rest of the Guild thought about what they saw him doing, he just cared about getting jobs done and doing so as efficiently as possible. You’d heard enough about his reputation to know that much.

This predicament all but confirmed the talk you’d heard around town that Mando had gone and broken some big rules, something about going back on a bounty after turning it in, and now had a price of his own on his head.

You swept your hands out to the sides in your most “what the hell” motion you could muster. You didn’t miss the very slight sag in Mando’s posture, like he had quietly sighed.

And that’s when you noticed it.

You stared at the egg-shaped pod floating in the middle of the room. The source of the humming you’d heard earlier, no doubt. What was he carting around that was so valuable he had to take it with him instead of leaving it on his ship?

The quiet noise that came from it made you start. It almost sounded like… something alive was inside.

You gave Mando a sidelong stare. The Beskar warrior tilted his head in your direction, just enough to indicate he was looking back at you.

“Mando… what did you do.”

You watched with baited breath as he approached the pod, standing close by its side as he keyed in something on his wrist panel to open it. You knew he was honorable, but some morbid part of your mind expected something viscerally upsetting to greet you.

What was actually inside, took you more by surprise than anything you could have imagined.

Sitting up amongst a pile of blankets and peering at you with curious dark eyes and perked oversized ears, was a baby unlike any you’d ever seen. You were pretty well-versed on the galaxy’s species, but this one escaped you entirely. And somehow, you still felt some kind of familiarity towards it. This was what was causing that other strange sensation earlier.

You blinked owlishly at it. It blinked back.

“...he’s just a kid.”

It was a low murmur, one you barely caught, but it struck you with the force of a thunderclap. The last two minutes alone had completely upturned any previous conceptions you may have had about the bounty hunter and what kind of person he was.

You did not understand why he was trusting you with this. At all. Yet here you were, and there he was.

You didn’t realize you’d been slowly moving towards the pod until you were arm’s length from the child and it chirped at you, reaching up with a curious hand in your direction, his eyes bright and watching you expectantly. Your hand drifted upwards and you cautiously let the little one grasp your finger, transfixed.

A familiar voice brought you back to reality.

“I need options for lying low, somewhere off the grid. You’re currently my best option for getting them.”

You turned your head to look at the Mandalorian. It was a simple enough request, but the circumstances being what they were, he was clearly pressed for time and needed to be as discreet as possible with his actions.

Glancing back at the child and carefully removing your hand from its grasp, you didn’t miss the way he seemed somewhat disappointed to no longer be the center of your attention. Sparing a glance at Mando, you motioned for him to follow you back to the office room, stopping momentarily to retrieve your blaster from the ground. He’d been there enough to know that there were no windows to be spied upon through in the lower area. With a quick tap to his wrist panel, he trudged carefully after you, the child’s pod drifting along close behind.

“How extensive are you hoping for?”

“As much as you can manage, as quickly as you can manage.”

You casually toggled on the earpiece you were never without - com link, translation device, and a handy little neural connection that let you activate and sift through your databanks hands-free. It was expensive, but very worth the investment. As soon as you entered the room, numerous holoscreens came to life around you and began pulling up planets based on various criteria - remoteness, levels of inhabitants, general hostility levels, neutrality with the New Republic, to name a few. Your eyes flitted between screens, highlighting the more promising results and using a slight swiping motion of your hand to dismiss the less promising ones.

“I’ve got a handful you can look at, if they’re good I can download more of the information about the actual planetary ongoings for you onto a data stick.”

You glance towards the bounty hunter when you see him nod his head, but notice he’s not paying as much attention to the actual selections as you anticipated. He seemed... on edge. More so than he did when you found yourself trying to fight him after he snuck into your home. The child, meanwhile, paid no attention at all to the armored man and was mesmerized by the kaleidoscope of screens and their data streams, ears swiveling and gaze darting about, the colorful reflections dancing across the black of his eyes.

You weren’t one to fawn over kids, but you had to admit, this one could be pretty cute.

On your way to pull a blank data stick from the storage space in your desk, you froze. All the hairs on your body stood on end and something at the base of the skull felt like it was writhing, yelling at you to get out, get far away, now.

“What’s wrong.”

You rounded on the Mandalorian faster than you’d done anything in your life, data stick falling from your grip and clattering to the ground so you could instead pull out your blaster for the second time that day. This actually seemed to startle him as he backed up a step. The screens around you shut down, plunging the room into darkness now that the only light source were the small lights on some of the machinery and the dim lamp on the desk. The child whimpered, shrinking down into the safety of his pod.

“We need to leave. Right now. No time. Someone’s coming and it’s not gonna be good.”

That was all he needed to hear. With a quick look at the child, he closed the pod and unholstered his own blaster, stance wary but leaving nothing to the imagination about how often he must’ve found himself in similar situations before this and come out the victor. If you weren’t so on edge and consumed with the need to get out, you might have been able to admire the sight before you of the broad-shouldered, Beskar-clad warrior.

Another time.

Noises of someone trying to force entry echoed from the upstairs area before you even made it a step past the doorway to the office. The front door was closer, and while it seemed counterintuitive to go there versus the back door, something told you you’d have more luck that way.

You snatched your outerwear and pouched belts from their hanging hook in the hall, knowing you’d have to be lying low yourself for at least a few days before you could consider coming back home. You were an infochant, you knew of all the possible places in the immediate area that would be good for that.

There was hardly any time to react when the front door was forced open, and an unruly-looking individual aimed a blaster down the hall and began firing. How you managed to twist to the side and avoid getting hit, you’ll never know. You’ll also never know how you managed to shoot off your stun blaster at the same time Mando fired his, so the man was not just stunned into unconsciousness but hit squarely in the stomach by the blaster fire. He fell to the ground with no sound other than the thunk of his weight against the floor. You blinked in slight shock at it, turning briefly to look at the equally-taken-by-surprise bounty hunter.

Hey, you’ll take it.

He nodded briskly and brushed past you to go out the door first, and he was barely through the frame before he was effortlessly dodging and striking out at two more assailants. You almost felt sorry for them as he knocked them to the ground, the Beskar armor rendering their attempts to strike back useless, and used some well-placed blaster shots to ensure they wouldn’t get back up.

Again, there was no time for you to properly be in awe. The intruders in the upper area were making their way towards where you were, and you had to keep moving. As soon as he signaled it was safe you dashed outside, slinging your belt over your shoulder and making sure the pod with the child inside was unmarked. You didn’t doubt Mando’s ability, but you felt like now that you were in this mess, if anything did happen, it would be on you.

And you just saw what he was capable of doing to anyone on his bad side.

None of you stopped until you were several buildings away, but within view of your place. You watched from your hiding place as at least three people moved from the two different entrances, some kicking at the corpses of their accomplices and motioning to the ones going back inside, their words too distant to be made out. You could see some items haphazardly being tossed through the door, mostly your equipment. Your personal databanks were heavily encrypted and couldn’t be accessed without your genetic signature, so they’d find they were useless sooner or later. At least you had backups in storage, so it wasn’t a total loss.

They had possibly realized this, as they left the equipment, and after what looked like a brief regrouping, the vandals parted to scour the streets for any sign of where you had went,

“I think I may have to follow you on your way out of the city. I can hole up somewhere  until things calm down-“

The explosion brought your thoughts to a grinding halt.

Fire, horrifically beautiful, burst through what was once your front door and upper windows as if they were made of foam and not the reinforced durasteel that all buildings in the area were required to have. Everything was simultaneously in slow motion but happening far too fast for you to truly register anything. It didn’t even feel like you were in your body anymore, it felt like you were looking through a pair of scopes from another planet. You could only stare dumbly at the smoke laced with embers as it billowed into the sky above.

“Hey, we need to move.”

A brief clap on your shoulder shocked you free of the spell. You glanced at the gloved hand, and up at its owner. There was no time to try and decipher any further meaning in Mando’s stance, if there was any sympathy expressed towards you in the hand that rested shortly on your shoulder. He motioned quickly with his head to follow him, and briskly moved to retreat from the area. With a small sigh, you hurried after him.

The three of you only stopped once you’d gone past the outskirts of the city, taking cover in an outcropping of rocks.

You didn’t need to tap into any chatter frequencies to know your name was now amongst those that you’d help bounty hunters track down.

Well… used to. That avenue was as burnt up as your home was now.

You scrubbed a hand over your face, eyes closed, now that you had a second to stop.

“If you need a ride, I can help.”

Your eyes fluttered open and you looked over your fingers at the man that just turned your life upside down. You could tell he was trying to be nonchalant about it, stance casual and visor pointed steadily in your direction, but you could feel a sense of guilt through the way he couldn’t stop shifting on his feet every so often and the way he couldn’t figure out where to settle his fingers on his belt. Must’ve been unusual for him to find himself in this kind of predicament.

“...sure. I don’t really have any other options right now.”

It was quiet on the Razor Crest. The Mandalorian sat at the helm, charting a route through hyperspace. The Child had been let out of his pod and was freely wandering the cramped cockpit, but you couldn’t be bothered to even idly watch what he may have been doing. All you could do was stare blankly at the space ahead of you.

It was gone. All of it.

Your archives you had meticulously compiled over the years. Your collection of plants from various systems that made living on the dusty rock you called home more bearable. Personal things you had held onto since your childhood, things that had been passed on to you from generations past. All that was left was what you’d managed to grab on your way out the door, thinking you’d have a chance to come back and resume life there in maybe a day or two.

And you were a fugitive now, too, for aiding Mando and fleeing rather than let yourself be captured and punished. You weren’t even able to get any of the information Mando had come to you for. You reached up and ran your fingers over your earpiece, the only thing left of your once-extensive setup. At least it was still useful.

Your brooding was interrupted by a small tug on your pant leg. Looking down, you met a pair of big, dark eyes peering up over your knees.

“Uh...hi?”

The Child cooed, tiny clawed hands gripping into the fabric, tilting his head like he expected something from you.

Kids were weird.

You hesitantly reached out, awkwardly patting his head and thinking to yourself how the combination of the grooves in his head and his thin, downy hair felt strange. His eyes crinkled at the corners in a smile. You glanced up at where Mando was sitting, to see that he had turned to watch you and the kid. You couldn’t see his eyes but his gaze still burned into you nonetheless.

You quickly turned back to the Child, letting him grab your hand and begin inspecting it thoroughly like it was an interesting toy.

This seemed like as good an opportunity as any to ask a question that had been bothering you.

“So, uh, Mando… why didn’t you try to hide the kid back at my place? You had no way to know I wouldn’t tell someone once you left.”

There really wasn’t any reason for him to trust you like that that you could come up with. The odd consult for planetary guides wasn’t nearly enough interaction for either of you to really say that you knew the other, beyond impressions. You sold information, you had no loyalty to one client over another, and knowing Mando had the kid with him at that very moment could have ended with you possibly… doing something rash, if you really wanted to. You wouldn’t. But he had no way of knowing that. Right?

There was a quiet modulated sigh from the bounty hunter. You changed looking in his direction again, and let out a small breath you’d been holding when you saw he wasn’t watching you anymore. Rather, he was watching the kid playing with your hand.

“...you’re trustworthy.”

And before you could try and get him to elaborate on what he meant, he turned back to the controls.

That wasn’t something you were expecting to hear.

You looked back at the Child, who had moved past your hand and was now pulling at the shiny silver latch tucked into your wrist piece that had your keycard attached to it. All that was left of your old residence. You pulled it out and let him take it, watching him pick at the etched grooves and writing with his claws.

You felt something akin to pain and grim amusement that something that used to be so important in your life, was now relegated to a baby toy. He could keep it, you didn’t need it anymore where you were headed.

...wait, where were you going?

“Mando, what system are we headed towards?”

“Don’t know yet. I’m getting as far as we can go first.”

Oh, good. You closed your eyes to suppress an eyeroll.

“Well, when we have some idea, let me know so I can figure out just what degree of screwed I am for starting over at everything.”

Silence from the pilot. It wasn’t his fault that he was followed, not his fault that the assailants had decided to ransack and then destroy your abode and livelihood. But you could still tell he carried the guilt as if it were. You hadn’t meant to sound like you blamed him, but your irritated tone of voice at the situation at hand could certainly be interpreted that way.

“Sorry, Mando, I just… don’t know what I’m going to do now.”

You sighed softly, absent-mindedly messing with your hands. The Child watched you, his ears drooping at your defeated tone.

“I could use an extra set of eyes around, with watching out for the kid.”

He was facing you again, this time turned in the pilot’s chair with an arm partly draped over the armrest. He was trying to look nonchalant again. The way he peered over his shoulder made you want to hide away, and you prayed he didn’t notice the flustered flush trying to creep its way onto your face.

The Child made a noise of agreement to Mando’s suggestion, looking enthusiastically from the armored man back to you, eyes bright and ears angled high in anticipation of you answering. Why this kid seemed to be so interested in you, you had no idea. You’d only just met him, why was he so excited? The only thing you could think of was that strange, familiar vibe he gave you, maybe it was a two-way thing?

Mando suggesting you stay around to help with the kid at all took you by surprise as well. You slowly turned your head to stare at him head-on. He didn’t exactly state he wanted a babysitter, but with your understanding of his profession you would probably be saddled with a lot of doing just that. You knew if anyone decided to try and come after you for information, if you were traveling with the Mandalorian you’d be safer than anywhere you might settle down. But at the same time, a nomadic lifestyle such as his relying on hunting down troublesome quarry was equally dangerous. But it wouldn’t just be you by your lonesome, and, hell, it could make for some interesting experiences.

“Are you being serious?”

All he had to do was incline his head. You looked back down at the kid, who seemed to be holding his breath waiting for an answer.

“...I don’t know the first thing about kids. But I’ll help out where I can, with him or anywhere else.”

The Child squealed, clutching the keycard he was still holding close. That earned a small chuckle from you.

You looked back up at the Mandalorian watching you both, not needing to see his face under his helmet to know he was also being affected by the small green child’s charm. He finally turned away, back to his controls, looking through the ship’s navigation to plot the next leg of whatever journey you were on.

This was going to be one hell of a ride.

[secret-captain-swan-blog]

Castle on the Hill

English Literature PhD student Emma Swan just needs money to pay for her last semester of grad school tuition. Killian Jones has always dreamed of opening a bookshop but has never been able to afford it. So when the small principality of Misthaven is looking for their lost princess, the pair decide that this might just be the perfect money making scheme.A Multi-chapter Modern Day + Lost Princess (think Rapunzel/Anastasia-esque) + Book Lovers in a Coffee Shop AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 94580/ ?

Prologue (Part 1 + 2) // Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8 // Ch 9 // Ch 10 // Ch 11 // Ch 12 // Ch 13 // Ch 14 // Ch 15 // Ch 16 // Ch 17

Read on: Ao3

--

Killian is reading in the garden when it starts to rain. It’s not a lot, just drops against the thin pages of his book. He’s nearly to the end of Jane Eyre now. He’s honestly ready to be done with the book. Where it had once been enthralling, it now seems tiresome. The pain of the loss of Alice lingers folded in it’s pages.

He’s wondering if he should seek some refuge from the rain, when he looks up to see Emma running across the field. She’s windswept, her hair falling loose from her ponytail. Yet she’s still beautiful, like a Romantic heroine, her dress sticking to her torso. He can tell there are tears in her eyes.

He rises to his feet, striding as quick as he can to her. They meet in the middle. He wraps her in his arms quickly. Something is wrong, he notices instantly, from the slump of her shoulders and the desperateness she clings to him with. Her hands knots in the back of his shirt, holding on to him.

“Emma, love?” He asks into her hair. “Whatever is wrong?”

It must be the statue, he thinks. It must have gotten into her head. He should not have left her there by herself. She had heavy emotions that he should have been there to help her with.

“Killian, I can’t,” she mumbles, her voice half delirious.

“Can’t what?” He prods, fear trickling through his body.

She sniffles and whispers again, “I can’t.”

It’s windy outside, the rain picking up, and he can’t hear her well.

“Come, love,” he says. “Let’s get you inside. It’s getting bad out here.”

She shakes her head against his chest, “No. I can’t.”

He rubs his hands up and down her arms. “You’re going to catch a cold, love. I want to hear what’s upset you, but some place a bit less damp and cold.”

“No, no,” she says. “We can’t go into the castle. I can’t deal with it.”

“Deal with what, Swan?” He asks, slipping his hands down her arms to take her hands in his. He raises them to his lips to kiss them softly. They are already freezing.

“They’re going to tell me that I’m the lost princess,” she whispers. “And I’m not ready for it.”

He tries to process what she is saying. She’s the lost princess. She’s not ready.

His mind flits through all the evidence that he’s been trying to not point out for so long. The uncanny resemblance between the girl in Killian’s memories and Emma herself. The name. The accent. The right history. The scar on her shoulder. Even the chin. Killian’s spent so long trying to get Emma to remember something. For the connection to hold. And maybe, just maybe this visit to the gardens triggered the very thing that Killian’s been dreaming of. Maybe, even after last night’s fight, she has finally had the epiphany that he knows, he’s certain, must be coming.

But maybe that’s not it? Killian doesn’t want to get his hopes up. Reality rushes through him. Maybe the Queen or Regina just think that Emma is the lost princess and they want her to go public about it for publicity. Maybe now they’re manipulating her, asking her to pose as the princess. For what? For Misthaven Morale?

He’s going to need more information. Emma’s given him such few words, but his mind is spinning with possibilities. He knows, he’s certain, that something fundamental, potentially something he’s yearned for, is changing right here and now.

He brushes his hand against her hair softly, like he would a timid animal. She curls into him more, shivering.

What she needs, he realizes, obviously isn’t to go back into the castle. She needs to talk and in more than one way, unfreeze.

“Come love,” he whispers into her hair.

He leads her out of the castle grounds, the statues and winter garden behind them. Looking back now, he’s uncertain why he thought it was a good idea to take her there when she was in a bizarre state from the night before. As they weave down the cobblestone, she sniffles now, looking a bit less anxious. He thanks the gods for that.

There is a little tea shop in the grey stone shops lining the road. Called “The Castle Gate Cafe,” it’s lace doily sort of place. The counter boasts an assortment of cakes. He situates Emma in a table that’s tucked into a bay window off to the side that overlooks a damp patch of garden.

As he orders an Americano, a cappuccino, and a slice of lemon lavender cake, he glances back at Emma. Her face is distant, as if her thoughts are in another world.

When he comes back to join her, he presses a cappuccinos into her hands. She closes her eyes and takes a sip, her shivering subsiding.

“Sorry,” she says, after another pensive sip. “I must have seemed crazy back there. Or pathetic.”

“Emma, love, you seem traumatized,” he tells her.

She swallows, “I think I am a little.”

He takes a bit of the lemon cake. It’s sweet and soothing. He puts a piece of it on a fork and passes it to Emma. She takes the bite and gives him a smile.

“I was really affected by what I saw in gardens. I felt so ashamed for scamming the queen. I honestly couldn’t take it anymore. I was like in a weird trance or something, I swear. I felt like an out of body feeling, I don’t know.”

He takes a bite of cake and nods at her to continue.

She rambles, ”So, I went into the castle and all of a sudden, Mary Margaret was there and I just had to tell her everything.”

Killian chokes on his cake, “Everything?”

“Yeah, about the opera and our old plan and everything,” Emma manages.

He frowns knowing this means risking her security in Mishaven, her trust with the Queen, and the possibility of her returning to the country- and to him. “What happened?”

“She didn’t care. Killian, it’s crazy. She said that it doesn’t make a difference. She loves me,” Emma admits.

He reaches out to take her hand. Killian knows how much this means to her- to get the Queen’s affection and approval, to be loved by a parental-type figure in the way she’s always yearned to be. He knows it because he’s wanted it too. That’s part of why he’s never taken Ruby’s Granny’s generosity for granted. He rubs his thumb against her palm, part of him so understands and is proud for Emma.

“That’s marvelous, Swan,” he says.

She takes another sip of cappuccino, before she presses her lips together, and looks up at him.

“But then all of a sudden, Prime Minister Mills walked in,” she tells him.

He lets an eyebrow lift in place of a question.

“And she said that she took DNA from us both, without either of us knowing,” Emma says.

Killian thinks back to the week before, the suspected break-in. Of course it wasn’t the hooded man, it was the Prime Minister.

“We’re related,” Emma tells him. “I’m Mary Margaret’s daughter.”

So he was right.

He’s been right all along. It’s her. Emma is the girl from his childhood. It was Emma who he used to play games with in the castle courtyard. It was Emma who he used to eat sweets with in the kitchens when the cook would make them an extra treat. It was Emma who he ran across the field with that dark night. It was Emma who saw his brother right before he died. It was Emma who was now his sovereign. Emma.

“You’re the lost princess,” Killian says.

He feels a weird bit of emotion well up in him, a feeling of completeness that now is crescendoing. The girl who disappeared that night has been found. The lost girl who never had a family has been welcomed home.

When Emma looks up at him and sees the emotion in his face, something changes in her too. Tears spring again to her eyes. He quickly moves from his seat to slide in the booth next to her. His arms wrap around her. His lips kiss her hair. He tries to hide his sniffles, but he can’t.

She wraps her arms back around him, burying her face in his chest.

“We found you, Emma,” he whispers. “You came home to us.”

She sniffles.

“Killian, I don’t know how to react to this,” she murmurs back. “You’re crying, Mary Margaret is crying. I don’t know how to feel. I don’t feel like a princess. I don’t feel like my life is changing. I still don’t remember anything. It’s not like a sudden dramatic flashback or anything. All of these people keep looking at me like I’m supposed to be crying, but I don’t even know.”

Killian tries to be attentive to her. He realizes that Emma isn’t experiencing this moment as he is. He needs to be there for her. Princess or not, Emma is his girlfriend. She needs him to support her through this emotionally cataclysmic moment.

“Don’t know what?” He asks, brushing another hand through her hair.

“How to be a princess? How to be a daughter? I’ve only ever been Emma Swan. I’ve only ever been lost or alone or fighting for myself. I just want to go back to Durham and write my thesis. I don’t want to learn how to curtsey or use dumb shrimp forks or whatever people do in those Hallmark lost princess movies.”

“I’m not quite sure what a Hallmark is,” Killian replies.

“It’s not important,” Emma says, sniffling and sighing. “It’s just. I’m not really sure I ever wanted this.”

“Emma, you have a family,” he says emphatically, tears still in his eyes. “You have a real life fairy tale. You weren’t reading Blanche Neige all these years to run away from that. Princess Emmaline Georgette Analise Charmant Blanchard Nolan, I promise this is everything you’ve ever wanted.”

She smiles and sniffles and nods, “Yeah, I think I know that. Maybe that’s what scares me the most.”

He hugs her tight.

“I still don’t know what to do,” Emma says. “I ran away from the Queen.”

“You ran away?” He laughs.

“Yeah, I didn’t know how to react and she was crying and I absolutely couldn’t be in that room another moment,” she says.

“Oh love. Oh Swan,” He says, amused. His voice is still ragged from tears. “I think we should go find your Mum now. She’ll be wanting to hug you too after all these years.”

--

They walk back into the castle. Emma has to fight against everything inside her that says to turn her back, head for the Misthaven airport, and take off for North Carolina. But Killian’s hand inside her own helps, a lot actually. She lets it ground her, stabilize her. He’s still looking at her with tears in his eyes that makes her uncomfortable, but she’s managing.

Queen Mary Margaret and Prime Minister Mills are standing in the foyer when they arrive. She realizes that everyone else is gone- the secretaries, the dignitaries and diplomats, or whoever else might be in the castle. It’s just them.

“Your Royal Highness,” Regina says, “I’m truly sorry for springing the news on you in an improper way. I apologize.”

Emma tucks some hair behind her ears. It’s still damp from the rain earlier, which has now turned into a gentle mist.

“It’s fine,” she says. “I’m sorry for running away. It’s an old habit, I guess.”

“Emma,” the queen says finally, her voice choked up.

Mary Margaret takes a step forward, her lips pursed to hold back a sob.

Emma realizes that like it or not, this is her life now. She can keep running from it. Or she can embrace it. It doesn’t mean she needs to give up everything. Those details- her thesis, her livelihood, the dumb shrimp forks- they can be sorted out later. But right now, she’s just found out that this woman who has been nothing but a kind motherly figure to her these last few months is her actual real life mother. The least she can do is hug her.

She crosses the space and steps into her arms. It feels like melting, like comfort. Like a blanket wrapped around you on a cold day. Like turning the doorknob on your apartment door. Like a bowl sized cappuccino made just how she likes it. Like home. Mary Margaret, Killian, Misthaven- this was her home. She has a home. She is home.

“I’ve had a few assistants go out to get some Mamie’s coffee and croissants for you,” Mary Margaret says. “And we’ll call in some take away later for dinner.”

Emma doesn’t say that they just got coffee, because really, she always wants coffee. And it sounds, oh so cozy, to drink more coffee in this castle with the Queen. With her mom.

“I was thinking that I could give you a tour of the castle,” Mary Margaret says. “And then maybe, this is silly, but we’ve got these old home videos David used to take of you as a child. They’ve been too painful for me to ever watch, but maybe, since you’re here- we could watch them together.”

Emma smiles. She could do this. And maybe the home videos might even help her process and visualize and remember.

“That sounds great,” Emma tells her.

“I’ll just see you later then,” Killian whispers from behind her.

“No, no,” Mary Margaret says. “Please, Killian, you are family. Stay.”

Emma turns to smile at him and offer him her hand. “Stay.”

--

It’s late that night when they make it back to Emma’s apartment. After the long, harrowing, revelatory day, the clean white apartment and cozy house plants are the perfect greeting.

Emma is pretty sure she’s never been so tired. The rain and the emotions of the day have left her past drained. She leans on Killian as they walk in.

“Shower,” she mutters, as she stumbles towards the bathroom.

When Killian doesn’t follow immediately, she turns to him, “You too.”

He chuckles, before following her into the bathroom. She turns on the shower and cranks it up as high as it will go. That’s all she can think of right now- warm water and then a long sleep in her bed.

She strips off her clothes. Despite how tired she is, she glances behind her to see Killian’s expression. It’s something of admiration as he takes her in. She smirks and raises her eyebrows, before stepping in.

He’s inside the stream with her, sooner than she expects. The hot water alongside Killian’s arms wrapping around her lulls her and she feels the stress of the day leave her. She lets her eyes flutter closed as she leans back against his chest.

“What did you think of the evening with your mum?” He asks.

Emma smiles at the fact she has a mother. It’s a fact that is going to take a very long time to accept and set in, but for now she’s honoring her personal intention to embrace it.

“It was good,” Emma says.

“You know you can be honest with me,” Killian tells her, his hands moving to rub her shoulders. She realizes all the tensions she’s held in.

“No, I’m being honest,” she insists. “It was like having a family. A very rich, ridiculous family. But a genuine cozy little family.”

Killian nuzzles her hair, before moving to get her lavender aromatherapy body wash. He dabs it on a loofa and begins to rub it all over her.

“It was weird with those videos,” Emma murmurs.

She thinks back to the happy memory from less than an hour ago: of her, Killian, and Mary Margaret piled on a couch in one of the more comfortable lounges of the hilltop castle. They’d had takeaway pizza, which Emma could process now as a gesture from the Queen to be “chill” and let her ease her way into this.

They’d watched these videos of Emma with her family as a child. Baby Princess Emma waltzing with her father. Baby Princess Emma riding around on Prancer in the woods. Baby Princess Emma giggling as she plays tag with Killian down palace corridors. It’s weird to look at that little girl and know that it was her who did those things.

“I guess,” Emma says, as Killian switches from washing to shampooing, “I’ve been thinking for the last months, since I got here, that Princess Emma is this other person. A person who probably hates me for impersonating her. A person who is far more innocent than myself. A person who is probably dead.”

Killian starts rubbing shampoo into her hair and it’s fundamentally soothing. She lets out a soft sigh.

“It’s just weird to think that she’s me,” Emma says. “We are one in the same.”

She turns to face Killian and looks up at him. “You aren’t saying anything. I’m just monologuing here.”

He shakes his head as he runs his finger along the scar on her shoulder.

“I know, love,” He says softly. “I’m sorry. It’s just, I’ve thought you were her this whole time. I know you don’t want to hear it.”

She takes his hand from her shoulder to bring it to her lips to kiss his palm.

“No, it’s fine,” Emma says. “As much as I wanted to deny it, I knew you had your suspicions the whole time. Even last night, you did. And in the end it doesn’t matter, because here we are anyway.”

Killian reaches behind her to turn off the water. He kisses her softly before opening the curtain. He passes her a towel and she wraps it around her shoulders, following him out of the bathroom.

She pulls on a Duke Writing Studio t-shirt and a pair of underwear, before toweling off her hair and crawling into bed. Killian is already there, arms ready to pull her close.

Her eyes flicker closed naturally and she sighs softly.

She supposes that is another good, but terrifying thing about this whole situation: every obstacle of distance that was between her and Killian has faded. Misthaven is her home now.

She knows that she has plenty of thoughts about that to fret over in the future. A tendril of fear and another of anticipation wind in her stomach, but for now the wave exhaustion crashes over and pulls her under.

--

The next morning, Emma tries to fall into her normal schedule. She needs routine and hard work to ground her. She always has. It’s a coping mechanism.

Killian is still sleeping when she wakes. She makes coffee in the French Press before heading to her desk overlooking the park. She pulls the soft grey blanket off the couch and wraps around herself, before opening up her thesis materials. She’s just a happy little Emma in her quaint, minimalist Misthaven apartment enjoying her coffee and working on her PhD.

She doesn’t know much about what the future holds, but it has to hold her dissertation. She’s spent so much time on it. She’s put in so much work. Looking at it now, she hopes that she won’t look ridiculous for writing her thesis on her own mother’s work or specializing in the literature from the country she is now sovereign of. But she thinks that if she can keep the Blanche Neige secret under wraps and she can probably pass off a decent thesis.

She smiles fondly at herself as she starts typing- she can be the first Princess with a PhD. She googles it just to fact check herself. Frowning, she realizes that a Japanese princess has already beat her to it.

A princess , she reminds herself. She’s still processing it. If she’s being honest, she’s probably at a sort of denial stage in the process because she’s feeling pretty chill about it. The shock of it has worn off, but she’s certain that the reality hasn’t set in yet either.

“How is my princess this morning?” A groggy voice asks from behind her.

She turns to see a disheveled Killian leaning against the door frame of her bedroom. He’s just in boxers and his hair is sticking up in all directions.

She purrs, “Come here.”

He walks behind her chair and loops his arms around her. She feels the scruff of his beard on her cheek as he leans down to give her a kiss.

She turns her head to kiss him on the lips, her hands cupping his face to pull him down to her. His body curves around hers to deepen the kiss and pull her close. She feels so soft and delicate, like she’s something so precious to him. She’s grown to like that feeling- like she matters.

Her arms lift to his shoulders and he uses his own arms to lift her. Her legs curl around his torso.

“Sorry about the coffee breath,” she whispers, self conscious.

“Dammit Emma,” He whispers, as he falls onto the couch.

She transitions perfectly into straddling him. Her hands dive into his gloriously disheveled hair. His head lowers to kiss her neck, then her collarbone, before he settles to lick at the base of her throat.

She hums in pleasure. All her thoughts, her worries, her cares are gone. All she can think of is Killian, the man she loves- and it’s bliss.

Then a phone's ringtone strikes the air and the spell is broken.

Emma stumbles off of him to head for her bedroom where her phone is lying on her bedside table.

“Hello,” she asks, not pausing to glance at the number.

“Emma, darling,” replies Mary Margaret.

Her mom. The queen. Blanche Neige. It’s almost dizzying.

“Oh hey,” Emma says, sitting on the side of her bed.

“I was wondering if you and Killian would like to join me and Regina for brunch,” she says. “We have a lot to go over- publicity, citizenship, castles, balls.”

Emma can hear a smile in her voice, but her own stomach churns. The denial phase is slowly slipping away into something else, some sort of reality setting in. She can’t have slow and silly mornings with her boyfriend because she has princess responsibilities.

But she feels, alongside of that, a weird sense of duty well up in her. Of course, she must be at this meeting. She can tell that just like the night before, the Queen is trying to make it easier for her. She isn’t throwing her into royal duties, just inviting her to a casual brunch.

“Yes, certainly,” Emma says. “We’ll be there.”

“It’ll be at my place,” Mary Margaret says. “The Summer Palace. I’ll send a car for you in about a half an hour. See you then!”

Killian pokes his head in and she explains the brunch meeting.

“I’ve actually got work this morning, love,” He explains. “I can skip it, for certain, darling, if you want. I don’t want you to go alone if you are nervous.”

Emma can’t believe she forgot that Killian has a life outside of her. But of course he does. She senses that everything for them is going to change very soon. “Publicity” the queen said. It may be one of the last times that Killian will get to work in peace, or work at all.

“It’s fine,” Emma says, rising to meet him and kissing his cheek. “Go to work, Killian.”

They launch into action, mutually displeased to leave behind their moment on the couch, but both busy with their plans. Emma changes into a pair of black jeans and a sweater, hoping that it’s a nice enough outfit for brunch with the Queen. Her hair, messy and tangled from sleeping it in wet, goes up into what she hopes suffices as an elegant top knot. A spritz of perfume, a bit of concealer and mascara, a peck on Killian’s lips- and she’s out the door to meet the car.

The Christmas decorations are up in their full glory when Emma arrives at the summer palace: fairy lights, garland, and wreaths of evergreen adoring the palace. She exits the car and is greeted by a doorman who informs her that the Prime Minister and Her Majesty are in the Forest Room. Emma nods and makes her way through the palace, trimmed with Christmas cheer, before finding the tea room.

“Emma, darling,” Mary Margaret says, crossing the room to envelop her in a hug.

Emma wants to resist, because that is her instinct. Flashes of Ingrid, of other foster parents flash through her mind. People she thought she could trust, but proved her wrong. It’s hard to believe that there is actually someone here who truly loves her and won’t leave. But it’s true. So she lets her mother hug her and lets herself relax into the hug. A part of her that has always been raw and ragged, now feels soothed.

“Did you sleep alright?” She asks.

Emma nods.

“Well there is fruit and patisserie on the sideboard, coffee and tea as well. If you prefer a hot breakfast, you can just order from one of the footmen,” The queen directs.

Not being fussy, Emma takes some strawberries and a pain au chocolat. She fills one of the dainty mugs with coffee and then joins Mary Margaret and Regina at the table.

“Shall we dive into it?” The Prime Minister asks. “We need to decide when to send out the press release. I’ve already had it drafted and you can review it if you please.”

She pushes Emma a piece of paper with the official Misthaven seal on it. Emma tries to skim it, but her mind is too all over the place to focus.

“I think it’s best to do it as soon as possible,” Regina informs her. “It would be disastrous if the information was leaked from someone else. Obviously there will be a lot of commotion about it at first. This is, afterall, a nearly impossible event to happen- lost princess finds her way home. So I expect that we’ll have a fair bit of international coverage. It’ll be best if you lay low during that time, avoiding reporters and the like. However, once it dies down, you should be fine. Misthaven is too small to have the insane paparazzi that English and Swedish royals face.”

Emma nods. The words paparazzi makes her squirm and want to run away. She thinks about the simple pleasure of drinking coffee at Mamies or sitting, editing her paper, in Killian’s pub. She wonders if she’ll ever get that pleasure again. Or at least how long she’ll have to wait to do that again.

“We’ll hire you security as well,” The queen adds. “At least until the hype dies down and even after, so we all know you are safe.”

Emma nods again. She wishes she brought a notebook to take notes.

“You’ll obviously move into the house in the Southern Valley,” the Queen tells her. “And we’ll have to make plans for the Christmas ball. It’s a bit last minute for a dress, but we can figure something out.”

Emma feels her forehead crinkle, all of it hitting her too fast to process.

“But, I’m leaving Misthaven next Thursday to be back in America for Christmas,” Emma says. “I already bought the ticket.”

The only way that Emma could buy the ticket was through her grant and fellowship. There was no way she could afford it on her own. She couldn’t just buy another one because she changed her mind about when she wanted to go back.

“What do you mean going back to America?” Regina asks, perplexed.

“To go back to Duke and finish my PhD,” Emma explains.

“Well clearly that isn’t important now, is it?” Regina says.

“What do you mean?” Emma says, startled. Her mind races with defensive thoughts. She can’t lose her thesis. “That’s everything. My life’s work.”

“Emma will finish her PhD,” Mary Margaret says. “Of course she will.”

Emma feels her pounding heart decelerate.

“It might be in your best interest, however,” the Queen says. “To take a semester off. See if you can take a small leave of absence. I’m sure it’s understandable, just so you have time to transition.”

Emma wants to say no. She wants to say that she spends Christmas with Belle and her father each year. She wants poinsettias in the green house and presents under the tree.

But then she thinks about waking up on Christmas morning with Killian beside her. A Christmas tree in her own house. Emma’s never even entertained the thought of having a house of her own before because it seemed too impossible. But now she’ll have one and a family of her own to spend Christmas with. Yes, she’ll have to stay. It seems silly now to have even thought otherwise.

“What about my flight home?” She asks. “I already bought it.”

“Don’t take it, obviously,” Regina says. “I’m not even sure why we are talking about this. You’ve just inherited a hundred million euros, I’m not quite sure why you’re hung up on this.”

Oh.

Emma tries to process a hundred million.

She thinks about stealing concealer from the drugstore because she couldn’t afford it and she wanted to cover up the bruises.

She thinks of eating a grilled cheese every other day and sleeping in the library.

She thinks of all the opportunities she said no to- studying abroad, nights at the theater, dinners out with professors- because she couldn’t afford it.

And now she has a hundred million euros.

Emma doesn’t realize she is crying until her fat tears fall into her coffee cup, a sob coming out of her chest.

“Emma,” Mary Margaret gasps, coming over to her and placing a hand on her shoulder. “My dear, what is it?”

Emma tries to breath and chokes on her breath, a hiccup forming.

“I’ve never had money like that,” she says. “Nothing close to that. I’ve always had to scrape and fight for scraps. I don’t know how to have this life now.”

Mary Margaret and Regina exchange a look and the Prime Minister leaves the room.  The queen lowers herself down so that she meet Emma face to face.

“Emma,” the queen begins, rubbing her back as tears tumble from Emma’s eyes. “I am terribly sorry that you’ve lived a life you didn’t deserve. I’m so sorry that you’ve had to experience such horrible poverty and so much financial anxiety. I’m sorry for every moment you’ve been lonely. Every moment you’ve wondered where your mum was. I’m sorry that I couldn’t tuck you in at night and take you on nice holidays and buy you new books. I can’t begin to understand what your life has been like, but I can tell you it’s going to be better now.”

Emma sniffles and looks up at her.

“You’ll never want or fret about money. You’ll be able to help others with that money, make a difference in the world. You and Killian will be able to give your kids everything you didn’t have,” The queen says.

The queen beckons Emma into another hug and she obliges.

“You are going to have a good life now, Emma,” the Queen tells her.

Eventually Emma’s tears lull and Regina returns. They start to make plans for Emma’s move, which is to happen in two days. They take her measurements to send to the dressmaker for Emma’s dress for the ball, which will also double as her public debut. And they pass along a debit card for her new royal bank account. Regina advises she starts updating her wardrobe with pieces that are “couture” and informs her that once her move is finished, a stylist will come to help her look a bit more sophisticated.

The comment makes Emma want to roll her eyes, but she decides that isn’t very princess-like and resists.

It’s overwhelming and totally new. But Emma is trying, with all her might, to shove the walls down. If they come up now, she’ll only hurt Mary Margaret and Killian. She hasn’t worked this hard to turn on them.

As the driver takes her back down from the mountaintop palace, she leans her head against the window. She imagines herself turning into a tree, roots growing deep into the ground, branches reaching towards the sky. She tries to think of herself as being unmoved here, firm of purpose and place. Growing a home here in this place, here in Misthaven.

She has the driver drop her off at Mamie’s, where she gets a cappuccino and reads a book of fairy tales. Emma decides she needs to make the most of her last few days of anonymity. It starts to rain again, the weather decidedly cold now, Indian summer behind them. From Mamie’s, she can see Killian’s pub across the street and across the blustery street she can just make him out at the counter. She sends him a text telling him to come over when he finishes his shift.

As she flicks through her phone, she realizes she has a text from Belle.

Sorry to change our usual plans girl, but Will invited me to Misthaven for Christmas to meet his family. Any chance I can convince you to stay in Misthaven for Xmas as well?

Emma taps back.

Haha I just decided today to stay in Misthaven for Christmas too.

Emma smirks to herself and sips her cappuccino as she waits for a response.

Yes, amazing!! Can you stay with Killian then? Is it okay if Will and I take back his apartment?

Rolling her eyes, Emma replies:

In a huge plot twist, I’m actually getting my own place in Misthaven. I’ll explain more later on facetime when I am not at a coffee shop. Loooong story.

[fatefulfaerie]

Wish

I’ve been working too hard on a big multi-chapter fic and too little on school work so you can imagine why writing one shots was pushed to the side a bit. Nonetheless, I have one for you all today. I hope you like it!

Incarnation: Breath of the Wild

“Hey,” Zelda heard in her ear.

She didn’t move her head but she knew it was him. Zelda restrained a smile but her blush spread like wildfire.

“You came,” she said.

She wished she could turn her head, but reasoned he knew very well why she couldn’t. Princess Zelda was like a trophy, sitting on the throne for the image of it all. She looked down at the ball below her with nothing but boredom.

“I was invited,” Link argued.

Zelda looked to her shoulder slightly, starting to actually address him.

“You told me the formality wasn’t worth the trouble,” Zelda said. “I envied your ability to make that choice.”

In the corner of her eye she saw him kneel beside the throne.

“Had to throw you off the scent,” Link said. “Surprise you.”

She looked to him fully now, down at where he was kneeling. She doubted anyone would actually notice.

“You hate wearing the royal guard attire,” Zelda said. “If you don’t have to be here, then why would you waste your night off?”

Link shrugged.

“I have my reasons.”

Zelda shook her head, them both now looking below them.

“Not for my sake, I’m sure,” she said. “There must be some ulterior motive, some potential promotion from the General, some political maneuver, maybe even some Lady in the court you fancy.”

She heard Link let out a small laugh.

“Have you ever considered that I’m actually starting to like you?” Link asked. “You don’t yell at me anymore. It’s more than a possibility that we become civil, maybe even friends.”

Zelda looked to him with parted lips. He had a small smile, like he was offering the cordiality he was suggesting.

She had apologized last week for her previous infantile behavior, but she didn’t expect him to forgive her like he had, nor did she expect what he was doing now.

“You want to be my friend?” She asked.

“I don’t see why not,” said Link.

“You realize there’s no advantage to that, right?” Zelda asked rhetorically. “I can’t promote you.”

Link leaned closer, placing his crossed arms on an arm of the throne.

“I’ll let you have the final word on the matter, of course, but keep in mind that I’m starting to like you, not your title.”

Zelda leaned her elbow on the same arm of the throne. Her head leaned into her hand so that her face was inches from Link’s. In fact, her torso had slumped over completely from its previous strict straightness. If anyone had looked at the Princess, they would have started their whispering rumors right then and there, her face so close to her knight attendant.

“I don’t believe you.”

Link smiled, studying her face and ignoring the heat that rose up within him.

“Then I’ll just have to convince you, then,” Link said. “Until you make your decision, of course. I’ll have to convince you that there’s a person behind that Princess, a person I’d like to know with no ulterior motive.”

“Well, I wish you the best of luck,” Zelda said. “I’m pretty stubborn.”

“Oh, I know,” Link said, his smile continuing.

He leaned back and away, standing up. Zelda thought he was going to leave until he offered his bent arm.

“Until then,” he continued with a cheeky grin. “As your knight attendant, I’ve decided to rescue you from your prison.”

Zelda’s head released from her head, going from Link, to the ballroom floor, then back to Link.

“I...I can’t just leave.”

“You’ve stayed long enough,” Link argued. “You danced with your suitors, you stood at your father’s side, you forced smiles and laughter. You can step away.”

Zelda but her lip in thought, finding that daring adventure in Link’s blue eyes and imagining it reflected in her own.

No formal words could consent to it so none did, Zelda standing up and locking her arm with Link’s. A twinge in his eyebrows showed his surprise.

“Thank you,” Zelda said as they walked out on the balcony. “Your armor isn’t exactly shining, but it is to me. I must admit that room was getting stuffy.”

She took in an inhale with closed eyes and a smile, feeling the gentle night breeze filter through her lungs, as if cleaning them out. She dislatched her arm from Link’s, running to the edge of the balcony and placing her hands on its’ fence.

Link, in contrast, didn’t move, a warm smile contradicting his cold, ice blue eyes. He adored her, that feeling in his heart told him so, but his station, of course, forced him to yet again bury his feelings.

“Isn’t Hyrule just beautiful at night?” She asked with a slight sigh. Link could tell she was smiling.

“Yeah…” he said. “Beautiful.”

He stepped forward, meeting her where she stood. They fell silent as they looked at the kingdom before them, the Dueling Peaks, the Great Plateau, the mountains to the West. Yet a sparkle in the sky shifted their glances upwards, a shooting star reflecting in their bright eyes.

“A shooting star!” She said excitedly, beaming a large smile. “People used to say that if you catch its fragment before the sun rises, a declared wish would come true. Now, of course the superstition has been reduced to wishing upon it after you see it fly through the sky, but I still would love to catch one someday.”

“Did you make a wish?” Link asked.

Zelda nodded.

“You?” she asked, turning her head.

“Yep,” he said. “Now I suppose the superstition will be put to the test. And, if it doesn’t work, we’ll track down a fragment.”

Zelda smiled, a genuine smile, no force, no formality.

Maybe her wish would come true.

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

“And then the memory faded,” Link said. “Like the others.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Zelda asked.

“Well,” Link said with a chuckle. “You were asleep. I couldn’t bring myself to wake you up.”

They were in each other’s arms, an innocent hold sitting on their bed. It was like most mornings in Hateno, the sunrise streaming through the window, the morning birds chirping and greeting each other, the village in the distance waking up and starting to converse, to go about their day.

“I guess I can forgive you,” Zelda said before sighing. “It’s so strange to think about those times, about how much has changed.”

“Did your wish come true?” Link asked.

“Yes,” Zelda smiled before looking up at him. “Did yours? If you remember what it was.”

Link nodded.

“Yeah, it did, at least I think so.”

Zelda took a pause to consider her words.

“Can I ask you something?” she started.

“Yes, we can still look for the fragment,” Link said, assuming her approaching question.

“No, no, that wasn’t my question,” Zelda said before considering. “I mean, yes, but...can I ask what you wished for? Now that they’ve come true, superstition grants us the liberty to say them out loud.”

“Only if you tell me what you wished for.”

“Deal.”

They moved to sit up completely, facing the other on the bed, legs bent and crossed.

“You first,” Link prompted.

Zelda’s smile grew.

“I wished that you were telling the truth...that you really wanted to be my friend...that you liked me and not my title.”

Link felt his heart melt, at her desires then, at her desires now. He almost lost himself in his warm feelings that he just about forgot to say his own wish until Zelda’s expression prompted him.

“I wished that you would find your freedom...somehow,” he said. “That in some small part of your predetermined life...you maybe didn’t have to live it.”

Zelda leaned forward, her elbows going to her knees.

“I guess both our wishes came true,” she said. “After a hundred years or so.”

“I guess so,” Link said before he slowly closed the distance between them, their lips meeting and locking and changing with their breath.

Link started to smile as they continued.

“Have I convinced you yet?” He asked jokingly. “What’s your final word on the matter, Your Highness?”

“A few days after the ball,” Zelda started. “I referred to you as my friend. You smiled at the victory and I thought my final word was spent. Now...it seems my final word continued to change, from best friend to boyfriend to lover. Maybe it will continue to change, but for now I prefer the latter two.”

“So do I,” Link agreed, smiling at her bright green eyes.

[redemptioninterlude]

500 FOLLOWERS MILESTONE !!!

well holy shit. i really don’t think i could say i expected this on my multi, and, especially after the last year i’ve had with creative ruts and then feeling so completely out of sorts with my writing, i’m beyond thrilled and happy to have all of you here!

first, because i’m a picky ass bitch, let me say that you’re all fucking phenomenal writers, lovely humans, and you all deserve the world. here’s me hoping that you’re all drinking water and keeping healthy and safe, and me reminding y’all that you’re GLORIOUS, so never forget it!

thank you for taking interest in my lame ass honestly, because writing is like the one thing i feel creative in, and i appreciate you all for sticking around despite me being, yanno, a complete waste sometimes.

now, to some little notes of love!

steph ( @skysplita​ / @earthsplita​ ) - steph steph steph steph. i couldn’t be more thankful and lucky to have someone like you in my life. i’ve pretty much rolled on waxing poetic all too recently, but i’ll never exhaust in my love for you. i think you, more than anybody else, has seen a lot of my ups, my downs, my glorious moments, and my worst. and yet here you are. i am completely undeserving of you, and i know that it’s all too often that i’m the one left not doing enough for our friendship. your patience is deep and unending, and i want you to know that i never take you for granted. beyond the iconic pairings, and the yellings, etc, i truly am excited for you to come to canada to stay someday. i can’t wait for paris. i just think you’re a wonderful person, and deserve to be reminded of that fact, day in and day out.

cc ( @joc-cook​​ ) - ummmm, so obviously, what a month, i can’t believe we have literally machine shit out this much writing and plotting and i am just!!! thrilled because it’s so lovely to be on vibes with someone who’s feeling the same. it’s been such a blast and i really really really hope you stay because i adore our ship and it’s been so thrilling to write like, all this pure unadulterated angst and to build up the slow burn and everything. like you know it’s real when you’re fucking writing timelines with all your memes because you can’t keep that shit straight anymore. anyways, love you loads, so fucking excited.

noct ( @ofeden​​ / @feardrawn​​ / @bringwar​​ / @rooskcya​​ / @sarpelui​​ ) - this might be super lame of me, but honestly, i am so grateful we write so much. i know we don’t sit there gushing and wailing, or the usual stuff, but frankly, you are always someone i’ve loved to write with across all the blogs you’ve ever written. in fact, like i’m positive i even missed some up there, but whatever, fuck it. you’re mad fucking talented, and you always make me feel appreciated, and i want you to know i feel the same. the rpc is a better place with you in it.

sam ( @untamedshe​​ / @blakeforged​​ ) - is it weird to say i feel closer to you now than even amsterdam? LMAO! and i mean that in a good way of course, i think in the last little while we’ve gotten a chance to talk so much more than ever before, and it’s been great! you put up with all my nonsense yelling as we watch things, and i’m so happy to see you happy in all the things you’re writing. we need to plot some fantastically sad things, i can’t wait!

to my t100 loves ( @learnednothing​​ / @astralsparks​​ / @gonpleiga​​ / @headstrongblake​​ / @portectorisms​​ / @pyrrhicmessiah​​ / @suspectedalways​​ / @heroach​​ / @survivormoves​​ / @damnbrain​​ / @shesdaylight​​ / @gracefallen​​ ) - you guys are all the fucking truth. first time, literally ever, i have ever been in a fandom server where i haven’t felt awkward, uncomfortable, and low key ready to make an escape. you’re all fucking too cool for me, and i appreciate you adopting my two girls into your brave new world. 

to the euphoria babes ( @maddypcrez​​ / @naivefell​​ / @kitkween​​ / @ghostbloomed​​ / @cfknights​​ ) - i’m so glad you guys are here, watching you all write and when we write together seriously brings me genuine joy. i know the show is A Lot sometimes, but you bring a really fantastic spin to each character and i couldn’t be happier or more proud to write alongside with you. season 2 baby!!!

to the amazing krp community ( @spoiledsovls​ / @monarchkiing​ / @alphabetavendiagram​ / @tckkis​ / @thxvclvxts​ / @hcnder​ / @madkids​ / @synthes​ ) - ok this is obviously not everyone but, y’all talented, beautiful, gorgeous, fantastic! seriously having you on my dash is a dose of glorious light, and i’m happy y’all write with me for real.

to those i’m excited to see how the vibe goes slash just love ( @unferal​​ / @briillicnt / @timidstrcngth​ / @hatteir​ / @sunsct​ / @stagcharmed​ / @marblecarved​ / @brokenxbeautyxx​​ / @tenebrisvatis​ / @inkfated​ / @wehavefoundthestars​ / @lunaeclipsex / @ourpyrrhicvictory / @itswasteland / @despairfelt ) - can’t wait for more more more more! please know i think you’re wonderful!

[someone-worth-racing-for]

Hello👋🏼

I just read your post about your fan fictions and just wanted to let you know my thoughts.

First of all I’m really sorry that you feel your Carlando fictions are not appreciated any more, for me they still are and I get happy every time when I see you uploaded one. Personally I got to be honest with you I often forget to give feedback.. I’m not a writer myself so I don’t really know what it feels like, but now that you explained it I totally get it and unterstand why you are a bit annoyed about that.

I will definitely try in the future to give you more feedback and tell you how much I love your stories, because I really like all of them.

I’m currently rereading “someone worth racing for” for like the 10th time cause it’s just so good😍

Anyway, your of course free to write about whatever you want or makes you happy☺️ I just wanted to let you know that your Carlando stories are still very much appreciated!

Much love and enjoy the race later!

Hey there!

Actually, I can see from the views of my stories, that people are still interested in Carlando stories/my fanfictions, but you know it’s pretty devastating to get feedback so barely anymore. I know some writers are maybe able to go on and keep on their great work and publish new stories/chapter regularly without any feedback, but I'm serious - I just can’t. I sometimes don’t know anymore if I’m doing things right or wrong, if people like what I write or if they have already got annoying about it, because no one says anything. It’s difficult to explain and slowly but sure you also lose motivation.

And I’m really serious here, if there wouldn’t be that one precious person in my life (you exactly know who you are ❤️), who gives me feedback to every of my stories/new chapters, which are sometimes even longer than the story itself (!), I would have probably stopped publishing stories already with the beginning of this year. I’m sorry, but I can only work that way. Without her support, her words and her listening ears, I would only write stories for myself anymore. So you actually owe it all to her, you all benefit from her feedback to me. And I really don’t tell anyone here now to go an leave 3k reviews on all my stories, but sometimes only one short sentense can change so much.

I remember back the day when I have got into this fandom, especially when I have discovered Carlando and have written my first multi-chapter for that ship - I was really surprised and so overwhelmed about all the feedback I have received for that story, it was really incredible. Because I wasn’t used to get so many comments for my stories. I even made an own chapter in the middle of the story only to say thank you for all support and feedback I have already got. I have really thought this fandom/ship will be different, but it turned out to be just the same like all the others. Yeah, I get it - Carlando was still a pretty new ship back then and there also really weren’t so many stories about the two of them out there back the day and actually I’m very happy that there are so many people writing stories about the two of them now, but that’s already “the problem”. People are already used to get feed with new stories almost daily. It’s nothing special for them anymore. It’s the same about Carlos/Charles stories - when I have published my first story for the two of them, people were really happy about it and I also received some feedback, but also this will change with time as soon as new stories won’t be anything special anymore. That process is normal/natural and it’s just how we are, but from time to time we should remember to not take all those stories for granted, no matter for which fandom or ship. There is always a hard working writer behind every story and people really shouldn’t forget about that. The more popular a fandom/ship becomes, the less people appreciate stories, it’s sad but unfortunately also true..

Still, thank you very much for your kind words, anon! ❤️