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script-nef · 4 years

Text

Tokyo to France

Category: fluff

1.6k words; Office date [1/6]

Gojou Satoru is many things. The Strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer, an official title which is proven often to be true; humanity's ray of light in the fight against cursed spirits—see the "strongest sorcerer" bit; a teacher at the Tokyo Prefectural Jujutsu Specialty High School even though most, if not all, of the Sorcerers Exclusive don't really approve of him; and a total bother.

He has an aloof and laid-back aura, indicating he doesn’t really care about much other than his missions and his occupation as a teacher. He’s whimsical and spontaneous, sometimes selfish in the extreme, putting his desires—like his all-too-often snack breaks—first ahead of anything, except for critical situations. And even then he might still not come. Add his total disregard for higher-ups who pretend to see the “bigger picture”, and there’s a lot of reasons why everyone he’s ever met—well, most of everyone since the newest kid Itadori is yet to experience the full "Gojou's shitty antics" ride just yet but it'll come soon, you can tell—are often annoyed by him.

And the one person who experiences this more than anyone is you, who's currently suffering under his relentless chatter after another successful mission. He always does this, like you’re the only person in the world he can talk to (read: bother).

You don't have anything specific against the man, he’s usually a good friend and a welcomed fellow sweets enthusiast, it's just that you're currently behind on your assigned paperwork and he's a great distraction. His tales are often laced with humour and he has a natural knack for storytelling. The fact that Gojou has a nice, soothing voice which beckons for your attention is also a factor. If you didn't have work you'd be fully invested in his recount but as previously discussed, he has shitty antics and one of those is not particularly caring about whether the other person is busy or not.

He keeps talking and words like “egg tart”, “Shibuya” and “internationally famous” slip through your defence, forcing your brain to block out the lengthy paragraphs on the report and enticing you to listen to him. After a while, you decide that this is getting nowhere. You can’t remember the last couple of paragraphs and Gojou is usually relentless, but you can hear his voice weakening just a bit as you pretend to ignore him.

Resigning yourself from the work and leaning back onto the chair, you make pseudo-eye contact with him. He seems to brighten up just a bit when you do so, the strength of his voice returning. That makes a ghost of a smile appear on your lips. You'll just have to pull an all-nighter after your dinner with Ken-chan.

Gojou always has great stories about his trips everywhere, both in Japan and overseas. Having a teleportation skill is incredibly useful, you realise with envy. If only I had his inherited techniques is a thought which pervades your mind often.

"And I was so close to getting the egg tart but the person in front of me bought the last one! I waited for an hour! For nothing!" The story is topped off with a small pout as he slouches on the chair, chin sitting on the backrest. You laugh, amused at the sudden change of mood. Only he could go from happy and light-hearted to gloomy and dejected in a breath, jokingly or not.

An easy conversation flows between the two of you as you finally disregard your work, chin resting on your palm and eyes crinkling with laughter.

It’s nice like this. He’s been coming around the office more lately, sometimes armed with sweets and sometimes with an agenda to whisk your time away for his use because he’s bored. It’s mostly fine because a person to talk to is welcomed after a couple of hours by yourself, staring at lit screens until you can feel your eyes die off. You once got a scare because everything had a weird white outline when you finally diverted your eyes from the screen. In a sense, he was keeping your sight safe. He smiled when you said that, replying “Glad I can be of service!” before rattling off another description of a strawberry cheesecake he found in Belgium.

“It must be so nice, being able to teleport places. It takes me so much time just to travel within Japan, honestly such a bother. And I can’t really go overseas either with so many tasks to do with all the cursed spirits running around.” Sighing, you slouch on the desk and bury your face in your arms, missing how Gojou’s lips immediately quirk up.

“I can take you there, you know.” Your head shoots up at that, staring at him with wide eyes. “I can take you anywhere. How about France? We’ll be there in the blink of an eye. We can spend a couple of hours there, eat as many pastries as we want to and just snap right back here. What do you say?” His foot taps on the ground repeatedly, like he’s nervous or agitated. Is he in a hurry or something?

Well, it doesn’t take you long to come to a decision. The offer sounds nice. Really, really nice.

It’s been a while since you had a break. Not like you can take a long one since cursed spirits are unpredictable in their appearances and need constant attention so that civilian casualties don’t occur. Which means the workflow never stops coming. A trip to pastry country sounds amazing.

“Sure, that sounds good. We need to set up a ti—”

“Gojou-sensei!”

The door slams open, the sound echoing through the hallway and the office. Gojou’s new student, Itadori Yuuji, leans on the door while gasping for breaths.

“Hey, Yuuji! What’s the rush?”

“We’re supposed to be training! I was waiting in the room for the past 10 minutes!” A quick glance at the clock indicates 6:40 and you finally notice the sun setting over the mountains. The fading light paints the room in a golden warmth, which makes you wonder why you didn’t notice how fast time was flying. Probably because you were too invested in your conversation with your friend.

Who is now picking himself up from the chair and putting up theatrics by brushing off non-existent dust from his pants. Small giggles escape at his antics. A glance at Itadori tells you he’s close to dying from either dehydration or exhaustion. He must have run all over the campus trying to find Gojou. You wonder why he doesn’t just use his phone. You do live in the fifth technological age and sort of expect a teenager like him to be able to use one.

“Itadori-kun, do you want some water?” Rising out of your seat, you reach for a cup but Gojou’s hand stops it by covering yours. He twists your hand in his and interlaces his fingers with yours.

“No, it’s fine. We’re going to go now. Think about the time and date, okay? Keep in mind the time difference.” He gives the connected hand a slight jiggle as a farewell, skipping out of the room with a bright “Goodnight!” He’s initiating a lot more physical contact recently. Wonder what that’s about.

Itadori watches the scene unfold from the doorway, jaw slack. His eyes follow Gojou but as soon as he’s out of the room, they snap to you. He stares at you so intensely that it looks like his eyes are going to pop out of its sockets pretty soon. You have no idea why he’s staring at you like this and why he’s not following his teacher. It’s like he’s frozen solid in his spot.

Some—read all—of his students sometimes complain about his walking speed, how he purposefully uses his leg length as an advantage and briskly walks on ahead, leaving them in the dust. Some—again, read: all—of your co-workers said the same thing as well. You asked him about it one day and he replied with a great big smile, “I just do it for fun!” He doesn’t do it to you, though. It’s weird because he does it at least once to everyone else you ever met, even your own brother, despite him being only a few centimetres shorter than Gojou. It apparently played a part in his reluctance to partner up with him. Or just generally hang out with him. You wish he’d give Gojou a chance, he’s not that bad once you get to know him.

Hm, maybe I just don’t have an interesting enough reaction for him. Am I not interesting? Is it a really weird and backhanded way of telling me I’m boring? The train of thoughts takes off, expanding and multiplying until you realise Itadori is still imitating a befuddled statue.

You stare at him. He stares back. He doesn’t break eye contact. This is a really weird thing to think right now but he would absolutely crush everyone at a staring contest.

“Itadori-kun? Don’t you need to go?” That seems to startle him out of his stupor.

“Ah, ye—yes! Sorry for interrupting!” Before you can assure him that there was nothing to interrupt, the poor boy stumbles out of the room and also manages to bonk his head on the door and wall no less than twice. Yelps of “I’m okay!” and “Don’t worry!” followed by his running stops you from checking up on him.

“Man, Gojou must really have his hands full taking care of such a clumsy boy. Thank God Fushiguro is a bit more calmer. Now, where and when should we go… Probably should find out the time difference like he said… Oh! Maybe I can invite Shouko and Ken-chan to come along! They need to get out and have a holiday as well. I’m sure Gojou won’t mind if I invite them.”

Masterlist | Next chapter →

#gojou x reader #gojou imagine #gojou satoru x reader #gojou satoru imagine #gojo x reader #gojo imagine #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru imagine #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk imagine #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojou #gojou satoru #fluff #series #female reader

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atalho-s · 3 years

Text

Sweet Sugar

2 | Oh this town it's so electric

pairing: tom holland x reader

warnings: swear words, underage drinking (not much tho, nothing descritive and nothing like “Skins” lmao), suggestive scenes in some chapters, not smut!! but minors be aware. Fluff/angst/drama/ Y/n and Tom being stupid teenagers with feelings.

words: 2.5 k

a/n: english it’s not my first language, sorry for any mistake!

Summary: Y/n has always been Harrison’s and Tom’s best friend. Since childhood they’ve always been close, but what happens if after a break up with her first boyfriend, she starts to feel something more about Tom?

PART 2! If you want to read Part 1 click here

Don’t forget to check out the playlist by @petesrparker created for the series! here

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It was almost 7pm on Saturday and I was almost ready to go meet Tom before we went to the party. I had put on a stylish shirt along with a skirt (a little shorter than i usually wore) and a sandal with a medium heel. After finishing doing my outline, I take the bag with the gift and went down the stairs.

The day before I had found something in the mall, a chain with an amber stone as a pendant. The attendant of the store had told me it meant protection and calm, which I thought was perfect to give to Tom as a way to show that I was there to comfort him whenever he needed it.

As soon as I went downstairs my mother was already waiting for me to fill me with accessories (she always complained that I didn't "dress up" properly).

- You look beautiful! - She said putting a bracelet on my wrist and two rings on my fingers.

- Aw, thanks mom!- I said giving a kiss on her cheek. - I have to go, because I'm almost late, I don't know what time I'll be back, probably before midnight.

-Okay, If you need anything calls us and we'll go get you. - She said and I nodded waving to my father who was in the living room. - Give my birthday wishes to Thomas and a hi to Haz for me and take this pie to Nikki. - She handed me a bag with a pot as we walked down the stairs from the front door.

- Okay, bye mom! - I said and waved down the street.

After walking for less than 10 minutes I was in front of Tom's house, took a deep breath, went up the stairs to the entrance and knocked on the door. I heard some screams to open the door from the inside and a "messy hair" Harry wearing striped pajamas answered me.

- It's Y/n! - He yelled to the side. - Come in. - He said as he gave me space and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

- Are you ready to sleep? - I said pointing to his pajamas. - Actually it's time to children to be in bed, you're right. - and Harry stuck out his tongue.

- So funny. Since we're not old enough to go to the party with you guys, me, Sam and Paddy are going to play video games and watch movies, you know, boys night. - He said as if celebrating, putting a fist up.

- Got it. In fact, what I really wanted was to be with you guys watching movies, much better than a party. - I said as we arrived in the kitchen, where Nikki and Sam were preparing cookies.

- I doubt it, I can't wait to go out and have fun at night. Harry said and I shrugged.

- What can I do? I'm a old lady... - I laughed and greeted Nikki and Sam with a hug.

- I wish my children like to stay in home like you. -Nikki spoke as she took the cookie shape out of the oven.

- Well Nikki, I've already tried to get them on the right path, but they're too rebellious.- I said and Harry and Sam giggled. - My mother sent you apple pie. - I put the bag on the counter.

- Yay, your moms apple pie is delicious!- Sam said opening the bag and taking a fork to taste.

- Teenagers....I don't know what I do with these pests anymore.- Nikki said putting her hand on her hip and watching Harry and Sam fight to eat the pie.

- Did I hear pie?- Paddy came into the kitchen greeting me with our handshake, which I taught him since he was practically a baby, Paddy and I had our little bond, I was his defender when the older brothers made fun of him.

He stole Sam's fork and ran off as he and Harry ran after him screaming.

-Oh God…I don't deserve this.- Nikki laughed. - Honey, Tom is there in his room getting ready, if you want to go upstairs.

- Okay, I'll hurry him.- I said and she agreed, laughing. - By the way, you look amazing! I loved your outfit.

- Thank you Nikki! - I thanked going towards the stairs.

Once I got to the top I walked until I reached the end of the hallway where Tom's room was, knocking on the door.

- Tommy? Can I come in? - I asked and heard a "come in!" from the inside.

I opened the door and saw Tom in front of the mirror finishing his hair. He wore a basic white T-shirt and black jeans, along with a black all star with white laces. He looks beautiful, which made me miss a few heartbeats for a moment.

- Did you like it? - He asked turning to me and opening his arms looking at himself and then at me again.

- Perfect! I loved the all star- I said and he smiled.

- You not looking bad yourself either... New skirt? - He said looking me up and down making me feel my cheeks burning.

- It's old, but I've never used it, I left it for special dates.

- I felt honored now- he said and I laughed.

-Hey happy brithday! - I approached and hugged him feeling his delicious and intoxicating perfume. - Best wishes, I hope all your dreams come true. - I said still hugging him tight and closing my eyes feeling him kiss my cheek when we let go.

- Thank you mate, you and Haz are one of the best thinga in my life. - He said and I smiled seeing him smile back, and what a smile... Damn y/n! Stop thinking things that shouldn't be thought!!

-I have a present for you!-I said, delivering my bag in his hands.

- Yay!! - He got excited sitting on the bed to open it like a child on Christmas Day. -Wow!- he said taking the chain out of the box. - It's beautiful... Thank you so much darling, I love it! - and obviously I blushed even more with the pet name. Tom called all the women closest to him darling or love, which was normal, but whenever he said to me, for some reason, I felt a warm feeling in my heart...

- You're welcome Tommy, it's an amber stone to bring you protection and patience.

- Perfect, everything I need - he looked at me - I'll use it right now! It even matched my outifit- he said putting the chain around his neck and winking at me right after.

- I liked it, it looks amazing. - I said looking at him and he hugged me from the side.

- Hey, we have to go if we don't want to be late.- he said getting up and giving me his hand to get up too.

- Right. - I said, following him out of the room and down the stairs behind him.

- Mom? We're already going! - he yelled, taking the keys from the counter and Nicki appeared approaching.

- You two are rocking huh? Both look beautiful! My baby is already so grown... - she said squeezing one of Tom's cheeks making me laugh and he rolled his eyes.

- Mom...

- Okay, go ahead, and don't drink! Especially you young man - she said pointing at Tom with her intimidating finger. - And don't come back too late.

- Okay mom. I'm responsible.

- Yeah... I'm just more relieved, because the Y/n goes too, she's the only sane one of this "impossible trio." - and I made a face of "proud of myself", puffing out my chest.

-Ha-ha, yeah sure...- Tom replied and I hit his arm causing him to rub it pretending he was in pain.

- I'm the oldest and most responsible, Nikki is absolutely right. - I said and Nikki laughed.

- You said like you're very old, but it's only some months... - He start saying and I raised my hand ready to hit him again, making him shrink with fear. - Okay, okay... Now let's go, because we're already too late. - Tom said opening the door letting me through and we waved to Nikki.

We took an uber and arrived in 20 minutes in front of the party. It was a really nice house, Tom’s friend welcome us on the front door and lead us to the backward, into what appeared to be a small wood structure with a big window at the front, but when Tom and I walked in after passing the door, the place was a lot bigger than it looked. It had a lot tables around like a big saloon even with a dance floor and seemed to be very cozy. When we walked in you could hear an indie song playing in the background, which I really liked as it's one of my favorite styles. Passing through the door we already saw some familiar people seated, including Haz.

- Finally! The birthday boy arrived!- Tuwaine, one of the boys' friends, who eventually became mine too, stood up greeting Tom with a hug.

- Thanks mate.- Tom said returning the hug and greeting the rest of the people who were at the table and I went after him greeting them too.

- Good to see you here Y/n! I know you're not a big fan of parties.- Tuwaine said as I sat between him and Haz.

- Well, it’s what we do for friends, right? - I laugh looking at Tom who was talking to some friends from the school.

An hour passed and everyone was drinking and talking happily. Tom sat at the end of the long table a little away from where I was with Haz and Tuwaine, so the 3 of us were talking nonsense and joking together.

Until a group of 4 girls arrived together, one of them I could recognize as being Gracie, a girl from the school, I didn't know her very well, we were classmates, we did math together, but we never talked. And another face I knew well: Meghan. A girl who do theater with the boys and who was everyone's crush. Tom and Haz were always talking about her, but I had never talked to her for a long time, just the times I would meet the boys at the theater, we would say hello and goodbye and that was it. The only thing I knew was that Tom was in love with her since he was a child.

Obviously that made me a little jealous, which was ridiculous, because I didn't even know her very well and even though I felt something different for Tom for the past few months, it wasn't right for me to be jealous, he was my friend, that's all.

The girls approached the table and Tom got up to greet them.

-I'm glad you came!-I heard him say as he kissed Meghan's cheek and hugged the others. I could see Gracie looking in Haz's direction and look away quickly, which made me raise a curious eyebrow.

They sat down and I saw Meghan walking to the bar with Tom as they chatted excitedly. I looked away picking up my glass with a drink I didn't even know what it was anymore, taking a sip. I heard someone approaching and when I looked up I saw Gracie.

- Hi Haz! Good to see you. - She said and I saw Haz turn a little red.

- Good to see you too Gracie!- he said greeting her across the table.

- Do you guys know each other?- I asked looking from one to the other.

- Yes we did English together. - Haz said.

- You are Y/n aren't you? Do we do math together? - Gracie asked.

- Yes we do! Do you know Meghan too?

- Yes, she is a childhood friend of mine, as she said she was coming on Tom's birthday and didn't want to come alone me, Beverly and Paige came to accompany her.

- Got it, do you want to sit with us? - I said pointing to the chair in front of us.

- I wish, but the girls are already asking me to sit with them, we haven't seen each other for a while, you know, don't you want to go sit with us instead? - She said pointing to the other table where the other 3 girls were looking at her, calling her.

- It's a good idea. - Haz said and looked at me and Tuwaine who agreed, getting up.

So Gracie went in the front with Tuwaine behind her and me and Haz got a little further back, where I poked him.

- Why didn't you tell me you had a crush? - I asked like a whisper so that only he could hear me.

- It's not a crush... She's just a nice girl from my class, that's all. - he replied.

- Haz I know you.- I said and he rolled his eyes giggling.

We arrived at the table and stayed there talking and getting to know each other. The girls were really nice and cool, which I ended up getting along really well with them, especially Gracie, which was funny because we did a class together and we never even said hello to each other. In the meantime, Tom and Meghan had already returned from the bar with their drinks, where Meghan ended up finding a way to sit next to Tom at the other table, which I thought was a little weird, but I ignored it.

After a few minutes Tom approached our table.

- Hey guys, we’re going to the dance floor, do you guys want to?- he asked leaning between my chair and Haz.

Everyone ended up agreeing, getting up and following him to the dance floor, where Meghan and a few others at the other table were already dancing. The song Juicebox by The strokes starts playing, and everyone sang loudly. I was a little behind as I hated dancing, but I also joined in the singing, because Strokes was one of my favorite bands.

Soon after, the song Glockenspiel song by D.I.D started to play. We got even more excited and started jumping singing. I saw Haz approach Gracie, which made me smile, they looked cute together. So, I looked around and realized that I was in a corner alone, Tuwaine had already left for the middle of the floor super excited and the other girls were on the other side, talking to Marcos and Julian. I kept looking until I found Tom and Meghan, they were dancing very close and talking talking into each other's ears, laughing.

(Oh this town, it's so electric Since I got the feeling I can't shut down)

I lowered my eyes finding the ground very interesting for a moment, but I couldn't stand it and looked up again.

(Oh this town, it's so electric Since I got the feeling I can't shut down)

Which I regretted, because now they were kissing passionately.

(We are a mess, we are failures and we love it)

I felt my stomach starts to hurt, and my eyes fill with tears. Why did I feel this way? It was ridiculous and immature. Tom had already hooked up with other girls in front of me, why was it different now? Not understanding my feelings, the only thing I did was run away, I went outiside and went to the front of the house, leaving.

Maybe it was the drink? But I sat on a low wall and lowered my head to my knees and started to cry.

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#tom holland #tom holland fanfic #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland friends to lovers #tom holland angst #tom holland fluff #tom holland series

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timelordthirteen · 4 years

Text

Desperate Souls 1/?

Mr. Gold/BelleFrench, Explicit

Summary: A broke and heartbroken Belle French comes to an agreement with Mr. Gold to do a little modeling, just for him, in exchange for the money she desperately needs, but it isn't long before they both realize they've made a deal they didn't understand. Based on this prompt.

Chapter Summary: Belle makes a depressing discovery and considers her options.

Notes: OKAY. Here we go. Chapter 2 is almost done, but everything was getting stupid long and in spite of my plan I had to break it up. The entire story is all fully outlined now, but I make zero promises about my ability to keep it updated because I'm the worst. In total it will be anywhere from 10 to 15 chapters.

[AO3]

Belle stared at the paper in her hands.

$37.23

That was all that was left in the account. She staggered and then dropped down onto the old sofa. Her heart was thumping in her chest, her face felt hot, and her vision blurred. The page fluttered away, sliding over the coffee table to fall off the edge and onto the floor on the other side. The corner of the paper fluttered in the air from a heating vent in the floor, and she watched it for a long moment before her head dropped to her hands, palms pressed to her face as tears stung her eyes.

Her heart, her hopes, her money; Garrett Gaston had taken everything.

Well, almost everything. Apparently, she still had thirty-seven fucking dollars and change left. She shook her head and laid back against the cushions, breathing slowly. Calming down was step one, step two was figuring out a logical plan to fix things. Most of the regular monthly bills: car payment, cell phone, and utilities, had already been deducted before Garrett had a chance to clean out their shared account. That left whatever was on the credit card and the rent to pay. She let out a short, humorless laugh, and sat up. There wasn’t much on her Visa, some books she ordered from Amazon last month and her Netflix subscription. Even if there was more she could get away with making minimum payments if she had to and eat the interest until she got back on her feet. The rent was a whole other story.

Mr. Gold didn’t do minimum payments, but he did do late fees and interest.

There was also her promise to her father. Moe French was always just barely making ends meet, and she had agreed to loan him some money to buy extra stock for the flower shop ahead of Valentine’s Day, something she had done last year as well. That holiday always put the shop in the black for a while, and she hadn’t been concerned that she wouldn’t get her money back. Now she was wondering if she would also need a loan of some kind just to keep a roof over her head.

Maybe she’d even have to move back in with her father.

Belle blinked, letting the tears roll down her cheeks, leaving trails through her makeup. Living with Moe was not an option, not if she wanted to maintain any semblance of a relationship with him, which left her with few choices. She pushed to her feet, wiping at her face with her hand as she crossed the small living room to pick up the bank statement. Her eyes immediately went to the top of the page.

Beginning balance…$4,737.23

The statement crumpled in her hand, her fingers squeezing it into a tight ball, digging the sharp edges of the folded paper into her palm before she spun on her heel and threw it across the space. It smacked against the door to the bathroom. She followed it up by yanking the ring off her left hand and flinging it in the same direction. It made a satisfying ping as it careened off the doorknob and rattled to the floor.

Rage fueled her as she stomped through the apartment, snatching up the handful of things her now very ex-fiance had left behind before he fucked off to Mexico with a woman who wasn’t her, taking all of her money with him. She felt like an idiot for agreeing to sign Garrett onto her account before they were married, but in the moment it had made sense to pool their funds. They were starting their new life together, supposedly, and he made a point of saying he wanted to help pay for the wedding.

Belle and her father didn’t have much, and from the outside it seemed like Garrett was far better off financially. He had a decent job selling insurance, a nice car, nice clothes, and his parents were very well off real estate agents in Boston. Or at least that was what he had told her. She had never met them, and that, combined with the fact that he had yet to make any deposits into their now shared account, told her all she needed to know. Garrett Gaston was a lying asshole, and for all she knew his parents could be dead or have disowned him. It was clear he had used her, though she wasn’t sure the year long charade was worth the four thousand-seven hundred dollars he’d stolen from her.

She let out a ragged breath and ran her hands through her hair. A hooded sweatshirt with a rip in the front pocket, a paint splattered t-shirt, a pair of work boots that had seen better days, a phone charger, and a mismatched pair of socks lay in a pile on the sofa. Everything else he’d taken with him, including half the hangers in the closet. He must have crammed it all into the same large suitcase and duffle bag he’d used to move in just three months ago. She wondered if he’d had it all planned before then, or if it was a spur of the moment decision. When had he met this other woman? Had he cared about her at all, ever?

Belle sniffed loudly and rubbed her nose. She refused to shed any more tears over Garrett, and looked around the room for anything she might have missed. A thought hit her then, and she hurried into the kitchen, took one of the chairs from the small table by the window, and used it to reach up on top of the fridge. Her heart sank when she felt nothing but dust. He’d even taken her emergency fund, mostly made up of spare change and small bills shoved into an old jar. She wasn’t sure how much was in it, but it had to be a couple hundred dollars. That brought the total to almost five thousand.

Deflated and exhausted, she climbed down off the chair, and placed it back at the table. Then she walked back into the living room and briefly contemplated setting Garrett’s things on fire. There was a burn barrel in her father’s backyard that he used for yard waste. Maybe she could invite Ruby and Ashely over for a bonfire, and roast marshmallows that they imagined were ex-boyfriends.

That thought made her smile, but a few seconds later, she sighed and reluctantly went to pick up the bank statement and engagement ring. Being angry might make her feel better temporarily, but it wouldn’t solve any of her current problems. Unfortunately, neither would anything Garrett left behind, which were clearly items he no longer cared about and which had no value. At least she’d been wearing the ring when he packed up and left, or he likely would have taken that as well.

She went into the bedroom and sank down on the end of the bed. The mattress dipped and the frame creaked, yet another reminder of her less than stellar financial state. A couple of weeks ago, they’d talked about getting new furniture after they were married, in particular, a bed, and Belle rolled her eyes at the memory. She put the engagement ring back in its box on her dresser, and decided to take a shower. As the hot water ran down over her neck and shoulders, she made a mental list of what she needed to do, and felt calmer after she was done.

After drying off and changing into some comfortable clothes, she shoved Garrett’s belongings into a trash bag and set it by the door to take down to the dumpster in the morning. Then she sat down with the little notebook she kept in her purse and a pen, and started writing out her expenses for the next month. By the time she was done, and after considering the amount of her usual paycheck, the total she would at the end of next month was...fifty four dollars.

She fell back against the sofa and blew out a breath. There was no way to make the math come out any better. Rent included the usual utilities, but there was food, her cellphone, car insurance, and those incidental costs of existing like laundry detergent and toilet paper and probably a hundred things she’d end up running out of next week. It felt like life was out to spite her. The cushion she had worked so hard to build up was gone, as was the paycheck that had just deposited. Garrett probably waited until Thursday just for that reason, to squeeze just a little bit more out of her and make her ruin complete.

She got up and went back into the bedroom. The ring box seemed to be mocking her as she reached for it, and she flipped it open and scowled down at the princess cut diamond. It was about one carat in size, flanked by two smaller diamonds, which gave the ring a total weight of about one and half carats. It was huge as far as engagement rings went, and she supposed that was more of Garrett showing off money he didn’t actually have. The truth was she didn’t care for it at all, the squared off princess cut being her least favorite, and the set of three gems gave it a bulk and gaudiness that wasn’t her style. But it was what he had picked out and proposed with, and because of that she made herself like it. The band was rose gold, her favorite, which was at least one thing he managed to remember about her.

Belle snapped the box shut and shook her head. The ring had to be worth something, and though there was only one place in town she could take it she was confident that Mr. Gold would give her a fair price. He had always been fair, even if he often came off as cold and eccentric. She’d never had a problem with Gold, though she didn’t really know him that well either. A few times she had gone out of her way to try to be nice and talk to him, but he seemed annoyed and eventually she gave up. She was friendly and polite when she saw him, not just because he was her landlord, or because we wielded some strange power over most of the citizens of Storybrooke, but because she sensed he was someone who didn’t have a lot of kindness in his life.

She set the ring down and yanked open the bottom dresser drawer. Inside was a small collection of what could only be described as ugly Christmas sweaters, leftover from the annual holiday parties that Granny would throw at the diner. Those were taken out and set aside. Beneath them was something that made Belle frown all over again, a pile of silk and lace, with a few price tags caught up on each other. It was the pile of lingerie that she’d been reserving for her wedding and honeymoon.

The sting of tears made her blink and she felt her earlier anger bubbling up again. She knelt down in front of the drawer and pulled all of it out, throwing it behind her on the bed. Then she set about separating it, untangling tags and eye hooks, and pairing up the things that went together. She hadn’t worn any of it yet, but the items with tags had been purchased too long ago to return, never mind that she had probably thrown out the receipts weeks ago. It wasn’t designer stuff or anything, but it had to be worth something, so she folded it all into a neat stack and placed it on top of the dresser. Then she set the ring box on top and resolved to take all of it to Gold’s shop tomorrow.

None of it would be missed.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #belle x mr. gold #lemon fic #;)#my rumbelle fic #fic #deals and debts #desperate souls

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lynnsaundersfanfic · 3 years

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Grounded, Chapter 10: Dreams

A Coffee House Fic inspired by a prompt from awesomegreentie.

We started off with a T rating, but who are we kidding here? It’s me. So, the rating has been moved up to M at Chapter 5.

Chapters in Order: Introductions - Invitation - Stroll - Alchemy - Dayspring - Distraction - Lost - Firelight - Monday - Dreams

Or, read it on fanfiction.net here.

Grounded | Chapter Ten: Dreams | by Lynn Saunders

The Tuesday before Christmas dawns cold and grey, and John watches the sunrise as he sits before the shop’s hearth with his morning tea, struggling a bit to meet the day. William looks surprised to find him there quite so early after closing so late the evening before, but he doesn’t comment on the matter. They really must hire someone else on, and soon.

Anna’s over a week gone, and John has scarcely slept since she’s been away. He trudges home late in the evenings, tie askew, and sinks onto the couch in his sparsely furnished flat to doze for a few hours before rising early to do it all over again. His split with Vera did not leave him with much in the way of quality furnishings, and what little he did take with him has mostly been used to lend a personal touch to the tasteful rusticity of the coffee house. The little shop is the first thing he’s truly been able to make all his own. But his apartment feels cold, the freshly painted walls stark and bare, and it’s not yet truly a home for him. It’s pale and blank, a new slate that he hasn't yet gotten around to writing on - not like Anna’s flat, which is warm and cheerful and utterly her.

He’s a bit surprised to find that it’s difficult to sleep without Anna snugged in safely against him. He craves her scent and the warm press of her body in the dark. He tosses and turns in the night, restless and brooding. But when sleep does finally find him, he dreams of a faerie with golden hair, her eyes blue as the sea. She awaits him eagerly in a small hothouse in mid-winter, dressed all in white. In the dream, their meetings are secret, and her love for him is certain. This morning, the taste of the dream maiden’s lips had lingered on his even after he awoke feverish and shaky, lost between worlds for a moment and struggling to remember which was real.

The church bell down the street chimes out the hour, and John rises and stretches. He retrieves his mobile from the mantle and sends Anna a photo of the blazing fire, then tucks the phone into his pocket with a small smile. He doesn’t expect her home for a few days yet, but it’s safe to say she hasn’t forgotten him. Two evenings ago, their goodnight phone call had ended with her breathlessly sighing his name.

I was thinking of the other night, he’d said. Of having you against the door.

He’s never been brave enough to give voice to such delicious thoughts before, never had someone so eager to listen. Her response to his secret whispers in the dark was the definition of unforgettable.

He finishes his tea with a smirk, then readies for the day, tying on an apron and washing his hands. He surveys the stock of pastries and resolves to make more fresh cinnamon buns, but it will have to wait until the morning rush dies down. For the next two hours, the bells on the front door jangle consistently.

Business is good. More than good. He feels utterly blessed to have this place, but beyond that he feels a sense of deep pride in his work. Is this what it’s like to love what you do? He realizes with a start that this is the first path he’s truly chosen for himself, rather than one he pursued out of habit, pressure, or obligation. In his old life, he might be tempted to focus on all the work that still looms ahead, or to wait for the other shoe to drop. He would’ve been too hesitant to venture into business ownership, too pessimistic. But more than anything else, being wounded showed him just how fleeting life is. That’s what made him put down the bottle and start living life again. And Anna? He certainly would’ve never imagined that he deserved the company of someone this lovely or, for that matter, someone this kind. Finally, he’s starting to believe.

Anna dreams of John in a different time. They sit at a long table in a bustling room she doesn’t quite recognize, yet she somehow knows it all the same. The room smells of coffee and warm, brown bread. Breakfast china rattles over bits of conversation. Beside her, John is clean-shaven and polished and proper. This image of him stands in stark contrast to what she knows he is capable of in the dark. He gives her a furtive glance, and she attempts to hide her flush behind her teacup. Her delicate wedding band is hidden safely away beneath her frock, nestled against her breastbone on a simple gold chain. Her cup clinks into its saucer, and she brings a hand up to absently trace the outline of the ring through the fabric of her dress. No one can know, not yet. John’s leg presses against hers beneath the table, out of view of the others.

The others?

But the room is gone now, replaced with the glow of a fire and the slip of fine linens against her bare skin. John’s thick fingers glide along her back as she rests, snugged against his chest. She’s long been sated, and now sleep calls. As her eyes drift shut, her mind flashes on the rustling of willow fronds and the taste of fresh cider, of mistletoe on the arch of an old oak door, of the earthy smell of a conservatory in midwinter and the sound of pottery shattering in the dark.

The company car rocks gently as it pulls onto Anna’s street, and her eyes blink open. Her mind fumbles for the thread of that intriguing dream, but the more she reaches for those memories, the further they slip away. John in an old-fashioned waistcoat and sleeves, she thinks with a grin. Something about a greenhouse… and then a feeling - one of bittersweet, quiet, and steadfast love. It is safe and warm, and… familiar? Anna shakes her head with a confused sigh.

The homes on Anna’s street are cheerful, dotted with wreaths and holiday lights. In the west, the sky is painted purple and crimson in the waning daylight. The car pulls to a stop at her door, and she draws the edges of her coat closed before stepping out into the nipping winter air. She’s so looking forward to being in her own flat and her own bed, to seeing her grumpy old three-legged cat… and her hot barista.

She checks her mobile - still no service. Ah, well. When she’d spoken briefly with John last evening, her plans called for staying in London at least another day or two. However, this morning’s presentation had gone surprisingly well, and when Mary spoke of sending Anna home ahead of schedule, she’d jumped at the chance.

The driver hurries around to help her with her bags, and she tips him generously before climbing the short flight of stairs to her apartment. Even with both bags in hand, Anna unlocks the door to her flat with practiced ease. Castle comes running and leaps onto the kitchen counter with a delighted chirp. She scritches him and shakes some crunchies into his bowl.

Tacked to the fridge is a note from Gwen.

I continue to be Castle’s favorite person to torment. The beggar knocked the treat bag off of the counter and ate half. He then vomited in the hall and stared haughtily as I cleaned it up.

XO, G

Castle blinks innocently from the kitchen counter, and Anna gives him a disapproving look. She makes a mental note to take her friend for drinks ASAP to make up for it.

Gwen has left the week’s mail on the countertop, and Anna sorts the contents quickly while she waits for the shower to run hot. She happily sheds her travel clothes and steps under the spray with a relieved sigh, washing the muck of the day away. Oh, but there’s so much to do. She needs to go for groceries and work on the laundry, to put the finishing touches on a project before the firm closes for the holidays. But as she lingers in the steam of the shower, allowing the heat to sink into the delicate muscles of her neck and shoulders, she finds it impossible to care about those mundane tasks. Her mind drifts instead.

She thinks of last week, of John’s long fingers moving between her thighs, patiently coaxing her pleasure. She had melted into his embrace, her slick back pressed to his front, her head lolled against his chest. He had turned her then, lifting her solidly against the chilly shower tile and marking her neck with his lips as he pushed into her. His strong arms held her fast while she sighed his name and dug her fingernails into his shoulders. His teeth had trailed behind her ear just so. She reaches lazily up to press her fingertips to the spot, daydreaming until the water begins to cool.

Yes, all the trappings of everyday life can wait. She has a very particular craving that only one thing can satisfy.

John rushes to open the shop’s door ahead of William, who is carefully balancing three full pastry boxes, their largest order of the day. He steps out to meet the chill of the December evening, and William follows, passing gingerly through the doorway. They work together to arrange the pastry boxes safely in the floorboards of the waiting car.

The customer is Beatrice, one of John’s mother’s friends from church, and she reaches up to pat his arm affectionately. “Thank you, Dear.”

He smiles down at her. “I hope you enjoy them.”

“Oh, the kids will love them!”

She waves to William as he ducks back through the shop’s front door. The neon ‘open’ sign blinks out shortly afterward, and they watch for a moment as William goes about closing duties without having to be asked.

“He’s a hard worker,” John says. “Thank you for sending him my way.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve known his family for ages, and of course with his mother’s passing he needed something closer to home for a while. He’s all his dad has left now.” She shakes her head sadly. “But, I’m so happy you two get on so well. I hear there was a less pleasant fellow working here who has recently moved on.”

John laughs. “Yes, but that’s fine by me. Better the two of us work harder than have a third who rocks the boat. But if you know of anyone else who needs steady work, please send them my way.”

She thinks for a moment. “I may have just the young lady in mind. She’s young and a bit new to church, but she seems reliable. She was such a help with the bake sale.”

He draws a card from the breast pocket of his button-front shirt. “Please have her come by. William and I are managing, but barely. As it is, he needs a large bonus… and a holiday.”

She chuckles, then takes a conspiratorial step closer. “Now, let me hear all about this Anna. Margaret tells me you two are quite the item.”

John gives a somewhat embarrassed chuckle. His mother definitely cannot be prevailed upon to keep any secrets. “Yes, I suppose we are.”

“You suppose?” She tsks with mock disapproval. “Well don’t you be shy. Bring her ‘round to see us for tea soon.”

He gives a vague promise, and John waves as Beatrice pulls away from the curb. As the taillights fade in the distance, he takes a moment to stand still, to close his eyes and simply breathe in the icy air. There’s been no new snow today, but there’s still a satisfying icy crunch underfoot, and he remembers his first stroll home with Anna, the first brush of her lips against his cheek. That was only two weeks ago, yet somehow this thing between them feels both ancient and new.

It’s a bit odd that he hasn’t heard from her today, and it dawns on him that he’s not been the least bit concerned about what that uncharacteristic lack of contact means for their burgeoning relationship. In the past, he’s had what Vera would have called a jealous streak. But underneath that superficial explanation was truly only worry, a deep-seated fear that he won’t measure up, that he’s undeserving. But he feels none of that with Anna. Everything between them has come so naturally.

He takes one more moment to enjoy the quiet solitude of the winter evening, then turns to help William close up for the night. But he doesn’t quite reach the door. His breath is caught in his throat, and for a moment he stops and stares, blinking in delighted disbelief. Anna. The streetlamps catch her golden hair even through the frozen haze of the December evening. She’s supposed to be miles away, yet here she is on his street instead, making her way toward him with a very particular look in her eye. He sees warmth reflected there, mischief, and an intoxicating, velvety undercurrent of desire. He catches her up in an embrace, and she giggles as he lifts her off of her feet. God, he wants so badly to be the one who inspires that sound from now on. He breathes her in, feels the thrill of it deep in his chest, then remembers himself and returns her gently to the ground.

“Why didn’t you say you were coming?” he asks with a grin.

“I didn’t know until today.” Her eyes dance as she reaches up to straighten his tie. “That, and my mobile has been out of service all afternoon. But… I’ve brought you something that may make up for it.”

At his quizzical look, she reaches into her coat pocket and brings out a sprig of mistletoe, twirling it in her fingers for a moment, raising an eyebrow. He tugs her close in response, kissing her gently in the arch of the shop doorway until she begins to shiver in his arms. Later, as he sifts his fingers through her hair in her bedroom in the dark, she’ll tell him she wasn’t cold, not exactly. It’s the intensity of his touch that’s making her tremble. But he doesn’t know that now, and he ushers her quickly into the cheerful warmth of the coffee house. Muted sounds from the kitchen radio filter down the hall, and he can hear the clinking of silverware as William washes the dishes. He presses another soft kiss to her lips before locking the door and pulling the shades in turn.

“I need to-” he begins, but she places a gentle hand on his chest with a nod.

“Finish your work.” She smiles up at him. “I’ll still be here.”

He brings the back of her hand to his lips for a moment, then turns to join William in the kitchen. Together, the men make quick work of the evening chores. Soon the dishes are dried and the countertops gleam once more. William finishes the mopping while John reviews the checklist for tomorrow, smiling at the sheer volume of holiday orders.

As he pulls on his coat to leave, William glances down the hall toward Anna, then gives John a nod of decided approval. “It’s good to see you happy, Mr. Bates.”

John clears his throat a bit self-consciously, but he’s touched. “I think I am, truly… for the first time in a long while.” He pauses just a moment before adding, “now, run on home. We’ve another early day tomorrow.”

“You two don’t stay up too late,” William says with a wink as he pulls his cap down snug over his brow and disappears through the shop’s rear door.

John only laughs and shakes his head in response.

When he returns to the front room with a cup of cocoa to share, Anna is warming herself by the waning coals of the banked fire. The shop lights are low, and the sight of her silhouetted in the amber glow of the stone fireplace tugs at a quiet, yearning place deep within him. Anna just feels so… familiar, his mind echoes. It’s as if they’ve spent countless evenings sharing a hearth and a bed, perhaps across times and places he will never know or understand, but always - always - with the same indescribable current arcing between them.

She smiles up at him as he passes her the mug, and he eases onto the sofa, drawing her near. She takes a sip and gives a satisfied hum that makes the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. They watch the embers pop and spark for a moment as the kitchen radio plays on in the distance.

“How was London?” He presses a kiss to her temple.

“Good, actually.” She takes another sip of cocoa and passes him the mug. “Well, more than good, I think. It might mean a promotion.”

“Well done!” He squeezes her hand with genuine affection and pride, then adds cheekily, “Will you have a corner office, then?”

“No…” She grins up at him. “And nothing’s decided yet, but… on that topic, there is a favor I need to ask you.”

“Oh yes?”

“You see, there’s this company holiday party. Fancy dress and all that, and I’ll be needing a date…”

“Dancing and cocktails and a suit?”

“Well, probably not dancing… but the rest of it, yes.”

“No dancing? Pity, that.”

“I expect you’ll be relieved.” She taps his chest playfully with the back of her hand, and he realizes she thinks he’s joking.

He imagines Anna in a low-cut gown, his fingers gliding along the curve of her back as they savor the anonymity of a darkened dance floor. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

John smiles conspiratorially and moves their shared mug to the safety of the little coffee table. He rises carefully, then pulls Anna gently to her feet. She smiles shyly at him as he takes her hand and leads her down the shop’s hallway in the dark. The familiar rooms are bathed in shadows, and she clings to his hand like a lifeline. In the kitchen, he pauses to adjust the volume on the little radio, filling the room with the mellow, rolling notes of a jazz piano.

“Come here,” he says, his voice rough and low.

She giggles as he pulls her easily into his embrace, and they sway together in the dark, his right hand perfectly fitted to the small of her back. Thank goodness for heels, she thinks dreamily. Moving together this way, she’s just tall enough to rest her forehead against his broad chest. He tucks her hair behind her ear and tips her chin up to meet him, stooping to graze her lips with his. His large hands slide beneath the hem of her sweater, blazing a path up the curve of her spine. She hums happily, and she feels his answering smile against her temple.

She finds the quiet confidence in his touch intoxicating. She’s enamored with the pleasing stoutness of his body, the thickness of his chest and shoulders, the way he gazes at her so intently as they move together. She’s never been this easily turned on, this revved up. She’s fallen hard and fast, no question, but this thought doesn’t alarm her. Instead, she feels emboldened by her desire. When she rises on tiptoe to kiss him, he tastes not just of cinnamon and chocolate, but of something deeper and richer, a comforting memory she cannot place. And as the song begins to fade, they hold fast to one another, lighting a fire between them as they dance together in the dark.

Author’s notes:

I’ve not written in a long while. I worry it shows. Thank you for being patient while I knock the rust off.

Anna and Bates dance to Turn Me On by Nora Jones.

Thanks to @awesomegreentie and @gelana78 for quick-beta!

#grounded #anna and bates #anna x bates #Banna #downton abbey fanfiction #anna smith #john bates #coffeeshopau #alternate universe #sticky

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algernoninwonderland · 4 years

Text

“Porter sur toi un nouveau regard”: basic outlines and preparatory notes

What better way to celebrate a fic being completed than me releasing some of the basic notes I took while planning it? Here they are, with a few additions.

It all started as a prompt I got on Discord, the very simple “love at first sight” and I wasn’t quite sure what to do with it at first, but the idea of sight stuck with me. Are your first impressions the right ones? Can you learn to see someone a certain way or another? It’s ultimately a story about learning to see other people and yourself, isn’t it?

Which meant I had to take a certain point of view, because an omniscient floating eye is emotionally detached. Character POV may have a limited scope, but that may help empathise with them. This is a story about Kagami, so it was only fair for Kagami to be the centre of it.

Chapter 1:

“How does Kagami truly feel about Marinette before Ikari Gozen”?

While Marinette sees the two of them as rivals, that rivalry is one-sided, and Kagami wouldn’t take that girl seriously. She’s simply annoying.

Kagami is a lonely character, who genuinely wants to make friends, still, and she’s anything but cool or smooth. She doesn’t know the other characters the way the audience does, at all.

Tomoe Tsurugi sucks.

Switching from “Dupain-Cheng” to “Marinette Dupain-Cheng” to “Marinette” would be a nice way to keep the reader hooked. Lots of tiny details that’ll come back later on!

Comphet.

Lots of comphet already. What you “should” like, a calculated, conscious choice.

A few jabs at the show because why not.

Chapter 2:

Filling gaps in characterisation and timeline to make sure that everything hurts later on! Including pre-Adrigami. People thought the paperwork between Tomoe and Gabriel was a marriage contract, not quite, but an arranged relationship? Definitely from Tomoe’s side.

Are Kagami and Marinette already going on dates when they visit the city together all on their own? Isn’t that the true sapphic experience.

Also, the promise of them going to the terrace rooftop on sunny days! It’ll come back later on.

The Bike Motive. Marinette driving her forward.

“Your hair is beautiful” but make it much gayer.

I hate the André scene in the finale, it sucks and it’s awful for everyone. It should be awful for both Marinette and Kagami. Comphet. So much comphet.

Kagami’s impression of brokenness is something we’ll come back to over and over again.

Adrien doesn’t notice because he’s Adrien. The kiss. Nothing.

“K-Kagami!” End with a cliffhanger for more suffering.

As a side note, I made myself cry writing this chapter.

Chapter 3:

Everything hurts. Everything. Hurts.

Identity reveals don’t solve anything, they still fail, and Marinette still isn’t willing to show herself to Kagami, still hiding behind a facade.

Just because Marinette understands things a little better doesn’t mean it hurts any less

They are both lying to each other and themselves and they don’t even realise it.

“Fixing the brokenness” through comphet.

Nothing is solved at all.

Falling asleep on a chaise longue plus blanket

Chapter 4:

Life as a socialite in Paris, concerts and restaurants, wearing clothes she hasn’t chosen

The Adrien routine, pulling chairs and flowers

It’s all miserable still, lots of “shoulds”

Fencing competition, fencing competition ahead. Tomoe is a terrible parent and a terrible coach.

Text conversations with Marinette, overdoes joy with emojis

The Bike Motive Returns, with more feelings, Marinette’s almost desperate gestures

(Kagami as the only person she can fully confide in, but still won’t)

An early birthday present… But Kagami is born in November, Marinette is a mess and so is her room.

Hug and first hint of reciprocated Marigami? Just the happiness of having someone like Kagami who admires her work as Marinette.

Falling asleep on a chaise longue plus blanket, part deux.

KAGAMI IN A SUIT!!!

Kisses on the cheek are really common in France, not Japan. A heavy kiss.

Dress or suit?

Marinette is a mess, texts at night. Difference between Adrien and Marinette’s texts, Adrien’s more self-centred.

No sense of space in Tokyo, jet lag and closed house. Closed spaces.

Chapter 5:

I’m going to write a full chapter about sabre fencing and people will love it

Lots of sneaky (or not so sneaky) GL and Yuri manga/anime references. Make Juri Arisugawa part of the Jury.

All the locations are real

Marinette overdoes it again, Kagami can’t tell.

Kagami’s technique dissecting her opponents. She is a champion already.

Teach the readers about fencing whilst describing it. Have opponents be challenging in specific, understandable ways.

She chooses the suit. What even is subtlety.

As a side note: it was a really fun one to write.

Chapter 6:

Marinette internship phone call, Nathalie’s plan. No way Gabriel would accept to work with a kid. Flirting, Kagami as a muse?

The Foucault chapter. Everything is a prison. Restaurant, vertical stripes on wall as prison bars, the relationship, the self-locking car. This is no Utena car.

Everything is wrong, including the food

Adrigami friendship, much better than Adrigami romance. Rose/Chair. She doesn’t hate him at all, she just doesn’t love him… It wouldn’t work, she’s gay and he’s a liar.

Self-imposed gestures of affection.

Do not describe the kisses, they’re just a thing she has to do

Marinette is a mess, Ladybug is a mess, hell imagery, falling down a hole, almost dying. We are in the car with Kagami and we want to do something, anything, and we can��t.

Chapter 7:

The first step to things being alright again is to admit that they aren’t alright now

Nighttime conversation, Kagami letting Ladybug in

Marinette finally showing herself bare to Kagami but still tries not to until the dam breaks. Being a hero is miserable. Being the Guardian when you are a child with no guidance or support is miserable. Kagami as the only person she can trust.

Botched Lukanette date?

“I’m just so tired.”

“You are not a failure, you are so courageous, a genius fashion designer and my best friend”

(Additional note: I cried writing that passage)

Sharing the burden: help in more than just words.

“I hate that you have to see me like that.”

But showing your vulnerability and still being accepted as true love

Kagami truly sees Marinette now.

“Tutorship” and Tomoe being awful but excuse works. Help is material, homework, tidying up the room together.

“Stop feeling guilty about letting other people help you.”

Flirting hidden behind jokes, Kagami lying to herself. Way to ruin the mood.

Marigami baking.

Harlem 88, postal workers, acab

Watching television on the same couch, or rather watching Marinette watch television.

Umbrella scene with polka dots.

Kagami fully aware of her feeling and afraid of them, afraid that Marinette might feel the same

Chapter 8:

more fencing, Kagami absolutely rules

Worrying about Marinette alone with Gabriel, rightfully so, but can’t say that out loud

Stereotypical outdated Japanese-ness, Kagami can’t conform, doesn’t know how to put on her houmongi on her own. Tomoe and paradoxes, her daughter is both weak and “too muscular” at the same time.

The Palais Royal. The Buren columns are very climbable.

Gabriel, “quite miraculous”. Testing the waters, Kagami doesn’t notice.

Jealousy when Adrien speaks of Marinette?

Ratatouille reference! Tatou.

Tomoe playing the role of the exotic Japanese to be accepted.

Drunk parents, drunk on power and self-satisfaction.

Adrien’s kiss, forced to return it.

Fear that Adrien might become Marinette’s muse

The bike motive once more

Barkk’s power is tracking magical signatures, each is different from the other

Marinette taking control over her own life, making plans to stop Hawk Moth instead of passively waiting for each attack,

“She was never broken. She is in love with another girl.”

Marinette is in love with her too, but is ready to wait.

Chapter 9:

Adrien IS Chat Noir, up to the entitlement and his way of being physically affectionate. Stay true to canon and canon implications.

Adrigami/DJWifi double date, Alya means well but doesn’t know everything

Wordbuilding: of course the Ladyblog isn’t the only website ever, bad rival, Daily Bugle pun.

Not hating someone doesn’t mean you should be with them.

Hints of Adrigami friendship again, relief at avoiding romance.

Food at Kagami’s, cooker, formally perfect but not personal

Marinette and Barkk, closer to their goal

The Turtle Pearl bracelet: a shield, a great way to show feeling of danger, symbol of love

Kagami is the one to kiss Marinette on the cheek this time

Chapter 10:

Tomoe is a bad instructor episode 100

In which Adrien proves himself to truly be also Chat Noir, i.e. unable to understand personal barriers and entitlement. Still Kagami’s POV. He doesn’t think he’s doing anything wrong, insistence≠playfulness. certainly won’t apologise

The bike motive again. Scenic road and conversation

Going to Orsay, definitely a date!

Chat Noir was moody during akuma crisis because of course he was.

Chapter 11:

Adrigami “break”, Adrien sucks at admitting that he’s anything but perfect and being confronted with that.

Kagami bluntness.

Adrigami isn’t about Adrigami, it’s about the Tsurugi family’s status and Tomoe terrified of consequences. Attacking the room instead of Kagami herself.

The Turtle Pearl glows when wearer feels endangered or imminent danger

The museum pictures, the two of them together

Aquarium date?

“Voice of reason” isn’t the voice of reason at all.

Barkk is in the bag, smells everything

Chapter 12:

Kagami as Tomoe’s messenger

Agreste mansion as a mausoleum, setting up the geography, security cameras, cold. Painting of Émilie, goal is near

Nathalie being extremely good at pretending she didn’t just knock that kid unconscious months ago, she’s awful and it’s great.

Marinette internship, Gabriel wears a bowtie… Resembles a butterfly.

Barkk in the bag, smells everything.

Stressful phone call, feels feverish, it’s him and that’s undeniable.

Marinette the detective.

“Thanks for being there for me”

“Thank you for trusting me so much”

Having dinner with Hawk Moth, it’s awful and stressful

No more chair/rose

Adrien is miserable but not aggressive. Building up to final fight

Chapter 13:

Meet the Dupain-Chengs, short, awkward, sweet moment

Marinette’s room, perfectly clean

From creepy stalker to detective, without downplaying the former or overplaying the latter

The two are complementary, very concrete things,

The plan: catch Hawk Moth red-handed, take it outside and expose him to the world

How the Kwami Pearls work: just like the Miraculouses themselves, feeding off the host, only more brutal. Marinette trying to reassure Kagami

Re-explain Turtle Pearl and other powers, illusion, thunder, time-rewind and portal

Gabriel owns original Degas painting since they are both assholes

Adrien/Chat still not great at all

Ice-cream but no biphobia/lesbophobia this time, just a regular shop suggested by Juleka.

The Pont des Arts, no more locks, just like in real life.

The confession, the kiss: consent and everything is right, but also desperate. Marinette really wants to do it well.

Longg is back, also, hype

Side note: I cried writing this one.

Chapters 14-15

Ryuko infiltrating the mansion, all in the details

I hate that Hawk Moth’s lair is an actual real physical space in the show, but if this needs to be material, then so be it. He was allowed to turn his house into that because he got help from the Mayor/Audrey.

Chat Noir can’t fight, near breakdown.

Nathalie knew. Remake of first fight, only Ryuko has clear upper hand.

Having missiles in your house isn’t a good idea.

The Turtle Pearl serves its purpose at last,

Gabriel mostly defeats himself on his own, hubris, the whole extent of his power dynamic with Nathalie

Going back to the Champ de Mars,

Teamwork, taking the butterfly down. Chat Noir rejects his father entirely, cataclysm-ed akuma.

The mansion again, entirely destroyed, paintings of Émilie burning. Spell book and tablet recovered.

Chapter 16:

Taking the big bad down is useless if you don’t take down the power structures that allowed him to strive in the first place. Killing Voldemort only solves that much.

Discovering it all on a phone screen, shut-in

ACAB no matter your gender

They are just following orders and happy to do so, and Gabriel still has some power over them

Tomoe plays by the rules, even though these rules are awful

Kagami’s anger

Chapter 17:

Aquarium date, aquarium date! Fish facts

Kagami’s anger still, doesn’t die out, render it through environment and senses

Water as a healing motive, fish facts

Hot outside - cold inside, ice-cream

Kagami nearly blows out because of kids after being slightly soothed

The power of love is strong but it can’t solve everything.

Additional note: someone in the comments asked me if Kagami had ASD, and the answer is, I don’t know, you tell me! If you think she is on the spectrum, then she is!

Addressing Kagami being closeted, because there’s simply no other way. This isn’t good. Having to live hidden out of fear isn’t good..

The bike motive, + ice cream

Kagami uses the word “lesbian” for the first time to describe her own experience.

Chapter 18:

Tomoe has feelings and these feelings suck. Under the guise of rules, abuse.

Kagami fighting back.

Power is material, through connections and money, nothing that can’t be bought

Kagami’s first demonstration, don’t make it too violent but still ACAB

Nino and Alya as reporters, Julerose and Luka seasoned protestors

The Palais de Justice’s gilded gates are closed vs the crowd

Marinette using her powers for something other than Hawk Moth, strong stance but also still a 15 yo kid’s understanding of the situation

Chapters 19-20:

No tanabata because Tomoe is terrible

The rooftop terrace at last, more Marigami wholesomeness

Dupain-Cheng house vs Tsurugi house, the furniture and dishes, the meal, more Tom and Sabine

Marinette has been cut from her Chinese heritage, exploring that (callback to Mandarin app, chapter 1) and bitterness of it

Adrien moving on in England, still Plagg with him, he’ll become a rich prep boy

Marinette as a Guardians, her own spell book

Duusuu is devouring Émilie’s soul and neither Marinette nor Kagami knows

Françoise Dupont at night, fencing classes, Marinette moves like Ladybug

The future: it is bright but bittersweet, let’s talk about it together

And there was only one bed

Oh, to cuddle with your girlfriend in her bed for the first time

Watching the sun rise together, calm breakfast

Side note: I also cried writing this one.

Chapter 21, epilogue

A new beginning

Kagami turning her back on her mother almost entirely

The bike motive, but Kagami no longer needs Marinette to show her the way now

New school, familiar faces but not only

An ordinary bracelet for Marinette, but proof of love despite everything

End on their hands.

#miraculous #ml #marigami #kagaminette #ao3fic #mine

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yeniayofnymeria · 5 years

Text

GRRM's Original Outline "What has changed?"

Hello,

Now you all know Martin's letter he wrote in '93. When this letter was written and sent to the editor, the first 13 chapters (200 pages) were already written. In addition, the book consisted of three volumes of the first stage, but as you know, but its 7 volumes now.When we read the letter and the first 5 books, the first comment made was very different and different from the first outline; one or two things remain the same. But is it really? Here I would like to discuss this with you. I think I will go through the events step by step and you will make your own contributions when you read. Let's start!

1. Stark-Lannister war. It's remain, nothing changed.

2. (Dany) Targaryen's 7K invasion with Dothraks. It's still did not happend but we know Dany has Unsullied and some sellswords and next book, she will have Dothraks too. She will linger a little more in essos and then come to the West for the conquer. It's remain too.

3. The Others. GRRM said " Their story will be [sic] heart of my third volume, The Winds of Winter. " It's remain too.

4. Five Main Key Characters (Jon, Arya, Bran, Dany and Tyrion). " In a sense, my trilogy is almost a generational saga, telling the life stories of these five characters, three men and two women. The five key players are Tyrion Lannister, Daenerys Targaryen, and three of the children of Winterfell, Arya, Bran, and the bastard Jon Snow." It's remain too.

5. Fall of the Starks. " Things will get a lot worse for the poor Starks before they get better, I'm afraid. " Yes, indeed it happened.

6. Dead of Robert and long may live new king! "Ned will discover what happened to his friend Jon Arryn... will have an unfortunate accident, and the throne will to brutal Joffrey, still a minor." Yes, it happened too. This substance remained the same too.

7.Sansa and Joffrey. "Sansa Stark wed to Joffrey Baratheon, will bear him a son, the heir to the throne, and when the crunch comes she will choose her husband and child over her parents and siblings, a choice she will later bitterly rue. " Sansa betrays his family anyway but she did not wed Joffrey or bear his son. This substance has changed a bit.

8. Bran's coma and dream and greenseer and dead of Robb. " Young Bran will come out of his coma, after a strange prophetic dream... He will turn to magic, at first in the hope of restoring his legs, but later for its own sake... Robb Stark will die in battle."

Bran's the same, but Robb's got some change. Robb doesn't die in a war against Joffrey, Jaime and Tyrion. But he really wins a few battles at first (against Tywin. So there's no Tywin in the first place) and then he dies at the Red Wedding.

Bran's in a coma. So Jaime and Cersei are standing exactly. This shows that Jon Arryn's death is due to his learning of the relationship(Jaime-Cersei). So Joff was a bastard in the first outline too. Ned died for the same reason.

Tyrion did not burn Winterfell but fought against Stark army and became Hand of King. Jaime fought against Robb too and lost, was captured. This part is different in some ways, but the same in some ways.

9. Jon Snow, The Wall and Lord Commander. " Jon Snow, the bastard, will remain in the far north. He will mature into a ranger of great daring, and ultimately will succeed his uncle as the commander of the Night's Watch "

Jon goes the wall and will became lord commander but Benjen was lord commander in the first place but it seems he dies anyway or disappear. It's remain.

10. Helping family and Jonarya Love. " When Winterfell burns, Catelyn Stark will be forced to flee north with her son Bran and her daughter Arya. Wounded by Lannister riders, they will seek refuge at the Wall, but the men of the Night's Watch give up their families when they take the black, and Jon and Benjen will not be able to help, to Jon's anguish. It will lead to a bitter estrangement between Jon and Bran. Arya will be more forgiving ... until she realizes, with terror, that she has fallen in love with Jon, who is not only her half-brother but a man of the Night's Watch, sworn to celibacy. Their passion will continue to torment Jon and Arya throughout the trilogy, until the secret of Jon's true parentage is finally revealed in the last book. "

Winterfell is being burned by Greyjoys. Cat is not with Stark children, he is with Robb. Bran and others run away and went to the Wall. But Bran and others did not take refuge in the black brothers. Jon has something to do with Arya again. He wants to protect and save her(FArya). He can't do it because of his vows and he's in a lot of pain... And we know who is Jon's real parents.

Jon and Arya love... It's still too early to say anything about it. When Arya goes to the wall, the love between the two emerges. Arya escaped from KL as in the first outline. But instead of going home, she drifted into her own adventure. Arya has been trying to get home and Jon all along. She'll probably go straight to the wall when she gets back from Braavos. There are so many hints about Jonarya love in books. ( https://asoiaf.westeros.org/index.php?/topic/125364-jon-arya-hints-and-overall-significance-of-their-relationship-including-part-3/ )

11. Beyond The Wall and Bran-Cat-Arya. "Abandoned by the Night's Watch, Catelyn and her children will find their only hope of safety lies even further north, beyond the Wall, where they fall into the hands of Mance Rayder, the King-beyond-the-Wall, and get a dreadful glimpse of the inhuman others as they attack the wilding encampment. Bran's magic, Arya's sword Needle, and the savagery of their direwolves will help them survive, but their mother Catelyn will die at the hands of the others." This part has undergone significant changes. Despite this, some small parts remained.

Arya is not with them, Cat neither but she dies anyway (and came back but as fire wight not ice wight). Bran never meet Mance(yes, Mance exists) and see others but he sees deads and met Cold Hand(ice wight) and BR and Singers. I guess Rickon is not exists.

Arya has Needle, that's mean Jon gave her it anyway. And direwolves...

12. Dany, Viserys and Drogo. “Over across the narrow sea, Daenerys Targaryen will discover that her new husband, the Dothraki Khal Drogo, has little interest in invading the Seven Kingdoms, much to her brother's frustration. When Viserys presses his claims past the point of tact or wisdom, Khal Drogo will finally grow annoyed and kill him out of hand, eliminating the Targaryen pretender and leaving Daenerys as the last of her line. Danerys [sic] will bide her time, but she will not forget. When the moment is right, she will kill her husband to avenge her brother, and then flee with a trusted friend into the wilderness beyond Vaes Dothrak. " Only 5% of this part has changed.

13. Dragon Eggs and Invasion Plans."There, hunted by [unclear] of her life, she stumbles on a [something about dragon eggs] a young dragon will give Daenerys [unclear] bend [unclear] to her will. Then she begins to plan for her invasion of the Seven Kingdoms." This part has changed 95%.

14. Tyrion's Fate. "Tyrion Lannister will continue to travel, to plot, and to play the game of thrones, finally removing his nephew Joffrey in disgust at the boy king's brutality. Jaime Lannister will follow Joffrey on the throne of the Seven Kingdoms, by the simple expedient of killing everyone ahead of him in the line of succession and blaming his brother Tyrion for the murders. Exiled, Tyrion will change sides, making common cause with the surviving Starks to bring his brother down, and falling helplessly in love with Arya Stark while he's at it. His passion is, alas, unreciprocated, but no less intense for that, and it will lead to a deadly rivalry between Tyrion and Jon Snow."

Yes, it seems this part almost completely changed. But Tyrion has been betrayed by his family in every way(Tysha thing and attempt to kill), just it changed "how it will be" This betrayal caused him to change sides. Only on Targaryen side instead of Stark. But Tyrion will probably be on the Stark side too.

Tyrion is exiled to Essos, not north. Jaime's not the bad guy in the story, Cersei is. Joffrey's dying. In the first Outline, Jaime kills everyone, so Sansa is dead. In the present story, Sansa is still alive and her story continues. They're not named, but probably Joff's siblings are in the first outline and they're dead.

There's no competition between Tyrion and Jon(Arya). It's hard to expect it at this point. We need to wait for the next encounter, but I don't think it will. Unlike the first otline, Jon and Tyrion are good friends. If GRRM designs a love triangle like the first one, maybe they can be enemies. Or maybe he changed the third candidate for that love triangle. (However, if you read Mercy POV, GRRM is waving its hand to this love triangle there.)

In general, the outline / skeleton remains exactly the same, even the characters' motives are more or less the same; there are big changes in a few places, but not so big changes in the remaining parts. Same affliction, betrayal and so on that will ensure the development of the character. Situations occurred in one way or another. It's just that things have gone differently ... but betrayal comes from the family again and (Jon) he's suffering because he can't help the family.

He keeps his end.

GEORGE: […]As I write these last two books, I’ll be moving towards the ending I’ve known since 1991/

“Some major characters — yes, I always had plans, what Tyrion’s arc was gonna be through this, what Arya’s arc was gonna be through this, what JonSnow’s arc is gonna be. ”

...

I don’t want to reveal what I’ve planned for some of these characters, but I’m pretty well on track with most of the major characters. It’s minor characters like Bronn that assume greater importance.”

At Balticon 2016 he said he knows who sits on the Iron Throne at the end.

A year later, in a video interview he continued by saying he has always known the fates of his main characters, who lives or dies, marries who...etc since 1991 when he began writing.

That's all. Thank you for read and sorry again for my bad English. Bye.

#grrmartin #asoiaf #aryastark #jonsnow #outline #JonryaWeek2020

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singingcookie · 4 years

Note

👀👀 SO. THAT LATEST CHAPTER OF DOJ 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

👀👀👀👀 Yes. It certainly was a thing wasn’t it? 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀 In all seriousness this chapter was really difficult for me to bring myself to work on. And it was mostly because (compared to most of my other chapters) this one was really lacking detail. I had a few moments that stood out but figuring out how to smush them together in a cohesive way was hard. With that said, I’m gonna do something I haven’t done much til now. I’m gonna share my original outline for this chapter under the read more.

I might throw in comments between sections/thoughts. I normally post my outline at the bottom of my chapter documents and gradually get rid of bullet points as I get through them. This’ll be the first time I’ve looked at the outline since I completed, so I apologize for the length this might take on lol. That said....

DOJ CHAPTER 20 SPOILERS READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

Deku’s pov this chapter.

Skip ahead to them at the thing. They’re in Tarasanudo in Kanagawa. Somewhere close to the Tokyo Bay. Last train will leave a bit after 9pm.

I like to preface my outlines with a pov if there’s a change from the previous chapter. Any ones that are continuations (so with chapters 9 & 10 for Deku, and chapters 11-15 for Ochako) don’t really get labelled like this but since it was Ochako for 19 I had to. I knew right away this had to be Izuku that we were hearing from because his thoughts--his perception of Uraraka in the story thus far--have been pretty close to nonexistent. I figured it was about time (especially put into this position) for us to glean an idea of what exactly is going on under that curly hair of his.

The second bullet point is just a point of reference for me so I don’t forget anything 😅 I’ll probably carry it on through my next few chapters too. Again, just so I don’t forget as I go since the setting will be relevant until the festival ends.

We get festival shenanigans maybe just them looking around at things at first. He keeps getting wrapped up in Uraraka. Lingering on whatever she does. Her excitement at the foods, the decorations. The way she sways to the music from each and every stall. Obviously this should be at least a few paragraphs. If not a page.

HAHAHAHA, oh man. So much for that. Deku really went damn wild at the start of this chapter. The whole introduction (before Ochako says the FIRST LINE OF DIALOGUE FOR THE CHAPTER WTF) was 2 pages long on my chapter document. And I remember being shook about it. “This much Deku??? You have this much to say?” It probably would have been less if he didn’t want to retell the whole dang story with the netsuke BUT HE DID WHAT HE DOES I GUESS!!

I also added the okonomiyaki scene pretty sporadically, I didn’t have it in my oultine at all. But I needed an introductory scene into them at the festival before Bakugou and Kirishima showed up. I think it turned out pretty well? I got a lot of questions about my research on that one cause it was so specific! 😅 Truth is I just look up those kinda details as I get to them mid-writing. Makes it take longer but the learning part is really interesting and fun for me!

And then there’s also the hints of them being followed by at least two of their classmates, working up Uraraka and stemming Deku’s fear. Also added because I needed to segue naturally between the okonomiyaki and cork gun scenes.

Uraraka points to a cork gun stall nearby and says that she wants to play. They don’t fully approach the stand though, Uraraka standing back to look over the prizes to see what she wants to play for. He wonders why she doesn’t just play and figure it out later. She says that she’ll play better if she has something in mind already “don’t question my methods” she hums for a moment and he kinda playfully regards her. Maybe a mild stirring of something.

She surges forward, reaching for one of the cork guns while she holds the yen out for the vendor. “Hey, take the next one over.” Oh god Kacchan’s grabbed the same cork gun and now him and Uraraka are glaring at each other. Kirishima apologizes for the interruption, telling Kacchan that he can just take the next one over. He greets Deku who replies while still watching as Uraraka and Kacchan glare even while he complies to their classmate’s request. Both of them slam their money on the counter. Aaaaand they’re making it a competition. Great.

Thiiiiiiis turned out more of less the same, clearly. 😂 I had a different concept in my head originally of how these games worked there. Ended up digging hard for videos and photos to find out properly. Ended up altering my image to match but it still managed to work out on that front, regardless.

I knew I wanted Kirishima and Bakugou here with them (not only because I love the ship) but it gave them a chance to unwind and relax. Kind of ease off on the tension of them being stuck alone together. Not to mention that I felt it would be really good for cementing the idea of a “something more” kind of pondering in Deku.

Kirishima and Deku talk about what they’ve been up to since getting to the festival. Maybe Deku wonders about the snack that Kirishima has. It looks delicious. Some kinda meat thing. “Where’s the stall?” Kirishima tries to explain but Deku just looks lost. “How ‘bout me and--Bakugou just show you where once they’re finished?”

“That sounds--” Deku’s cut off by a whoop and when he looks back to the stand, they’re both setting the cork guns back down. Uraraka’s reveling in her victory and Kacchan tells her she only got one more point, so she shouldn’t be so excited. She says he’d be just as excited if the scores were reversed. The vendor has to remind them they have prizes to pick.

Kirishima and Deku kind of just ^^; about it. They get whatever the prizes are. Ochako maybe picked something with the idea of giving it to Inko. Kirishima says to Bakugou that he told Deku they’d show him to the stand with the meat skewers.

This got altered a LOT WOW. I think the reason this section changed so much was because I was trying to find a way to make the chapter flow. I left a lot of details out and mostly went big picture because I knew this part of the festival would involve a lot of tiny things that would be a pain to plan out. Lots of minor minutiae that I knew I’d get annoyed if I had to change a lot.

I knew I had to keep Kirishima with MEAT because he’s Kiri (hello it’s listed as one of his fav things even!) and I knew I wanted to have him almost tripped up and saying “Katsuki” just to hammer home where exactly they’re at rn in their interactions.

I extended their interactions together because saying “hey let’s walk around” only to separate them with narry another conversation felt pointless and stilted. That’s why I added the extended convo about the game (I didn’t have it in the outline that she cheated but when I thought about the game and her quirk, it was too fitting to not include!) and also the thing about their internships and things being “too calm” again. Was really trying to hammer home one last “YOU SHOULDN’T FEEL COMFORTABLE” for all you readers lol

They might get stuck together for a bit maybe up through the fireworks. They only realize after the fireworks are through. Uraraka wonders about if maybe there’s something that Deku wants to do now, especially since Bakugou and Kirishima p much vanished.

Deku says something offhandedly. He hadn’t really been pulled toward anything in particular. Maybe they could just walk around, see if they find some of the others. Maybe some kinda casual conversation. Ochako has them stop because she sees a yo-yo fishing game and she really wants a water yo-yo.

As you can see, the fireworks scene (which apparently everyone adores?) was very much not planned LOL. Nor was Bakugou clearly and purposefully ditching them. I don’t really have much in the way of explanations other than it’s what felt right. I considered including a time skip or two during this chapter...but then I realized how silly that would be over such a short time period. So I ended up including the ditching (including Bakugou literally yelled that “Nope!” and it was like “oh okay that’s what we’re doing cool thanks for the memo?”) and then the fireworks was a clear “time is passing while he’s wistful” kind of moment. I think it went over well and segued pretty naturally into this.

Deku just watches, musing to himself over how nice this has been...how nice she looks...she said something about wanting to give the stuffed animal in his grasp to his mom. As a thank you for the yukata. He still can’t believe that Inko never said anything to him about it. But honestly...what would he have said. What would he have done? He’s seen her in it for a while now and he still hasn’t commented about it to her…yeah, okay, he did try twice. Once at school and once with Eri but since then he hasn’t bothered to try again.

Maybe it’s pointless. Maybe the fact that he did try twice was the universe saying that it was dumb and he definitely shouldn’t. That he would make her uncomfortable so don’t bother.

Or maybe it wasn’t about her. Maybe it was the universe scolding him from trying to say it around other people… Embarrassing her around her friends and their former teacher...yeah. Yeah, no. It was definitely that. He needed to say something. She deserved to hear it. He couldn’t tell her about her kimono during that New Years celebration. Shouldn’t he tell her now? Respect both her and his mother’s efforts? Yes. He should definitely say something now.

As you can see....pretty much nothing here changed LOL. I knew this was exactly right but some stuff got clarified and extended, I feel. Made it feel a lot more stream of conscious like as a result of that.

Side note Deku has a big tendency to repeat himself mentally when I write him....idk why this happens but it does lmao.

Uraraka comes back over with her water yo-yo. She says something idk what. But Deku starts to try to say something about her thing. Bringing it up very slowly and awkwardly but before he can explain properly she interrupts him. “Deku-kun, do you hear that?” He goes quiet as he listens. Then……screaming.

Then they hear someone exclaim that it looks like the bonfire is out of control. They look and...that’s not a normal bonfire. Those are blue flames.

LOL “She says something idk what” is such a staple of my outlines I cry. 😂 That and “Idk something else needs to go here figure it out later”

Anyway though another case of extension here. I knew I was gonna have to with “bringing it up slowly and very awkwardly” that’s vague and I had to show that happening so it was bound to be. I actually struggled on whether or not to let him say it. But ultimately it felt dissatisfying to let him say it and not give Uraraka or the readers the chance to dwell on it. It needs a moment to itself. It needs to be a heavy, impactful moment--but the problem is the League reveal was heavier so it would have knocked it away just as much as him not saying it at all.

Obviously my reveal (the last bullet point) changed a lot with how I conveyed it...also Uraraka’s line. But when I was writing it I realized that Uraraka would be more horrified than my outline which, as you can see, is really calm in comparison. But I knew the only way to reveal it all was Dabi blue flames. A staple of the League... But having Deku’s last line was a better ending line.

ANYWAY, sorry that took so long but. There you have it. Deeper thoughts and perspective from the planning of the chapter. I hope this was interesting seeing the difference between my outline, but I apologize if my commentary was at all boring lol

Thanks Kat!! Always happy to talk!!! 💖💖💖💖

#Drops of Jupiter #izuocha #kelly replies #adventures in writing #sorry I'm sure this gets rambly in some bits it's just how I am lolol #Kat #vixensheart

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lesdemonium · 4 years

Text

I’d Be the Choiceless Hope Chapter 10

Ship: Geraskier Word count: 29146 (total) Chapter: 10/16 Summary:

“Such a nice, beautiful sound,” the fae crooned. “If only he were this way always.”

Julian’s mother stood up. She claimed she was prepared to stop the fae, to protect her baby, but in Julian’s darkest moments he doubted this part of the story. His mother loved him, of that he had no doubt, but she had been young and weary, and even years later, she couldn’t quite get the twinge of exhaustion out of her eyes when she recalled Julian’s infancy. Even if she had been keen on protecting him, the fae was too close, too fast, too set on his plan.

“A gift, for the new mother,” the fae continued. He leaned a hand in to stroke Julian’s cheek. “I give you the gift of obedience.”

As a baby, Jaskier was visited by a fae, who gifted Jaskier’s mother with Jaskier’s obedience. As Jaskier grew older, the “gift” became more of a curse.

Additional tags: AngstAngst with a Happy EndingHeavy AngstUnrequited LoveNot Actually Unrequited LoveAlternate Universe - Canon DivergenceCanon EraNot Canon CompliantCursed Jaskier | DandelionAlternate Universe - Ella Enchanted FusionCurse of ObedienceRape/Non-con ElementsImplied/Referenced Rape/Non-conJaskier | Dandelion Whump

read on ao3 - read chapter 1 on ao3

read chapter 1 on tumblr

They stole away early in the morning, before the sun even crested over the horizon. It was so early, the estate was quiet. Even the cooks hadn’t yet risen to prepare breakfast.

Geralt and Jaskier moved silently through the house, lest they wake anyone, and even Roach seemed to understand the need for stealth, as she let them lead her away without so much as a sniff. They didn’t speak, and hardly even breathed, until they were safely hidden beneath the canopy of the forest.

“What are we meant to be looking for?” Jaskier asked, and though he knew they were at least a mile away from the estate, he still kept his voice low. The sun was just beginning to shine light, its rays scattered by the branches and leaves around them.

“Signs of fae activity. My medallion will vibrate when we’re near, and we’ll see… flowers. Mushrooms. Things will be growing just a bit too uniformly to be an accident.” Geralt shrugged, and he stopped at a low-hanging branch. “We will need to go deeper. We’ll leave Roach here.”

Jaskier nodded. He could still see the faint outline of Lettenhove’s walls on the horizon, but they were far enough that there was no chance of anyone stumbling upon the mare. She would be safe, and have plenty to munch on as she waited. Jaskier rubbed a hand over her neck and she snorted dismissively at him.

As they searched, Geralt would bark out instructions every so often.

“You’ll need to be polite, but you don’t want to thank them for anything, or they’ll take that as a sign you are now in their debt,” he said, and Jaskier nodded.

“If they offer you anything, you won’t want to accept it. Not food, drink, clothes, or anything else.” Jaskier hummed in return.

“They like music, and bards especially. They might ask you to play for them. It’s a trick. They’ll use it to trap you.”

It was comforting, really. Jaskier had no idea what to expect, and it was a relief that Geralt did. It seemed to bring Geralt some comfort as well, being able to pass on information to Jaskier. Jaskier could see the tense lines of Geralt’s shoulders, the way his muscles were flexing needlessly and his jaw was working. Geralt was nervous.

Jaskier pressed a hand to Geralt’s back, between his shoulder blades. Geralt looked at Jaskier curiously, but Jaskier only smiled back at him. He kept his hand there, though, until he felt the tension ease, just a little, from Geralt’s muscles.

They kept looking. It took hours of carefully combing through the trees until finally, finally , Geralt’s medallion began to vibrate. The sun was high in the sky and Jaskier was beginning to feel hunger, but he pushed the feeling away in favor of scouring the ground for signs of fae activity.

“Geralt, what about that?” Jaskier asked.

He pointed at the line of flowers and mushrooms, a few meters ahead of them. The wildflowers were beautiful, all purples and blues and pinks and so much green, interrupted here and there with little sprouts of white mushrooms. The flowers were in clumps, some dragging out as wide as a meter, but every clump ended abruptly in a line poised between two large, thick-trunked trees. The line was too straight, too clean to be an accident.

Jaskier turned his attention to Geralt, and looked at his medallion pointedly. Jaskier could just barely see it vibrating. Geralt nodded, and wrapped a hand around his medallion. The witcher took a step forward, but before Jaskier could follow, he threw out a hand to stop him.

“Jaskier, I don’t think this is a--”

“How do I get through, Geralt?” Jaskier asked. He touched Geralt’s arm, lightly pushing it down, and stared at him beseechingly. “I have to do this.”

Geralt hesitated, searching Jaskier’s face for any sort of crack, but Jaskier knew there was nothing there but steely resolve. He had to do this. Geralt nodded, then took Jaskier’s hand, lacing their fingers together and stepping toward the flowers.

“Geralt, no, you can’t--”

“I will not let you face this alone, Jaskier,” Geralt interrupted. His tone was decided, final, and he didn’t bother looking at Jaskier before he led them to the flowers. He stopped just before the line, and took a deep breath. “We should just need to walk through, and we’ll be in the Feywild. Are you certain you want to do this?”

Jaskier didn’t answer him, there wasn’t any point. Instead he took a step forward, taking Geralt with him.

It happened so suddenly, Jaskier couldn’t even note the moment they passed through the plane. It only felt like taking a step forward, but suddenly his surroundings were different. The trees were larger, blocking out all sun, and their leaves and vines tendrilled down around him. The floor was littered with bright, impossibly bright flowers, many of colors Jaskier couldn’t name, and was sure he had never seen before. There was a living quality to everything around him, in a way that the forest on their own plane did not possess.

Before them was an enormous, grand archway. Thin branches wove together to form the frame, and green, blue, and purple leaves clung all along the arch and hung down. Jaskier longed to touch it all. He felt the immense need to spread this grove’s beauty to his fingers, because his eyes alone could not take it.

He didn’t. Instead, he led them through the archway, and into the court, toward the music he heard in the distance.

The court itself was… unfathomable. Jaskier tried to keep his eyes forward, to focus on the fae in the center of the large, open grove--the queen?--but it was hard not to notice the beautiful, otherworldly creatures around him. Each one was a varying degree of human-like, but each one was ethereal.

All sound stopped as Jaskier and Geralt stepped through the archway into the grove. Even Jaskier, who flourished under attention, found himself resisting the urge to shrink back into himself. He felt the weight of hundreds of eyes and his steps stuttered, but he and Geralt continued on until they were before the queen.

She sat on a majestic throne of vines and bark, and though it had been carved into a seat, Jaskier was sure even her throne was as alive as anything else here. She looked inhuman--with large ears extending past her shoulders to a point, and long, swooping horns before a crown of flowers and leaves. Her face was pointed, from her chin, to her nose, to the edges of her eyes, a sharp elegance that should have made her look cruel or monstrous, but instead made her look striking and imposing and beautiful. Interest burned in the deep, deep green of her eyes, and Jaskier understood, immediately, how anyone could fall under her spell. If Jaskier wasn’t so clear on his goal, and his hand held so tightly by his witcher, Jaskier was certain he would have fallen, too.

“It is not often we get a human or a witcher here of their own volition, much less both at once,” the queen mused.

Jaskier fell into a sweeping bow, though he did not let go of Geralt’s hand. A half-breath later, he felt Geralt bend as well. When he rose, he put on his most charming smile.

“It is an honor to make your acquaintance,” Jaskier said. “Your court is beautiful; I am but a humble bard, and even with my skill in poetry, I do not believe I could capture the true nature of its beauty. Or yours, for that matter.”

The queen smiled, seemingly satisfied, and she raised a hand to her face. Her pointed fingers, almost talon-like, scraped gracefully along her cheek. “I am Ignea, Queen of this court. You,” she pointed a finger at Jaskier, “want something. What is it?”

Jaskier bowed his head again, if only to buy time to consider his words. “I am looking for a fae named Lazuli.”

The fae around them murmured amongst themselves, and Ignea’s eyebrows rose high on her face.

“What could you want with Lazuli?” she asked.

“Lazuli has given me a gift. I wish to return it.”

The murmuring around them grew louder. Geralt’s hand squeezed Jaskier’s, maybe in warning, but Jaskier did not tear his eyes away from the queen. Not until she held up a hand, silencing the chattering around them, and tilted her head pointedly to her right.

From the shadows stepped another fae. One Jaskier had seen so many times in his dreams, he was half convinced he was dreaming now . His features were just as pointed as his queen’s, but while her skin was in hues of gold and browns, Lazuli was painted with blues and greens. What little light there was reflected off his face in a way that seemed almost metallic. There were no whites to his eyes, only a deep, deep black.

“Lazuli,” Jaskier said. He had intended to say so much more. He had a speech planned and everything, all the things he would want to say if he ever came face to face with the fae. As he looked upon Lazuli, though, his voice failed. All he could do was stare as the fae came closer.

“I remember you,” Lazuli said. His voice was deep, musical, a rumbling baritone that cut through the silence like a song. “You wailed so loud, I could hardly think. All hours of the night and day. You ran your mother ragged.”

Jaskier swallowed, the muscles in his jaw working hard to clench his teeth at the mention of Jaskier’s mother. “You made me obedient,” Jaskier answered.

Lazuli nodded. “Your mother begged me to take you. I only wanted you to stop, but she wanted you gone.”

Jaskier shook his head. “No, that’s not--she told me--she said she tried to stop you. That you made me obedient so you wouldn't hear me anymore.” His voice sounded weak even to his own ears. Had his mother tried to give him to the fae?

“Humans lie,” Lazuli snarled, and the other fae in the court voiced their displeasure, snarling incoherently at Jaskier. Jaskier glanced around at them, but the angry cacophony didn’t seem directed at him so much, as humans in general.

Queen Ignea held up her hand again, and silence overtook the grove once more.

“She brought you to the forest, placed you in a faery circle. She begged for someone to come, to take you, and I came. I don’t take infants, particularly not ones who cry as you did,” Lazuli said.

Lazuli’s words made Jaskier feel hollow. Still, he focused on Lazuli’s inky black eyes, his face betraying no emotion.

“Obedience was a compromise.”

“She lied to me,” Jaskier breathed.

Lazuli’s smile was cruel. “You lie as she does.”

Jaskier blinked, but there was no point in arguing with the fae. He was right. How else had he survived this long, but by lying at every chance he could? How many half-truths had he told to avoid his curse? Jaskier built himself a home of deception and misdirection.

“My mother is dead,” he said instead.

“And now you are here to have her wishes undone.”

Lazuli was amused. His lips stayed quirked in that cruel smile, and a glimmer of humor shone in his dark eyes. Jaskier nodded.

“I do not take back my gifts, human. Why should I make an exception for you?” Lazuli asked.

“My life is not my own. At best, I am an accidental captive of other humans who would have me serve them. At worst, I am enslaved to their whims. My mother has trapped me with her lies and her cruelty. I wish to be free, for the first time in my life, to be my own person. I ask that you do not punish me for my actions as an infant, or the lies of my mother. Were we not both victims to her?” Jaskier asked, and though his hands shook, his voice was steady.

Something softened in Lazuli’s face.

“Humans lie,” Lazuli repeated, and though he pointed an accusing finger at Jaskier, this time he did not snarl. The court did not murmur in agreement. In fact, the grove seemed still around him. “You lie as she did.”

“She gave me no choice. Lying and tricks are all I have.”

Lazuli seemed to consider this. He stepped closer to Jaskier, and Jaskier did not move under his scrutiny. Lazuli circled him first, then circled Geralt. Geralt was just as stiff as Jaskier, and his grip remained firm on Jaskier’s hand. Lazuli stopped in front of Geralt, examining the witcher’s face as his head tilted to the side, and Geralt met his eye. Lazuli’s face broke into a wide, toothy grin.

“This one is yours,” Lazuli said, his face flicking back to Jaskier. “And still you lie.”

Jaskier’s mouth went dry. He tried, in vain, to rewet his lips, to speak, but Lazuli cut him off with a hand as soon as Jaskier’s mouth finally opened to speak.

“You will break the gift yourself.” Jaskier wanted to argue, but Lazuli’s hand was still raised. He had studied all he could of Seelie Court rules, and none of them implied that interruption was untoward, but Jaskier wasn’t willing to take a chance on that. “Tell your truths, and you will never be compelled to again.”

Jaskier’s mouth opened again, and he wanted to press more, to ask Lazuli what truths he meant , but Lazuli turned on his heel and disappeared back into the grove. The stillness ended around them, and once again Jaskier could hear the chattering of the court’s fae.

Ignea stood and strode toward them, and Jaskier could still clearly read the interest on her face. Her fingers reached out and the talon-like ends trailed across Jaskier’s cheek. They were not sharp, Jaskier was surprised to find.

“You have a beautiful face, and I suspect a beautiful voice. I would have you grace my court with your music,” Queen Ignea said, and Jaskier’s blood ran cold.

“You flatter him,” Geralt interrupted. Ignea’s eyes cut to the witcher curiously, clearly delighted that he was finally speaking. “Has he not been put through enough? He has been entertainment enough for the humans; do not ask it of him for your court.”

Ignea’s lips quirked in a small smile and she turned her attention to Geralt, though her fingers trailed down his chest rather than his face. “I see. He is yours, as well, mighty Witcher.” She tapped a finger against Geralt’s chest, just over his slowly beating heart, then drew away, back to her throne. Ignea sat herself upon it and flicked her fingers dismissively. “You may leave the way you came, before I am tempted to keep you both.”

Jaskier was glad for Geralt’s steady presence beside him, leading him out of the court and through the crossroads again. He moved as if he was in a trance, just barely managing to keep one foot in front of the other. The journey back felt longer, as if they had to traverse miles before finding the exit, and perhaps they had. Or, perhaps, it was simply an illusion sent to confuse Jaskier and allow the queen to keep him.

Still, at Geralt’s lead, they found themselves back in their own plane, stepping over the wildflowers at the entrance to the crossroads. It was dark now, though Jaskier still was unsure how long they had spent in the Feywild. Had it been minutes, or hours? It didn’t seem to matter, but Jaskier still found himself unsettled.

Geralt led them far away from the crossroads in silence. They returned to where they had tied up Roach, and Geralt led them farther still, until Jaskier could no longer see the walls of Lettenhove in the distance, and Geralt could no longer feel the thrum of magical, fae activity. The moon was high in the sky before they finally made camp, and Geralt barely had their bedrolls laid out before Jaskier was collapsing onto one.

Their camp was set up solely by Geralt as Jaskier curled his arms around his legs and stared. When Geralt joined Jaskier, Jaskier pressed his face into Geralt’s chest and let out a shuddering breath. He went boneless against his witcher, and Geralt lowered them both to the ground. Only once Geralt’s arms were safely wrapped around Jaskier’s body did Jaskier finally allow himself to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

read chapter 11

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #gerlion #geraskier fanfiction #geraskier fanfic #my writing

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tiffanybluesclues · 4 years

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@spncoldesthits please allow me to share with you the wild ride that I just took, revisiting my abandoned writing for the first time in years. I’ve just finished reading through the sparse draft of a coldest hits fic that I very much wish I’d finished three years ago.

As a refresher, this fic was an AU with fairy tale elements. It featured Thief Dean, Thief Sam, Princess Anna, Princess Hannah, and Prince Cas. Rowena and Ruby are witches, Henriksen is the lawman, and Bela is Bela. Angel siblings, Cas and Hannah are twins.

It was planned as a multiship fic with endgame Dean/Cas and individual chapters dedicated to several other Dean ships in explicit detail. I never got around to writing that explicit detail, and the excerpts below are maybe PG-13 at worse, but this post is probably going to be a hard pass for anyone who wants to avoid any of the pairings. Officially that’s Dean/Rowena, Dean/Bela, Dean/Victor, Dean/Anna, Dean/Hannah, Dean/Cas.

Summary was: “It’s not quite the Midas touch, but still: Dean is cursed; every fabric that he touches turns to pink lace. Only true love’s kiss can cure him. Or something like that. Kind of inconvenient for a thief who’s on the run. Even more inconvenient for a thief locked in the palace dungeon. Then again, maybe not.”

Excerpts under the cut.

ONE CHAPTER WENT UP.

The published chapter 1 was about Dean and Rowena. Nothing new here if you already read what went up on AO3. Jump ahead to Bela for the “exclusive” content. :P

“You should consider it an honor. This is a variation on the gift granted to King Midas. You’re amongst royalty.” There was a slight upturn to her lips and it remained when she pressed them together. On anyone else, it might indicate someone holding in a laugh. On Rowena, it looked like an expression she’d set aside specifically for gloating.

“You don’t think you’re maybe overreacting a little bit here?” Dean spread his arms wide and dipped his head to gesture at his newly transformed attire. What had once been blue jeans, a black shirt, and green plaid over-shirt, now blended together in layers of baby pink lace. Even his black work-boots were drizzled in a pink lace overlay, strung together with pink lace laces.

“You insulted my choice of décor.” Rowena didn’t even look offended. She had an eyebrow raised now like she was attempting to teach manners to a naughty child.

“Look, I said sorry—” Dean started, but she interrupted him.

“You most certainly did not. As a matter of fact, you still haven’t.

”Dean sighed. “Okay. Fine. I’m sorry. I apologize.”

“You apologize for what?” Rowena was keeping up the scolding routine and Dean had to close his eyes and take a deep breath to stop himself from flinging a sarcastic remark at her. Don’t taunt the witch, don’t taunt the witch. He chanted to himself. If this is the kind of thing she did over a careless slight, he really didn’t want to find out what she’d do to him if he intentionally insulted her—especially with Sam still hiding out from the authorities one town over. Then again, maybe it was for the best that Sam didn’t see him like this.

“I apologize for making fun of your doilies.” Dean waved vaguely at the accents that had brought on all of this nonsense. “What do I know about decorations, right?”

“Indeed,” Rowena’s response was quick and sharp, free of the melodic false affection that her words had carried until that point. The change made Dean involuntarily flinch back and he was angry at himself for it. Frickin witches, man. Dean’s nostrils flared as he sneered at her. He was helpless and he knew it. It was times like this that he couldn’t stop himself; he did something aggressively stupid or he did something petty, sometimes a bit of both. Now, he stomped over to the couch tucked up against the front wall and slapped his palm against every throw pillow there before sitting on the couch itself and crossing his arms. He glared up at Rowena from atop the pink lace monstrosity.

Rowena inclined her head just slightly, only one side of her mouth curved up in a smirk now. The silence sat between them for a moment before she spoke. “It’s actually rather fetching, but you know, I do think I prefer things the way they were.”

With a waggle of her fingers, and a mumble of words that Dean didn’t think he would understand even if he could hear them clearly, Rowena changed the fabric of her couch and her pillows back, even as Dean remained sitting there clad in lace.

“So you can fix the curse.”

“Not quite.” Rowena didn’t look at Dean as she responded, instead raising her gaze to the ceiling in a mockery of someone playing coy.

“What do you mean ‘not quite’.” Anger was evident in the bite of Dean’s tone and the clench of his fists.

“I meeeeeeeaaann,” Rowena drew out the word as she turned her gaze back onto him, “Why sure, I can remedy the symptoms, should I choose, but an ailment is still an ailment.”

Rowena took two leisurely steps closer to the couch, drawing Dean’s attention briefly to her feet, but back up to her face when she stopped.

“A curse is still a curse.”

Two steps again. Dean watched her feet, watched her face, remained silent.

“And what would be the point of a curse if one could just casually remove it?”

Two steps.

Dean didn’t remove his attention from her face this time.

She smiled with teeth.

“But you needn’t worry. This curse is standard, as curses go. And it has a standard cure.”

“What’s the cure,” Dean didn’t hesitate to ask, but there was nothing eager in it. His voice was low and flat, experienced enough to know that he wasn’t going to like the answer.

“True love’s kiss, of course.”

“True love?” Dean scowled at her. “Bullshit. It doesn’t exist.”

Rowena laughed, full and bubbly. As far as Dean could tell, it was the first genuine emotion that Dean had seen from her this evening. “True love is a weakness, dear, of course it exists. Now, it may not last forever, and it may not be shared by both parties in just the same way, and it will probably happen between the most inconvenient people in the most inconvenient times, but it most certainly exists.”

“True love.” He felt like a parrot, but the very idea was ridiculous, possibly more ridiculous than the stupid curse itself. “A weakness and a cure.”

“That’s what the spell-book says…” Rowena trailed off.

“Does it?” Dean stood up and mimicked her two-steps-forward routine from earlier, which garnered her another one of those tiny smirks.

“I suppose more accurately it says ‘an intimate kiss from the one who is in the most awe and full of limitless adoration,’ but that is that not a bit wordy?”

Dean clenched his fists again and it drew Rowena’s eye.“

I must admit though, I am starting to see what you meant about the pink lace doilies. The fabric just looks ridiculous if one wants to appear intimidating,” Rowena shook her head in disapproval as she looked Dean over.

& then it gets pretty adult.

“This fabric, does it have the same effect when I’m wearing it as it has when you are?” Rowena clarified, “Does it make me less intimidating?”

The question alone made Dean’s throat feel suddenly tighter, he didn’t need to look her over to know the answer.

The swooping neckline of Rowena’s dress sat no lower than it had when it was made of royal blue velvet, but he didn’t have to lower his eyes to see that the broadly woven lace exposed more skin below her collar bone. Unlike his jeans, his boots, and the couch, Rowena’s dress had suffered the same fate as his t-shirt. The garment clung tightly in a single thin layer, stretched thinner where it pulled over muscles and curves.

“I think you’re lying,” Dean wanted to believe that she was lying, it was easier than if she were telling the truth. “I think you can fix this.”

“I said it before, and I meant it. The fix requires true love—or adoration of some sort—and you won’t find anything of that nature in this cottage…though you are welcome to try.”

In the end Dean left with a 10% discount on potions and an in-tact curse.

THE REST REMAINED UNFINISHED AND UNPUBLISHED.

But I just rediscovered all of these little portions I had for the unwritten chapters.

Jumping right in, I had some content drafted up for Dean and Bela.

“Alright, get it out of your system, say I look ridiculous.”

“That’s not…” Bela stopped herself mid-sentence, looked him up and down again, and then burst out laughing. “No, actually, that’s rather accurate. Ridiculous is exactly the word I’d use.”

Dean glared at her, but he couldn’t argue the point when she was simply agreeing with him.

Working with Bela was supposed to be a last resort, but in several short hours it had become his only viable course of action. She wasn’t going to be any help with the curse situation, but he and Sam did still need to get out of the kingdom where they were wanted men. Bela could help them with that at least.

He hadn’t even planned to see Bela before meeting up with Sam again, but he’d taken such a winding route to keep out of sight that she was now between him and his rendezvous point he’d agreed on with his brother. More importantly, she offered a place where he could duck inside and hide away from curious eyes come daylight.

He glanced down at himself again. At least his lace pants were thick enough and woven tightly enough that he couldn’t see the lace panties underneath. He could sure feel them though.

After he explained his predicament, she directed him into the kitchen, where there were wooden chairs and tile floors and slightly less chance that she’d threaten to claw his eyes out for turning some expensive piece of furniture into a gaudy conversation piece.

“So, now you’re off on a grand quest for true love and you came to me first? I’m flattered.”

& a scene with Dean, Bela, and Ruby which wasn’t really quotable but was apparently going to focus on...hand play.

There was clearly going to be a plot too though, because my outline for this chapter ends a totally plotty sentence.

He barely trusted Bela, he didn’t trust Ruby at all, but he was counting on them being decent enough to get his message to Sam since Dean had made it possible for them to get away.

& the same for a scene between Dean and Victor. I don’t even have any notes for how Dean and Victor end up in a scene together. Based on the final line that I wrote for the Bela and Ruby chapter I’m guessing he It’s just a few snippets of dialogue and the important scene summary that I used when figuring out what AO3 tags I would need ( ”masturbation, exhibitionism, exhibitionist dean”).

“What the fuck?” Victor… [... I guess I never finished writing that sentence. ...]

“Yeah, sorry about that, if I were you I’d just let me go…”

[... I also think something was supposed to go between these lines. ...]

Dean didn’t plan on jerking off while Victor watched, but you take what life throws at you.

& then Dean finally reunites with Sam and has to explain is predicament.

“So, let me get his straight. Instead of convincing the witch to help us flee the kingdom, you insulted her fashion choices and got cursed to turn things into pink lace?”

“Dude, she had a cauldron covered with a pink lace doily, tell me that’s not weird.”

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose.

“We’re already wanted men throughout this entire region. It was hard enough trying to escape notice when we could be disguised.” Sam raised his arms, palms up and gestured at Dean. “That is kind of noticeable.”

Dean stiffly shrugged in a poor attempt at feigning nonchalance. “It’s not like everyone knows what happened. People don’t exactly associate Dean Winchester with baby pink lace.”

~*~

“Sonofabitch,” Dean snatched down the flyer from where it was tacked to an oak tree. How the hell did they update these things so fast? The drawings only depicted them from the waist up, but the way that Dean had been illustrated he looked like a damn cheesecake pinup with chest-hugging lace swirled over his body.

Sam sighed. “I told you.”

“Oh, well good for you,” Dean snapped, shoving the wanted poster into what had once been a green canvas duffel bag given to his father in the military. (Dean had thrown a fit when the bag transformed, morphing into a thickly woven pale pink lace, faded but surprisingly durable. That durability was the only saving grace because the bag still needed to hold most of their weapons and stolen loot. He had a feeling though that the bag he’d inherited from his father was gone forever.)

“Fuckin’ Henriksen,” Dean grumbled.

~*~

“It doesn’t make sense. In the myth of King Midas, he’s able to wash his magic touch away. There was no true kiss involved, true kisses are associated with fairy tales.”

“Yeah, well he had a God, and we’ve got Rowena.”

~*~

Dean was hiding in a copse of trees when he made his decision. They had to send Sam in alone to rent out rooms now. In some ways it was less risky, since the authorities were looking for two men traveling together. In other ways it was more risky because it meant more sneaking, a greater need to remain quiet, and it meant that Dean’s every entry and exit put them at risk.

This winter was warmer than usual, but wet nights outside were unbearable, especially when Dean could find no relief from thick flannel blankets or jackets. He’d ruined enough of their dwindling supplies over the first three days, eventually he stopped trying.

Next notes that I have jump ahead to Dean and Anna.

~*~

It was decent as far as dungeons go. It resembled the majority of small-town jails that Dean had seen in this region. The bars were wide enough apart that he could slip an entire thigh between them—a terrible design really, he and Sam had learned years ago that it meant destroying just a single bar could set them free. No one stood much chance at holding the Winchesters prisoner when a single metal cylinder stood between them and freedom.

~*~

Anna shrugged, “I don’t have the key. It doesn’t matter what my priorities are…but for the record, no, I don’t have any great interest in keeping you locked up.”

[... I have nothing written between these two paragraphs but obviously SOMETHING else needs to happen to get them from the previous sentence to the following result. ...]

Anna’s dress turned red. A rich coppery red, darker than the color of her hair, not just a rich pink, but a drastically different shade.

“Maybe it means something. Everything I’ve touched has turned to pink until now.”

“Maybe you’re getting closer to your true love.”

~*~

Yes. Fuck yes. Dean was definitely into what was happening here. Kissing Anna felt passionate and natural, that was a good sign, right? He had no idea how long they’d been kissing, but he could gladly keep going. Absolutely a good sign there. She tasted like lemonade and her tongue was kind of short.

In the back of his mind, Dean thought that was cute for some reason.

At the forefront of his mind though, he noticed that Anna was rubbing her breasts against his chest--at least as much as she could without jamming a jail cell bar into her sternum.

& that escalates a bit with them basically banging through the bars until Castiel shows up and pries them apart.

& then we have a chapter about Dean and Hannah.

~*~

Anna had another woman with her, a brunette with blue eyes. Both of them were carrying wash rags. It looked out of place against their delicate dresses.

“I highly doubt that this man is my true love,” Hannah spoke to Anna while she looked at Dean. She frowned.

[... I think something was supposed to go between these two lines here. ...]

Dean and Hannah pressed their lips together through the bars. It was an awkward closed-mouth thing that barely resembled a kiss. Anna and Sam simultaneously huffed in exasperation at the two of them.

[... Same. ...]

“Technically…” Dean started, but wavered on whether he should even bother.

“What?” Hannah looked genuinely curious, so Dean decided to go for it.

“The cure is supposed to involve an intimate kiss, which…could mean a lot of things, depending on how you’re taking it.”

“We might not have done enough,” Anna smiled up at him slyly, “Think of all the things that could be intimate kisses.”

Hannah looked between the two of them, unsure but thoughtful, “The language of curses and their cures can often be symbolic or poetic. A kiss may not mean a kiss…”

& then more explicit content and Hannah’s clothes turn to lacy lilac. So we’ve gone from everyone else’s clothes turning baby pink, to Anna’s turning a dark coppery red, to Hannah’s turning a light purple, so there’s clearly something special going on with the curse as it relates to that family line.

& then we have the final chapter, about Dean and Castiel.

Castiel unbuttoned his shirt and placed it on the bench.

“You,” Castiel spoke as he continued to undress, “Are going to stay away from my siblings. I am going to discipline you for the liberties that you took. And you are going to be beaten far too severely to make any further advances.”

[... There’s nothing between these two paragraphs but I feel like something was supposed to be here. Maybe some description. ...]

“I’m aware of your abilities. I have no intention of ruining my wardrobe. Turning things to lace, what an absurd power.” Stripped down to his white cotton boxers, Castiel moved to enter the cell.

“Is that a twin thing?” Dean asked and Castiel just tilted his head, looking confused, so Dean continued, “The white cotton undies. It’s cute. You two matched. Well, until I…you know.”

& there’s a few sentences after that, but past-me didn’t even start outlining a proper conclusion. Tsk tsk.

Anyway, thought that it would be fun to share some of my unpublished content that SPN Coldest Hits inspired. Might never see the light of day outside of this post, but if you’re one of the people who read the first chapter, then you now have a little glimpse into what was supposed to follow.

#fic excerpt #spncoldesthits #unfinished fic #tiff.txt #long post under the Read More break #please take note of the listed ships if you're not familiar with how random i used to get with these fics

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callousdegenerate · 4 years

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How do yo manage to write pages and pages of well structured chapters in less then a week? Seriously all your chapters are written as if you were a professional author.

[Read More]

asdfgff thank you but I feel like I still got a ways to go.

But I really like writing this story and I try to have an outline or a general summary of chapter events planned out ahead of time. I am actually approaching a point where I’m catching up to all the planning ahead I did before (I planned all these recent chapters like 20 chapters ago, and I’ve been riding on my notes since back then), so I may need to take more time to plan things out after a certain point.

I don’t know how I manage to write so quickly, though. I never thought it was fast? Maybe that’s just because I’m the one writing it lmao. I pull about 5-8 hours of writing a day when I do write, but sometimes I only write between 8-10 pages depending on the content (If it’s dialogue, I usually write a lot more since it’s easiest for me).

But I just write until I have a first draft, then read it a few times to fix it. I tend to pause my writing a lot to try envisioning how scenes play out, then write a brief outline as I go. In some instances, it looks like a loose script format? There are times where it’ll be like

[x says y], [x does y]

and other times it’ll just be a long string of quotes in a conversation that I connect with actions and description later. That way I don’t lose specific things that I want said or done in a convo//scene. I actually did that with the dream Ten had about Yosuke/Mom, where I wrote all the dialogue for it first, then the in-between after.

Plus, any time I have an idea for a scene that isn’t going to be in one chapter, I write it down in another doc to incorporate in another chapter later. I have a bunch of scenes outlined in a word doc somewhere to be used when I feel it’s time to.

There are times where I’ve had to improvise chapters - the recent 2 chapters were not supposed to actually happen so soon. I had a specific series of events in mind that I had to delay because I needed closure on and more interaction with x or y thing. The “Adam” chapter was actually quite ad-libbed. I had wanted a chapter with Nathaniel, but I had zero idea what I was gonna do with it at first.

That chapter sort of came out of nowhere, but it added a lot to his character. It could have come at any time, but since I had wanted a scene with Charlie in play to happen before another event, I opted to pull that card. I needed a visit to balance out the rest chapter, so I had to bring “Adam” out sooner.

Idk what to say otherwise lol. I just write bc i like to. I have a lot of free time, even with the job I’ve recently gotten.

#Asks #CD Facility Story #CD Facility Spoilers

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forestwater87 · 5 years

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Ok this is super embarrassing but you’re one of my favorite writers in this uh.. whatever this blogosphere is so!! I wanna try and take a crack at writing my own fanfic but.. I got no idea where to even start. Any advice?

Oh man, I feel awful about this! I didn’t know my inbox had any new messages, so some of these asks have been sitting here for . . . some time.

Anyway, first off thank you very much! Secondly, the most obvious advice is just, you know, “do it.” But that’s infinitely easier said than done. I started writing fanfic when I was around 10 years old, so overthinking it wasn’t an issue, since I thought I was the world’s greatest writer. Assuming you’re not 10 years old and as blind to the concept of literary criticism as I was . . . well, the first step is obviously getting an idea. EDIT: Holy shit, this is long. I’m gonna have to break this bad boy up with headers, like it’s a real blog post or something.

Getting Ideas/Inspiration

I don’t know if you already have something you’d like to write about or if you’re still at the “gee that looks like fun” level of fanfic ruminating, but if you’re having trouble coming up with ideas, turning to the existing fandom is a great place to start!

1: Filling in fandom gaps: I’ve found a lot of my best fic ideas by looking through what already existed and seeing where there was something missing; when I first started writing for Camp Camp, literally only @raenbowsofficial created anything for Gwenvid -- it didn’t even have a ship name yet, and I’m pretty sure the 3 people into it were still throwing “daven” and “gavid” around as well -- so there being zero other fics for it meant that if I wanted it to exist, I’d have to be the one to write it. (That’s also nice if you’re kind of insecure, because when no one else has tried the idea you’re interested in, you have no pressure to compare it to anything else.)

Also, you could take a popular/already existing concept and write it the way you’d like to see it, if the existing fanfics do something with the story or characters that you’re not thrilled with. That’s handy because it gives you a general blueprint to work off of in terms of tropes and broad story beats, while letting you explore something new. Obviously, don’t rip off someone else’s fic note-for-note, but being inspired by someone else is a great way to kickstart your creativity! If you do have a specific author or story that you’re using as a jumping-off point for your own writing, I would strongly recommend linking them in your author’s notes at the beginning or end of the fic, and maybe gifting the story to them! You don’t have to, since the creation is entirely your own, but it’s still always nice to acknowledge the people who inspire you the most.

2: Fandom inception. If you want to be a little more direct and literal, there’s always the option of writing fanfic of a fanfic or fanart that you really love, if there’s a universe or story idea that you like, and you want more of it. As long as you give credit and notify the original creator, I think you’d have no issues in terms of fanfic etiquette, and I imagine they’d be honored to have inspired your own writing. Fandom is a very collaborative experience, after all, and we’re all in this together! :)

3. For more general “I have a vague idea of what I want to do (the ship, or maybe a tiny plot bunny) but I’m not sure where to go with it,” my biggest recommendation is music. Especially folk indie-rock music, which is 90% angst and 100% haunting. And again, looking at fanfic/art is a great way to get inspired -- I have a tendency to put up a particularly good or emblematic piece of fanart/fic in another window when I’m working on something tricky to write, just for something to stare at when my ideas start running dry (shoutout to @doritofalls, @ellohcee, and the aforementioned RA for being my go-tos when I need to stare at something pretty to feel inspired; there are absolutely others, because this fandom is filled with absurdly talented people, but those 3 are my heroes of inspiration and if you SOMEHOW don’t already know them, fix that immediately).

Wow, that’s a lot and it’s literally just all about getting an idea . . . which you might already have. Yikes. For the sake of people who have to scroll past this, let’s put the rest under a cut:

Fleshing Out the Idea: An Ode to Outlines

Some people are able to just sit down and write something incredible from a vague idea, and the story just builds on itself without any sort of planning or organization to guide them along the way. These people are named Cipher/Campernetics, and we hate her for being unfairly talented.

For the rest of us, outlines are essential.

My outlines tend to be insanely specific, because I’m very afraid of letting a single idea slip through the cracks, and I build on them over time as I get increasingly sure of where the story’s going. The early outlines tend to be extremely vague, with lots of “and then something happens” connecting major plot points. An example for a current WIP I’m doing right now:

(Seriously, “Julia and everything”? Future Forest is going to be so pissed at current Forest when she reaches that point and realizes she has no idea what she’s doing)

And as the story starts to take shape and a plot eventually forms -- they tend to take at least 10 chapters to materialize, but they do generally show up! One of the great things about fanfiction is that plot is largely optional, though, so no worries if you’re starting without a full story idea -- I find myself writing more and more details down, if for no other reason than that I want to make sure I remember what I was thinking when I finally get to that scene (because I have absolutely gotten to a point in a story and forgotten what I’d had planned. It sucks). Here’s an example from another fic with pretty significant spoilers if you can figure out which one it is oops:

I’d recommend keeping your outlines pretty simple, at least to start with: words and phrases, rather than whole-ass sentences like the above. The complexity will develop as your ideas do, so no need to wrack your brain trying to write out the entire story in bullet form.

I use the bolded ideas as stepping stones, more or less; I’ll write out the piece of the story that each line represents, which can be as little as a sentence or as much as 4 or more chapters (RIP my most recent long-running fic), then delete that line and move on to the next.

Bolding them isn’t necessary, but it does make it easier to differentiate at a glance what needs to be written. If you keep everything in the same hundred-page Google Doc like I do, this is very important.

Your outline doesn’t have to be well-written, and you can 100% use fillers like “and then something happens here.” I do that all the time -- again, another completely different story:

Now, the vaguer things are, the more annoyed Future You will be when it comes time to write whatever it’s bulleting -- there’s a reason I haven’t updated this fic, and it’s because I have zero idea what the everliving fuck “Pinky-and-the-Brain-ing all over the place” means -- but it’s really good for when you’re first getting started sketching out the vague outline of your fic. The more you panic trying to figure out all the twists and details at the very start, the less likely you’re ever just going to sit down and write the damn thing.

(This might be why I don’t write plot-heavy stories, to be fair. Mystery writers very well might have to have it all planned out from the get-go, and I’d recommend chatting with someone who’s a bit less “coffeeshop AU” and a bit more Agatha Christie for that kind of advice.)

Knowing When to Post

There are people that exist, who have amazing self-control, who can wait until their entire story is written and then release it in sections, at regular intervals, until the story is completed.

I am not one of these people, though I try to be with literally every single fic I’ve ever written.

Personally, I do this until I reach a point where I get stuck and need validation, and then post what I have in a giant chunk and then don’t update it for several months. This is almost universally known as the worst way to write fanfics, both in terms of getting interaction from fans and keeping readers from wanting to kill you, and if you have the ability to write the entire thing and sit on it until it’s ready to be shared, you are a hero.

Alternatively, if you can actually stick to a set schedule of writing it as you go and still update with a new chapter every X days, you are not human and I’m terrified of you, because if you find a way to weaponize this power you will rule the world.

Honestly, a good rule of thumb? Post it when you’re ready for people to read it, whether it’s done or not. Not all works will get done, and it seems mean to deny people the delicious little stub you’ve written even if you’re not going to finish it. When you’re happy with what you have -- or are so tired of looking at it that you need to post it or you’ll throw your computer out the window -- just do it and let out a sigh of relief, then either take a few days before going back to writing or just jump in immediately like a goddamn masochist.

(I have tried to get far enough ahead that I can start posting the already-written stuff on a schedule, figuring by the time I’m caught up I’ll have completed the entire story and won’t have any awkward gaps. Ahahahahahahahahaha that has never once worked.)

If you’re not certain about your writing, get a beta! The fandom is full of talented people who’d be happy to read over your work, and if the person you ask doesn’t have the time or spoons, they probably have a few ideas of other people you could reach out to. You don’t need a beta, but it always makes me feel better to have another set of eyes look over my writing before posting, and my beta always catches things I completely missed. Plus, you get a nice taste of that sweet, sweet validation we all crave.

This . . . is a bad guide. Just in general. The advice is . . . not good, and I think it’s largely useless. But I keep trying to think of useful things to add to it and coming up empty, so I hope something in here helped, and if you’d like to bounce your ideas off of someone, feel free to shoot me a message! Talking ideas over with friends is a great way to flesh them out as well, and I am happy to be anyone’s fandom friend.

#ask forest #forestwriting #legit no one is going to read this and i'm not saying that to judge anyone #in fact i'll lowkey judge you if you DO read all of this because why #Anonymous

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veridium · 5 years

Text

playing god

merry christmas and happy holidays to all! to celebrate, here’s a chapter of day & age! and in the spirit of the season, it’s (mostly) fluffy and sweet. you know I can never just deal out 100% sugar.

anyways, on with the show! CHAPTER 40 HOLY SHIT!

last chapter // masterpost

It’s cold.

It’s cold, and it’s 7pm on a Friday night, and...it’s cold. The bars downtown have yet to get lively. While Greek Row has been pumping music out since 4pm, they won’t get the cops called until much later. None of this matters currently; what does are two things: midterms, and finding out if Cassandra is still alive.

As the week progresses, Cass becomes harder to contact and even harder to see around. Olivia can understand the need to be reclusive -- she is, after all, Queen of her dorm cave when it comes to Finals. But as the weekend nears, Olivia goes through classes trying not to panic like a lovestruck guppy fish. It takes bumping into Ellinor, who helpfully tells her that the “final match” actually refers to the one they’re playing next week, and not some far-away and obscure phenomenon. Only then does it all make sense.

“You’re a dumbass,” Ellinor laughed when she realized Olivia had no clue.

“I am...oh God, I am,” she said through her hands.

But that was a hours ago. Now is now, and she’s walking with her bag and three layers of sweaters and a jacket down to the practice field. As she gets closer she glances at the parking lot on the other side to see the gleam a couple cars still parked. The lights are blaring over the green turf, and as she rounds the long aisle of bleachers, she sees one person is still using them.

On the far side, Cassandra, dressed in shorts and a long-sleeve under-armor shirt beneath a jersey tank, is pacing. Just ahead of her are three balls equally spaced apart, likely meant for the huge net thing. Goal? It was a goal. Damn, if midterms and upcoming finals weren’t swamping her brain, she would sit down and learn all this once and for all. Walking through the gate, she starts going through all the facts she does recall from all their conversations:

1). The net thing is a “goal.”

2). The ball really hurts when it hits you.

3). Cassandra looks really hot when she’s working out and I am too bisexual for public exposure.

Okay, the third fact was more of a habitual lapse in sense as Cassandra puts her hands to her hips and turns around. She locks eyes with her immediately, as if she has a sixth sense for intruders and this, this is her field. Her domain. Her plane of complete and utter control.

Olivia slows down and smiles, no matter the distance between them, she it travels. When Cassandra grins, her wish comes true.

“What on earth are you doing here?” Cassandra calls out.

Olivia quickens her pace, her backpack slipping down from her shoulder into her hand. When she huffs air out her mouth it turns into a huge plume of steam that cakes her face. Not until she’s about 3-4 yards away does she answer.

“I needed a new study space. The coffee shop was getting too crowded.”

Cassandra’s brow furrows with skepticism. Her breath steams the air, too, as she crosses a white chalk line in the grass. “Really?”

“Yeah. And the library, forget it,” she shakes her head. “Couldn’t find a spot unless it involves sitting on a guy named Ben.”

“No mere mortal named Ben deserves that honor.”

Butterflies, and Olivia looks away toward the balls and the net behind her. “I mean...yeah. Probably. But…”

“You know there’s no plug-ins here?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Cassandra starts slowly walking again, closer and closer. “And no baristas to give you an extra shot of espresso.”

“Didn’t think so.”

Closer, and closer still. “And the wifi has to be shit.”

“...Oh, fuck.” Her smile wanes. “That’s...that’s true...shit, I--”

The sound of Cassandra’s chuckle and the feel of her hands sliding around her sides sends whatever Olivia was going to say out into the void. She drops her bag, and without another teasing word, Cassandra kisses her. A kiss that warms better than any coffee of fire. The kind after too much time apart, no matter that it was only a day.

Olivia has slid onto her toes by the time she pulls away, biting her lip as now both their clouds of exhaled steam plume around them both.

“And here I thought you’d be too focused to give me the time of day,” she whispers, biting back a smile.

Cassandra smirks a bit tensely, and relaxes her hold. She’s still a bit sweaty, but in this weather, that rarely lasts. “Practice ended an hour ago. I’m just planning.”

It’s then Olivia notices the sack of equipment on the sideline to the far right of where they are standing. Cones, extra balls, all in some giant net that looks like you could catch fish with it.

“Oh. Uh, in that case, if I should go then--”

“No,” Cassandra lets go of her in order to take hold of her hand and hold it just as tight. “No, stay.”

Olivia’s brow lifts, and she’s begging her heart to stop beating so fast that it takes her breath -- what little she has that isn’t already stolen by the freezing temperature -- away every time.

“Sure,” she replies, and reaches down to pick up her bag. “I can just...go fix myself up on the bench over there.”

“Okay,” Cassandra says as she delays letting go of her until they are too far apart to maintain it. She is so sweet, so calm. Completely different from how Olivia imagined she would be; to be fair, the only other times she saw her in action were during the day and with the entire team. Her “Captain” persona was stern and constantly frowning at someone or something. She was good, and she acted like it. No excuses, no fluff. This was like an alternate reality.

Trying not to get lost in her thoughts, she sets her bag on the bench and sits on the ground, back against it. She then pulls out her macbook and set it on her straight legs, pulling it open while her eyes inevitably wandered to the woman still in the center of the lights. Cassandra had already returned to pacing, eyes toward the goal while she walked along the line. Not playing, not running, not a single act of actually playing. Just pacing, slow and pensive. What was there to mull over so critically?

Rather than ask, Olivia minds her own business. She has work to do, too, and she shouldn’t embarass herself by gawking. She pulls up her paper outlines and gets to work, even pulling out her headphones from her pocket. Unfortunately she doesn’t have the will to put them in, for the chance that maybe Cassandra will say something and God forbid she gets caught not willing to listen. Fuck, she’s got it good.

Time goes by, and it’s productive on either end: Olivia manages to do the impossible and get some work done, and Cassandra ends her deliberations and starts practicing with a ball, aiming and hitting them each into the goal one-by-one. Each time, she centers them in the same way, and backs away a few yards before charging at them. It all seems rather ritualistic. This goes on for another 10-15 minutes before Olivia notices from the top of her gaze that Cassandra has stopped, standing still and arms folded. She looks up and watches her for a moment as she’s regaining her breath. The way the lights show leave no piece of her in the dark, but somehow she’s still so elusive.

“You alright there, Captain?” Olivia yells, halting her typing.

Cassandra glances out of the corner of her eye and her lips move, but not loud enough. She turns around and walks toward her balls and starts picking them up, one and then another, and kicks the last one with her. Olivia frowns and sets her laptop aside, closing it before rising to her feet. Cassandra’s got her eyes to the ground again, staring daggers.

And of course because Olivia can never just let things be, she impulsively jogs over. She crouches and swipes the ball from the ground, bounding in a circle further out into the field. Cassandra finally snaps out of whatever trance she’s got herself in and turns to watch her, an alarmed sound catching in her throat.

“H-hey! Olivia!”

“This is how you play, right?” Olivia smiles fiendishly, holding the ball above her head like she’s about to chuck it. “You grab and run for it?”

“Ugh, no, you know it’s not,” Cassandra corrects her, still so serious.

Not sufficed, Olivia lowers the ball to rest against her stomach, and continues to play. “Hm. Silly me. I thought you took it and held it ransom until someone finally tackles you to the ground.”

“You’re thinking rugby, and no,” Cassandra shakes her head. “Come on, give it back.”

“Really? Then how am I gonna score a basket?”

“That is bask--Olivia! Come on, please.”

“Hm…” Olivia continues, and Cassandra finally sets the balls down by the bench and follows her, albeit at a far less energetic pace, out onto the field.

“The field closes soon,” she warns.

Olivia giggles a little, and holds the ball behind her back. “Then you better hurry!”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m not serious, I’m doing what you’re doing: I’m playing.”

They stare at each other as the impasse rises. With the sharpness of Cassandra’s frown, Olivia only smiles more, hoping to fight fire with fire -- just different kinds, is all.

“Come on, Captain, I thought nothing got past you.”

“...that’s it.”

Cassandra’s mouth twitches at the corners, and her eyes narrow with precision. She cuts into a sprint, so fast that Olivia shrieks in fear as she goes to escape. Maybe she should have thought this through before challenging a soccer player to run fast across a flat surface.

She makes it almost to the halfway point of the field before arms wrap around her from behind and pull her to a twirling stop. Cassandra’s strength pulls her off the ground again, and Olivia’s shrieking laughter only worsens when she’s captured. They spin once, and then twice, before Olivia chucks the ball aimlessly and gives up.

“I give up! I give--” she says through her gasping breaths.

Cassandra doesn’t say a word nor utters so much as a smirk as she breathes heavy at her back, mouth near her ear. It both excites her and sends a shiver down her spine, feeling her inch-for-inch and completely engulfed around her. When both the laughter and Olivia’s feet find the ground again, she finds Cassandra doesn’t release her this second time. No, instead, she holds on and makes it so Olivia has to spin around in her hold in order to face her captor. When she does, their faces are so close, heartbeats so rushed, it makes her forget the clever quip she had in store.

“I...I…”

Cassandra then grins, still catching her breath. A wave of relief comes with it.

“I just wanted…” Olivia tries again, arms resting on top of Cassandra’s, hands clasping around her shoulders. She would rather die than be free of them.

“You were just trying to help, I know,” Cassandra knowingly finishes for her. “Funny how your methods are always starting trouble first.”

Olivia giggles, hands sliding up to the sides of her neck. “I know...but I can’t help it.”

“I also know that.”

“Interesting. Do you also know what to do with that mouth of yours?”

Cassandra’s grin softens, and the pink tint in her cheeks intensifies. One could say it is just the strain of physical exertion, but, whatever. Olivia smiles to take the sting out of it.

“I meant kiss me,” she whispers the hint.

Cassandra lets out a relieved chuckle, and brings her in closer, as if it were possible. They both lean in for what is sure to be the perfect way to end a successful distraction, until it is one-upped by a voice calling from the far side of the field where Olivia entered from. Immediately, both stop and look. Maybe it’s one of the teammates having forgotten something, or some other jock out in the wild. But no, it’s someone dressed in normal clothes, with long black hair thick and wavy. They have a handbag hooked on their arm, and from the looks of their walk, are wearing quite the ambitious pair of stilettos.

“Shit,” Cassandra mutters, and pulls away. They go from being glued to each other, so polarized like magnet ends. Olivia tries not to feel tossed aside as she pulls down her sleeves and jacket hem, clearing her throat. Cassandra does the same.

“What are you doing here?!” Cassandra asks the person, annoyed. Nothing like she acted when it was Olivia showing up.

The figure stops and leans onto one hip, sighing with attitude. “Don’t do this, Cassandra. You knew I was stopping by!”

“Yes, you said 8:30, at my apartment.”

The woman then keep walking, furiously until she is close enough for them to become a triad of anxiety and confusion. She’s pretty, and looks kind of like Cassandra, if you were to close one eye, tilt your head, then take a shot of something so strong it could strip rust off a pipe. Hair that looks freshly balayaged, makeup impeccably done, not too much or too little. Older, but not quite so old for Olivia to wonder if it’s a parent or another one of her aunts and uncles.

“Yes, and it’s…” the woman checks her phone she slips out her bag. “Wow, look, 8:25. You’re lucky I know you well enough to check the nearest soccer field.”

Cassandra sighs loudly. “Fine. Do you have the keys?”

“Of course! But first, who is this?” the woman’s eyes land on Olivia, and instantly the field lights seem like glow-sticks in comparison. She can’t quite tell if she is the shiny new thing, or the interloper that needs to turn to ash. Their voices are so nice to listen to, what the fuck?

“I, uh, um...”

“This is Olivia. Olivia, this is my cousin, Antonia--”

“Antonia Pentaghast,” she smiles, and holds her hand out, freshly done acrylics and all. Damn, this woman is a masterpiece. “Nice to meet you, Olivia…?”

Olivia reaches and shakes her hand, strong and confident as she can, and blinks. Shit, she means last name. “Olivia Sinclair. Nice to meet you!”

“Sinclair…” she says with a little thrill as their hands fall. “You wouldn’t happen to be related to the lady on the City Council?”

Olivia and Cassandra exchange a look too quick for her to tell whether this is something she encourages. The very mention of her Mother fills her with as much anxiety as the Captain of the Titanic must have felt. “Um, actually, yes. She is my Mother.”

“Mother! What a small world! Your family has been patrons of our Church almost as long as we have! But I don’t think I’d have to tell you that, ahah.”

“No, I’m afraid not,” Olivia smiles politely, joining her hands together behind her. Yep, that is fact no. 1 in the Sinclair household. Right up there with the “Live, Laugh, Love” decals.

“How funny,” Antonia grins playfully, eyeing her less-than-enthused cousin who has become a pillar of seriousness all over again. So much for comedy being the most potent medicine.

“Antonia,” Cassandra interrupts sternly, “the keys?”

Antonia is about to say something more, but she stops herself and laughs. “My, my,” she says, sifting through her handbag. “You must forgive me, Olivia. Cassandra hardly ever mentions any friends. Other than that...that blonde one, she keeps bringing around but swears she is not dating.” The keys jingle in her hand as she hands them off to Cassandra, who wastes no time in snatching them up. “My husband and I are leaving for a few days to visit his family on the coast. I asked her to check up on our cats. Just dropping off the spare key!”

“Oh! That sounds like fun,” Olivia says, and then feels instantly self-conscious. But hey, it’s something.

“It will be!” Antonia grins. “Now, please tell me I will be seeing you at our family’s holiday gather--”

“Olivia will be spending the break with her own family, Antonia,” Cassandra intervenes, a bit coldly, even. The jolt in the otherwise congenial encounter makes any comfort vanish.

Antonia stops, mouth still agape, and brow lifted. Her eyes shift from her rude cousin to her.

“I…” Olivia looks at Cassandra, who in turn gives her a look of ‘please help,’ and has to choose loyalties. “I...she’s right. Thanksgiving is very important to my Mom.”

Antonia grins like she’s onto something, whether it be their true dynamic or nuclear launch codes. She hums and makes a “tsk, tsk” sound to finish. “How perfect that our gathering does not take place on the day of, then. But, details, details. I will leave you two alone. You seemed to be enjoying it...a lot.” She straightens up and runs a hand through her hair. Olivia keeps staring, even when she knows she shouldn’t. With a nod to the both of them, Antonia turns tail and struts off.

“Don’t forget Benny’s allergy meds, Cassandra!” she says, not bothering to look back.

“I won’t!” Cassandra confirms, resentfully scowling after her. It isn’t until Antonia’s figure is no longer in the field lights that she finally says anything more. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes, keys ringing in between her shaking fingers. “My family is insufferable.”

While she walks off, grabbing the ball Olivia abandoned. Olivia follows but at a hung-back pace. The whole thing doesn’t make sense. Insufferable? That was anything but. If she wants insufferable, she should walk into my family’s home.

“That was...that was fine, Cassandra,” she says, rubbing her palms. “She seems really nice!”

“Yeah, they all are,” she gripes as they make it back to the bench.

“Is that not...good?”

“The point is that--” she stops herself, freezing upright. Collecting her frustration that seems so easily provoked. Olivia watches, but it hurts a little to have Cassandra’s back to her.

“The point is there’s a lot more to it than niceness.”

“I figured.” Olivia comes around to stand beside her, watching as she packs up the net of equipment. There’s so many questions to ask, but all of them seem decidedly not welcome.

“Look, I hate to ask, but...are they not...okay...with you not being straight?”

Cassandra doesn’t miss a beat, pulling the net string tight and figuring a knot. “Most of them would be. I have a cousin who’s gay, him and his partner have been together for five years.”

Wait...what the fuck?

“But...but aren’t they religious and really conservative?”

She lets go of the bag and turns around, crossing her arms. “Yeah. The older members are still...well, narrow-minded. My family is just huge. It would be impossible to keep that going and one of us not turning out...well…”

“...Well?”

Cassandra frowns and shakes her head. “Different? Look, I’d rather not discuss it.”

“That’s fine. I’m just a little confused.”

“Confused about what?”

Olivia’s arms go out wide, and she gestures toward the part of the field they were just standing in. The part where everything was going perfect until the record-scratch of the century. “That? That back there? That whole, ‘nevermind I’m not touching the woman who’s tongue was about to be down my throat, hi, she’s just Olivia’! ‘The first rule about bi-club is you don’t talk about bi-club!’”

“Olivia, please,” Cassandra replies dismissively, eyes rolling again.

Olivia’s confusion is now tinted with anger. “So I don’t deserve an answer?”

“That’s not what I’m saying. It’s complicated.”

Here we go again. “I don’t know ‘complicated’?”

“You, agh...you haven’t introduced me to your family, either!”

Olivia’s eyes widen. “That is because the last time I brought a girl home my Mom bought us best friends Pandora charms for Christmas and then gave her a guest room with a Bible in the drawer like some Hotel!”

Cassandra scoffs dryly, her hands returning to her hips. “See? You get it--”

“I do not get it, Cass. I don’t.”

Her tone becomes angrier, to match Olivia’s ire. “My family is nice. They are nice, but they are also incredibly invasive, elitist, and fake. If they get one scrap of your personal stuff, you can kiss any privacy and autonomy goodbye. I have worked so hard to have any semblance of my own life separate from them. Forgive me if that’s so selfish.”

The air goes quiet as they both stare at each other. Olivia closes her mouth to retain the spiteful response that surely would arise if she kept going. It would be unfair. But did that make it fair what she did to her just then? Or was it not nearly as big of a deal as she’s making it out to be?

Fuck, Theia’s shit is getting into my head.

Looking off towards the goal, Olivia bounces on and off her toes nervously. She slips her hands in her front jacket pockets.

“Is that why you didn’t invite me for the holidays?” she asks, tone and expression as blank as she can muster.

A pause, and then Cassandra’s careful tone. “Maybe. I thought it wouldn’t matter. You said you spend the break at home.”

“I do. You’re...you’re right.”

“Neither of us invited each other.”

“...Yeah.”

“Liv.”

She sucks on her teeth and closes her eyes, taking one, desperate breath of patience. “What?”

“Look at me,” she asks in return, coming closer. Olivia fights the bitter urge to back away, and make it harder for her. But the closer she is, the more disarmed she feels, even with all her wrath. So, with nothing but one step in between them left, she honors the request and looks at her. All the pride has left Cassandra’s face, replaced by frustrated attentiveness.

This whole time I’ve been thinking she’d be cast out and placed under some exorcism for daring to be queer. Now, what?

“Liv, I’m not trying to hide you. I promise.”

“Then why--”

“You saw how she knew how to connect your name to your Mom in two seconds flat. They don’t just care to know names. Now, they don’t just know you’re name, they know your family, and any and all related gossip. That’s what they do: it’s either fame, gossip, or money. You have to trust me.”

Olivia looks at her, hands in her pockets balling into fists. So what is so bad about being snobby? If it was such a sin, half the town would be cast into hellfire. No use for their pretty churches then.

“Okay,” she concedes, albeit hesitantly. “Just...just remember what it’s like for me, okay? I hate to bring up the flyers, but…”

“Knowing and being known by my family won’t solve any of that,” she caveats, before daring to reach out for her hand. Olivia reaches and takes hold. “We deserve the time it takes to just be us and get to know each other.”

“I agree,” she sighs, and tries to shake loose of the duress. And how long is that going to take, when everything stays a mystery?

“Thank you,” Cassandra says sincerely, rubbing the back of her hand with a thumb. It’s soothing. So much so, Olivia resolves the remaining distance between them and brings herself into Cassandra’s chest. It’s her turn to wrap her arms around her and not want to let go.

She reciprocates, the side of her chin resting against Olivia’s head of hair. “Just let me get through the finals, and then I’ll have more time,” she swears with a renewed sweetness.

Olivia closes her eyes and hides her face in Cassandra’s chest, her voice muffled against her clothes. “When will my girlfriend return from the soccer war?”

Cassandra laughs a bit. “Tell you what, she’s on leave tonight, why don’t you come over and we can watch a movie. Your turn to pick.”

“For this...oh, you’re getting Kill Bill.”

“Volume one or two?”

“Both,” still muffled, but adamant. “How dare you suggest we only watch one?”

Cassandra smirks and rubs Olivia’s arms, generating more warmth for both of them. “How foolish of me. You have a deal.”

“I’m also ordering takeout. Ellinor told me all you do with Cullen lately is drink protein shakes and lie.”

“Um, I eat three square meals a day. It’s not my fault Cullen chases his shakes with toaster strudel.”

Olivia giggled again. Her face has become too warm to break from this pose. They’re going to freeze there forever, she decides. Forget the movie and takeout.

“Come on,” Cassandra pats her on the shoulders. “Let’s get this shit put away, and then you can read me the DoorDash menu on the way back.”

“Mm, keep talking dirty like that, the war can shove it.”

More laughter, and thank goodness for it.

#day & age #friendship fic #ellinor trevelyan #olivia sinclair #college au

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servantofclio · 5 years

Text

5 Questions

I was tagged by @aban-asaara -- thank you! I’m in the delicate process of getting back into writing The Other Commander Shepard, so I’m going to answer for that fic.

1) What was the idea that started the story?

The idea, way back in 2012 or 2013, when I was in the throes of thinking about post-game scenarios, was “What if Shepard woke up in a world where she wasn’t the hero? What if she didn’t like the choices that hero had made?” The heroic status of the game protagonist means that Shepard makes a lot of world-affecting choices. So I wanted to explore alternate scenarios, and what it would be like to be the only one who remembered one’s own reality, and what it might be like to have the burden of being the hero lifted. Plus, since I had a Colonist background, that let me play with keeping Shepard’s birth family (mostly) alive and introducing them as characters. So a lot of ideas quickly got wrapped into that starting concept.

2) Did you make an outline? Did you stick to it?

Nnnnnn. I find outlining challenging. In this case, I sort of played around with the scenario on and off for quite a while, during which time I was writing other things. I had some ideas of things that would happen at the start, and some big moments I knew I wanted to hit further on. In August 2015 or so I made a more comprehensive outline, but it was still full of lots of question marks. Basically, I seemed able to outline only about 5-6 chapters ahead, and then I needed to write most of those chapters, and then I’d be able to outline again. It was an iterative process, and I never seemed able to just outline all the way from start to finish. I more or less stuck to what I’d planned out for each chunk, but each time there would be a lot of “???” “and then somebody does a thing that solves this plot problem.” Also, chapters kept getting longer / more numerous than I’d expected.

3) What’s the favorite part of your story?

Basically everything about Val Shepard’s interactions with her brother Alex; slowly getting re-acquainted with Garrus; the big scene in chapter 18 that did just what I wanted. (Though I originally expected that to be chapter 9 or 10 or so.)

4.) Who is your favorite character and why?

I mean, writing Val Shepard is generally like wrapping up in a comfortable robe. She’s a bit more ridden with angst and doubt in this fic than in canon, but that wasn’t a problem. Alex Shepard proved to be way more fun to write than I’d expected, though. There’s something freeing about writing a character who just doesn’t give a fuck what other people think of him, generally. Alex also gave me the opportunity to play a bit with the question of “how does Cerberus actually recruit people? especially their skilled scientists / techs?” and I enjoyed that.

5.) Did anything happen that surprised you as you were writing?

Everything. Took. So. Much. Longer. Chapters keep coming out at 4000-5000 words instead of 2000-3000. Combining the character study with some plot complexities meant that it takes a lot of words to cover all the stuff I want to put in, I guess. That’s true even considering a number of plot developments or character cameos that I considered and then put aside as taking up too much time and space.

(There were additionally going to be more brief character appearances -- some are still coming up, but others ended up seeming like distractions from the main events and character arcs.)

Tagging anyone who feels like it!

#memery #the other commander shepard

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hookaroo · 5 years

Text

Vocivore, Ltd. (45 of 46)

Also on FFN and AO3 (ListerofTardis)

Tagging @ouatwinterwhump, @killian-whump, @sancocnutclub, @killianjonesownsmyheart1, @courtorderedcake, @facesiousbutton82 <3

***THE MOST WONDERFUL, HEARTBREAKING, and BEAUTIFULLY WHUMPY COVER ART BY @cocohook38 HERE and HERE!!!!!!!!!*************

***Chapter 12 animation and art that will absolutely astound you!!!!!!!!!**********

***LETHAL Chapter 19 art in all of its BLOODSTAINED GLORY!!!!************

**POOR STABBED KILLIAN falling into the sheriff station! Ch. 7 & 23 art!!**

****KILLIAN AND HIS MASTER IN THE GORGEOUS CATHEDRAL!!!!!!!!!!!! CHAPTER 1 ART THAT KILLS ME EVERY TIME I SEE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!*********

*CH 34 ART! A DEFEATED KILLIAN, HEAD BOWED BEFORE HIS MASTER!!*

***CH 36 ART! DETECTIVE JONES BOWS BEFORE HIS NEW MASTER!!!!!!***

***AAAAHHHH!!! THANK YOU MY WONDERFUL COCONUT FRIEND!!!!!!***

________________________________________________________________

Present (Thursday)...

Zzzzzzzz…

Shave day.

Killian had only to close his eyes to be transported back there. That dreadful hovel with its table of pain. Those callous hands dragging a dull-edged blade along his jaw. And nothing ahead of him but more suffering. No hope.

Focus on the differences. Warm, soft bed, no splintered, uncomfortable wood. Blankets and a gown instead of cold nudity. The din of automation replacing the scratchy ring of imprecise steel. Similar pungent disinfectant but less decay, less blood and pain and fear. And, most important, gentle touch. No intent to hurt or degrade. Only meticulous, loving care from the one person on Earth he trusted without reservation.

“Holy crap,” teased Emma, “I think we need to get Whale to put a sign on your door warning that there's a handsome pirate inside.”

Knowing that he still looked like a wreck despite a neatly trimmed beard, he played along for her sake. “And what would its purpose be, to entice eligible nurses inside, or warn them away from his jealous bride?”

“I don't mind them looking,” smiled Emma. “What's the point of having a gorgeous husband if a girl doesn't show him off every once in awhile?”

Killian clenched his teeth as a wave of violent shivering overtook him; to a casual observer it would have appeared as if he were suddenly chilled to the bone despite climate-controlled surroundings and the layer of blankets draped atop him. Through nauseating pain, he heard Emma lay aside the razor and felt her grip his elbow in solidarity.

Whale remained hesitant to classify them as seizures, stating that the corresponding brain activity did not match any known convulsive disorder and responded to none of the anticonvulsant drugs they’d tried. Of course, that didn't rule out the possibility of eventual development into actual seizures, as most of the slave fatalities had experienced just before their deaths.

Killian had managed to catch snippets of conversations, grave tones and sobering words that betrayed what they seemed to be trying to hide from him. He would probably have guessed on his own, anyway, with his worsening state mirroring the course of the slaves who had preceded him in death. Sometimes he was able to comprehend what a shame it was, for him to have survived so long only to succumb now, when peace had returned to his home. In those moments he tried to take solace in the thought that he'd been granted more cherished memories with his wife and daughter, without a threat hanging over them, when he could focus on lavishing them both with the fierce love he felt for them. Emma would remember. Hope... he liked to think she would.

None of that mattered in the moment, though, as quivering muscles shocked every single inflamed nerve ending into high gear, enveloping him in a fog of inescapable agony.

Emma met his watery gaze with a sad, stiffly calm smile, and he read the desolate grief in her forged reassurance even as he realized that the attack was finally subsiding.

"Morphine?" she asked quietly, but he shook his head. Hope would be coming by for a visit soon, and he wanted a clear mind for her.

Her grip on him relaxed by degrees as some of the tension drained away from his body.

“I'm so sorry, Killian,” she whispered. “If only we could somehow bring magic back. I might not be able to stop these attacks, but I could at least heal your wounds and prevent some of this pain.”

She sniffled and before Killian could summon the breath to respond, she continued,

“It doesn't make any sense; I mean, we thought it was related to the Vocivore, but maybe we're wrong, ‘cuz it seems like we should have found something by now…”

“I have something to report about that,” came Regina’s voice from the doorway. “But you’re not going to like it.”

Emma turned with a weary expectancy, and Regina stepped inside. She was the very picture of classic irritated aloofness, but she did glance at Killian and say,

“Sorry for barging in like this.”

"You found something?" demanded Emma, and Regina stopped at the foot of the bed. Her scowl could whither the blossoms off an apple tree.

"It's those damn pigeons."

"The... pigeons," repeated Emma slowly. In his mind's eye, Killian saw a ragged pink feather coated in slime; white, powdery droppings splattered on chancel cobbles; black and amber irises reflecting nothing but pure animal instinct. He heard the trilling cooing that had been the quiet backdrop for many a scream, memories as clear as if the blasted birds were right there in the room with him.

"Those ridiculous pink pigeons, Sheriff Swan," Regina confirmed, completely oblivious to Killian's uneasiness. "I cannot fathom how, but they're the ones responsible for the magical shielding. Pesky vermin."

Emma looked unconvinced, and Killian wanted to agree, but considering how the birds seemed inextricably linked to the Vocivore's presence, perhaps the idea wasn't so farfetched.

"Regina, are you sure? They're just dumb birds. How can they possibly block magic?"

"I'm... still working on that," admitted the queen. "But I know I'm right. Did you hear about those hooligans who set off the fireworks in front of City Hall this morning? Right in the middle of an inter-realm council meeting?"

"David filled me in, yeah; said he thought it was some Lost Boys from the Wish Realm."

"Well, as disruptive as it was to the meeting, it was a hundred times worse for our feathered friends. They took off like their tails were on fire and made for the Enchanted Forest or... Madagascar or somewhere; trouble was, they're too stupid to remember that for long, and they were back within 10 minutes. But in that time, there was a brief window in which I could almost access my power; it was there, just on the edge of awareness, just out of reach." She made a growl of frustration, both hands tightly fisted. "I thought for a second that the shield was collapsing for good, without us having to do anything about it, but wouldn't you know, we're stuck with our usual luck again."

Regina looked like she'd rinsed her mouth with lemon juice as she continued ranting. "The first bird to come back, while we were still searching the area for any unexploded fireworks? A pigeon. A fat, iridescent pink pigeon. And that's when I made the connection."

"Well, I've been saying we needed to get an exterminator, but just because you saw one doesn't necessarily prove that they're the culprits."

"I think she may be right," Killian said with another shiver. "They were... fairly strongly bonded with the Master. Sometimes would even ride on its shoulders." He cringed as the haunting outline of the beast filled his imagination, complete with winged companions, its tentacles pulsating as they reached toward him....

"And we have only recently started noticing them around Storybrooke," added Regina. "Just about the same time as magic failed. They’re remarkably distinctive, and I remember being surprised the first time I saw one."

"I don't see the connection," Emma began, still doubtful. "But it can't hurt to check it out. So say it is the pigeons. What's the next step?"

"That's the bad news." Regina glanced at Killian in apology. "It won't be a quick fix. Short of poisoning them, or making the town somehow inhospitable to birds in general--both of which are options that I can't see our critter-loving neighbors approving of--we're down to trapping and relocating each one individually, or trying to figure out what exactly gives them the ability to block magic. And either way, it's going to take time." She folded her arms, waiting for questions, but Emma and Killian were quiet, mulling over the situation. "I've tasked Robin with the job of bringing one to me for study. Don't tell your mother."

Killian was only half listening as a whole movie's worth of scenes replayed in his head. Pigeons, pigeons everywhere. He felt foolish for not noticing their conspicuousness before, but, of course, he did have other things to worry about at the time.

He felt his spirits sinking impossibly lower as the consequences of the news took shape. No quick solution would mean no magical healing. He'd be stuck in this infernal hospital, recuperating in the conventional way, spending whatever time he had left uncomfortable and in pain. Somehow, the Master had managed to orchestrate continued torture for him; even in death, it was having the last laugh at his expense.

"Pigeons," scoffed Emma. "Pigeons and a crab. Who would have guessed?" Seeming to sense Killian's dark musings, she stroked his cheek with her thumb. "Sorry, Killian. This sucks."

"They must have evolved together," muttered Regina absently. "Developed some kind of symbiosis; they shield the Vocivore, and it gives them, what, shelter? Protection from predators?"

"Blood," realized Killian suddenly. The inspiration had come out of nowhere, a thought buried deep within his subconscious that had burst unbidden into full awareness. He'd only ever seen it out of the corner of his eye, with no attention to spare, his own misery and how long he'd been given before the next Session at the forefront, always. But there they were. Pink bodies fluttering to earth, a writhing mass behind him as he left the church, squabbling among sticky smears and warm pools, dipping dainty beaks, plunging belly-first in some macabre bathing ritual…

Then outside. They would be strutting through the gutters, congregating near fresh corpses while his tunnel vision kept him limping in the direction of Z's cottage, never truly seeing how beady little eyes sized him up even as blood-crusted heads burrowed into decaying flesh in search of more nourishment.

"Um... what?!"

Killian returned to reality to find Emma and Regina staring at him with matching expressions of revulsion.

"The pigeons, they... they seemed to fear the noise and, f-for the most part, remained in the rafters... during..." He hesitated, winced, then carried on with great effort. "But afterward... the Master didn't care about the stains on the floor, yet I never saw fresh blood when I first arrived. I... I think the pigeons... consumed it."

Killian thought he might vomit. Both of his visitors seemed to share the feeling.

"Okay, that's... disgusting."

Regina gulped and plastered on a weak smirk. "So. ‘Carrion’ pigeons. I wonder if their feathers are just stained, then, or if they turn pink from some substance in the blood they eat, similar to flamingos."

"Gross," moaned Emma. She took a sip of her bottled water. "But hold on a sec. If they're so fond of... that... then why did they make their way all the way to Storybrooke? There's way less... that... around here."

"Guess they can do without it. Or maybe they live off roadkill out here."

"Overcrowding?" suggested Emma, answering her own question. "Better nesting sites?"

"Would have made an intriguing Exchanges topic." Killian cringed at the thought. "Had I known to ask."

An uncomfortable silence descended upon the trio, until finally, Regina grunted her irritation at the whole thing.

"Well, I can try to confirm all of this once I get my hands on one of those little pests. Guess it's good to finally be getting some answ-"

"Mr. and Mrs. Hook, get your Thank-You cards ready; I've just-" Dr. Whale paused when he noticed Regina in the room. "Oh. Your Highness."

"Victor."

Whale caught Killian's glower and smirked. "What's that look for?"

"I'd explain but I'm still recovering from that utter shipwreck of a salutation."

"Sounds like you're feeling better. Guess I'm wasting my time, then, working around the clock?"

"Did you have something to tell us, Whale?" Emma's feigned irritation fooled no one--it was obvious she anticipated more important news.

"We've had a bit of a breakthrough, thanks to the data gleaned from you and Detective Jones." The physician held up a cautionary hand. "Results look promising, but this is by no means a sure thing, and there's no guarantee of long-term success. We'll of course continue to tweak it as we go along, but for now I think Killian could benefit from an initial dose as soon as possible."

"You think you've found a cure, then?" clarified Regina.

"A therapy," he corrected. "To slow the degeneration and maybe, eventually, reverse it. Tested on some lab animals, then this morning on two rescued slaves who were near death. They seem to be doing better." He pulled a hand-labeled vial from his pocket and set it on a table with a flourish. "The FDA would burn my license and probably toss me into prison for this. Good thing none of us officially exist."

As Killian stared at the little container of clear fluid onto which, suddenly, all of their hopes were pinned, he was struck with unexpected anxiety. It was all well and good when there was nothing that could be done, his fate seemingly sealed. Now that there was a reported chance, he wanted nothing more than for it to work. He wanted to live, to be a husband and father, to watch Hope grow and be there for her. The vial represented that future... and what if it didn't work?

Whale took Killian's silence as reluctance, and he sighed. "Yeah, I can't guarantee its safety either, or provide you with a list of possible side effects. Just that for you, with your weird, extra barrier that we still don't entirely understand, I'd like at least the first few doses to be administered directly into the CSF, and we do know the risks and side effects of lumbar puncture. But, well... listen, if it were me or a loved one in your position, I would still say that we need to try something, because the risks don't matter once the condition becomes terminal. Make sense?"

"None of that is in question," said Killian slowly. Then he flashed a short, tired smile at the physician, radiating self-deprecation. "Believe it or not, I actually do trust your medical expertise. I was only... praying for its success, I suppose."

Whale looked genuinely touched, for a fleeting instant. But soon enough his cocky demeanor was back. "You're right: I'm not sure I do believe it. I'm gonna take that admission as another symptom and then we can just carry on the way we always do."

He tossed some forms at Emma, ordering,

"Read and sign for him. Assuming you want to go through with it, we'll be back shortly to perform the procedure."

He left in a swirl of white lapels, muttering a polite farewell to Regina on his way. The queen turned back to Killian and Emma, wearing a slightly uncomfortable grin.

"Well. Good news, then. Or, a seed of hope, at least." She brushed invisible dust off her jacket and made other I'm-about-to-leave cues.

"Yeah. Thanks for filling us in about the pigeons." Emma glanced down at her phone, and a tiny frown creased her forehead. "Although you could have just called me."

Squirming, Regina blustered,

"I... thought the news would be better delivered in person. And... well... maybe there's a... small part of me that wanted to see how Killian was doing."

"That's most appreciated," said Killian. "Thank you."

Regina nodded stiffly, shot an, "I'll keep you informed," then exited.

Killian gritted his teeth through another bout of shivers--thankfully shorter this time--and when he could open his eyes again it was to find Emma watching in sympathy.

"Hope that's over with for now. You don't wanna be doing that while they're trying to stick a needle into your spine."

Throbbing and aching, Killian grimaced. He needed a distraction. "Everything okay, love?" he growled. "You were rather tight-lipped toward the end there."

It was then that he noticed the tear tracks staining her face.

"Emma?"

She lay aside the consent forms and wiped at her cheeks. "I've been so scared, Killian. Starting a month ago, but it hasn't stopped even with your rescue. I... well, Whale's been pretty pragmatic about your condition, and... truth is... I was starting to prepare myself to lose you." She caught two droplets before they had a chance to fall. "I mean, how horrible is that? You aren't even gone yet and I'm coaching myself to start saying goodbye."

She started to reach for his hand but stopped and gripped his wrist instead.

"That's human nature," he pointed out. "I've been doing it, too."

Her eyes glistened with sad questions. "We didn't... I mean, Whale thought that..."

"No, no one's told me anything; not before now at any rate. No one had to."

Emma leaned forward to kiss his cheek gently, brushing back some stray hair as she murmured,

"I'm sorry, Killian. Shoulda known better than to give up so soon."

His eyes found the vial, which Dr. Whale had left on the table. "Do you think it will work?"

"It has to," she said simply. "If nothing else, to give us more time. And you know... Whale's kinda the expert at this sort of thing, even if his attitude leaves something to be desired."

Killian was tiring rapidly; it had been one hell of an afternoon, and this was the most he'd participated in a conversation since his rescue, if not longer. But he still had one final question before hopefully catching a nap between interruptions.

"Whale mentioned 'data,' gleaned from you and Jones. Did I hear that correctly?"

Emma waved a dismissive hand. "Just a couple of tests he did on us; no big deal."

"You subjected yourselves to becoming his laboratory animals, all on my account?"

"And to help the other rescued slaves." She flashed him a twinkling grin, which softened into loving fondness. "But... yeah, mostly for you."

"Thank you, Emma, truly."

She graced him with a quick kiss, saying,

"You're welcome, and like I said, no big deal, and that's all we're gonna say about that." Noticing his heavy eyelids, she smoothed an eyebrow and then sat back. "We better do that paperwork before you fall asleep. Want me to hold it up so you can read it, or I could read it aloud to you..."

"Don't bother about it, love," he murmured. "You can read them yourself if you'd like, but I think we both know that there isn't much they could say that would change our views on the matter."

Killian cast his eyes on Hope's artwork once more before succumbing to his weariness. Perhaps it would guard his dreams and bring positive thoughts from here on out. Because now that he had a fighting chance at survival, healing his psyche had suddenly become that much more important, and it would most definitely be a longer road than the not-insignificant path to physical health.

Would he be up to the challenge?

________________________________________________________________

AN: Well, obviously I failed to get this posted quickly enough. Blame @cocohook38 and @lillpon for killing me in their own wonderful ways :) Less than 36 hours til I’m on the plane to Ireland!!! Sorry to make you wait for the conclusion! It’s really not that long of a trip, though. I should be back to somewhat functional by July 10 :D

I’m looking for some milestone that gives me an excuse for “Winter Whump” to have lasted this long... XD The closest I’ve come is that I probably had the first inklings of what the premise would be sometime last summer, as sign-ups for the event closed June 30, 2018. So the final chapter will be released approximately 1 year later. *Shrug* Best I can do.

#ouat fanfiction #killian jones #emma swan #ouat regina #dr whale #hospital #pigeons #lillpon found the clues #anyone else?#:D #vocivore ltd #if anyone is a star wars fan #and read the expanded universe novels #the idea for the pigeons came from the ysalamiri #from the thrawn trilogy #lol

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