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nickfowlerrr · 2 years ago

Text

waiting

pairing: dark!andy barber x curvy!reader

warnings: 18+ only. angst angst angst. mommy issues. mentions of pregnancy. allusion to thoughts of abortion (this blog is firmly pro choice btw). self loathing. everyone is just really mean to poor reader. ☹️. oh and a mention or two of mr. ransom drysale 😶 if i’m missing something important pls feel free to let me know.

words: 5.3k

notes: i’ve had this fic in my wips since july and finished since the beginning of this month, i just never posted it lol but i’m so excited to share it finally. this definitely isn’t for everyone and really was just an indulgent write but if you do read this, i hope you enjoy the angst. comments and reblogs are more than welcome and appreciated. i’d love to hear what you think. thank you for reading 🖤

The flickering light in the nearly empty emergency room was unsettling. Your mind was taunting you as you sat in the waiting area, the chair beneath you growing harder and more uncomfortable with each passing minute.

You had jinxed yourself.

Cursing your fate mere hours ago and dwelling on how horribly things were going lately, thinking it couldn’t possibly get any worse.. Of course, it could.

In all honesty, you didn’t really know why you were here. Maybe just as an excuse to try and avoid the inevitable.

Maybe it was some sick sense of guilt hanging over you..

A part of you now desperate to remember the sense of comfort you could find in her - even if only for a few moments. As hard as you’ve tried these last 24 hours, you just couldn’t seem to remember what it felt like. You started to wonder if there was really anything to remember at all. But there had to be, right? She was your mother. There had to be. And then your phone rang. You didn’t let yourself think before you told whoever was on the other end that you would be there soon. You just called an Uber and went right down. Now here you were.

Whatever it was that drove you here - fear, guilt, obligation, a need for reassurance - that maybe this all wouldn’t be so bad, it brought you to this moment. Waiting with baited breath for your name to be called, for someone to escort you to her room, to finally see the damage she had done with her refusal to help herself. You felt bad, though you knew you shouldn’t. The damage she had done to you could be seen every time you looked in the mirror.

Stare too long at your reflection and you're lost again to the darkness that has managed to follow you all your life. You felt hollow a lot of the time, but the more apt word would be numb. Because you weren’t hollow by any means. No, you were full to the brim with hurt and anger and despair. You didn’t like feeling that. So numbness was better.

Just try to forget. Don’t let your mind sit in silence for too long. It was prone to wandering. And so were you. Maybe that’s why you were in the position you were now. You could never let yourself be content. Always searching, always reaching for something more. Something that could finally make you feel. Force you to feel. You just didn’t realize that it would lead you to him. That anyone could ever make you feel as much as he did. That you could ever feel like this.

The flickering of the light was bad, but the seemingly deafening silence was worse.

Until it wasn’t.

The entrance door slid open and you vaguely heard the footfall of whoever had just entered approaching behind you while the chilling breeze from outside came rushing in with them.

The shadow loomed over you and you didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. The creaking of the old chair as he sat directly behind you was irksome, as was his unwanted presence. Maybe if you just pretended he wasn’t there, you wouldn’t have to deal with him right now. Maybe he’d just go away for tonight. Maybe he’d be kind enough to leave you alone.

You could have scoffed out loud at yourself.

Kindness wasn’t really his thing. Not lately. And if you’d learned anything these past six months it was that the times you most wished he’d leave you be, were the times he was sure not to.

Waiting for him to move or speak or to do something, anything at all, was even more frustrating and did nothing to help settle the anxiety that was already turning your stomach. You couldn’t take the silence a moment longer. You spoke with your back to him.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been calling you all night,” he responded without answering your question. You could hear the edge in his tone and it only served to piss you off. He had the audacity to be upset when he knew what was going on. You weren’t stupid enough to just not show up when he expected you at his place, you texted him and told him where you’d be and why. It wasn’t like you were hiding from him. At least not in a way he could prove.

“Yeah, well, I've been a little preoccupied.” you said harshly. Biting your lip as you instantly regretted your tone. Not that he didn’t deserve it, but you couldn’t deal with the repercussions you’d get for it from him right now. You were already on the verge of breaking completely.

“Sweetheart,” he leaned forward in his chair as he spoke, voice hard, getting even closer to you as if his presence wasn’t already all together suffocating.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered. “I’m sorry, I just- I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here. I’ve been waiting since I texted you. They won’t let me back there.”

Truthfully, you were more upset about the news you’d gotten yesterday than you were about the wait - you weren’t even really sure you wanted to go back there. Their ignorance of you was more helpful than you were sure they realized. You couldn't be accused of not showing up, it’s not like it was your fault they never got to you. You were still there.

You didn’t speak that aloud though, and he wouldn’t have given you any time to if you’d wanted.

He clicked his tongue and got up without saying a word and walked to the receptionist. You watched as they spoke, his charm shining through as the young woman was in complete admiration at the man before her. If only she knew the real him. If only anyone knew what he was really like. But no. He saved his true self for you and you alone.

The shrill laughter of the woman pierced your ears as Andy smiled, charming oozing off of him. You were reminded of the first time you met him. How easily you had fallen for his act, much the same way. Laughing shyly at his compliments and smiling softly at that same smirk you now dread. The one that haunts your dreams at night after he finally grants you some peace. He’d taken over everything. Every aspect of your life. All of you.

He didn’t care. Not really. Not about the situation. Not even truly about you. He could pretend all he liked, but you knew the truth, whether he accepted it or not.

He didn’t care, he just wanted people to believe he did. That’s what it felt like. And damn did they believe. You had, too. Until you got too close. Finally saw him drop the facade.

Sometimes you could convince yourself it was better this way. To really know him, to know the truth. It helped you not feel so much like a fool anymore. And the way you saw people react to him, falling for every kind smile and caring word, that helped too. You couldn’t blame yourself, he was just so damn good at hiding it.

The woman behind the desk pressed a button and the door leading further into the hospital buzzed open. Andy smiled at her again, giving her a soft ‘thank you’.

He stood at the door, looking at you while holding it open, waiting for you to get up. You stared blankly a moment, your body not wanting to move. This was stupid. Seeing her wouldn’t change anything. It’d do no good for either of you. In fact, it’d probably just send you spiraling even further. You never should have come here in the first place. Never should have answered the phone to begin with. You had bigger problems to worry about. This was too much. It was all too much. Maybe you could visit her after she got home, but you couldn’t do this, especially not right now. Your heart was starting to race and you felt like you couldn’t breathe. You opened your mouth slightly, wanting to speak but no words would come out. You vaguely heard Andy call your name, but didn’t respond to it, not until he loudly cleared his throat and broke through your trance. You looked at him immediately, his annoyance clear in what used to be such kind eyes. You couldn’t find the softness or warmth you did before. Only harsh blue staring a hole through you. You forced your body to move, albeit slowly, standing up and walking toward him. When you were close enough and he was sure no one was watching, he gripped your arm tight and pulled you through the threshold of the door. You stumbled forward, gasping slightly, and tried to pull your arm away, grimacing as his grip was too tight. You looked up at him, pleading without words, eyes begging him to relent. Instead of just letting go of you, he threw your arm away from him and out of his hold. Another needless aggression.

“Stop acting so goddamn catatonic,” he snarled.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” you murmured. “I can’t do this,” you breathed as you tried to move past him, back through the door you’d just entered through.

“Now you want to leave? The second I get you back here? You’re that fucking stubborn. You won’t let me do any nice thing for you, you just like when I’m mean to you, is that it?”

“Andy, please,” you tried to calm him. “It’s not you, I just, I can’t do this, okay. I can’t see her. Please. Let’s just go, I’ll go with you, alright? Wherever you wanted to go tonight, let’s go,” you pleaded. You really couldn’t fathom having to face her. Now that you were so close, you just couldn’t do it. Hell, you were begging the man you’d been trying to keep away from to take you anywhere else, you were that desperate to avoid this reunion.

Your head was down now, staring at his solid chest as he continued to keep you blocked from the door. You felt his hand come up, moving some of your hair out of your face. His touch, deceptively gentle. He moved to tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“You are leaving with me, you already know that. But we’re not going anywhere until I say we are. You’re gonna be a big girl,” he said, voice dripping with condescension as he gripped your chin painfully, “and do what you came here to do. You can’t run from your fears forever.”

You felt tears welling in your eyes but you fought them back with everything you had.

I hate you I hate you I hate you.

That was all that was running through your head as you blinked away the tears threatening to spill. He didn’t deserve your tears. Neither of them did.

You backed away, lips in a tight line and eyes hard.

A nurse was passing by as you did and Andy was quick to put on a show.

He grabbed your hand gently and it took everything in you not to rip it away. He pulled you back closer and wrapped his arms around you, burying your face in his chest. “It’s alright, sweetheart. Everything’s gonna be okay,” he spoke softly. You couldn’t see his face, so you didn’t know for sure, but you would have bet money he smiled at the nurse as they passed by. Another phony display of comfort.

You weren’t even sure he realized why he was doing it, or how hollow of a gesture it was. You wondered if he really was that deluded that he could think this was a sincere intimate moment between the two of you. His heavy hand was rubbing your back in an attempt to be soothing, and seemed to confirm your thoughts. He turned you in his hold, your back to his chest as he ushered you in the direction of the room number he had been given.

Your feet were only moving because he was pushing you forward. You didn’t know what room you were going to, but when Andy stopped in front of a cracked door, you figured that must be it. You swallowed hard, turning to face him again. Having to see her on your own was enough to leave you feeling sick, but with the news you got yesterday still weighing on you and Andy hovering so close, you felt nearly immobile. The more you thought about what was about to happen, the more anxious you got. You started to think about the last time you’d had to introduce your mother to the person you were seeing. It went horribly, even he agreed. And Ransom had a pretty low bar set for family as it was. Not that he had any room to judge.. Thinking about him and everything that had gone down those few years ago gave you chills even now. How the hell did you constantly end up in these convoluted, fucked up relationships. You worried it said more about you than it did any of them.

“You, you can’t go in,” you said, shaking your head as you avoided eye contact. “She’ll…it’ll be a whole thing,” you tried to explain.

“She doesn’t know about me?” he sniffed.

“I haven’t seen her in over a year,”

“You don’t call?” You cringed at his tone. Accusatory, like he always was, already putting the blame for the rift you had with your mother on you without knowing any of the details. You swallowed the renewed lump forming in your throat and took a stabilizing breath before you responded.

“It’s been a while,” you choked, your voice thick and throat tight.

“Well I can introduce myself just fine,”

You moved to block him from entering the door, earning a stern glare in response.

“I’m only going to say this once,” he seethed. “Move.”

“Let me just talk to her first,” you refused.

His jaw ticked as he stared down at you, eyes narrowed. He huffed, agitated. You thought for a second he was going to listen, but you should have known better. He took a step closer, bending down and grabbing your face in his large hands.

“You’re gonna remember this exact moment later tonight. And you’re gonna regret it.”

His voice was calm, his eyes sure - and you believed him. Your shoulders sagged as you deflated. You weren’t gonna win this one. He brushed past you and entered the room with a knock on the door as he pushed it open. His previous irritation was quickly replaced by his mask of goodheartedness.

You heard her before you saw her, the lilt of her voice paralyzing you.

Suddenly you were a kid all over again, teary eyed and broken hearted at the words that spilled from her lips as she held up clothes to you in the department store, vicious in meaning but so gentle in her delivery. If you didn’t pay attention to the words, you could convince yourself she was reassuring you instead of tearing you apart. That’s what it looked like to passersby, you were sure. The unadulterated spite and barely concealed hatred was saved for you behind closed doors. Living under her roof was your own personal hell and once you got out from under her thumb, you refused to settle back down anywhere. Never believing you were secure, wanted. You just kept searching for what you were longing for, never accepting when you’d found it, or just too scared to stay. Always wandering to the next. You couldn't stay too long or they'd grow to despise you, too.

Who would have thought you'd find yourself trapped again after all these years, all the time you spent desperate to avoid it. It was almost comical. It had to be cosmic. It was like you ran right into him. You wanted to know what you had done in your past life to have cursed yourself to such a fate in this one. How did they keep finding you and what had you done to deserve it? Another devil holding you down. You should have seen it coming. Maybe you did. Maybe it just felt so familiar, the only love you knew as a kid. Anything else you'd received felt like a joke, like you didn't deserve it. Or maybe it was even simpler than that. Maybe you were just tired of trying to outrun fate.

The people you found yourself closest to were always the wolves in sheep’s clothing. Seeming so gentle and loving from the outside, but ready to tear you apart the second they get you alone. Exposed. Vulnerable.

Maybe you did deserve this. The second you started to believe things were finally going right for you, that maybe you could finally be happy, that seeming reality was shattered for you by the very hands you thought were helping put you back together after spending so much of your life feeling absolutely broken.

You didn’t really hear the words they were exchanging as you walked into the room after a moment, taking a heavy breath. When you finally focused in, you heard the end of their brief introductions.

“There’s my daughter,” she announced as you approached. “Look at you,” she intoned, looking you up and down before landing on your face. “You’re all done up. Got all your makeup on.”

You crossed your arms in front of your chest uncomfortably as you took a breath, looking away from her. You could hear the judgment clear as day laced in her words.

“It looks pretty,” she tried to compliment when you looked to her, face solemn. “I wish I could do my makeup like that,” she said smiling.

“Thanks, mom,” you replied, taking a step further into the room. You could feel Andy’s gaze on you, watching you intently, waiting for you to make your way to him, you were sure. “...How are you?”

You felt stupid for even asking, but you didn’t really know what else to say.

“Oh, ya know,” she tried to play off. “I’m fine, honey, I’m fine,” she assured you when you looked at her with a slightly raised brow. She took a breath. “I haven’t seen you in over a year. Haven’t heard from you nearly at all, either, I’ve missed you.”

“Yeah. Sorry,” you said, feeling guilty.

“Hey, that’s life, though. Gets hard. Trust me, I know,” she said before she considered you a moment. With just the tilt of her head you knew she was about to say something provocative. “You look so different…. A lot can change in over a year, though, right?” she continued, looking over to Andy deliberately.

“Uhm. Mom, this is Andy Barber. Andy, my mother,” you introduced them only out of obligation. Manners were important to both of them. Something else they had in common.

“So he told me,” she smiled. “I’m assuming you’re… dating?” You swallowed hard as you looked at her before looking to Andy.

“Six months now,” he responded for you, walking to where you were still standing, smiling softly as he put his arm around you. It was deceptively sweet, comforting. You almost wanted to let yourself relax into him, use him as a shield against the vitrole you knew would be coming eventually.

“Six months? Wow. That must be a record for you, right?” she baited you with a laugh. You didn’t respond, just looked down to the one teal tile on the floor amongst the sea of white. You could feel her eyes on you before she realized she wouldn’t be getting a response, turning her attention to Andy instead.

“So, what do you do for work?” she prodded.

“I’m an assistant DA,” he answered her.

“A lawyer?” your mother said, shocked evident in her voice as she looked at you. “Well, better make sure this one lasts,'' she told you. “And if it does last, you’d better get a prenup,” she laughed again as she nodded to Andy.

You stiffened as Andy did beside you and bit your cheek, eyes narrowed and brows furrowed. She noticed your face and her scoff made your stomach turn. You looked up to see her rolling her eyes as she looked away like she was exhausted by you already. “You just always have to have an attitude don’t you?” she said almost under her breath, frustrated. “Why are you so sensitive? You’re an adult. Stop taking things so personally. Lighten up, grow some skin. I’m trying to have a conversation and it's like everything I say you have an issue with.

God, y/n, ya know, why are you even here? To make me feel worse? Remind me how much of a fuck up mother I am?” You knew it was coming. It always did. And yet you were still jostled by her flip. You felt Andy’s hand squeeze your waist as you unconsciously backed further into him, pressing closer to his side like a frightened puppy trying to hide yourself.

“Mom, I didn’t say anyt-”

“Why are you here?” she enunciated each word loudly, interrupting and talking over you.

“They called when they brought you in. I’m your emergency contact, remember?”

“Remember? Don’t talk to me like I’m senile.” she nearly sneered.

You bite your tongue and cursed yourself for feeling tears well up already.

“Yeah, that’s great. Bring out the waterworks. Put on a show, make me the bad guy. It’s always me, right? It’s always my fault,” she continued. “What do you have to cry for? I’m the one who was abandoned by you. You show up after over a year of rejecting my calls and one word text responses, what to make yourself feel better? Where were you when I needed you, huh?” she questioned, words like knives in your heart. You felt so small under her angry gaze. You felt like the worst person in the world. You felt like a child. A weak, scared, sorry child.

“Andy was it?” she asked, pulling her eyes from you as she turned them to Andy.

“Mr. Barber is fine,” he corrected, voice hard and defensive.

“Well, Mr. Barber,” she mimicked, “I’m sorry you have to see this, but let me just warn you. If I know my daughter, I know she's not much for sticking around. She’ll run as soon as she gets the chance. She’s like her father that way. The second she gets tired of you. The second you can’t offer her anything anymore,” the bitterness was dripping from her every word, “she’ll be gone.”

You gulped down the lump in your throat and squeezed your own hand to try and keep yourself calm.

“If you don’t believe me, just ask her ex. He’ll tell you the same thing,” she said.

“What are you talking about?” you said dumbfounded and exasperated.

“What do you think I’m talking about? Ransom,” she said as if it was obvious. The mention of his name had you frozen. “The second you found out he was written out of that will, you left him like it was nothing.”

“Are you serious? You’re gonna bring that up right now? He went to prison for murder, mom!” you raged. “And you know what, my relationships are none of your business,” you seethed.

“You slept with him for his money, you and I both know it. Just because it turned into something more after doesn’t change the way it started.”

“That’s not true,” you whispered angrily.

“I don’t believe you,” she told you, voice eerily level as tears renewed in your eyes.

“What is wrong with you?” you asked, voice breaking as Andy pulled you behind him.

“That’s enough. It’s clear this was a bad idea,” he stated, making you want to scream. As if you hadn’t told him as much before he forced you in here. You turned to the side as you held your head in your hands, trying to regain your composure.

“Oh my god,” your mother breathed as she took in your side profile for the first time. Her voice was full of worry and your head shot over to her immediately in response to your name being spoken in near reprimand. “Are...are you pregnant?” she asked out of nowhere.

“What?” you breathed.

“Your stomach looks bigger. Like there’s a bump there. It’s been a year but I know what you look like when you put on weight,” she started, eyes locked on your tummy. “And I know what baby weight looks like.. Yo-you’re pregnant aren’t you?” she asked again. She sounded..scared.

You were looking at her, confounded as Andy turned to you, looking much the same. He eyed you up and down before you felt his gaze settle on your stomach. Your hands came up to your lower belly self consciously.. Or maybe it was protectively.

You didn’t know how she knew. You’d only just found out yourself. You didn’t think you were showing noticeably in the slightest. Your periods were always irregular. Skipping cycles wasn’t anything you would think twice about. You were on the pill. You thought maybe you were just more bloated lately. Gaining weight wasn’t anything new for you, either. You didn’t piece any of it together right away. You had no reason to. You were protected. Or so you thought. And you had zero plans of informing Andy of the news. Not yet. You were still trying to process it. You couldn’t be a mother. You couldn’t become your mother. But what were you supposed to do? You could deny it easily enough, put the conversation off, but you knew Andy wouldn’t let it go. He’d want a test to know for sure either way. He’d find out the truth. You were planning to make your appointment next week to find out how far along you were. See if you had any options left.

“Are you pregnant?” Andy asked softly, walking closer to you.

Your mouth was dry. You didn’t want to answer him, but you knew you’d have to. You licked your lips before you spoke.

“I don’t- I- I think.. maybe,” you breathed, words fumbling while you were avoiding eye contact with both of them.

Your attention was caught by your mother lamenting your nickname, pained and sorrowful. “Don’t do this to yourself,” she pleaded. “You’re so young, you’re not ready to be a mother. You-”

“All due respect,” Andy snapped, “- which is near none,” he added, sneering as he turned on your mother while you watched in sudden shock, mouth slightly agape while your mind spun, “you have absolutely no say here. In fact, it’s none of your business. This is a private matter between your daughter and I - no one else. But if you really want to worry about anyone’s ability to mother, I’d focus on yourself first. You’ve done a real bang up job so far,” he said sarcastically.

“Andy,” you reproached, walking quietly to him, wanting to calm things before they got worse.

“We’re leaving,” he said to you while sending daggers to your mother who looked at you with tears in her eyes, “You never should have come here.”

You looked at your mom, discontent clear on your face.

“Honey, I’m so sorry,” she said, voice cracking. You had to look away before your own tears started to fall, lip wobbling. You weren’t sure what she was apologizing for, but it was the first time you ever heard her say those words sincerely. And it broke your heart. Andy grabbed your hand in his as he pulled you to the door and out of the room. The second you were past the door, you immediately broke down in tears. Everything hitting you all at once. Suddenly you were gasping for air as you felt like your legs were about to give out beneath you. Andy’s arms wrapped around you, turning you to pull you into his chest, his strength keeping you up as you leaned fully into him. One hand was holding your head while the other was wrapped around you, rubbing your back as you cried. He placed a kiss atop your head while he hushed you quietly, both of you standing in the empty hospital hallway.

You caught your breath after a minute and let yourself believe he was holding you so gently because he really cared. Because he was sorry for not listening to you. Because he wanted you to feel better, to comfort you. Whether it was true or not, it helped. Slowly you pulled away from him, and his hand came up to brush the tears off your puffy cheeks.

“How far along are you?”

“I really don’t know,” you said honestly. “If I had to guess, at least ten weeks,”

“How long have you known?” he asked quietly, thumb still stroking your cheek.

You looked at him doe eyed, lips set in a small pout. You opened your mouth to speak before he cut you off,

“I’m gonna tell you right now, don’t lie to me,” he warned, an ocean storm brewing in his normally brilliant blue eyes as he forced you to look him in the eye.

“Since yesterday,” you murmured. “I swear.”

He nodded slightly then took you by surprise, pulling you closer for a slow and deep kiss. Your brows were furrowed as he pulled away to allow you both a breath.

“You should have told me right when you found out,” he reproached.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed. “I was still trying to wrap my head around it. I wasn’t sure how you’d react. I don’t know how this even happened,” you confessed. But Andy knew.

He’d been switching out your birth control for nearly four months now and had long since stopped wearing condoms with you, though that you were aware of. He didn’t think it was important to tell you about the swap he’d made with your pills, so he decided to keep that to himself. No need to get you worked up again. Especially now that he knew you finally were pregnant. He’d have to figure out a way to keep you as stress free as possible. Keeping you home would be easy enough, he basically had you living with him already, but he’d have to make that change slowly, you would surely resist his attempts to keep you at home if he made it too obvious.

He found your mother’s warning funny, though. As if you’d ever be able to run from him. You’d tried, but he was always two steps ahead. You didn’t go anywhere without him knowing, whether you knew that or not. You were his now. You had been since the day he first laid eyes on you. You weren’t going anywhere. As he thought about the changes he’d have to make now that you were pregnant, he remembered the punishment he’d given you a few nights ago. It reminded him you had another one coming tonight, too. He’d have to go about them differently now, though. As much as he loved discipling you, his tactics would have to change, he’d need to be even more careful with you. And more lenient, he realized. He loved your responses to spankings, but he was looking forward to changing your punishments up with edging or overstimulation now instead. Either way, he was sure to make you cry. Make sure you’d learn your lessons. And he’d get started tonight. You brought out the darkness in him, but you brought the softness out, too. He wanted to remind you how good things could be. There was just one more thing bugging him at the moment that he’d have to let out.

“Come on,” he instructed. “I parked in the garage.”

You walked with him to the entrance before he led the way to his car.

He opened the door for you and helped you in before he went around and got in himself. He sighed heavily as you sat in silence for a moment before he turned to you.

“Who the fuck is Ransom?”

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writeblrfantasy · 4 years ago

Text

a king and his knight | part 1

from the day he was knighted, the knight had cared for the king. he wasn’t a king then, only a younger brother who would never become crown prince. he was quiet, kept to himself and his books, but snappy and feisty when provoked. he didn’t seem to care much about his future or his family.

the knight had taken oaths of loyalty for the sick king and his strong, eldest golden son, to serve and protect them and put their safety before all else. but while he and his fellows trained hard, worked themselves to the bone, defended and protected and upheld their oaths, his fellows looked to the king and crown prince, and the knight looked to the younger prince.

his fellows would try to curry favor from the older royals by helping them with small tasks or attempting great big ones, quests that either ended in their tragic ends or with beautiful prizes to give as tribute. the knight, meanwhile, gathered roses from the gardens and left them in a bundle by the prince’s door, since he’d never seen anyone give the prince flowers. he searched for and left him books he’d overheard the prince talk about not having, took a long journey to the sea to collect rocks and a jar of sand on his day off all because the prince had said to the librarian, one of the only people he conversed with, that he longed to go there. the knight had been seated at a table a few aisles over, pretending to read his knights’ handbook, as he often was.

he left notes with all of his gifts in his best attempt at courtly script, though he knew how bad it was compared to the prince’s elegant hand. he wrote little phrases that he hoped sounded charming, romantic, instead of creepy. these roses may be beautiful, but they have nothing on you. these stories could not possibly be greater than anything you might come up with. the beaches are just like you to me: breathtaking, untouchable, perfect. the one difference between the beaches and the prince was that the beaches were terribly difficult to reach. the prince was impossible.

these notes were never signed, there would be no point, if the prince even recognized his name.

the knight usually left his gifts at the prince’s door in the mornings just before he had to go to early training, and he’d only once been able to watch the prince find his gifts. that one time was burned into his memory, something precious and holy that still took his breath away to think about.

the knight had woken late after staying up all night preparing his next gift, and scrambled to get ready, knowing his commander would have his hide at morning training. perhaps to delay the inevitable a little longer, he’d stopped at the prince’s doorway on the way, the only royal apartment not guarded at all times. he wasn’t deemed important enough, he didn’t have any servants, either.

the knight had placed the wood box with the straps in them in front of the door, arranging his note so it faced the doorway, when he heard shuffling inside. he’d quickly hidden around the corner, heart beating quick. that’d never happened before. he’d never been almost caught. no one was up as early as the knights were. he was always gone thirty minutes before the prince was even awake, or so he assumed. today his lie in made him catch the prince coming out of his apartments.

it had occurred to him in that moment he didn’t know what the prince did with his gifts. he’d never seen the roses or the jar of sand or the books with the prince. he’d never even seen the inside of the prince’s rooms. he’d never even spoken to the prince. the prince could just be scoffing and throwing his gifts out the window, crumpling the notes, debating telling the knights that he had a stalker. the knight had turned his head, knowing he wouldn’t be able to bear knowing if that was what the prince truly did, but the door opened before he could run away. he was forced to watch, helpless, as the prince tripped on the box.

“another one?” the prince murmured, his back to the knight as he bent to pick it up. the knight held his breath when the prince straightened up and he saw the prince was smiling, in a soft, subtle way unlike the wide grins of his relatives. was it just the sunlight, or were the prince’s cheeks growing red? the knight choked on a breath.

the prince adjusted the coat he always wore, a sky blue with a white fur interior, and cradled the box gently as he opened the lid. he held the note between his teeth as he examined the leather straps and buckles, much like a belt, with furrowed eyebrows. he set the box down to read the note, which said, i wish i could carry your books for you, but here is this instead, so that your arms do not get so tired. the prince could cinch a stack of books up with the straps and carry the loop like a bag. the knight knew how annoying it was to shove books in and out of bags. he’d used straps like these for years.

he’d been bolder with this note, mentioning himself for the first time. it had apparently gone over well, as the prince smiled again and brought his new gift inside his room, into which the knight finally snuck a glance. he saw a writing desk in front of a window, the jar of sand, the books he’d given the prince, before he made his escape. he did indeed get his hide figuratively whipped at training that morning, but it was more than worth it,

what had made the knight fall for the prince, someone so helplessly unreachable, someone who would never love him back? why did he neglect his duties and loyalties to the proper royals in favor of daydreaming about the prince, about showering him in the attention he deserved but never got, protecting him, kissing the back of his hand? well, the prince was breathtaking, with rich brown hair that shone gold in the sun, the loveliest brown eyes, the smoothest milky skin, long delicate fingers and trimmed nails. he was pretty, no, beautiful, the opposite of the knight, who was tall and sandy haired and a strong knight, a good fighter, but one who knew how to serve. just not the people he was supposed to.

the prince was a head shorter than the knight, which opened up all sorts of doors regarding how nicely he would fit in the knight’s arms, safe from the world, easy to protect. he was passionate and talented and had a brilliant mind, but simply because he’d been born two years after his brother, he was passed over, left to himself, without any companions but his books. the knight wanted to give him the world, and he would do it however he could, at whatever cost to himself.

one day, there came invaders from the south, with an army who matched the king’s own. the king and the crown prince assured all that things would be fine and under control, but the knight knew that this would never be the case. the royals were confident of success, the knight’s fellows were nervous but excitedly preparing for battle, and the knight’s prince hadn’t changed at all, still spending his days in the library, where the knight spent every moment he could in the aisles across from him.

the king gave a speech the morning of the battle, when his scouts had seen the enemy close to the royal castle. the king was too old and frail to fight, but his son wasn’t, their golden jewel that every knight drooled over, with his white toothed grin and his muscles and his red cloak and warhorse. the king beamed with pride as he sent his son and his knights off, but the knight slipped away, something easy enough to do in a crowd that large, when everything was chaos no matter how much the king liked to pretend it wasn’t.

going back to the castle instead of going to fight for the king was technically treasonous, but all the knight could think of was the prince, alone in the castle, oblivious or uncaring to the danger he was in. he drew his sword, something he didn’t often wear since it got in the way but was well used to wielding, and climbed the staircases he’d just went down, retracing his steps subconsciously to the prince’s rooms.

he steeled himself outside of it and took a deep breath. he could already hear the sounds of battle in the distance, war cries and blades knocking against one another. he prayed for things to hold just a little bit longer.

he knocked on the prince’s door. when the prince opened it, he looked surprised to see the knight, a bit confused, confirming the knight’s suspicions he’d never even seen the knight before. his heart sank a little. the prince’s beauty was even more stunning up close, long eyelashes and a slight blush to his cheeks.

these were not the first words he’d thought he would say to his prince, he’d have preferred something romantic and charming, but that was a loss he could not mourn right now.

“i’m here to save you. come with me and i’ll protect you, i swear on my life.”

if you read all the way to the end, thank you. i’m going to post part 2 very very soon. this piece means a lot to me, as it’s the first thing i’ve written in months that i’ve been excited for, unable to stop. a mere hour before i started writing this i wondered if i would ever be able to write again, and then i had the most fun writing something i’ve had in a long, long time. this is a reminder to myself and everyone else to write whatever you want, and don’t turn down an impulse to write something you want to because it’s not relevant to your current wip or it’s stupid or anything your brain thinks. write!! life is too short. i had SO much fun writing this and you should write what you want too :)

#writing #writeblr #my writing #writing short #fantasy writeblr #lgbt fantasy #lgbt writing #lila's short stories

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englandsgray · 4 years ago

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Sherlolly Self-Interviews 2020

Well hi 👋

Ignoring the internal image of Gilderoy Lockheart smiling smugly while flashbulbs pop and saying ‘In my autobiography, Magical Me...’ 🙈😆 I shall take the opportunity of this lovely event to introduce myself as a writer of Sherlolly fanfiction on AO3...

I am English and somewhere over 30. I watched the show as it aired, and lost my heart as quickly to Molly Hooper as to Sherlock Holmes. The kiss is British television history. Series 4 is my favourite. Moriarty on the beach is life. The Holmes brothers break my heart every time.

I am extremely lucky to have been provided some questions to answer here by @ohaine and @mybrainrots - huge, huge love and thanks to these two lovelies, and not just for this. I admire you both so much as writers, and your support means the world to me ❤️ Thanks too, to @sherlollyappreciationweek!

Where did you begin to write, and have you written for other fandoms? I wrote my first fanfic when I was eleven years old - a 100 page ramble about The Monkees. Oh yes. Then in 2018, I fell for the characters of the Disney Pixar film Cars and began writing and publishing. So far so random! Writing in this fandom sprang from binge-watching all four series of Sherlock during lockdown. I remembered reading Louise Brealey talking about being disappointed Molly didn’t get chance to ‘roundly kick Sherlock’s arse’ and agreeing with her wholeheartedly. That, over a few weeks, turned into my first fic - Who You Really Are.

You’re a recent (and welcome!) arrival to the Sherlolly ship, and I was wondering if writing in an established, less active than it used to be fandom has been a challenge? Thank you, firstly. My experience of this fandom has been incredibly positive - the sense of welcome has been wonderful. I will admit I was terrified posting the first fic - there are hundreds of times more stories posted daily in the Sherlock fandom as in the one I had some experience of. But I needn’t have worried, it’s been a blast. I will also admit, that it’s no small thing to be surrounded by such brilliant writing and the long-standing passion which goes with it. But I find that inspiring in itself, and I’m very glad to be here - how supportive the fandom are makes me feel like I always have been!

What’s your favourite place and way to write? My aesthetic is Lin-Manuel Miranda in his in-law’s laundry room 🤣 I wrote my first ten-thousand words on the notes app on my phone before my other half told me to stop being ridiculous! I switch between the laptop, my phone and longhand (I’m a sucker for a nice notepad and a Uni-Ball Eye) and, more often than not, not sat up properly at a table.

Since you’ve (done something I’ve never managed successfully and) written a novella length fic... how did you organise/keep track of all the details and where you wanted the story to go? Did you outline/plot in advance? First of all - I would love to see a novella length fic from you @mybrainrots! The final scene of Who You Really Are came to me very early on and I knew I wanted the fic to fit within TFP - a lot of it takes place in the timeframe of the final montage. At first, it was going to be much more about Sherlock’s relationship with the ideas of sentiment and love (the phrase ‘I’m not sentimental about you, I love you,’ haunted me for a while) and I spent some time researching the psychology and playing with scenes from throughout the series - one of my favourites I didn’t go on to use was inspired by the final scene of THoB. Using scenes from the canon gave an automatic structure, and I was always aiming for the final one I wrote early on - the two of them on the beach (everything is about the beach, with me!) As I went along and started, inevitably, to slow down, I mapped out the chapters with a short note of what I wanted to be in each, then would add notes or phrases as they came to me - often emailed from my phone! I had to force myself through a tricky section set in Baker Street at one point, but it came together in the end. I did plot The Pathologist’s Skeletons on paper first, as I found with a casefic which remains a WIP, that I can get confused and lose focus when it comes to details and how to reveal them in a way which stays paced and interesting. I’ll certainly do that from now on with longer stories and cases. How did you keep up enthusiasm for the work? I want to write an original novel, so I am forcing myself to work through the knotty bits and blocks as a learning experience. Not everything is destined to be finished or finessed, of course, but I’m finding this process is building my confidence that I can overcome problems and slow periods. I also find I know when I need some external inspiration - some of my favourite scenes have come to me while out walking the dog or sitting on the beach. I’ve also been inspired by books or other series or things going on in the world, as we all are, and sometimes that’s pushed me on. Plus, of course, I’m a newbie - I’m very much in the honeymoon period of my writing, even though I’ve loved Sherlock for ten years! (Ten years! Bonkers.)

You’ve got a knack for writing Sherlock’s thoughts and capturing his voice. That said, which character do you find easiest to write? Which is the hardest? Thank you so much. I absolutely love writing Sherlock and Mycroft, and I’m sure that’s because they suit my somewhat over-the-top writing style! I find Molly and her POV really difficult. I want the scenes I write from her perspective to sound completely different to Sherlock, but that means writing in a style which doesn’t come as naturally to me. I’m a long way off happy with that at the moment, but I’m enjoying the challenge.

Is there a scene or character that specifically inspired you to start writing Sherlolly? The whole of TFP, but especially from the moment Sherlock arrives at Musgrave onwards. I am desperate to see what a Sherlock Holmes who has been reacquainted with his own heart would look like. I find his emotionality in those final scenes hugely compelling (Mycroft’s office is one of my favourite moments from across all four series) and, as I have always believed in him and Molly, I practically jumped up back in May after watching it and said ‘right, where’s my notebook?!’.

There’s a lovely peaceful, quiet feeling to your fic ‘We’re All Right At The Moment’. Can you tell us what inspired it and if you’ve thought of doing the backstory that goes with it? Thank you! Like everyone, I would go back to January of this year and start again in a heartbeat, but I am hugely fortunate to be able to say that I have a lot to be grateful to the UK lockdowns for. I might never have begun writing in this fandom otherwise, for one, and I have had a brilliant time so far and met some lovely people. Honestly, I don’t feel able to do any sort of justice in my writing to what has happened in the world in any broader sense than drawing on my own experiences of staying at home and enjoying my family. This particular super-short fic sees Molly cutting Sherlock’s hair at home in Baker Street. I wrote it in the evening after I had cut my other half’s hair and had been reminding myself that despite how horribly worried I was - and still am - about everything, we were all right in that moment, and to focus on that as much as possible. I wanted to try to capture that, if for no reason other than to look back on this entire experience and remember something lovely, so I am so pleased to hear you felt the fic did that. It was only after I finished it and reread it, that I realised it is ambiguous as to whether Molly is worried about Sherlock contracting the virus, or whether she is remembering him being treated for it... As I say, I don’t think I could write more about these extraordinary circumstances - perhaps it’s just too close at the moment - so I don’t plan on extending it. But you know how it is, the plot bunnies hop where they will...

Do you have a Sherlolly music playlist? What are your top five favs from the list? Here’s a run down of (6 🙊) songs I have been getting emotional over in the last little while, leading my brain to assign their significance to my favourite couple...

Kissing You - Des’Ree - It’s so 90′s, it’s a bit cheesy, it’s oddly disturbing. It helped me write A Request, Made Properly, and that gave me an excuse to have Sherlock kiss Molly in the snow.

How Long Will I Love You? - Ellie Goulding - part of the playlist, but also in remembrance of a friend who passed away recently. Life is very short, love is forever.

High and Dry - Jamie Cullum - It’s made me emotional for a very long time. The original is my partner’s version of choice, this is mine.

Think About You - Delta Goodrem - Okay, this one isn’t emotional, and it’s not my usual vibe! Blame the zoom exercise class I do! But oh my goodness, it’s Molly. Bless her.

Blinded By Your Grace (P.T.2. F.T. MNEK) - Stormzy - One of the best ever, I reckon. Spent an awful lot of time thinking about angels and demons, grace and what it takes to save someone, while writing my latest - The Pathologist’s Skeletons. This has been in my head most of the (blimmin’) time!

Love Me Like You Do - Ellie Goulding - I didn’t know I was a fan of Ellie until I wrote this list... I don’t subscribe to the theory that the love Molly wants or that which Sherlock has to offer is any lesser because it isn’t ‘normal’ or expected. I don’t think romantic entanglement would come easy to either of them. But it’s still love and it would be beautiful.

Thank you so much for reading. Thanks and love to @ohaine and @mybrainrots. And thank you @sherlollyappreciationweek for the event and for everything you do ❤️

Feel like I should sign off with a quote from the show...

“You’re not a puzzle-solver, you never have been. You’re a drama queen!” Dr John Watson (Moffat & Gatiss) 2014 😜

A fav fic of mine by @mybrainrots

https://archiveofourown.org/works/7563193

A fav fic of mine by @ohaine

https://archiveofourown.org/works/10562904

My stuff:

https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnglandsGray/works

#sherlolly #sherlollyselfinterview20 #sherlock #sherlockbbc #writing #fanfic #ao3 #ao3 author #read on ao3

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theoriginalladya · 3 years ago

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100 Days of Writing - Day 11

@the-wip-project asked:

How do you create your characters? Do you make a profile of them? Do you know your character before you start writing the story?

Over my years of writing I've found a number of different ways to develop and keep track of my characters as they show themselves. I can't say I have one specific way that works - it's all dependent upon the story, the characters themselves, and their purposes in the story. But there are a few general things I can share. I guess you can say that they fall into a 'profile' for them?

I'm not an artist, so I tend to rely on images I can find online for 'face claims' for characters. If I have a really good idea of what they look like, and most time I do from the beginning, or nearly the beginning, I try to find an image that is as close as possible to represent them. I am a very visual person - I need to see them to be able to write them. So some sort of facial image - a photograph, artwork, etc. - always helps

Many of my notes end up in notebooks - mostly handwritten, though I do use Word and OneNote to help organize different things about my stories, too. I usually go handwritten at first - something as simple as scraps of paper, a stack of post it notes, even an old college notebook that barely has any pages left. If it's a character I know will be a biggie in my story, or my main character, I'll invest in a new/unused notebook for them. Some are fancier than others (depending on my mood and finances at the time), but all contain descriptions of the character, little snippets of dialogue I've thought of for them, notes about their plots, character development exercises so I get a better feel for them, notes about their background/family, ideas for their character development I don't want to forget to put into the story, etc.

I mentioned 'character development exercises' - but that's just a fancy way of saying 'ideas about how they progress from the beginning to the end of the story'. Events in their life. Problems they have. Death, sickness, drama, etc. Interaction with certain characters. Sometimes I start noodling out bits and pieces of their interaction well before I've even got a plot sorted out for them, and I don't want to forget that, so I write it down. Again, in notebooks, or sometimes in Word, because typing happens almost at the speed of thought, right?

So, basically, anything and everything I know about my characters ends up in a 'notebook' or 'document' and 'file' somewhere at some point. It all sounds a lot more organized than it really is, but it helps.

As for knowing a character before I start? Most of the time, I do know them, at least well enough to have a good grasp of how they speak, react in certain situations, etc. That works really well when I get the idea for a character first.

Other times, I start with pretty much a blank page and just write. In these instances, it's the idea of the story that hits me hardest, and I have to start writing it down to see what characters want to get involved. It's more of a challenge, especially for someone like me who is more visual inclined, but it works well enough the few times I've tried it. This is kind of what happened when I started writing my Robyn's Hoode story. I mean, we all know who the major characters are, but it begins with a battle up in Northern England/Southern Scotland involving two minor characters for whom I had a very vague idea - Robin's father, Marian's father - and that's it. By the end of that chapter, I had a much better idea of who they are (even if one doesn't survive).

(example below the cut because this got long)

To the east, lying against one of the outer walls of the castle of Alnwick, Gilbert spotted him. Or, rather, spotted the standard raised above. Several bodies blocked the rest from view, one on bended knee, but all hovered in a semi-circle around what could only be a body. Hugh’s body. Lips tightening into a thin line, Gilbert pressed onward. Refusing to see to it personally would not change the grimness of the outcome, no matter how much he wished it.

Purpose and authority marked every step, and those gathered soon parted, making way for the lord of Loxley. His eyes dropped immediately, and for once in his life, Gilbert cursed himself, wishing he was wrong. Hints of crimson bled through plates of mail on his chest, and dribbled down Hugh's cheek and chin like a burbling babe’s drool. Inevitability and acceptance shone clear in familiar green eyes, and Gilbert knew without a doubt it wasn't meant to be.

Dropping to a knee beside the litter, he reached out a hand, bracing it against Hugh’s shoulder. “You had to go and split our forces,” he murmured with a hint of humor despite the severity of the situation.

Hugh, eyes slowly finding the blue of his friend’s, coughed out a laugh, ignoring the fresh spurt of liquid staining his lips. “You… you know me, my… my lord,” he rasped through labored breaths.

Gilbert’s hand tightened over the armor. “That I do, my friend,” he replied. For years, Gilbert relied on Hugh’s battle savvy tactics when taking to the field. Most times it the outcomes were successful, leaving he and his men relatively unscathed. Hugh was a natural when it came to tactics, and Gilbert could honestly say he had learned quite a bit from him over the years.

“M-my… lord…?”

Hugh’s eyes closed tightly as he struggled to speak. Death was stalking him, and surely wouldn’t be long in arriving. “What is it?”

“Will… Mari…”

Gilbert sighed heavily. Moving his hand from Hugh’s shoulder, he took his friend’s hand in his, squeezing it reassuringly. “Your children will be safe,” he promised without hesitation.

“T-take them?”

Hugh’s eyes opened, finding his, but Gilbert didn't miss the clouds now present. “God and King Henry approving,” he replied, “I will make them my wards. Your lands, your children, your legacy. They will live on. Fear not on that account, my friend.”

Hugh struggled to inhale, what air he could take in rattled alarmingly. His lips moved as he struggled to speak, mostly likely his final words… but nothing save one long, drawn out, exhale of breath escaped.

Gilbert remained as he was for a long, expectant moment, but when Hugh’s chest no longer rose and fell, he understood. “God go with you, my friend,” he murmured, gently settling Hugh’s hand over his chest, the hilt of his sword loosely in his grasp. Rest in peace, my friend, and watch over us who remain.

Pushing himself to his feet, Gilbert searched around the area for Roger. He stood nearby, out of the way of those gathered around Hugh. Nodding to the lad to gain his attention, he walked over to join him. “Help with the arrangements for Sir Hugh's body to be returned to my estates,” he said. Searching the area again, he asked, “Where is my horse?”

“This way, my lord,” Roger replied, guiding him down to the left and in the direction from which they’d come. “My lord…?”

Finding his steed, Gilbert accepted the reins and pulled himself up into the saddle with assistance. Several others, mostly of his retinue of bodyguards headed to assist with Hugh formed up nearby. “I will meet you there, Roger. I have a stop to make on the way home.”

In this instance, the only thing I knew about Gilbert when I started writing was that he is Robert of Loxley's father and that he and Hugh FitzWalter were good friends. Also, that Hugh was one of his knights. For Hugh, I knew even less. Eye color is the only thing that I really got for him - and still have, for that matter, all these years later. However, seeing as Hugh doesn't survive, I felt comfortable enough to at least draft out this chapter.

But, like I said, every story, every character is different. Ideas can be triggered by a picture, a song, a word, a certain piece of food, a scent, a part of a dream - it really doesn't take much with my muses! lol

#100daysofwriting #ladya writes #Robyn's Hoode #original fic #character development #I do whatever works for me basically #and that changes all the time

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ageless-aislynn · 4 years ago

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My 2020 Fanworks Year In Review

Let’s start off by saying 2020 was... a year. :S But it was a weirdly productive year for me when it came to writing. I also learned how to do a better job in making GIFs (I think I’m doing better, anyway ;) ) and I made a few vids along the way. So, how about a recap? ;)

VIDS

A little bit of a light year when it comes to vidding. I made 6 vids. All of the Flash vids can be found gathered here as their own chapters, linking back to their Tumblr post or Youtube page. ;)

1. “Stay” (Harry/Caitlin | SnowHarry, The Flash) 2. “Mine” (Eobard/Caitlin | ReverseFrost, The Flash) 3. “Strict Machine” (Harrison Wells doppelgangers & Eobard, The Flash) 4. “I Know You” (Eobard/Caitlin | ReverseSnow, The Flash) 5. “I Just Want You Back” (Eobard/Caitlin | Snowthawne, The Flash) 6. “Storm” (Evelyn/Lee, A Quiet Place) (Secret Santa gift for Kat/littletonpace)

GIFs

I’d made a few GIFs before in the past but it was a sort of laborious process using Paintshop and Animation Shop. Now that neither of those work on my current computer, I’ve been looking for new ways to do graphics. After trying out a few free options, I’ve found a method that let’s me combine my vidding skills with GIFmaking and I’m having so much fun! :D Right now, I’m just focusing on trying to make clean GIFs with the occasional hopefully funny caption.

One of the first GIFs made this year:

The last made this year:

Winner of the “I also made a couple of GIFs for something other than the Flash, I promise” Award: ;)

;)

FICS

Yeah, this was the “Go big or... go bigger” year for me when it comes to fics. I wrote what could conservatively be called “a crap-ton” ;) number of fics, all for some variation of Snowells or another... except for the final one. *dramatic music* ;) A previous “big” year for me was 2016 with... 6 fics written. o_O

Cut because there are 50 titles incoming. O_O ;) Please check the ratings/warnings at AO3 for each fic, though I’ll go ahead and warn here for the most explicit. ;)

1. “The Thousandth and the First” (Eobard/Caitlin | ReverseSnow/Snowthawne) Chapter 1 was written in 2019, ch 2-10 came in Feb/March of 2020. This is still currently the longest multi-chaptered fic I’ve done. (Note: rated NC17 (E), though a PG13 edited version is available on my Livejournal comm - collected as part 1 and part 2) 2. “Equal Opportunity” (Eobard/Caitlin | ReverseSnow, Frost/Nash) (Note: rated R (M), PG13 edited version available on my Livejournal comm) 3. “Elevated” (Eobard/Killer Frost | Frostthawne) (Note: rated NC17 (E) The Frostthawne Escapades fics are all higher rated, either for explicitness or being slightly more potty-mouthed than the rest. *looks at Frost* Frost: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ) 4. “First Date Second” (Caitlin/Harry | SnowHarry) 5. “Star-Marked” (Frost/Nash) 6. “First” (Frost/Nash) 7. “Batman Vs The Robot Flea And The Ninja Hedgehog” (Caitlin/Harry | SnowHarry) 8. “Fair Play” (Killer Frost/Eobard | ReverseFrost) 9. “Crazy For You” (Frost/Nash) 10. “Breakfast” (Frost/Nash) 11. “Unrequited” (Sherloque/Caitlin | Snowloque) (Chapter 1 of 4, WIP) 12. “Granted” (Caitlin/Harry, SnowHarry) 13. “Caught” (Eobard/Caitlin | ReverseSnow) 14. “Five Times Eobard Came To Caitlin’s Rescue (And The One Time She Came To His)” (Eobard/Caitlin | ReverseSnow) 15. “What Love Is” (Frost/Nash, Caitlin/Harry | SnowHarry) 16. “Would You Be Mine (And Would You Ask If He’d Be Hers, Too)?” (Frost/Nash, Caitlin/Harry | SnowHarry) 17. “Getting To Know You” (Eobard/Caitlin | ReverseSnow) 18. “Cupid’s Kiss” (Eobard/Caitlin | ReverseSnow) (Chapter 1 of 3, WIP) (Note: rated NC17 (E)) 19. “Kidding Around” (Eobard & Caitlin) 20. “Good Evening” (Eobard/Caitlin | ReverseSnow) 21. “*With Benefits” (Caitlin/Harry | SnowHarry) 22. “Haunted” (Eobard/Caitlin | ReverseSnow, Frost/Nash) (Chapter 1 of 5, WIP) 23. “Good Night” (Eobard/Caitlin | ReverseSnow) 24. “Melt” (Frost/Nash) 25. “Broken” (Eobard/Caitlin | ReverseSnow) 26. “Goodbye/Hello” (Caitlin/Harry, SnowHarry) 27. “Scandal, Us?” (Frost/Nash) 28. “Distraction Techniques” (Caitlin/Harry, SnowHarry) 29. “I Know” (Caitlin/Harry, SnowHarry) 30. “Kitty Cait” (Flashpoint Caitlin/HR, Caitlin/Harry | SnowHarry) 31. “Fire and Frost” (Eobard/Caitlin | ReverseSnow) 32. “Somnambulist” (Frost/Nash) 33. “In Need of Rescue” (Eobard/Caitlin | ReverseSnow) 34. “Maybe” (Earth-2 Killer Frost/Harry) 35. “Dark/Light” (Caitlin/Harry | SnowHarry) 36. “Refuge” (Caitlin/Harry | SnowHarry) 37. “One Day” (Eobard/Caitlin | ReverseSnow) 38. “...And Make It Better” (Frost/Nash) 39. “Rhyme Time” (Caitlin/HR) 40. “True Enough” (Caitlin/Harry | SnowHarry) 41. “Forgiveness” (Caitlin/Harry | SnowHarry) 42. “More Than Anything” (Eobard/Caitlin | ReverseSnow) 43. “Nefarious Business” (Eobard/Killer Frost | Frostthawne) (Note: Part of The Frostthawne Escapades .) 44. “Quitters Never” (Killer Frost/Eobard | ReverseFrost) 45. “Back” (Caitlin/Harry | SnowHarry) 46. “Frostbite” (Killer Frost/HR) 47. “Inevitable” (Eobard/Caitlin | ReverseSnow) 48. “Just Your Average Wednesday” (Eobard/Killer Frost | Frostthawne) (Note: Part of The Frostthawne Escapades .) 49. “Confession” (Eobard/Caitlin | Snowthawne) 50. “Cold Hands” (Jordan Mahkent/Caitlin Snow, Stargirl, The Flash)

50 exactly, no way! :D My writing muse was on 🔥 fiiiYAH 🔥 this year, lol! ;)

FANWORKS GOALS FOR 2021

Naturally, I hope I can keep improving when it comes to fics, vids and graphics. I have several vid ideas in progress for a couple different fandoms. Hopefully at least a few of them will eventually get done. ;)

I’m hoping to finish the last of my Snowells Kisses prompts in January, which includes “Unrequited” ch 2-4 (2 and 3 are done), “The Ice Dragon and the Winter Fox” (WIP) and the final prompt, hopefully fittingly titled “Epilogue.” I’m really excited for all of them and I hope anybody who reads will enjoy them. I’ve put a lot of thought and planning into each of them, so... *fingers crossed* that it shows! ;)

“Cupid’s Kiss” ch 2 is done, ch3 is in progress. “Haunted” ch 2- 5 is finished, the sequel “Split” is in progress (probably will be 4-5 chapters). They’ll both be finished before I start posting “Haunted” since it has an “Empire Strikes Back”-style ending. ;)

I really enjoyed dipping my toe into the Stargirl world and I have several more ideas in store for Jordan and Caitlin but want to finish everything else first. ;)

The Big Beast of ReverseSnowThawne aka “Try” aka the biggest fic I’ve ever written with the smallest title, lol, is still in progress. If it goes as projected, it might be 25 chapters? :S I’m not sure anybody is here for that but darn it, I still would like to get it done anyway! ;) It’s continuing to lumber along at the rear of the pack. Hopefully it will rumble across the finish line one of these days. ;) (These particular versions of Eowells, Caitlin and Mattobard exist very vividly to me, I don’t even know why. Mattobard!Eobard is a different version than any I’ve written so far and I really want y’all to get to meet him. :D )

Anyway, if you read all of this, thank you. You are a super star! :D Many, many, many thanks to everybody who’s taking time to read, watch, like, kudos but especially to reblog and comment, it means A TON, I cannot even tell you how much. *big, smishy hugs*

Here’s to a 2021 that brings us a much better RL and many more fanworks to enjoy!

Love to you all!

♥♥♥

#my 2020 fanworks year in review #aislynn's vids #aislynn's fics #aislynn's graphics #snowells #eobard thawne #i like making lists #it help me to see how far i've come #and to hopefully see the road ahead of me #;)

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rallamajoop · 4 years ago

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A few rambling notes on my Witcher WIP list

Witcher fandom has done something to me, I do not know what. I have more different fics in progress (mostly Geralt/Regis or Geralt/Yennefer/Regis) in various open word documents than I have had in years – most of them short, and (even excluding the 3 I’ve already posted) several already somewhere in the basically done pending final edits/betaing/the inevitable 3-day debate over how to title and summarise this bastard-stage. That is some pretty atyptical productivity by my usual standards; we’ll have to see how it lasts.

More to the point, something about this fandom has me churning out these weird mix-and-match ficlets. Like, I have the beginnings of a Geralt/Regis/Yennefer sequel to a (as yet unposted) Geralt/Regis ficlet about a post-B&W-spontaneous-drunken-hook-up – but it made sense to me to just kind of avoid mentioning the status of the whole Geralt/Yennefer relationship during that initial drunken-hook-up fic, so that anyone who’d rather take it as a standalone from a ‘verse where Geralt and Yen never got back together can. In fact, there are already two different versions of that drunken-hook-up fic (preliminary titles: ‘happy-drunk-sex’ and ‘angsty-drunk-sex’), picking up from the different possible B&W endings, and either of them could theoretically lead into that G/R/Y sequel (or not). And then I found myself going, okay, but is it even really necessary to specify which angsty-B&W ending this is, given that there’s no outcome where everyone lives and Regis doesn’t leave – so you can have Geralt sitting there second-guessing all his choices little realising he’d be sitting there feeling almost exactly the same regardless of what those choices were? How can I resist that?

And so on. I mean, congratulations if you even managed to follow all the above – hopefully I’m going to find some better way of explaining it all in the fics themselves.

Now, the obvious excuse would be that playing choose-your-own-adventure is only what the games do, so perhaps it’s natural to carry the same logic into fic. Only problem being that I’ve already landed myself in the same boat with book-verse fic, given how I’m already telling people From the Wisdom of Bards can be taken as a sequel to the less-cracktastic A Decent Proposition, but could also just be a standalone thing if that’s what works better for you (and it may well do).

And lest you suppose that one might be an isolated case, there’s also this little Yennefer/Regis-“heeeeyyyy, what if Regis knew Yennefer from years before he ever met Geralt, and just never got around to mentioning it“-backstory fic I have started writing (look, I am determined to make this OT3 work even if I have to build that missing leg from scratch). It could feed directly into a post-B&W sequel where Yen and Regis finally get around to mentioning all this to Geralt – or it could be a prequel to that other book!verse AU I have planned-but-not-started, which is basically a retelling of A Shard of Ice only where the old flame Yennefer’s involved with on the side is Regis instead of Istredd and instead of her breaking it off with both of them, it ends in an OT3.

Figuring out how to sort all this nonsense into series on AO3 is going to be a hoot, seriously.

Then again, this is also the point where the savvier reader is probably saying, “joop, this is nothing you haven’t been doing for years – remember that old Cable/Deadpool teen AU that went even more AU because you were having too much fun to pick just one option? Or that Venom fic you eventually posted as a five-things scenario? All you needed was the excuse.” – and would probably be right.

(Leftover fic ideas that I have not found an excuse to mention yet because they are less complicated: that one crackfic where Geralt has to deal with the fact that not only has he just had an ill-considered drunken one-night-stand with Dandelion, but Dandelion is now trying to write a ballad about it, and a Discworld AU probably-also-crackfic where Regis is a black-ribboner and Geralt is a grumpy magical exterminator – because honestly I feel like The Witcher and Discworld’s senses of humour blend much better than they get credit for, and let’s face it, ‘exterminator’ is basically what Geralt’s job description becomes the moment you stick him anywhere half as modern as Ankh-Morpork. Oh, and that one Amnesia!Geralt/Regis fic my beta is looking at now.)

In short, I am having way too much fun with this fandom, and we may have to just wait and see how many of these do actually get written and/or posted (I mean, let’s be realistic here: my record for clearing out any fannish to-do list is no better than anyone’s).

Still, if anyone would like to try and nudge me towards one or another of all those potential WIPs, rest assured that replies and tags do always get noticed around these parts.

#geregis #yennefer #regis #geralt of rivia #dandelion #fic #the witcher #oh the joy of figuring out how to tag for an OT3 maybe noone else ships

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pro-bee · 5 years ago

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the road less traveled

Note: I cooked this up in the last 24 hours to try to work through some writer’s block on my post-reunion WIP. So this is a bit of a stream of consciousness mess, but if I don’t post this now, I’m gonna chicken out and all my other ideas are going to go PFFT. Also, this is inspired by all the discourse you guys have been floating around lately so it’s your fault.

Rating: G

Spoilers: Nada. Generally season 17. Possibly AU depending on how you look at things. (Also assumes Summer of Secret Sex happened don’t start with me)

Relationships: Implied Tiva. Vague mentions of Bishop/Torres. General team bonding.

Words: 1700

Summary: Sometimes a case hits a little too close to home. Sometimes it makes people want to do something about it.

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“How could they have known that they each had feelings for each other for so long and not done anything about it?! That had to have been torture!”

Bishop has been on a rant since their team got to their table at their favorite watering hole, decompressing after yet another wild case that has prodded at more than a few wounds between them. It was a story of star-crossed lovers, who held back on their feelings for one another for fear of ruining their friendship (and losing their jobs), until one made a tragic mistake and the other paid for it. One of those times where they get no satisfaction out of getting their suspect, because of the chaos left in its wake.

“Don’t ask me. I have been in love with the same man since I was 23 and I still haven’t fully figured it out.”

Ziva’s unexpected candor (and unexpected help in the investigation) catches the younger agent off-guard; she wasn’t counting on things taking such a personal turn. Bishop gives her a sad smile, though the answer clearly isn’t the one she necessarily wants to hear at the moment. Torres shifts nervously in his seat across the table from her, unclear on where this conversation is headed, on edge the way he is whenever he’s around his predecessor.

The admission gives McGee pause, but maybe this isn’t the time to press. “It’s funny, looking at us all now, with families of our own, I can’t imagine having to wait that long to finally be with the person you love. I mean, waiting for years just to act on your attraction…”

“Oh, we definitely acted on it,” she offers in typical Ziva bluntness. “We just failed to follow through on any of it.”

McGee nearly chokes on his drink at the revelation. The wheels start to spin in his head, his eyebrows creased in confusion, as he pieces it together at lightning speed.

“You guys were sleeping together?!”

“I mean, not the whole time,” her hand waves around on its own, as if to punctuate the sentence, “But… some of the times, yes.”

“Like when?!”

“Now look who is butting in! I would expect that from Tony, but you?” She tsks at him, with mock sternness, until she notices the desperation in his eyes as his world seems to have turned upside down. “Okay, fine… Like… Like, when Gibbs retired, for instance.”

(“Gibbs retired?” “When did this happen?” their newer counterparts interject in unison, but their curiosity goes unanswered in the firestorm happening around them.)

“Back then?! That was… Ziva that almost fifteen years ago! You guys have been together for fifteen years?!”

“No! That is my whole point! We were not together together. We were just… what do you say? Letting out air?”

“Blowing off steam?”

“Yes! That!” Her own drink nearly flies off the table.

“Wait, that means— How did you keep it a secret for so long?!”

“I knew!” Palmer offers helpfully.

“I am fairly certain everyone knew, eventually.”

“No way! Gibbs didn’t.”

“Gibbs definitely knew,” she snorts at the memory of being on the receiving end of his beady stare one morning when she and her partner were just a hair more heated in their bickering than usual, even for them.

“And you lived to tell the tale?!” Surely Boss would have banished them to desk duty, or worse yet, Inventory, if he found out they were hot bunking.

“I believe it was a case of don’t ask, don’t tell. Besides, it’s not like it affected our work.”

“True, you two were just as unprofessional as always.”

She flings her discarded crumpled straw wrapper at him.

His mind still reels, though.

“How— how did I not know that my best friends were hooking up behind my back?!”

“McGee!” she lilts, stretching his name out like a song in the way only she does, “You cannot be serious! You wrote a whole book about us! Several, in fact!”

“For the last time, Tommy and Lisa were not about you and Tony! Those books were works of fiction!”

“Oh come on McGee,” pipes in Torres, who had until now tried his best to find any escape from this forced socialization. “Even I knew that! And I’ve never even read your books.”

“Or a book, period,” his partner mutters into her glass.

“How do you even know about—?”

“Bishop,” he shrugs.

“Ellie!”

“What?! It’s not like it’s a secret, Tim.”

“It’s personal! And again, Tommy and Lisa are fictional.”

Bishop and Torres roll their eyes in unison.

“Well, then, you must have psychic powers in addition to your keen observational skills as an agent,” she teases, with only a touch of sarcasm in her voice. She can’t believe they’re really hashing out their scars in the open like this, but it is a brave new world.

McGee finally shakes his head and laughs in disbelief, and even she can’t help the grin stretching across her face. Old friends, indeed.

She takes a breath and grounds herself back to reality, reminded again of the point she was trying to make in the first place. “What I am trying to say is that it is so easy to get caught up in your own fears when it comes to matters of the heart. You get so scared that you are not enough, that you are going to upset whatever it is between you, and that when you inevitably mess it all up, and you will, that you are going to ruin the one good thing you have. So you lie to yourself that you do not have it and that it does not mean anything.”

“Are we talking about you or the petty officer now?”

“Both,” she answers with a hint of a wistful smile. McGee returns with his own expression of sympathy, fully aware of all those twists and turns that have led to where his friends are now.

The group sits in companionable silence for a spell, the weight of the week’s case lifting, only to be replaced with familiar exhaustion.

Ziva feels a buzz coming from her pocket, reminding her that, yes, these matters do come to a close somehow.

- Having fun on a school night?

- Going down memory lane with the team.

- The good ones, I hope?

- They are now. :-) Just about done, heading home soon.

- Can’t wait. Kiddo’s asleep. ;-) Love you.

McGee across the table notices the way her eyes crinkle as she glances at her screen. Once again, he is grateful for these small mercies they’ve been granted. How this story eventually got the happy ending it deserved.

“Well, this has been fun, but it is getting late and I should get home.” She pushes herself off the seat and grabs her coat, untangling her curls from the collar as she twists her arms through the sleeves. “I will see you all soon, I hope.”

“Yeah, I’m beat too,” Torres chimes in, “I’ll walk you out.”

The gang exchange goodnights and talk to you laters, with only the faintest of intrigue from Bishop as her partner, who is not known for his chivalrous nature, follows Ziva out the door.

Standing face to face now, at their full height, Ziva narrows her own eyes at the man, seeing right through him and daring him to come out with it, already.

“Ziva, what you said in there… Is that why you keep pushing me about Bishop?”

She stares at her feet for a second and breaks into a genuine grin now.

“Ah, he finally catches on.”

He breathes in, swallowing his nerves with every gulp of air reaching his lungs. She supposes it’s time to put him out of his misery.

“Look, Agent Torres, if there is anything I have learned throughout all of this, it is that time is the most precious resource we have. I know that it sounds like a cliché, believe me, but it is the truth. When I think about all the time Tony and I wasted over the years… It was not worth it.”

“Yeah, but it seems to have worked out, right?”

“Yes, it has,” she presses her lips together in a regretful smile. “But it very nearly did not. We missed out on so much, I missed out on so much, and it was all because I let fear get the best of me. I liked to tell myself that I was not scared of anything, when really, I was scared of everything.”

Torres absorbs the confession with appropriate gravity.

“Nick, do not let fear rule you. I promise you, whatever happens, taking that chance is worth the risk. I wish I had had the courage much sooner. It might have saved us all a lot of pain.”

He glances through the blinds in the window at the object of this discussion, only for Ellie to catch his eye at that moment. They each avert their gaze on opposite sides of the pane, feeling decidedly like the suspects they’ve just interrogated, without fully understanding why.

“What if I can’t do it?”

“You are a smart man. You will figure it out. You bested me, did you not?” It’s his turn to laugh, and she answers in turn. Maybe she has gotten through to him, after all.

She reaches out to gently pat his elbow. “Take care, Agent Torres.”

With that, she takes her leave and heads down the street towards her car, the heels of her boots clicking down the sidewalk with every step, leaving Nick to reflect on her words of wisdom. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, unsure of how to proceed. With one last look into the bar, he turns in the opposite direction in search of his own vehicle, more confused than ever. Yet somehow he knows that the former agent is right.

What he doesn’t realize as he turns his back is that Bishop takes one last look at him, Ziva’s words ringing in her ears as well. That maybe blazing the road not travelled is not as scary as it may seem.

- Bishop, you’ve got a big mouth. See you tomorrow.

She grins at her phone in spite of herself. Maybe that’s a thought for another day.

#my fanfiction #ziva david #can i tag this as tiva fanfiction?#i mean not really cause they aren't technically there #but i mean everything i write is tiva lmao #i don't even know what this is but i blame all of you #also i don't know anything about torres and bishop #so i just made assumptions #🤷‍♀️

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missmaxime · 4 years ago

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17! 18! 30! 32! 38! <3 <3 <3

Thank you for these! 🥰 17. How obsessively do you sit and stare at your fic after you’ve just posted and wait for feedback? I don’t. Well, not immediately. I try to distract myself for at least half an hour to an hour after posting because by the time I post I’ve already gone mental from finaFinalreRerereadFiNaldefDEFDEF.def x34 and I need to calm down. But after that I compulsively refresh AO3 (for the Beth/Rio tag) and depending on the time of day I start replying to comments or wait for it until morning. I don’t re-read my own fic until at least the day after (and inevitably fix some v obvs spelling mistakes I got blind for during edits). 18. Do you have a WIP that you keep telling yourself you’ll eventually get back to, but deep down you know that’s probably a lie? A little while ago I would have maybe said Wild at Heart, but I recently started editing the new chapter and now I’m feeling that story again (I got a bit lost with it over season 3, and it’s a long fic I’m not really used to writing – I had no oversight in my notes and outline and ugh). I think when I do publish it might have a bit of a different tone, especially because I think I progressed a lot over the past six months as a writer. But I have by now accepted that I will never re-write those earlier chapters, so I’m just going to move on and continue the story. BTW. If someone can recommend a/their Word Processor to get a better oversight in longer WIPs, please do! There’s no published WIP I won’t get back to from what I see now. I have a few in my WIP-folder that are a lost cause, main reasons are either because I either forgot I wrote it to begin with, or because I don’t like my style or plot anymore. 30. Post a snippet from you’re a current WIP without context - no more than 300 words. From a WIP I definitely won’t abandon, but one that’s also taking me crazy long to write (because world-building):

Annie swallows everything down, but keeps the bowl of candies protectively close to her chest. “I can’t believe they reached out to you twenty years later,” she says, plopping down next to Beth. “I can’t believe they subpoenaed me.” Annie sits up. “Technically they summoned you—” Beth gives her a look that immediately shuts her up. “You know, it’s good they did. They probably got a notification that you got rid of your Dean-shaped baggage and thought: Presto Matcho, and let’s go!” “Maybe I don’t want to be matched up.” “Relax, sis. Just go out on a date, get those cobwebs cleaned out if he’s a seven or up, and move on with your life!” “Annie!” “You’re right, maybe don’t be that picky, make it a six.” Beth’s all fired up to blow a gasket when a man with a bird tattoo sprawled on his neck enters the waiting room, accompanied by a dark-haired woman in a suit. They’re in a heated discussion, going through a pile of papers that’s full of marked segments and bookmarks. Beth’s getting a bit lost in thought, looking at him when she feels Annie leaning her head on her shoulder. “I served him too,” she whispers in Beth’s ear, pulling her back into reality again. “You!” she hears the guy say, pointing at Annie, who immediately throws her hands up in defense, totally forgetting she was holding the candy bowl which immediately tumbles onto the ground, scattering its contents over the floor. “Hey, I’m just here for my sister, don’t come at me bro!” she tries to laugh it nervously away. He doesn’t think it’s funny. But his gaze lingers on Beth a longer time than might be appropriate before turning his attention back to the woman beside him. 32. Copy and paste your top three favorite lines/jokes/sentences you’ve ever written. What fics do they come from? I can have different favorites varying on the week / day. It usually changes when I post a new fic. Sometimes I’m not even super in love with a line when I post it, but it grows on me when I re-read later. So just three random ones: Regardless of his repeat observation of ‘you’re so tight, baby’, she’s definitely not going to indulge him with the Snoozefest Saga of her sex life of the past decade. – from Stuck in the Middle It’s a decision he almost immediately regrets. Apparently, Elizabeth is very convinced of her (faulty) navigation skills. And mind you, he has an essentially AI-worthy navigation system build into his (“Is this what you drive? Don’t you think it’s a little… out there? Like, surely you don’t really need something so preposterous to arrive in?” she had laughed cutely after that, but he felt slapped in the face – and not the kind he might be paying her for) G-wagon. – from The Girlfriend Experience “Yeah,” he smiles. “We real good friends too, aren’t we?” he says suggestively. (It’s just, he can’t help it, knows it’s dumb and petty but ugh. He’s suffered through Mick’s eye-rolls enough after returning from a No Elizabeth Murder Night again. The other guy casually looking up from polishing his custom ninja throwing stars - don’t start about it, it’s a whole thing, and Rio’s convinced the man can’t even get them into a wall a three feet away if he wears that one jacket - waiting for Rio to cock his head and ask: “What?” “Nothing,” he had replied, dipping a cloth into the jar of polish. “’Nothing’?” Rio had repeated – a little more petulant than he intended. “What are you, my wife?” Ever so slowly, the corners of Mick’s mouth had turned upwards. “Heard spot’s taken.” Rio may have keyed Mick’s car that night.) Beth smiles back stiffly. - from I See Your True Technicolors I don’t know, I really like doing these kinda scene-in-scene (or sentence) things, I don’t know if this has a name. 38. What does your writing process look like? How chaotic is it on a scale of 1 (very tame) to 10 (you can’t handle this kind of chaos)? Hmm that kind of depends what part of the process we’re talking about. Let’s roughly break that up in three parts: 1. Working out the idea (8/10): Really, really chaotic. This is just days or weeks of just flashes of ideas and plotpoints and lines of dialogue shooting through my brain. Haphazardly writing those down in various docs, on paper in between my work notes, or in the notes on my phone. When I finally know the rough outline of the story I go into; 2. Writing the fic (4/10): I’m a super chronological writer, I really move from scene A to B to C until I finally arrive at Z. But when I start writing I often only really know A, D, E, J, O, Q, Z – the rest will just grow or appear organically as I write. Sometimes it does mean I won’t write for a few days because I circle back to step 1 for a certain scene. A good example is the Artic Hunter Fairytale Beth tells Jane in Chapter 2 of I See Your True Technicolors. I knew up front I was going to write a scene where we would see how this seemingly unweighted moment for Beth – she’s just telling a nighttime story – had a massive impact on Jane. There were some themes and motives I felt like needed to make an appearance: the more tangible reason of Jane’s quest, how young kids often hold their parents’ word as truth, and I needed it to be a true heartfelt moment between Beth and Jane. But before I wrote the first line of that scene I had no idea that would be the scene that it became. So I do outline a bit, but I need to create enough room for myself for moments like that to happen. It’s one of the things I enjoy most about writing. It’s a bit of an organized mess within a tighter frame/outline. 3. Editing (7/10): I’ve really been perfecting my Editing skills over the past 6/7 months – it’s not perfect, but you live and you learn. I spend more time working on the fic after I ‘finished’ it, really ramped up the spelling and grammar checks (I love you Word editor, but I also hate you), and take more and more care to make sure that all my dialogue feels IC ánd distinctive enough per character (especially the latter I feel like lacks in earlier WAH chapters). So, work in progress, but I feel pretty confident in this one. Again, thanks for sending these! <3

#asks #writer asks #fanfiction #my fanfic

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funkzpiel · 5 years ago

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WIP Post

Ya’ll, I thought I lost my flash drive. For context, I keep all my writing on it like an idiot because you don’t want to know how many times I’ve misplaced it. I found it, bless - and so here’s a few WIPs. My writing brain just fucking stalled so hard during quarantine, but I swear, I’ve been chiseling away at some things.

Includes content for the following:

The Witcher

Fantastic Beasts

Assassin’s Creed

Keep reading for WIP excerpts! If that’s of any interest to anyone, of course. ^^;

The Witcher | Stardust AU - Chapter 2:

He ached, bony weary in a way stars had no right to be. High above the sun blared down, reaching them furiously through even the dense canopy of the trees, and Geralt felt every inch of it weighing down on him. He was exhausted. Exhausted from the fall. Exhausted because it was day and usually he slept during the day. And moreso than any of that, he was exhausted by his captor-turned-dealmaker’s endless prattling. The star was beginning to wonder if the man had been cursed, he talked so incessantly, but he would have noticed the sort of energy that a curse puts off the moment it’s laid – and he had no recollection of a man like Jaskier ever being associated with an energy output that would match such a thing.

“She’s really quite fair, Geralt. Fair like the finest spilled milk – well, er, I used to think so until I met you, my pale friend. Spilled milk and delicate honey, perhaps. Yes, that seems right. Poured from the vase of Aphrodite herself. Molded, I daresay, in her image – she is that lovely. Just wait until you see her; but don’t go getting any ideas either, star. She’s mine,” Jaskier babbled ahead of him, on and on, yanking cheerfully at the chain between them sheerly because his hands swung from the sheer unexpected force of his positivity and enthusiasm.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” Geralt growled through his teeth, soft so the bard might not hear him and yet unable to resist finally throwing a barb at the chatty man. He watched the trees, their tall trunks blurring pleasantly into a soft lull, making his eyelids heavy. He shook his head to rid himself of the feeling and grit his teeth painfully. Vigilence, he reminded himself. He could rest when he was home.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, and the star’s bright eyes darted up only for Geralt to startle when Jaskier was suddenly standing far, far closer than he had anticipated. His jaw ached from its frustrated clenching. Jaskier didn’t seem to notice though. Just tilted his head as though that might provide him a more illuminating angle with which to study to star bound to him and said, “I’ve called your name thrice now, star. Are you quite alright?”

“I don’t know, bard. I was plucked from the sky, thrust into a form I don’t recognize and then chained to a blathering fool. What do you think?”

Jaskier just looked at him critically for a long moment, as though searching out some wound or cause, before he finally said, “I think you’re grumpy. And you need a nap.”

The Witcher | Creature!Jaskier:

Geralt had always known that Jaskier was not quite human. After all, how could he be? Geralt had not been so alienated from humanity, so separate from mankind as to be oblivious to the difference between a regular man’s lifetime and his own. And yet, over the course of decades, Jaskier did not age. His brown hair never silvered. His cornflower blue eyes never greyed or dulled. It had been easy, at first, to write it off as genetics or the benefit of devoting one’s money, however small, to the procurement of ointments and bath oils and lotions. His hands were always lovely despite hours of plucking lute strings, his skin always glowing despite hours of dust and grit on the road.

Oh, he had known. But Jaskier had never offered the information, and Geralt saw no need to ask. The bard was hardly out there slaughtering villages. The witcher doubted the man were even capable of it. He had seen Jaskier run to him – bug-eyed and pale – too many times from some monster he had accidentally startled on the road to ever believe the man a creature capable of slaughter.

So just as Jaskier had accepted him as Geralt rather than as a Witcher, he had accepted Jaskier for who he was, rather than what – whatever that what was.

Fantastic Beasts | Sequel to “And The Tag Read Simply: Pretty”

Graves stopped in the doorway of the morgue before Theseus realized he was there and took a moment to absorb the view before him. The room was meagerly illuminated, drawing long shadows on the Theseus’ face and on the blankets that covered five bodies, all set up in a row of gurneys, their bare feet pointed as Theseus. Each body had a tag looped around the toe, their names scrawled in the messy handwriting of the diener on staff when they had been rolled in. Theseus had his hands closed tight around a piece of paper. He looked old; about as old as Percival felt.

Five bodies. Five aurors, dead.

Graves felt every one of them like a crack in his bones, aching when he breathed, when he slept, when he moved. He sighed, startling Theseus from his thoughts, and slowly walked to join him. When he was close enough, Theseus moved as though to grab Graves’ shoulder – stopping only when he registered the slight flinch Graves still hadn’t learned how to control. Jaw clenched, he returned to strangling the paper in his hands.

“Diaz, Copperfield, Wu, Firth and Hollows,” Theseus said, listing the names as clinically and succinctly as he could but unable to hide the sharp constriction of his throat. Graves’ scanned each tag, noting that the names all matched Theseus’ list. Five aurors. Three of them were aurors he had personally trained in some capacity or another. One was not much younger than himself. Another was just a babe – fresh from the academy.

None of them were even on Graves’ task force. They were just aurors investigating matters utterly unrelated to Grindelwald’s crimes. In fact, all matters related to the madman had been removed from the desks of the Department of Magical Security. These men and women should have never gotten remotely close to the dark wizard’s line of fire, and yet here they were – five aurors found dead on the steps of MACUSA.

“We’re certain it was him?” Graves asked. Theseus looked at him as though he was loathe to answer, and that was all Graves needed to see to know the truth. He held out his hand and reluctantly, Theseus handed over the paper he had been strangling. It was crumpled now, but the ink still stood out bright and perfect, not one bit of it smudged.

Why are you hiding my beautiful gifts, little love?

Assassin’s Creed Syndicate | Wild Youth - Chapter 7:

He ached in horrible ways. Growing bones made fragile with cold, throbbing twofold. The sheets were twisted around him uncomfortably, but even when they’d magically right themselves he found that ensnaring himself anew was inevitable when he was so murderously hot one second, then freezing the next. His clothing clung to clammy skin, his hair too. His little hand kept reaching for something, someone, but the bed was so big and Evie was off no doubt playing.

‘Why didn’t you wear your coat, Jacob,’ he could remember his father saying, voice laden with weary misunderstanding – as though Jacob were a creature to puzzle out rather than a son. ‘Evie wore hers and now she’s playing and you’re stuck in bed. Is that what you want, Jacob?’

Heat seared around the edges of his eyes, his little jaw clenched. Of course that wasn’t what he wanted. Who wanted to be sick? Old Lady Cusick had his coat. She had been patching a hole in the elbow from a rather rough fall. It was only a few hours without it. What else should he have done with that time? Sat in the corner trying to make sense out of father’s stupid books when he could have been practicing his sneaking or his climbing or his tumbling? Just because he had trouble reading didn’t mean he didn’t take things seriously. He was trying.

Why couldn’t father ever see that?

#WIPs #The Witcher #Fantastic Beasts #And The Tag Ready Simply Pretty #Assassin's Creed Syndicate

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mypassionfortrash · 5 years ago

Text

Rumours: Parts 1 - 4

It’s the mid 70′s, and your band are on tour with Queen. Rumours circulate in the music press about your relationship with their drummer, Roger. But what they don’t know is that you hate each other with a passion. Can you patch things up?

Pairing: Roger Taylor x f!Reader Warnings: A lot of smut - so this is strictly 18+. Notes: This was originally posted on my Queen blog (BoRhapRogerina) before I deleted it. If you’re new here, welcome. If you’ve read this before, I’ve reworked this quite substantially. I’m planning on finishing all of my fics for NaNoWriMo this year, so stay tuned for updates on all my WIPs!

[1/4]

“Scary?” You screeched, flinging down a copy of Creem. You whipped around to face your bandmate, Steve. “Do you think I’m scary?”

He contorted his face, continuing to work a layer of shaving foam over his jaws. “You’re… intense.”

Your mouth dropped open, ready to hurl a brutal comeback.

He was quick to halt you. “You’re not still obsessing over Roger, are you?”

Your cheeks burned at the idea, “I’m not.”

You were.

In fact, it was all you could think about ever since your manager had secured your band the gig of a lifetime. Hitting the road with none other than Queen. Supposedly, John Deacon was a fan of yours. Although Roger unquestionably wasn’t.

The press seemed to believe that you and he would make a perfect pair. You being the fierce, take-no-prisoners frontwoman of a rock and roll band. And Roger, a handsome playboy that no woman could resist. In fact, in every interview Queen did, they would pose that to Roger. What did he think of you?

At times his words were enough to reduce most to tears. You stared up at the ceiling, recalling that interview he did with Melody Maker where he called you ‘utterly terrifying,’ and claimed you had ‘less sex appeal than Elton’s backside.’ That was especially harsh. But your bandmates dismissed it as flippant trash talk; something to create a bit of controversy.

And so, on the first night of the tour, you sat in the dressing room, having never actually met Roger Taylor, wondering what exactly he thought of you. Just like the music press as a whole.

Not that you cared, of course.

Why should you?

You weren’t there to impress him.

During soundcheck, you absentmindedly trundled through your band’s five-song setlist with as much life as a rainy day. Four songs in, a shaggy mop of blonde hair bobbed through the gaggle at the side of the stage, barging its way to the front to watch. He stood with his arms folded, his hip jutting out. A cigarette daintily rested between his fingers.

You glanced at him as you sang. Your stomach was in knots, wondering if he was waiting for an inevitable hiccup. That particular song was about your ex; however, it just as comfortably fitted Roger. He had painted a dim picture of himself, even before you were breathing the same air. But now, seeing him in the flesh, you decided that you hated him. From his dazzling blue eyes to the fur coat that swamped his wiry frame. He was sickening.

Then it came to that one final line.

Something about being high and laughing about him in a hospital bed...

You screwed your eyes shut as you snarled, but the image of him was crystal clear in your mind’s eye.

He raised his eyebrows, puffing out his cheeks at your delivery.

Your insides churned, setting down your guitar and moving to join the group at the side of the stage.

Roger’s eyes might have popped out of their sockets with the savagery with which he rolled them, as you approached shook hangs, hugged and introduced yourself to everyone but him. And he was blatantly counting on you striking up a conversation with him. He drew in a breath to drip poison into the air between you. But his plans were thwarted.

“You were absolutely marvellous!” Freddie blurted, barging past Roger who sulked like an adolescent girl. Freddie flung his arms around you, threatening to squeeze all the air from your lungs. You gave his shoulder a series of tiny taps like a boxer calling it quits. He thrust you outwards, those dark brown eyes studying every detail of you. Then, he made his announcement: “Deacy was right.”

The corners of your mouth pricked up as you exhaled the last of the breath you had been desperately trying to cling on to. “Did you like it?” you asked, shaking your head.

Freddie moved closer. “I loved it!” He was beaming as his eyes darted between you and Roger. “You two haven’t met yet!”

You and Roger exchanged curt nods before you broke the uneasy silence. “Thanks for the opportunity,” you muttered, folding your arms.

Roger huffed, looking away from you. “It wasn’t up to me.”

“You’re perfect,” Freddie blurted, blasting through your stalemate. He turned to Roger who was still glowering. “Isn’t she - aren’t they - perfect, Roger?”

Roger raised his eyebrows, lolling his head from side to side.

“You tell her she’s perfect. Right now! Tell her, Rog!” Freddie pushed.

Roger’s eyes narrowed. His upper lip curled up into a sneer. “You’re perfect.” Without waiting for a response, he scampered backstage, a trail of smoke chasing close behind.

Freddie turned his attention to you, looking taken aback. “Alright then.”

“What’s his problem?”

“He’s not used to being in such close proximity to a woman he’s not allowed to shag, my dear. He’ll come round.”

“I don’t know, I reckon I could have some fun with him.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

It turned out Roger wasn’t fun. Especially not when he had a drink in him.

The gig itself was excellent. Roger confined himself to the background as the other members of Queen congratulated you after your set. He sought to make himself look busy, preening at his hair or fixing his spangly outfit, but every now and again, you would catch him staring at you. You couldn’t for the life of you figure out what was going on inside that pretty head of his. All you knew was that his games frustrated you to no end.

It came to a head at the afterparty.

Swaggering into a packed bar, you made your way through silvery swathes of smoke towards the private lounge at the back. Your bandmates had made quick work of getting ready, but you were anxious to impress. It was the day before Valentine’s day, after all. In the back of your mind, you craved as much action as the rest of them.

A tight black dress and skyscraper heels, a fur coat and skimpy knickers. It had all the right ingredients, and you felt like the fiercest creature in there. Heads turned in droves as you brushed past the sea of strangers, waltzing past a length of velvet rope.

The lounge was quiet. Your bandmates. Queen. The crew. Management. Label bigwigs. Journalists. All the right people were there - if you wanted to talk business. But not if you actually wanted to do business.

You expected Roger to be the centre of attention. But that accolade had long gone to Freddie.

Instead, Roger sat on an empty couch, his gaze centred on the doorway. Still puffing away on a smoke. It was only when your heart began to thud furiously against your ribcage that you realised something.

Those heavenly blue eyes of his?

They were on you.

But it was like someone had sparked a flame beneath him. You had never seen someone get to their feet with so much urgency. He shot past you, going towards the main bar, shoulder-checking you on his way out. It left you livid, seeing red.

You did the absurd.

You went after him.

You threaded your way through the crowd, hunting in the darkness. Roger wasn’t difficult to find. That shaggy blonde mop. That vivid sateen blazer. You could pick him out anywhere.

You spotted tufts of blonde above the current, over by the bar.

You couldn’t move fast enough, pursuing answers.

The bartender had just finished shifting a series of shots in front of him when you dragged yourself on to the stool beside him.

He winced, sensing your presence. Then he downed a shot, swallowing hard. His voice was hoarse through the jagged remnants of the tequila; you could hardly hear him. He didn't even look at you. “What are you doing?”

“I need to know what your problem is.”

Roger shifted around to glare at you. If looks could kill, you’d have been done for. “My problem?” he asked, pointing to his chest.

Another shot.

“My problem,” he slurred, “is that I’m sick of fucking hearing about you.”

“What?” you prodded, shaking your head.

“Everyone fucking thinks that because you’re a girl that we’re somehow…”

You rolled your eyes. “Maybe if you spent less time surrounded by groupies, then maybe Melody Maker and Creem wouldn’t constantly ask you about the only girl who’s ever supported Queen and whether you intended to shag her.”

Roger sprang to his feet, jabbing his finger against your shoulder. He spoke with the ferocity of a small, yappy dog whose cage had been well and truly rattled. “Thanks to you, no one’s going to want to shag me. I doubt I’ll be getting any at all this tour!”

You were indifferent, slipping off your stool to meet his stare. You began calmly. “What do you want me to do? Roger, this is an amazing opportunity.” You couldn’t contain the frustration in your tone. “I’m not going to give that up because you need to shag everything in sight. I want people to take me seriously, more seriously than they seem to take you.”

“But you’re not that good anyway,” he sneered, screwing up his nose. “I mean, you’ve got so much to figure out. It’s laughable!”

You pressed yourself against him, your chest heaving. “I’ve heard you’re fucking lousy anyway. Tiny. Inclined to be a bit… premature.”

He smirked, knowing he had succeeded in getting a rise from you. “What makes you think I’d be interested in you?”

“You should be so lucky. Now, you’re going to do me a big, big favour and stay out of my way. And don’t you dare speak about me to the press again, do you understand?” You pointed towards the lounge at the back, widening your eyes, moving closer to him. He leaned back, trying to escape your tirade. “When we get back in there, don’t you dare look the road I’m on. It’s crawling with journalists. I mean it, Roger.”

Roger scowled for a moment. “Stay out of my way. And don’t ruin this for me.”

You took one of Roger’s shots, looking him right in the eye as you threw it back. “I’ll ruin you if you’re not careful, Princess.”

You waited long enough to see Roger’s mouth pop open at that threat. And then you made a beeline back to the lounge.

You were greeted by Freddie, who came over to you like a shot, thrusting a flute of champagne into your hand.

“Where did you get to? I saw you come in, but you just disappeared! Where did you go?” He quizzed with wide eyes.

“I had a little bit of fun with Roger,” you sighed, your words opening an inexplicable well in your stomach. “I don’t think he likes me much.”

Freddie rested his head on your shoulder to reassure you. “I wouldn’t bother fretting - he doesn’t like anyone at first. Especially not when they answer back. He’s got eyes for you, though.”

“What?” You chuckled.

Freddie didn’t explain. He simply pointed towards the same spot Roger was in when you arrived. He was still fixating on you. You couldn’t be positive whether you had incensed him or put him in his place, but you could see his shoulders rising steadily and his nostrils flaring with every breath.

Your eyes dotted from face to face through every corner of the room. One of the journalists seemed to have noticed the glances exchanged by you and Roger. And it did nothing to alleviate the foul mood Roger had put you in.

“Freddie?”

Freddie reached for your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Yes, my dear?”

You turned to face him, feeling a wave of nerves grip you like a vice. “I have to leave.”

The next morning, the afterparty was still fresh in your memory.

After you left the party, you went back to your hotel and bought a bottle of wine, drinking the whole thing by yourself. Not ideal when your bus call was at four in the morning. But it turned out you were much soberer than your bandmates. They were out like lights. Which allowed you more time to wallow.

By eleven o’clock, your bus rocked up outside the venue in Manchester. Trudging out of the bus on unsteady legs, you feared your arms might buckle and drop the two suitcases tucked under each. You had no notion of facing the day just yet. You just ached to get to your dressing room and rest until soundcheck. The pit in your stomach deepened when you saw that Queen’s bus had already arrived. Roger would undoubtedly be lurking somewhere. You prayed that you wouldn’t bump into him on your way inside.

Being the only woman on tour granted you certain luxuries. Out of respect for your privacy, and because no one wanted to be the one accused of leering over you, you always had your own dressing room at every venue. Of course, the halls themselves were small, with even smaller backstage areas, so you regularly found yourself bundled into any place they could spare, with a fold-up chair and a mirror, if you were lucky. Tonight’s venue was kind enough to have you in a cleaning cupboard on the other side of the building from the rest of your band. But that didn’t matter. You needed the time alone. You savoured any of it you could possibly get on a tour like this.

So off you went, pounding the halls. They were painted a pale green, but it had started to chip away, and the floor was cracked right down to the concrete. The place had seen better days, you thought, looking down at your feet. Only to realise the tracks of rose petals stretching off into the never-ending distance.

You paused, squinting back the way you came. Sure enough, they were strewn that way too.

Shrugging it off as a Valentine’s Day gag, you continued to follow the path to your dressing room. Your heels snapped through the desolate corridors - it was far too early for Queen to have loaded in just yet - until you reached your destination at a dead end.

The venue had thoughtfully scribbled your name on a scrap of card and attached it to the door. But what lay on the floor was of far more interest to you.

Another note with ‘RMT’ scrawled on it.

Roger. Meddows. Taylor.

Kicking the note aside, you cracked the door open, only for a single, red rose to roll out, stopping short of your foot. You thought nothing of it. Apparently, Roger was in a remorseful mood. You wondered how long that was going to last, not allowing yourself to think of anything more before he got back to being his bitchy little self again and….

Roses. Roses everywhere.

Taking in the spectacle in front of you, you could feel the anger simmering away inside you. They were hoarded waist deep. To get inside, you would have to wade through them, clamouring over goodness knows what. But it was your dressing room. God forbid you would have to share with your bandmates. Being on the tour bus with three sweaty men after a show was bad enough, but being locked in a room with them while they prim and preen was another matter entirely.

So you did it.

You tossed your suitcases into the void ahead and followed suit.

Instant. Regret.

With every wary wade, a thousand tiny pinpricks burned against your legs. It was only then that it dawned on you.

Roger Meddows Taylor wouldn’t bother to have the thorns pruned.

[2/4]

Hide it. Don’t give him the satisfaction.

That’s what you told yourself the whole day. When you deposited the bulk of the roses back out into the hallway. When you kept discovering petals in every nook and cranny of your clothes. Even when your bandmates asked about the mysterious amount of flowers in and around your dressing room, you remained nonchalant, trying to stifle back a giggle. “A secret admirer, I guess.” You kept it up all day, flitting between annoyance and feeling pleased with the revenge you had plotted for Roger.

During your soundcheck, Roger took up his place at the side of the stage again, simpering away as you shook rose petals out of your pockets. No sooner had you caught him staring, but he turned, exhaling a trail of smoke that lingered long after he had left. You couldn't broach the subject with him yet. Instead, you kept your head down, waiting him out for the perfect moment to strike.

You even waited in the wings while Queen themselves ran through their set, pacing back and forth to catch Roger’s attention. You pitied how much he misread the situation as he smirked over his drum kit at you. You were out to humiliate him.

Locked in a game of cat and mouse, you were gone before he could gloat about it. You knew that would rile him up the most, leaving him exactly where you wanted him.

Later on, before the show, both bands on the tour joined forces to have dinner backstage. Everyone around the table chattered mindlessly about how much they missed their other halves sinking bottle after bottle of wine. But not Roger. He looked utterly livid, sitting at the head of the table, opposite you. Not because he had no one to miss back home. But because you had said nothing about his grand and elaborate prank. It was apparent on his sharp little features just how much rage he was harbouring about the fact that it had backfired. The way his body seemed to vibrate as he sulked, balling up his fists around his cutlery as he ate his dinner.

You beamed across the table at him, raising your glass and giving him a wink. This cracked the wall of silence he had built.

“What about you?” Roger sneered, piping up above the rabble. “Did you get anything nice?”

You quirked an eyebrow, silently challenging his sudden boldness. “Oh, you know, just some flowers.” You shrugged off as if it was nothing. You were just getting started, draining another glass of wine. “They were absolutely gorgeous.”

Roger scrunched up his nose, snorting. “Who would buy you flowers?”

Freddie’s mouth dropped open as he whipped around in his seat to smack Roger on his arm, earning a pained ‘ouch’ from the drummer. “She’s a delight! You take that back right now!”

“Look at her!” Roger squeaked, throwing a hand in your direction.

Everyone around the table simultaneously shot him a disdainful look. But you couldn’t help choking back a laugh. Roger hadn’t realised that you could unravel his grandstanding in seconds flat.

“Do you really want to go there, Roger?” you asked widening your eyes.

“And the attitude she’s got on her…” Roger huffed.

With a deep intake of breath, your hand delved into the pocket of your jeans, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. “It’s funny, Roger, this note was with the flowers in my dressing room. I think,” you began, squinting down at the handwriting, “RMT does like me enough to buy me roses on Valentine’s Day.” You smoothed the note out on the table and shifted it to the centre, for everyone to get a better look at the incriminating evidence.

Brian glanced over at the note, chuckling to himself. “It’s his handwriting.”

“There was rather a lot of flowers, actually,” you continued, grinning at Brian. “Enough to fill my dressing room, actually. Whoever this RMT guy is, he must have gone to so much effort to get them all in there before I arrived this morning.”

Freddie’s face wildly lit up. “How many flowers were there?”

“They were piled waist deep. I had to wade through them,” you beamed, bypassing Freddie’s gaze and looking towards Roger instead.

“That’s absurd,” Brian chimed in. “Who would do that for someone they don’t even like? What do you think… Roger?”

“It screams pettiness,” Stewart, your band’s own drummer, agreed.

Roger sulked, rolling his eyes. “It was a prank! To inconvenience her!”

“I think it was rather lovely,” Freddie chimed in.

Roger became increasingly flustered at the narrative his friends were giving his actions.

“What’s wrong, Roger?” you cooed.

Roger’s cheeks were scarlet as he screeched: “I’m just not attracted to you!”

Sitting back in your seat, you gave him a satisfied smirk. There was no point pressing the issue any longer than you needed to. Everyone else around the table did that for you, erupting into hysterics and relishing the opportunity to make him the butt of all their jokes for the evening.

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

You were exhausted. Even after five songs, your hair was drenched in sweat, your makeup smeared and your muscles burned. A hot shower was just the thing to round off your day.

But the venue had communal showers.

Usually, if you were on tour with your own band, this would never have bothered you. Your bandmates had seen you naked on multiple occasions and in many a drunken state. But the fear of a complete stranger seeing you in the shower had you making a beeline for them midway through Queen’s set, desperately hoping no one would be in there.

However, robe and accoutrements in hand, you were greeted by various members of Queen’s crew - the ones who weren’t working away on the backline, taking the opportunity to clean up before they had to load out for the night. They didn’t see you. Something that you thanked your lucky stars for because the look on your face as the realisation set in must have been something to behold. You closed the door swiftly, going undetected.

There was nothing to do but wait for them all to file out. Sliding down the wall to take a seat on the floor, you listened intently to Queen’s performance. The sound of the crowd made the building shake as they chanted every word of Killer Queen back to Freddie. You kept time, tapping your foot on the floor, fixating on getting out of your sweaty stage clothes. Every time the door opened, plumes of steam would hit your skin, sending shivers through you. The warmth was so deliciously enticing that it took every bit of restraint you had to stop yourself from diving into the already crowded bathroom. It took half an hour for everyone to leave and Queen were nearing the end of their set.

Throwing off your clothes and stowing them in a locker, you wandered over the grimy tiled floor towards the row of showers at the back of the room, firing one up. Better than any fluffy blanket on a cold winter night, the water cascaded over you, soothing all the aches and pains of the first few nights of the tour. It surprised you how quickly the twinges in your muscles accumulated on tour. Another layer of luxury in situations like these were the lotions and potions you always brought with you. You could feel yourself becoming more human again as you worked a violet-scented lather over your skin, cleansing your body of the sweat and dirt of the day. Breathing deeply, you let out a satisfied groan and wondered just how long you would be alone.

The cheers from the crowd had died down. A dull chatter seemed to make its way down the hall outside. It ripped you away from what you were about to do and hurried your movements along as you rinsed the suds from your skin.

Something in the corner of your vision caught your attention. Horror coursed through you as you realised that someone else was showering next to you. When you noticed who it was, you gave an audible, “what the fuck?”

Roger’s gaze was fixed straight ahead as he lathered his hair into a foamy pile on top of his head.

“Don’t speak to me,” Roger droned. “Fucking humiliated me in front of everyone at dinner.”

You groaned, slamming your hand against the taps to shut off the water. Roger winced with such ferocity that bubbles dripped in his eyes. “Fuck,” he hissed, wiping his hands over his eyes in an attempt to alleviate the sting.

“Not so smart now, are you?” you taunted.

Roger hadn’t looked at you properly until now. His lips parted, drawing in a sharp breath.

“Get over yourself,” you scolded.

Roger’s entire body sank in on itself, he looked even smaller under your heated gaze. His voice was a mere squeak. “Sorry.” He averted his eyes, looking at anything but you.

“Tell me, Roger,” you began, cornering him. “When a guy buys a girl that many flowers on Valentine’s Day, why do you think that is? What do you reckon runs through that person’s head?” You reached out to him, pushing back a stray strand of hair.

Roger begrudgingly keened into your touch, closing his eyes.

“If I was really ruining your chances of getting laid, then why are you so desperately trying to woo me? Roger. Meddows. Taylor.”

“I’m not,” Roger sighed, poking his tongue out slightly to lick his lips. The temptation was too much. He opened his eyes, and made no effort to conceal how much they roamed. They came to rest on your lips. “I’m really not.”

You closed the gap, pressing yourself into him, your chest squeezed against his. He trembled at the contact, swallowing hard. You looked up, raising your eyebrows. “Really? Then why are you in here with me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just needed a show-”

“That cock of yours is awfully fucking hard, all things considered, Princess,” you taunted, drawing your finger along his length. “Are you sure?”

“No one’s going to take you seriously if you do this,” Roger warned. Even that was feeble as his breath caught in his chest the second that your hand wrapped around his shaft.

“We’ll see about that,” you said, relishing the way he was coming undone at the slightest touch. The way your hand ghosted up and down his cock could hardly be considered firm or giving. But that wasn’t the point.

You wanted his back against the wall; all yours, latching on to the promise of something more. His head thrown back, jerking his hips forward, begging you for more. But most of all, you wanted to take that away from him just as quickly.

Roger whined when you moved your hand away from him. Once more, you sandwiched him between yourself and the cold tile wall, planting your hands on either side of his head. Your lips brushed over his neck making him shiver. The power you felt at that moment was utterly intoxicating. “No one’s going to know about this. Because, unlike you, Princess, I don’t leave evidence behind.”

Before Roger had an opportunity to retort, you were already on the other side of the bathroom, slipping your robe over your shoulders. “I’ll see you at the afterparty.”

[3/4]

The skintight material of your new red dress threatened to squeeze the life out of you. Being trapped in a room fit to burst with partygoers didn't help either. Your feet ached, hiked up in leopard print heels, as you snaked your way through the crowd. None of the afterparties had been this busy. And none of them had attracted as many creeps like this one.

Finally, just when you thought you were about to hit the floor, the door to the club opened, spitting you out into the night.

Being able to guzzle air into your lungs again revived you momentarily. Enough that you could take in your surroundings at least.

The alleyway outside was littered with revellers, and a blanket of cigarette smoke draped itself over the scene. You couldn’t see anyone that you knew.

Not that it mattered. After a show, you were never really in the mood for talking anyway.

Especially not after being flirted with by countless strangers.

Sucking on a cigarette, you looked up to the sky with your back pressed to the wall. The vibrations of the music inside the club shuddered against you. It soothed you. Your eyes drooped closed, drinking in the sensation.

Then, something caught your attention. Darting your eyes to the left, just a few paces away, you saw Roger.

He, too, had a cigarette dangling between his lips. And he looked utterly exhausted as he sank against the wall. It must have been an exhausting business, being Roger.

After all, he had spent the last few hours flocked by women, all eagerly vying for his attention. And space in his bed for the night.

But now, he looked spent.

Not that you could pity him.

Every time you caught sight of him, you had the overwhelming urge to launch him through the nearest window. He kept talking to the press about you, from what you overheard in his interviews with student rags up and down the country. Spilling poison in their ears and on to their pages. And then he had the cheek to avoid you like the plague backstage, instead choosing to eye you up from afar.

Tonight was the closest the pair of you had been since the shower incident.

You still had scratches all over your legs from his prank; you would never be able to look at roses again without getting flashbacks to that cramped little cleaning cupboard. Even now, days later, your legs itched.

You weren’t sure whether it was the Dutch courage or the burning desire to be the bigger person, but you shuffled along the wall towards him.

He could hear you coming. But his eyes shot away in any direction they could find. Except yours.

“You don’t want to talk,” you began, backing down instantly, “fine. I’m only out here for a smoke. I’ll be gone in a minute.”

“Good,” he huffed, scuffing his feet against the pavement.

The pair of you stood, backs against the wall, looking in opposite directions. A steely silence lacing through the moment.

It took everything in your to hold back what was in your head. You weren’t sure what you wanted to blurt out, but it probably would have started with, ‘I just think it’s funny how…’

Or something to that effect.

Suddenly, a familiar voice got yours and Roger’s attention. It came from the door of the club and swiftly closed in.

It was Freddie.

“There you are! I’ve been hunting all over for you.”

“I just needed a break from all that in there,” Roger explained.

Freddie was quick to silence his bandmate, casting his hand in the air and nodding at you. “Not you! Her!" And then an inquisitive look spread across his face. "Why? Have you two made up yet?”

“Us?” You asked, darting a finger between you and Roger. “Oh god no.”

“She’s a bitch, remember?”

“And he can't behave like an adult, remember?”

Freddie raised his eyebrow at the display you and Roger put on. “Alright, well there are a few people I’d like you to meet,” he said, seizing your arm and hauling you back inside.

You threw a glance over your shoulder, to Roger, who had a wicked grin on his face. He fluttered his fingers in the air, waving you off.

“You’re going to love them.”

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

Freddie flitted from group to group, introducing you to anyone who would listen. After only fifteen minutes, the balls of your feet burned, so you bid him farewell and wandered over to the bar. Hauling yourself up on a stool, your eyes began to wander over the faces around the bar. It was an oval shape that allowed you to peer over to the other side at the patrons sitting opposite you.

Studying the band of drunks, you tried to decide if you knew any of them. Or if any of them were attractive enough to take back to your hotel room.

Too tall.

Rubbish dress sense.

A little bit too drunk.

And then, there was Roger.

He stared at you.

The same way he had been the last few days.

Those sleepy eyes. Lips slightly parted.

You couldn’t help but gaze back at him.

It only dawned on you when it was too late.

And he noticed.

The corners of his mouth perked up into a self-satisfied smile as he raised his glass. Toasting to you.

Batting your eyes from left to right, you were determined to focus on anything - anyone - but Roger. But somehow, they always found their way back to him.

He drained his glass and slipped off his seat, making his way around the bar to you.

Your whole body tensed. He was looming far too close to you; so much so that his breath ghosted over your skin.

“I don’t blame you,” he said.

Turning to him, you narrowed your eyes. “I’m sorry?”

“No woman can resist me.”

It flipped like a switch. That was the reminder you needed of how much of a prick Roger was. “Oh, I’m perfectly fine resisting you, Roger.”

“I won’t hold it against you if you can’t,” he pressed, raising his hands.

“You’re doing a terrible job of avoiding me tonight, Roger. What's changed?”

“I’m not going to lie, you look incredible in that dress,” Roger hummed, leaning on the bar, slithering into your field of vision. “I’m rather tempted.”

“Let’s make one thing clear, Roger,” you began, leaning into him, “I’m not interested.”

“Really?” Roger asked touching his nose against yours. “Then why do you look like you’re about to kiss me?”

He had you in a fix. The only way out was to give in to him. But your surroundings were painfully obvious to you, and if the rest of your night was going to go how you thought it was, then you wanted to make sure you were in private. Away from prying eyes.

“I could make you melt just like that,” Roger goaded with a click of his fingers.

“You weren’t saying that in the showers the other day. How long did it take you to get yourself off after I left? Seconds, I take it?”

“You bitch.”

Pulling yourself away from him, you could see the cogs in Roger’s brain inventing something more impactful to say to get you to climb down. Or climb into bed with him. You weren’t about to keep him hanging any longer. “Do you really want to see how bitchy I can be?”

Roger stared at your lips, licking his own. “Ok?"

Checking your surroundings one last time, you grabbed Roger’s arm, pulling him through the throng towards the door with more momentum than a gunshot.

You kept your heads down, bursting out on to the street.

The hotel was only a block away, so the pair of you power walked, arm in arm with your heads down so that no one would notice either of you. It felt like the longest journey of your life.

Opening the door to your hotel room and you both stepped inside. You folded your arms, sizing him up.

He stood in the middle of the room, gormless and wracked with nerves, waiting for you to take the lead. It was as though being alone with you made Roger's bravado melt away into nothing.

“Do you really think I look good in this?” you cooed.

“You look so beautiful,” Roger admitted.

He couldn’t even look at you. Rather, his eyes were glued to his pink, sparkly shoes as they drew circles in the carpet with the tip of his toe.

“Are you sure this isn’t hurting your chances, though?”

Roger’s head shot up. “What?”

“You being here?” you prodded, folding your arms and circling him.

“No one needs to know,” Roger shrugged, trying to play it cool.

The tension in your stomach reached boiling point, hearing that. If Roger really wanted you to be his dirty little secret, you were going to play just as dirty. “Take off all your clothes.”

“What?” Roger asked, taken aback.

“If you ‘what’ me one more time, I’m not going to give you what you want.”

Roger didn’t need to be told twice. He kept his stare low, never once planting his eyes on you. He shrugged his decadent embellished blazer down his shoulders, and his fingers nimbly undid the buttons on his pinstripe shirt. He flicked his shoes off. Then he hesitated on the fly of his jeans.

“All of it,” you dictated.

He swallowed hard, pulling off his jeans.

“Even your underwear.”

Roger looked at you, wordlessly protesting your directions. His arms wrapped around his torso, shielding him from the cold air in the room.

“You were the one who wanted me to show you how much of a bitch I can be. We haven’t even got started, Princess.” You moved closer to him, caressing his chest. “And besides, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Roger signed, realising what he needed to do to get what he wanted and pulled down his briefs.

You groaned to yourself in satisfaction, seeing what your minimal amount of teasing was doing to him. “I think you were lying about me having less sex appeal than Elton's backside. Was that all a ruse, Princess?” you remarked, stroking his throbbing length.

Roger didn’t care, trying to focus on not falling apart under your touch.

You were determined to make that troublesome for him.

“I’m going to show you exactly what I think of you,” you warned, spreading drops of precum over his cock.

Too deep in his own head, Roger couldn’t hear a word of what you were telling him as he rolled his head back, dragging up images of what he so desperately wanted to do to you. The nerves and fear kept him from going any further. He just stood there, relishing the feeling of your hand as it worked up and down every inch of his shaft. He was enjoying this far too much for your liking.

“I think you like it when I do this to you, Princess,” you suggested. “Do you like it?” It still fell on deaf ears. Annoyed with Roger’s lack of focus, you ran your fingers through his hair. Just long enough for him to nestle against your hand, like a lazy cat, begging to be petted. And then you grasped a handful of those long, blonde locks, tugging sharply.

A shrill, pained whine escaped Roger as his eyes flew open in fright. “What was that for?!”

“Answer me when I speak to you,” you commanded.

Roger rubbed the source of the pain, blinking. “What was the question again?”

Giving up, you withdrew your other hand from his cock. A look of frustration bled across Rogers features as he moved to cover himself with his arms. You pointed towards the bed, backing away from him. “Bend over. I’m going to teach you how to listen.”

Roger’s mouth popped open as he slinked across the room to the foot of the bed, bending over at the waist. “Like this?” he asked.

“Exactly like that,” you said. “Now, stay there.”

A thick, black leather belt lay at the top of your open suitcase. You wore it daily, and over time it had softened, but it was perfect. You picked it up, wrapping it around your hand as you moved behind Roger.

He clung to the sheets with his eyes trained forward. In his anticipation, his hips swayed from side to side. The sight of it left you unable to resist giving his skin a series of open-handed smacks that made him hide his face in the covers.

“Is that too much for you, Princess?” you teased.

Roger was back on the defensive; his form stiffened as he raised his head. “No!”

“Good,” you sang, running your fingertips over the strap. “Because we’re just getting started.”

“What are you going to do to-”

An abrupt, sharp snap cut him off, substituting his question with a yelp. He hopped from foot to foot, trying to process the pain that had been bestowed upon him, but it was no good. No sooner had he caught up, but you had already struck his behind again and dug your fingers into his hair, leaning in to speak directly into his ear.

“Now, we’re going to have a little bit of fun, Princess. I’m going to show you what happens when boys like you mess with me. You’re going to beg for my forgiveness. And then, when I’m completely convinced you’re sorry, I might do something to take care of that constant hard-on of yours. Do you understand?”

Roger struggled against your hold on his hair to turn his head. He looked at you in wonder, as if this was the first time a woman had dared confront him. It was if all his Christmases had come at once. “I understand.”

You almost felt sorry for him, thinking about what you had in store for him. But deep down you knew he deserved it. And you knew he wanted it. Getting to your feet again, you glanced down at his pale skin, streaked pink from the two blows you had previously dealt him. “If it gets too much for you, what’s your safe word?”

Roger had to think about that, darting his eyes left and right. “Um… Pineapple?”

You smirked, resting the strap against Rogers back and watching him squirm. “Pineapple it is.”

“Wait,” Roger said, just as you were lifting the strip of leather. “Do you want me to count? I-I’m good at that!”

“Nope.” You brought the belt down on to his cheeks sending another smack echoing through the room. “I want you to apologise.”

Roger, was infuriatingly quiet. Even though you weren’t holding back, he never made a peep. You had mentally counted twenty strokes - a number even you couldn’t handle. You had to talk yourself out of respecting him for that. “Are you alright, Princess?” you asked, reaching forward to stroke his mane.

“I’m getting there,” he sighed, wiggling his bottom enticingly. He sounded delirious. “Am I being good now?”

The way he said that hit you like a bolt out of the blue. It was strangely endearing. “No, Princess, you’ve been bad, remember?” you reminded, snapping the belt against the back of his thighs. “I don’t hear you apologising.”

"Maybe if you hit me harder, I might."

Your grip on his hair tightened, pulling his head back, “What was that, Princess?”

“Maybe you should hit me harder,” he repeated, louder this time.

He had a point, but something didn’t add up. His face was flushed, and his eyes were so glassy that you questioned his inability to acknowledge the punishment you were doling out to him. You reasoned that his pride had everything to do with how quiet he was being.

So you sent the belt cracking down on his ass again. “I know you can feel that you little shit,” you hissed, wrapping his hair around your fist to force his gaze forward. Your smacks were so unrelenting that Roger quickly began to writhe and squirm below you. “Are you fucking sorry? Hm? I could do this all evening, and you won’t be able to sit right for a week after this. Go on, I want you begging.”

Roger’s resolve started to crack around strike number forty. His entire backside had been struck raw, and you genuinely feared for his ability to sit behind a drum kit for the remainder of the tour. He stuck his arms out in front of himself, hissing at the searing pain. “I’m sorry,” he whined, his voice low and trembling.

At first, you didn’t hear him, continuing to spank him. But he piped up again.

“I’m sorry!”

His body was heavy, slumping to his knees when he was sure he had caught your attention.

Giving him a reprieve, you turned him by his shoulders to look up at you. His skin was soaked, and his chest heaved, and you were convinced that real tears were forming in the corners of his eyes.

Passing the belt through your hands, you raised an eyebrow. “Are you really?”

Roger nodded, sighing deeply. His arms were spread out at either side of him as he drifted back. “Yes. I'm so sorry.”

You took a step back, getting a better look at Roger. He looked utterly hopeless but equally as enticing. “Princess,” you said, snapping your fingers. He looked at you from beneath his eyelashes. Beckoning him forward, you gave him your next instruction. “Come here and kneel at my feet.”

It was the lewdest thing you had ever seen. The most handsome man you had ever seen, crawling on all fours across the room, coming to rest at your feet. Like an obedient puppy, eager to please its master, he gazed up at you. The amount of venom you had grown so accustomed to seeing in him whenever he looked at you had dissipated entirely.

“Are you ready to show me how sorry you are?”

With a coy look on his face, Roger responded: “yes, Boss.”

You loved that term. ‘Boss.’ So much that it earned Roger a ruffle of his hair. “Now, you’re not allowed to touch me just yet, Princess,” you warned, backing away to unzip your dress.

Roger’s eyes were fixed on you as he sat on his knees, waiting patiently for you to shed your clothes. He ached to have you, fumbling his hands in his lap while you shimmied the tight, crimson fabric down your curves. His cock was still begging for release. You could see that much, even with his hands partially covering it.

“And you’re most certainly not allowed to touch yourself until I tell you,” you scolded, unclasping your bra.

Roger made it clear that he had no plans to, dropping his hands down by his sides. Instead, he opted to dig his teeth down into his lip. He was practically panting as your underwear slipped down to your ankles.

“Do you like what you see?” you asked.

Roger’s mouth was agape, unable to respond.

When you sashayed his way, he instinctively moved into your path, filled with the hope of being able to finally touch you.

But his hopes were dashed when you bypassed him and settled on the edge of the bed.

Once again, you clicked your fingers, pointing at the floor in front of you. “If only those groupies of your’s could see how pathetic you are right now, Princess,” you began, pushing back rogue strands of his hair. “You’re so obedient for me. You’d do anything for me right now, wouldn’t you?” you asked, trailing your finger over Roger’s jawline.

“Yes.”

“I think you should call me Boss,” you prompted.

“Yes, Boss.”

You could feel how agitated Roger was becoming.

He was so close to you, he swore he could smell your arousal. His prize, mere inches away from his face.

Finally, you pulled him into you by his hair.

“Show me how sorry you are.”

[4/4]

You and Roger stayed silent, waiting for the lift to the lobby. Your bandmates were already down there, enjoying breakfast and you couldn't wait to join them. Anything was better than the agitated awkwardness between you and Roger.

You hoped that last night might have cleared the air between you, but it had the opposite effect. You knew that when you woke up in an empty bed.

You both stared ahead, waiting for the doors to ding open. Roger folded his arms, blowing a strand of his hair up into the air. You danced from foot to foot, with your hands thrust into the pockets of your jacket.

It felt like an age before the doors slid apart. Both of you rushed forward, only for your bodies to collide. “Sorry,” Roger grumbled, moving aside. “After you.”

The journey from the fifteenth floor, down to the first, seemed even longer as you stood on opposite sides, the whimsical elevator music occupying the silence. You prayed someone would get in and join you around floor seven when Roger dared to glance at you. But you were granted no such luck. Instead, Roger’s lips were moving before you knew it, a heavy, annunciated, “don’t you dare breathe a word to anyone,” seething from them.

You gave a flippant nod, smirking. “How’s your arse?”

“I mean it,” Roger added, his eyes manic as the lift reached the bottom of the shaft. “And my arse is fine. The lotion helped. Thank you.”

“Good.”

All of your bandmates had assembled in a faraway corner of the dining room. Even from that far off, they filled the room with excited chatter and hilarity, earning them disapproving looks from the other guests. All despite the hangovers they were undoubtedly nursing. Like every other morning.

And then they clocked you and Roger.

From one end of the table to the other, silence fell when you sat down. You squeezed in beside Brian and Deacy. “Don’t stop on our account,” you quipped, throwing a napkin over your lap.

Roger picked a space opposite you, between Steve and Freddie, grimacing as he lowered himself on to the seat.

“Roger’s clearly had a rough evening,” Deacy chuckled from behind his hand.

You cursed underneath your breath when Roger’s features darkened. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.

“I’m just saying, whoever did you last night must have been pretty rough with you,” Deacy explained. “How big was he?”

Tugging your lower lip between your teeth, you rolled your eyes. The jig was up. And they knew everything.

“Right boys - and girl,” John - Queen’s manager - announced, waltzing over to the table, “the buses are loaded up. Let’s get to Edinburgh.”

Everyone around you got up and filed out of the room. Except for Roger. His eyes were glued to you. You hung back until he got to his feet and you left the dining room together, staying out of earshot of the others. “I mean it,” he muttered, lighting a smoke. “If you breathe a word of this to them-”

“Roger! For the last time, I’m not going to say anything.”

Roger paused in the middle of the lobby, turning to face you. His cheeks were flushed, and his nostrils flared. He wasn’t in a joking mood. “Why do I get the feeling they know?”

“Because you’re a lousy actor,” you jibed, slapping his side.

He seized your wrist, leaning into you, “They can't know about us.”

“So we’re back to this?” you asked, widening your eyes and challenging his stance. “Remember what happened last night because of that mouth of yours.”

Roger huffed, storming off. He knew you had beat him. This time.

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

From the side of the stage, you watched as Roger wandered towards his kit, throwing a glance over his shoulder at you. He hovered over his stool for a second, eyes down, as if he was mentally attempting to navigate the best way to tackle the situation. Until, finally, he bit the bullet and plonked himself down with an audible grunt.

Entertained, you grinned, trying to cover your mouth with the cuff of your jacket.

Like a well-oiled machine, Queen’s soundcheck didn’t take long. Towards the end of their run-through, you stalked through Roger’s band members and stopped in front of him. His face was etched with discomfort with every little move he made. He tried to relieve the pain by sucking on a cigarette, but every twist and turn of his body had his eyes squeezing closed. In the back of your mind, you knew he deserved this after everything he said about you. But you just couldn’t help yourself.

“Need me to rub more of that lotion on that bum of yours, Rogie?” you cooed.

Roger threw away his smoke and glared at you. Then he spat a venomous, “fuck off,” before continuing into Queen’s next track.

Not wanting to rub salt into Roger’s wounds any longer, you got on your way. Back to your dressing room, to tart yourself up for the night ahead. Your thoughts turned to what you would wear tonight; how you might do your hair and your make up. And how you were sick of those platform boots - an integral part of your nightly getup. Your feet ached just thinking about having to wear those for another show. Your poor arches deserved a rest.

So immersed in your own mind, you hadn’t noticed the rapid footsteps echoing through the hallway. Or the fact that the music from the stage had ceased. Not until someone grabbed your arm and spun you around.

Roger.

He looked around before leaning in close. “What the hell were you thinking? Anyone could have heard you out there.”

You giggled, feeling a rush of nerves flood your stomach. “I couldn’t resist, you just looked so adorable up there.”

Roger pushed you against the wall. He wasn’t playing games anymore. “I know why you do this. You’re so fucking insecure you need to control everything.”

You could feel your cheeks flush. Roger was turning the tables on you, and you were so helpless to stop him. You tried to explain. “Roger I-”

“I think you’d look amazing on your knees, by the way,” Roger added, loosening his grip.

How could he get to you? Just like that?

Roger traced his thumb across your lower lip.“A mouthful of cock, and that mascara running down those cheeks,” he continued, pinching your cheek. “You could be gorgeous if you weren’t such a bitch.”

Batting away Roger’s wrist, a pang of hurt seared through you. You had to get away from him.

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

It played on your mind all night. The feeling that you had finally got somewhere with Roger. You might finally be scratching the surface.

But then he made it personal.

Maybe he was right, though? Maybe you were insecure? Maybe you always had to be in control?

He was right.

The music in the bar blared so loudly that the bass pounded through your chest. The air hung so thick that it made breathing near impossible. The only thing you could focus on was the tequila and Roger. A glorious sense of masochism kept you firmly planted on your seat, preventing you from leaving. What else could you do? Go back to the hotel and think about Roger?

Downing another shot, you slumped over the bar. You had lost count of how many of those little blighters coursed through your system, but, studying the shot glass between your fingers in the dim purple haze, you concluded that it still wasn’t enough.

So you bought the whole bottle, carelessly pouring yourself another line of them.

“Rough night?” a voice asked from the stool next to you.

You were ready to blurt out a scathing response. Until you realised it was Roger, looking tired and bedraggled. He looked good, though, as always. Your mouth just hung open, no sound coming out of it.

“I was really harsh earlier-”

Before Roger could finish his apology, you cemented your lips to his own. Your tongue bypassed them as it skirted over his. He tasted like tequila and cigarettes, and you couldn’t get enough of him, pulling him closer, tugging at his hair. He gave a muffled groan, pushing you off him by your shoulders.

“What was that for?” he sighed.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your chest burdened with nerves.

Roger pondered that for a split second, nodding to himself. “Alright.” Then his attention turned back to you, with an expression so laden with lust it almost made your heart stop. “Let’s go back to my room.”

The second the door to Roger’s suite closed, you had him pressed to the wall. Shedding his coat. Then his shirt. Moving closer to the floor until you were on your knees. The excitement had gone straight to his cock, which strained against his jeans just inches from your face. You wasted no time in tugging down his zipper and wrapping your hand around his girth. Impressive, you thought. He was bigger, thicker than you remembered from last night.

Roger watched in quiet awe as your gazed up at him, licking a long strip over the underside of his cock, dancing the tip of your tongue over the swollen head.

“I’ve been thinking about this all night,” you admitted. A surge of shame and need coursed through you, leaning forward to take as much of him as you possibly could, working your way up to a pace that earned you hushed, contented sighs from Roger.

His hand gently tangled through your hair, taking you with him as he supported himself against the wall. “You look so fucking beautiful,” he groaned.

It was exactly what you needed to hear. You sank back on your knees, pumping your hand around Roger’s cock. A broad smile broke over your features, gazing up at him, “do you really think I’m beautiful?”

“So beautiful,” he replied, running his fingers through your hair. “But I love that gorgeous mouth of yours the most. Let me see what you can do with it,” he encouraged, guiding you back to his cock.

You duly complied. Taking so much of him made tears sting at the corner of your eyes, gagging desperately. But something willed you on. The heat between your legs grew. You just wanted to please him, and to have him say sweet things to you.

But it was no good.

Something about it didn’t sit right with Roger. “Kitten?” he said, trying to back away from you, the wall getting in his way. "Kitten?"

When it was clear that had fallen on deaf ears, he had to tear you away from him, placing his fingers under your chin to look at him again. “This doesn’t feel right,” he sighed, before wandering away from you.

You turned around, following him with your eyes across the room from your spot on the floor. The tears were flowing from embarrassment more than anything now. “What’s wrong, Roger?”

He sat down at the edge of the bed, patting the space beside him. “You’re not yourself.”

It took every bit of energy you could muster to scramble to your feet and stumble over to him.

But it was worth it, throwing yourself down beside him and nestling into his chest. “You’ve been a prick to me all day,” you sulked, trying to focus on how good he smelled. How soothing the gentle rise and fall of his body felt around you. How warm he was. Bliss.

Roger placed a firm kiss to the top of your head. “You haven’t even given me a chance to apologise for that.”

That earned him a glare from you.

“What happened to that strong badass babe from last night, hm?” he asked, giving your shoulder a shake. “I quite liked it when you were in charge. I’m not used to it, sure, but I liked it. And I'm sorry I snapped at you. I just don't want everyone knowing my business before I've even figured it all out yet. It's confusing for me.”

“You just don’t have to be a total prick about it. I know we agreed that no one can know, but I don’t know whether I’m coming or going with you.”

“I’d rather you were coming,” Roger chuckled.

“I'm serious,” you huffed, flopping on to your back.

Roger turned on to his tummy and took your hand. His eyes closed as he peppered delicate kisses across your knuckles. “I’m sorry.”

You sighed, staring up at the ceiling. “What you said to me earlier. About me being insecure. You really hit the nail on the head. But sometimes, I don’t feel like… you know… That person you think I am.”

“How about,” Roger began hiking himself up on to his elbows. His eyes narrowed, at a loss for the right thing to tell you.

“How about what?” You asked, curling strands of his hair through your fingers.

Roger sighed, smirking. “I think that’s why you and I found each other.” He gave the mattress a quick swat. “How about that?”

You covered your eyes, grinning. “What does that even mean, Roger?”

“Well, I clearly need someone to keep me in check. And I know you’ve got it in you.”

“Have you even been listening to me?”

“Yes!”

“Did you hear the part about me not always being like that?”

Roger crawled on top of you. The light from the crystal chandelier formed a halo around him. “But I can make you feel like that person,” he beamed so innocently, it almost made you melt. “I’ll worship you day and night if I have to.” He paused, pursing his lips. “In secret, of course. We've both got appearances to maintain.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re not exactly a good old fashioned lover boy.”

He leaned down, kissing the tip of your nose. “But I could be, Kitten.”

That made your heart flutter. "I quite like that."

#roger taylor x reader #roger taylor #queen

105 notes · View notes

quincywillows · 5 years ago

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how do you plan out your books/wips bc I have a solid idea and pretty much a billeted list of what I want the plot to be and how my book goes but I’m lost at outlining everything in a coherent and organized way it’s highkey frustrating

okay i’m going to do my best to try and give some helpful tips here for how you can organize your thoughts, and i’ll take it from the perspective of both fics, novels, and just general story ideas! a lot of the principles i follow overlap, and obviously it differs by project (and by writer, for example me and my roommates have completely different outlining styles), this is just what has worked for me so far. hopefully it’ll give ya some things to chew on!

firstly, to make sure i’m orienting myself correctly -- from what i understand, it sounds like you’ve already got a sense of what your beginning, middle, and end is. not beat-by-beat, but the general gist of it. this is already a lot of progress, so kudos!! it can be hard to get from just that general warm and fuzzy and exciting idea phase to an actual concrete sense of what you want to plot to be, so feel good about that. it’s not easy work.

i think what you’re now trying to do is get your ideas down into a tangible format that you can follow to start actually working on it, yes? if so, here are some of my thoughts.

method #1: phase-by-phase, beat-by-beat method

i’m starting with the sort of straightforward outlining method here just because that’s what i’ve employed with quincy willows, so it’s most fresh in my mind. when it came to outlining quincy willows so i could start actually writing it down in concrete scenes, i decided to visualize my story by beat rather than by chapter or major plot points. “beat” is a sort of loose storytelling term that means different things to different people -- for me, it’s not a set “scene” (some beats include 2 - 3 scene changes), but more so an important emotional or context moment. this could be a reveal of information, it could be a relationship building scene, it just in some way drives the story forward even if its just the tiniest step.

how this ended up panning out was that i actually divided my full story into “phases.” these are sort of like the stereotypical “acts” in classic storytelling structure, but less strict on how they’re interpreted. so i can have 7 “phases” to quincy willows, for example:

for me, each of those reflects a distinct SECTION of the story where a major development is occurring plot wise, and sort of roughly reflects story structure. (new kid in school is through the “inciting incident”, unlikely partnership & secrets unravel is up to the midpoint, inevitable decay & halloween are the rising action, and the final gamut is the climax).

within each of those phases, there could be anywhere from 6 - 12 beats. by sort of outlining what the general progression of things would be and what beats i THOUGHT would be included where, i was able to create a good enough skeleton of an outline that i felt comfortable starting to actually write. but one thing i think is important to note is that the phases and beats are totally flexible. i’ve deleted beats entirely, i’ve moved beats between phases, i’ve added beats where i felt like something was missing. it’s a malleable outline, and i think you should never feel tethered to an outline. it’s a roadmap, but it’s not the only way to get to your destination. sometimes, your story will change on you, and that’s okay. hear it out! you can make the decision to stick to your original plan or adjust accordingly.

then, i’ll also say, once i have my general idea of my beats down i will go in and almost... like basically, every beat gets about three synopses. there is the “title,” which is the most basic, often quippy take on what is happening in the story. then i have the “logline,” which is the essence of the beat boiled down to one or two encompassing sentences. then, i have a greater description of what is happening in that scene emotional turning point by emotional turning point. so, to use qw again as an example:

this is the title (up top) and then the logline. when i go into the actual scene on scrivener, i have my notes about all the things that happen in the actual scene which i worked off of to write the scene. but even then, i don’t always follow the original idea of my notes explicitly. sometimes i don’t think an idea works all that great anymore by the time i’m actually writing it, and that’s okay. it’s flexible!

one thing i have loved about this outline structure is it allows me to write out of order. i can jump in and work on whichever beat feels fresh and exciting to my brain, which is so helpful for working on a long project that needs a complete draft from the get-go like quincy willows. however, on projects like fanfic where i can take my time, want to write and post in order, etc...

method #2: bare bones outline

full disclosure -- i have written all the lonely people with a bare bones outline since its inception. sure, i have a whole little doc where i wrote down all the major themes, plotlines, and emotional beats i wanted to cover, but as far as structuring it and deciding what would go into each chapter (especially the early chapters), i mostly winged it.

this is where a looser outline can be a nice approach. you sort of outline how long you want the project to be (i.e., atlp is 16 chapters), and you have a vague IDEA of the Major thing that will happen in each chapter (“11 and 12 are the back story chapters,” “10 is where the romantic tension will finally snap but also they’ll have their fallout that they have to come back,” “4 will be the first kiss”). but then you just start working on the beginning, and as ideas come to you you can toss them in the general realm of each chapter without explicitly outlining when each and every beat will happen. that allows you to start walking around in the world of your project and playing with the characters rather than waiting until you have a Perfectly Perfect outline. you know?

then, usually, when i prepare to write a new chapter (atlp... i’m coming for u in december baybee), i will examine the little beat ideas i had and try to construct a more concrete mini-outline of that chapter alone before diving in. sometimes i do, sometimes i don’t -- but it goes to show that depending on the story, you don’t need a super strict outline to follow.

but even then, if you’re still feeling lost, i feel like the most tried and true method is honestly...

method #3: let it marinate

it might very well be you’re just not yet ready to jump into actually digging the narrative yet. and that’s totally chill. i came up with the initial nugget of an idea for quincy willows in sept of last year, let it exist as a fic for about 4 months, and then took it down in like dec to start working on it as an original work (bc that’s really what it was). i then thought about it for 6 months until the outline jumped out of me basically fully formed over 2 days in early june. so that’s... 9 - 10 months of ruminating and thinking about character and worldbuilding and jotting down notes and making playlists and talking to friends -- that’s almost a whole year of just wiggling in the idea until i stretched it out enough to start seeing the writing on the wall.

i hope all of this is a help in some way, or at least gives you things to think about that guide you in the right direction for you! let me know if there’s any other way i can help or things you’d like advice on. i will try my best to articulate well and offer some insight haha. you got this, writer friend!!

#writing #writing tips #writeblr #writers of tumblr #writerblr #writing gabs #maggie.txt #i hope this makes sense LOL #other pals feel free to share ur methods + other ideas!#Anonymous #ask and you shall receive

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literallynothingbutvictuuri · 6 years ago

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Hello, loves! So, I recently saw another masterlist post like this and as I’ve written a fair number of victuuri fics, I thought it could be fun to make one as well!!

I’ve written 27 Victor/Yuuri fics (no other ships involved) and all of them (except for one) are complete! This list compiles all of them neatly together and I can give some author insight into my own personal favorites versus which ones are my most popular, etcetera.

The list will be compiled in alphabetical order! All relevant tags, ratings, author’s notes, and short(er) summaries will be shown in an organized manner.

If interested, click the read below! Much love to you all and I hope you’ll like one of them, maybe!!! ❤️❤️

KEY: ** = author’s favorite bolded = top 3 kudos’d IMG = embedded images in fic

Abstract Intuition ~ Teen/3.2k words ~ Introspection, Japanese Myths, Dreams vs. Reality ~ a/n: weird! loved writing it though ~ in which Yuuri understands more about himself than he thinks he does and believes in a Japanese supernatural being

Aegri somniavana ~ Teen/2.3k words ~ Major Character Death, Heavy Angst, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Depression, Panic Attacks ~ a/n: sad! sad sad sad! if you don’t want to be sad, do not read this! ~ “The love of a half-dead heart will keep you half alive”

a blessing in disguise ~ Teen/WIP~ AUs: Fantasy & Royalty, Witch Curses, Fairy Tale Elements, Mutual Pining, Magic & Wizards, Light Angst, Fluff & Humor, Child Victor (at times) ~ a/n: one of my favorites concept-wise, will update one day! ~ Victor gets cursed. Yuuri does not. Yuuri most definitely feels like he is though.

can’t buy love, but you can try if you’re a ridiculous man like Victor Nikiforov ~ General/495 words ~ SAPPY, old victuuri ~ a/n: domestic victuuri makes me so soft :’’) ~ Victor loves spoiling his grandchildren.

Chair AU (series with 2 fics) ~ General/505 words ~ why ~ a/n: yes it’s that fic the terrible and infamous chair au, yes i wrote that, yes i am aware of its contents, yes it is ridiculous ~ yuuri is a chair

ethereal ~ General/877 words ~ Introspection, Canon Compliant ~ a/n: romantic drabble ~ realizations

even Time ~ Mature/18k words ~ Time Travel Fix-It With A Twist!, AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Poisoning, Depression, Complicated Relationships, Non-Linear Narrative ~ a/n: this was my 2nd yoi fic! there are two ways to read it (one chapter for each way). this is quite sad, but also… not ~ in which yuuri and victor get it wrong until time comes in and allows for them to get it right

finally ~ General/1.8k words ~ Mutual Pining, High School AU, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Oblivious Katsuki Yuuri, Fluff ~ a/n: ngl i wrote this so quickly and did not expect people to like it as much as they did ~ in which everyone got the memo that Yuuri and Victor are “totally dating” except for Yuuri

going places ~ Teen/1.2k words ~ Pre-Canon, AU- Canon Divergence, Self-Reflection, Adolescent Sexuality ~ a/n: my first fic!!!!!!!! i wrote this right after ep 3 was released, this was basically my take on how victor and yuuri knew each other before the reveal in ep 10 :3 ~ viktor remembers and yuuri helps

hearts beat ~ Teen/1.4k words ~ Introspection, Angst, Canon Compliant, Insecurity, set after the beginning of episode 12 ~ a/n: i wrote this for a friend actually :3 this isn’t as sad as people seem to think? like? it’s better afterward as seen in the show? people acting like i broke them up smh ~ Yuuri doesn’t see what Victor sees in him.

in sickness & in health ~ General/511 words ~ Sappy, Sickfic, Domestic ~ a/n: cute drabble :( ~ Yuuri takes care of his whiny and sick husband.

in sync ~ Teen/442 words ~ Introspection, Falling in Love ~ a/n: soft :( ~ heartbeat

inevitable ~ Teen/972 words ~ True Love, Domestic, Insecurity, Sappy Fluff ~ a/n: this is probably my favorite work for domestic victuuri ~ Victor had a bad day and comes home and snaps at Yuuri. Cue little fight and makeup. :)

love (leaf) pile ~ General/354 words ~ Fluff, Victor is Extra ~ a/n: this one was so fun to write! ~ Yuuri shows Victor the glory that is jumping in leaf piles!!

love letters are too cliché ~ Teen/7.2k words ~ Pen Pals, Fluff, Light Angst, Mutual Pining, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Coming Out, College AU (sort of), Letters ~ a/n: this was definitely one that took a lot of me to write for some reason but i’m proud of how it ended up uwu ~ Viktor and Yuuri are pen pals. They both get more out of it than they originally thought.

moonstruck ~ General/712 words ~ Canon Compliant, True Love, Gentle Kissing ~ a/n: i think this was my first ever drabble? i was so soft when writing it ~ moon·struck (adjective): unable to think or act normally, especially because of being in love.

Much To Do About Everything ~ Teen/24.8k words ~ Enemies to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Misunderstandings, Humor, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Fluff and Angst, Rivalry ~ a/n: this work is more dialogue heavy than my others and it was very fun to write that dialogue :) ~ Victor and Yuuri won’t stop complaining about each other. Phichit and Chris, being the wonderful best friends that they are, just want them to shut the hell up. Starfleet Academy/Star Trek/Much Ado About Nothing AU

**Pigeon Alley ~ IMG ~ Teen/35.5k words ~ Famous Actors Victuuri, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Insecurity, Implied/Referenced Alcoholism/Alcohol Abuse, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Non-Linear Narrative, Friends to Lovers to Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Media Attention ~ a/n: one of my personal favorites, writing this fic helped me in more ways than one ~ What’s meant to be will always find a way. Victor and Yuuri? They’re meant to be.

the rain before the rainbow ~ IMG ~ Teen/7.6k words ~ ANXIETY, Anxiety Attacks, Insecurity, Introspection, Post-Canon, Angst with a Happy Ending, Lack of Communication, Sick Makkachin ~ a/n: one of my more emotionally taxing fics honestly but working with Bee was so fun ~ Yuuri is anxious about marrying Victor.

recovery & the sun ~ Teen/1.2k words ~ Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Character Study, Recovery, Drabble ~ a/n: one of my my darkest fics (if not the darkest) and also one where i wrote it just to project some of my own feelings ~ Yuuri understood in a way that Victor had never expected, had never even hoped.

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy ~ Explicit/1.7k words ~ Anal Sex, Porn with Feelings, basically Yuuri rides Victor while Victor wears a cowboy hat, kind of a crack fic? ~ a/n: fjfjfjfjfjfjjfjfjjfj why ~ When Victor receives a cowboy hat from a fan, Yuuri may or may not want to devastate him.

strength ~ Teen/1.1k words ~ Gender Dysphoria, Trans Katsuki Yuuri, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Established Relationship ~ a/n: so this fic haunts me bc i think i misinterpreted the prompt wrong (didn’t see the “him” at the end there) and a big part of me wishes i wrote yuuri as a trans GUY and i feel bad whenever i think about this fic but some people liked it and yeah ~ Yuuri feels dysphoric and Victor comforts her.

sunflower ~ Teen/1.2k words ~ Slight Angst, Introspection, Femininity, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Fluff, Sappy ~ a/n: one of my fave drabbles! uwu~ Yuuri realizes it’s okay to like wearing dresses.

touch ~ General/439 words ~ True Love, Anxiety ~ a/n: this is also another one of my fave drabbles ~ Viktor and Yuuri express their love through touch.

**The Universe’s Secrets ~ IMG ~ General/5.3k words ~ Pre-Relationship, Mutual Pining, Sappy, Introspection, Canon Compliant, Tension, Relationship Study, Developing Relationship ~ a/n: another fic that took a lot of me but i’m proud of writing and ALSO another fic where i very much enjoyed working with jercy~ 3 times Victor smiles at Yuuri + 3 times Yuuri smiles at Victor.

The World Opened With You ~ IMG ~ Teen/10.6k words ~ Famous Victuuri, Violinist Victor, Pianist Yuuri, Musician AU, Depression, Family Issues, Sappy, Introspection ~ a/n: this fic really popped off huh !! i honestly never expected it to and it meant a lot that it did and thank you STILL nikai for making gorgeous artwork, i really loved working with him too :( ~ Victor and Yuuri are paired up to play a duet together. More things come from it than expected.

#mine #victuuri #viktuuri #yoi #yuri on ice #fic rec #honest to god i started making this months ago like i saw that masterlist recently months ago but have just now finished it and yeet #i was gonna finish it when i had completed all my fics but idk when i'll finish a blessing in disguise so

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ylizam · 6 years ago

Note

I simply have to know about "pants telepathic bond maybe this time before christmas"

okay so this is draft approximately seventeen thousand of a Berena fic I started when Bernie left for Kiev, that’s how long I’ve been working on this thing. it’s basically my white whale I will finish it or perish in the process fic. so! all drafts are titled “pants telepathic bond” because that’s what it’s about! the “maybe this time before christmas” means “hey, self, maybe finish a draft before christmas this year.” (note: between yuletide and secret santa, I likely wont. but it’s a goal.) previous drafts had names like “pants telepathic bond what about valentine’s day.”

so the premise is: Serena suddenly hears Bernie’s voice in her head one day during surgery and all of a sudden she keeps hearing it, but it’s all stuff like “is this milk bad?” and “I think this bra smells” and whatnot and not anything meaningful. and she tries reaching out to Bernie telepathically but gets no response (because Bernie is likewise only hearing things like “just one more glass and then to bed” and “bloody fish and chips night ” and not anything Serena actually wants her to hear). now previous drafts included some Bernie POV and them actively not talking about it for far too long for it not to be super annoying for me and any reader and basically I poke at it and poke at it and there are scenes straight from canon littered in some drafts and not in others (honestly the continuity is a Mess) (but I hate-love trying to work through the Mess because it can be so satisfying) and I finally, probably, made a breakthrough recently wherein they actually talk sooner because otherwise it’s Too Much (but also they can still think it’s not a “real” bond because god forbid they hear each other over their own issues). anyway! Guy Self cameos as the expert on bonds. Both Serena and Bernie are required to go into therapy as part of the process. Here’s an excerpt:

It keeps happening. Toothbrush in her mouth–really need to do the washing today, this smells–spitting out mint and foam and staring at her face in the mirror. Stirring dinner as it bubbles away on the hob. Driving to work. Lingering in their office after her shift as Bernie continues to avoid her. In and out of reception, once then twice and suddenly three, four, five times per day: Bernie’s thoughts beamed into Serena’s brain clearer than the Archers.

“We’re late,” Jason says, one particularly grey morning. He reaches for his umbrella, picks up Serena’s as well. Likely to save her the time dithering over whether or not to bring it. “Again.” Pointedly.

“Yes, Jason, I know,” Serena says. In her mind, Bernie fuzzily wonders about the box of dusty tea bags in her cabinet, and Serena hefts her bag over her shoulder. Locks the door behind her as she follows Jason to the car. Her hair is still damp, and she tries to remember whether she still has product for it in her office.

“Maybe if you didn’t drink so much,” Jason offers, “You wouldn’t oversleep quite so often.”

“All right,” Serena says. She stabs at the car fob. Winces at the beep. “I may have overdone it a touch last night.”

“You drank at least two bottles of wine–”

“–that isn’t quite,” Serena tries to explain (one bottle was almost empty to begin with, or at the very least it was already open at the start of the evening)–

“–you left the bottles on the counter overnight, so I had to put them in the recycling this morning–and stayed up half the night reading those books that came in the post,” Jason says. He buckles his seatbelt carefully. Watches as Serena does the same, as she starts the car and checks her mirrors. “You didn’t go to bed until half past two; you woke me with your off-key singing.” Serena can feel the flush burning across her cheeks.

“I’m not sure,” she starts. The clock judges her from the console: one minute ticking over to the next, seemingly far too fast. “Which is to say,” she says, “Oh, hell, we really are going to be late.”

“I told you,” Jason says. “Traffic patterns at this hour of the morning suggest that our best route–”

-a new bra, this one’s–

“Auntie Serena,” Jason says. He sounds half-panicked, half-angry, half–well, nothing good.

Bernie half-dressed flashes in front of her eyes. Bernie’s thoughts suddenly start cycling too fast in Serena’s mind, one on top of the other with no end in sight: she’s going through her laundry, wrapping a towel around her body, drying her hair. Serena can’t drive like this. Shaking, shaken, unable to focus. She can’t work like this.

“I’m calling a taxi,” she says. She pulls up her contacts, presses Holby Cars and steels herself to hold for the next available dispatcher. While she waits she plans out her day: paperwork as long as she can stand it, avoiding the ward, theatre, and the growing inevitability that she’s going to have to book an appointment with Guy Bloody Self.

Bernie’s voice whites out. The taxi honks its horn. Jason keeps glancing over at her, uncharacteristically silent in the face of the incomprehensible; Serena promises herself that she’ll explain it all to him, just as soon as she figures things out herself.

[ask me about my wip folder!]

#a thing that i wrote #wip folder asks #&serena;#oh bernie #you really are the world's okayest lesbian #long post #berena #holby city #my bullshit writing process #next up is non-monogamous apparently #(but that will have to be when i get home #because the current draft is on my laptop #and not in gdocs like i thought #that gdoc is just some notes and the name)

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lessawildmoon · 6 years ago

Text

Together - Chapter 2

Title: Together

Summary: Emma and Graham escaped Neverland to Emma’s world together as teenagers and despite being separated, they later managed to find each other and build a life together. So what happens when her biggest secret from their time apart knocks on their door?

Pairings: Gremma and Snowing

Rating: T

Notes: This is a S1 AU that was plotted and planned during 3a. I may incorporate some later canon, but I also may ignore later canon that does not fit. Also, as I usually only post complete fic, here’s your warning that this is WIP.

Beta thanks to @arianakristine

AO3

Chapter 2

Emma woke up alone the next morning. She and Graham had stayed up for a while reading about the curse and her supposed role in breaking it. She still wasn’t quite sure she believed she was the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming and she didn’t even know if the part of her that did wasn’t just wishful thinking that there was a good reason why her parents abandoned her. They had finally called it a night and settled down to sleep, both very firmly on their own side of the bed, silently agreeing to avoid the fight they knew was coming for the moment but still not able to come together. They usually slept as close to each other as they could, by the time they woke up either she would be sprawled over him, or he curled round her, but not this night. It had taken a while for either of them to get to sleep.

She assumed he had gone out to get some air. They had driven through plenty of woods on their way into town so he wouldn’t have a shortage of places to go to help him centre himself. Even after his time here, he still felt most at home in the wild, and she honestly wouldn’t change that, despite how inconvenient it got living in the middle of nowhere. But usually he would leave a note if he was going out, so she knew he was still pissed at her. She reminded herself that he had every right to be and wished for not the first time since last night that she hadn’t kept this a secret. But that ship had sailed and she was just going to have to live with the consequences and hope she could make it up to him.

Once she was ready, she went downstairs to the diner where she let Ruby know that they might be staying a few more days before ordering some breakfast. She knew it was likely to be a while before her husband returned so she took a seat at the counter and started people watching, idly wondering if she could work out people’s supposed fairy tale identities.

She spotted the Sheriff around the same time he saw her and he approached her.

“Miss Hunter. I’m surprised to see you still around. I would have thought you would have been back home by now.”

“It was late last night so we decided to stay the night before leaving. And it’s Mrs. Hunter.”

“You’re married.” He seemed surprised. “Well you might want to leave as quickly as possible, the mayor does not like disruptions.”

Ok, she had no idea who this guy could be but he was giving her seriously skeevy vibes. She was about to tell him that they would leave when they felt like it when the mayor burst in calling for him.

“Sydney! Henry’s run away again. We have to…” When Regina saw her stopped and looked at her in shock for a moment before continuing. “What is she doing here? Do you know where he is?”

“Honey, I haven’t seen him since I dropped him at your house.” The last thing she needed was to get accused of kidnapping the kid.

“Mrs. Hunter was just explaining how she and I assume her husband decided to stay the night given how late it was when they got here.”

“You’re married?” Derision and disbelief virtually dripped from her voice.

“Yeah, why is that so hard to believe?” Wanting to get the conversation off her marital status and back on the missing kid, she asked. “When did you last see him?”

“Last night, he wasn’t in his room this morning.”

“Did you try his friends?” Emma knew that if he didn’t show up soon she would be the prime suspect so figured it was in her best interest to help find him. She was starting to wonder how the mayor was having so much trouble keeping track of one ten year old kid.

“He doesn’t really have any. He’s kind of a loner.” The words reminded Emma of her own to her fake date the previous night and her she felt a pang in her heart at the thought of the kid growing up as lonely as she did.

“Every kid has friends. Did you check his computer? If he’s close to someone, he’d be emailing them.”

“And you know this how?” Regina really didn't seem to think much of her ability to help and Emma reminded herself that these people had no idea who she was, they wouldn’t know that this was the one thing she was really good at.

“Finding people is what I do. Here’s an idea. How about you guys let me at his computer and I’ll help you find him.”

The computer had led them to his teacher and Emma couldn’t help but notice the unusual amount of malice that the mayor directed at Miss Blanchard. She supposed it could be due to her role in finding Emma, but it seemed more than that. When it became apparent that the teacher didn't know anything Regina stormed out, knocking a pile of books over on the way.

Emma stayed to help her pick them up. There was something about this woman that she couldn’t quite identify but she felt compelled to stay and try and figure it out.

“Sorry to bother you.” Emma said, feeling bad that Henry had dragged the poor woman into the middle of this. “I’m starting to see where he gets the whole Evil Queen thing from though.”

“It’s okay. I fear this is partially my fault. I was the one who gave him the book. I thought it might help, I wasn't expecting him think it was real. Henry’s such a special boy, so smart and creative, but so lonely. ”

“How’s the book supposed to help?” She was glad to see that the teacher obviously cared about the kid, but she wasn’t sure how a book of fairy tales was supposed to have helped, even if it may not actually be fiction.

“What do you think stories are for?” She asked as they left the classroom to make their way down the hall. “These stories are classics. There’s a reason we all know them. They’re a way for us to deal with our world. A world that doesn’t always make sense. See, Henry hasn’t had the easiest life.”

“Yeah, she’s kind of a hardass.” The more time she spent with Regina the less she was happy with the situation. But she had make her choice and had no real right to interfere now.

“No, it’s more than her. He’s like any adopted child. He wrestles with that most basic question they all inevitably face – why would anyone give me away?” Miss Blanchard seemed truly horrified when she realised what she had said, and to whom “I am so sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean in any way to judge you.”

“It’s okay.” It’s not like she didn’t know that feeling, she’d spent her whole life wondering why her parents had left her at the side of the road. And it sucked. But part of the reason she had given him up was so he wouldn’t have to grow up like that, so he could be raised by someone who did want him.

“Look, I gave the book to him because I wanted Henry to have the most important thing anyone can have. Hope. Believing in even the possibility of a happy ending is a very powerful thing.”

“You know where he is, don’t you?”

“You might want to check his castle.”

She followed Miss Blanchard’s directions to a playground near the coast and saw Henry sitting on a castle themed slide looking dejectedly into the distance.

“You left this in my car.” She handed him back the book as she slid in to sit beside him, strangely reluctant to let go of it. If he and Graham are right, then that book was the closest she had come to her parents in, well, ever. She follows his gaze and realises that he is staring at the clock, still stubbornly stuck and 8:15. “Still hasn’t moved, huh?”

“I was hoping that when I brought you back, things would change here. That the final battle would begin. Because it’s your destiny to bring back the happy endings.” The kid’s faith in her was touching, Graham had been the only other person to have that kind of belief in her.

“I wish it was that simple, kid. But if I am this saviour, I doubt it’s going to be quite that easy.”

“Don’t humour me. I may be a kid, but I’m not stupid. I know you don’t believe me!”

“Hey, don’t tell me what I do or don’t believe.” That annoyed her, the kid travelled all the way to Boston on pure faith but didn't think she could believe? “I may not be fully on this whole curse bandwagon yet but you’ve already got my husband on board. My husband who, by the way, I met in Neverland, so you’re doing pretty well so far.”

“Really?” She could see how much even the thought of someone believing him meant to him in the way his face virtually lit up. “You’ve been to Neverland? Will you tell me about it?”

“Maybe someday. It’s not something we like talking about though.” That was putting it lightly. “Come on, we need to get you home.”

“Please don’t take me back there. You don’t know what it’s like with her. My life sucks!”

“I’m starting to get that, kid. But look at it this way, if she is the Evil Queen, then we need to make sure that she doesn’t suspect we are onto her. And that means I need to take you home.” She hated the thought, but she was sure he wasn’t in any immediate danger staying with Regina and at the end of the day, she was legally his mother, Emma couldn’t keep him from her. Luckily her argument seemed to have swayed him.

They were both pretty quiet as she drove him home but after he explained his plan to break the curse she did ask if they could keep the book for a little longer.

“Sure, it’s probably safer if you have it anyway.” He said as he climbed out the car. Regina opened the door before they got there and the kid ran past her and upstairs.

“Thank you.” She wasn’t sure what it was about this woman that made her so hard to read. Sometimes she was convinced that that the kid was right and she was evil, and then sometimes she seemed so genuine.

“No problem.”

“He’s seemed to have taken quite a shine to you.” She couldn’t help but smile at that, despite her efforts he had grown on her as well.

“You know what’s kind of crazy? Yesterday was my birthday and when I blew out the candle on this cake Graham bought me, I actually made a wish. In fact I always make the same wish. That he’d be ok, and happy. And then, Henry showed up.” She wasn’t sure why she was sharing so much, maybe she just needed to talk to someone about the impact of having Henry suddenly walk back into her life.

“I hope there’s no misunderstanding here.” Emma was startled out of her thoughts by the ice in the mayor’s tone.

“I’m sorry?”

“Don’t mistake all this as invitation back into his life.” Not from you at least, Henry on the other hand was begging her to stay. “Ms Hunter, you made a decision ten years ago. And in the last decade, while you’ve been… Well, who knows what you’ve been doing. I’ve changed every diaper. Soothed every fever. Endured every tantrum. You may have given birth to him, but he is my son.”

“I was not…”

“No! You don’t get to speak. You don’t get to do anything. You gave up that right when you tossed him away. Do you know what a closed adoption is? It’s what you asked for. You have no legal right to Henry and you’re going to be held to that. So, I suggest you get in your car, and you leave this town. Because if you don’t, I will destroy you if it is the last thing I do. Goodbye, Ms Hunter.”

And she back to being convinced she was evil, cause while she did get where Regina was coming from, that was way over the line. Regina had turned to re-enter the house but there was one more thing Emma had to know.

“Do you love him?”

“Excuse me?” The mayor turned back round and the venom in her voice might have put off a lesser woman but Emma was not so easily intimidated.

“Henry. Do you love him?” She asked again, there was no way she was leaving until she had her answer.

“Of course I love him.” And there they were, the alarm bells that always went off in the back of her head whenever someone lied to her. She’d been truthful up until that point, but that was lie. “Not that it is any of your business.”

“That is where you are wrong Miss Mills. You were right, I did give Henry up. And you know why, because I wasn’t even 18 and I knew that I couldn’t be what was best for him. So I put his best interests first and gave him up so he could be raised by someone who could. But in the 24 hours he has been back in my life he has run away from you twice, so while I might have been putting his best interests first, I’m not so sure you are, and I am not going anywhere until I know Henry is going to be OK.”

“Of course he is going to be OK.”

“Really? Cause that’s one troubled kid, and trust me, I know something about troubled kids.”

“He’s fine, dear. It’s all under control, any problems he has are being taken care of. That’s why I have him in therapy. Take my advice, Ms Hunter. Only one of us knows what’s best for Henry.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to think you’re right about that.”

“It’s time for you to go.” Regina said as if she really thought it was that easy.

This woman was crazy if she thought she was going to be able to intimidate her into leaving. She’d cut her teeth facing off against Peter Fucking Pan, it was going to take a lot more than vague threats to get rid of her.

“Or what?”

“Don’t underestimate me, Ms Hunter. You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

Emma realised that things were only going to get uglier if she stayed any longer so turned to leave. But only this house, she wanted to go see Dr Hopper.

Emma really supposed she should ask for her phone call. But on top of the embarrassment of falling for such an obvious set up she also wasn’t completely confident that Graham would actually answer the phone to her at the moment.

“You know the shrink is lying, right?” She was trying to argue her case the Sheriff without much luck.

“To the right, please. Why would she lie?”

“The Mayor put him up to this. She’s got to have something on him. He’s terrified of her like everyone else in this town.”

“Regina is a dedicated mayor who only wants the best for her people. You should be careful about throwing around baseless accusations.” Sheriff Glass had obviously drunk the Mayor’s kool aid so she gave up trying to convince him. She was about to suck it up, take her chances and demand her phone call when Henry ran into the station followed, to her relief, by her husband.

“Hey!” Henry seemed rather too cheerful at finding her under arrest and she could sense Graham’s amusement from across the room.

“Henry, what are you doing here?” Emma asked him.

“Apparently his mother told him that you had been arrested.” Graham filled in.

“Of course she did.” As she went to try and explain to Henry, Graham pulled the Sheriff aside to sort out her bail. It turned out Henry was fine, he thought she was gathering information for Operation Cobra, which she supposed she kind of had been in a way.

When she was finally out of handcuffs, without a single bad joke from her husband, something she would never admit to missing but did, Sydney insisted that Henry stay with him so he could return him to the mayor. Given how late it was getting they couldn’t really complain, so they started to walk back to the inn.

“So, less than one day in town and you already managed to get on the wrong side of law. I think that’s a record, even for you?”

“Shut up.” The brief return to their usual banter was comforting, even if she knew it was only temporary. “She set me up. She doesn’t know who she is messing with. I don’t care what it takes, that bitch is going down.”

“So, we’re staying then?”

“Hell yes. I am getting my son away from her if it is the last thing I do.”

“Well, let’s try and make sure it doesn’t come to that.”

“Emma look” Graham said as he caught sight of something behind them. She looked up to see that the clock in the clock tower was moving again. “Need any more convincing?”

“No, I’m on board. In fact, she’s the one who convinced me, if she hadn’t been quite so, well evil, we’d probably be on our way back to Boston by now.”

They carefully kept their conversation to the curse and the practicalities of them staying in Storybrooke for while. While she worked on commission so could drop everything on a whim, his job as a forest ranger didn’t give him the same freedom. But she was surprised to find he had already made some calls and managed to get himself temporarily assigned to the area, as they were apparently short staffed. She wouldn’t have blamed him if he had just gone home and left her to deal with this on her own, and instead, without even asking, he was making arrangements to be there for her.

When they got back to the inn it was to find Granny pacing nervously outside their room.

“Mr. and Mrs. Hunter. Oh my, this is terribly awkward. Uh, I need to ask you to leave. I’m afraid we have a ‘no felons’ rule. It�� It turns out it’s a city ordinance.” Of course it was and of course she did, so much for the hope of a peaceful night.

“Let me guess – the Mayor’s office just called to remind you.”

“You can gather your things, but I need to have your room key back.

“Actually no, you don’t. I may be out, but he,” she pointed at Graham, “hasn’t got so much as a speeding ticket, so you have no grounds to kick him out. I’ll grab my stuff and go sleep in our car.”

“Oh dear, I really wish I didn't have to, and you are still welcome in the diner. And while you can’t stay the night there is nothing to stop you visiting your husband during the day, if you need to use the facilities or anything.”

“Don’t worry, I understand.” With that, Granny bustled off and Emma went to pack her bag.

“Are you going to be OK?”

“I’ll be fine, I’ve slept worse places. And it’s not like you want to be sharing a bed with me anyway.”

“And whose fault is that?” He spun her round to face him, the anger clear on his face. “I’m not the one who has been lying for the last 6 years.”

“I know! I know this is all my fault, and I’m sorry. I screwed up big time and I don’t know how to fix it.” It was taking everything in her not to cry. She was so scared that nothing could fix it. Neither of them trusted easily and she knew that there may not be any coming back from this one. She wasn’t sure if she would’ve been able to forgive him if their positions were reversed so she didn’t know if she could expect him to, and she knew she certainly didn’t deserve it.

“I know you’re sorry and I wish that could be enough. But it isn’t, not yet. It’s going to take some time.” Sadness and weariness started to take over from the anger in his eyes, though not chasing it away completely.

“Yeah.” She finished gathering her stuff and rushed out of the room. As much as she wanted to stay, she knew better than to push him when he said he needed time, it would only make things worse. But he had left her with hope that they could fix this, and she clung to that as tightly as she could, because she didn’t know what she would do without him.

She grabbed the blanket out of the back of his car before curling up on the back seat under it and crying herself to sleep.

#Gremma #gremma appreciation #ouat ff #Emma Swan #Sheriff Graham #Once Upon a Time #my fic #fic:Together

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