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choicesficwriterscreations · 1 year ago

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CFWC Writer of the Month - Aug 2023: ao719

Each month CFWC highlights one of our talented fanfic writers, and this month’s writer of the month is @ao719. We hope you will enjoy learning more about them and their work below! The writer is selected at random. More info can be found on the navigation page.

Quick Links:

Tumblr Blog: ao719 Blog Masterlist

How do you want to be known on Tumblr? Anitah

1- When did you start playing Choices? What was the first book you played?

I first started playing in June 2018. The Royal Romance was the first book I played, and I got hooked from the end of the first chapter. At the time, they were midway through releasing TRR book 3, so I binged books 1 & 2 and finally caught up on the day of the wedding, where the chapter ended with the attack at the boutique. Then I didn’t know what to do with myself because it was the first time I had to wait a week to find out what was going to happen.

2- When and why did you join Choices fandom?

Finding Tumblr was a complete accident. I was googling something really dumb about Liam and TRR and happened to stumble across a link for a fic on Tumblr. At the time, I didn’t know what Tumblr was; I’d heard of it but had no idea what it consisted of. The fic I came across was around 40+ chapters, and I was in my glory reading this angsty story about Liam, but it wasn’t finished, so when I reached the last updated chapter, I was like, “I need more.” So I opened Tumblr and searched for more Liam fics and found a trove. I lurked for another month or so before finally making my account in September 2018.

3- How did you pick your blog name?

I wish I had some good story for it, but it’s the most basic thing, lol. It’s just my initials and a significant date. I think if I came into the fandom with the intention of actually doing something with the blog, I would have tried to come up with something a little more clever and creative, but I had zero intention of doing anything but reading. I thought about changing it a few years ago, but when I learned that I’d have to relink everything in my masterlist, it didn’t seem worth the hassle.

4- Pull up the first post in your archive, and tell us about it!

It’s from the day TRR 3 ended and it’s about how I was sad that it was over but was glad that I had all these stories to read.

5- How long have you been writing fanfiction?

I’d never written anything until I joined the fandom, so I’ve only been writing for almost five years now. The thought of writing didn’t even cross my mind when I joined the fandom, but within a couple of weeks of making my blog, I had a random idea pop up in my head, and for some reason, I decided to write it down. A few days later, after talking myself out of posting and then talking myself back into it, I bit the bullet. For me to post a story that I wrote was entirely out of my comfort zone. I’m pretty shy and tend to be more of a wallflower, so I don’t usually put myself out there, especially like that, and I’ve never been someone who does something where I intentionally set myself up, knowing there is a very good chance that I will fail. And social media on any platform can be a pretty intimidating and terrifying place when you open yourself up, especially to strangers, even by way of posting a measly little fanfic. So to say I was terrified of posting that first fic is an understatement, but I’m so glad that I did.

6- What is your favorite Choices book, and what is your favorite Choices book to write about?

The Royal Romance will always be my favorite. It was the first book I ever played and was the only one I played for well over a year (I just kept replaying over and over and over until @cocomaxley convinced me to give MotY a try, which I fell in love with). It’s my comfort book. And like every book, it definitely has its flaws, but I love it and the characters so much. And TRR is my favorite book to write about. Liam will always be my number one guy.

7- Share the first fanfic you wrote with us. Do you still like it, or would you change it if you were writing it today?

The first fic that I wrote was I Dare You. It’s not an all-time favorite of mine, but I like it well enough that I wouldn’t change anything about it.

8- What is your favorite fic that you’ve written?

This is tough because I have a few that I love for different reasons, but I think Always You will always be the most special to me because it was the first series I wrote that I can truly say I poured my whole heart into. I love that story, and I love the history between Liam and the OC, their bond, and their relationship.

9- Do you have a fic that you didn’t expect to be well received, but it was? What about one you expected to be but found could use a little more love?

When I decided to start Hopeless Hearts, I didn’t think it would be received any differently from most things I’d written before. It was an idea I’d kept on the back burner for over 2 years prior to writing it because I didn’t think it was anything spectacular or out of the box. It turned out to be my most well-received series, and it became one of my personal favorites as well.

I don’t think anything I’ve written has left me feeling as though I wished it had gotten more. I’m still surprised to this day that anyone wants to read anything I’ve written at all, so any love that my fics get is beyond appreciated.

10- If you could write only angst, fluff, or smut for the rest of your writing life, which would it be and why?

Angst (but with a HEA). I love putting my characters through the wringer before giving them that happily ever after they deserve. Whether I’m reading or writing, there’s something about feeling the pain and longing they’re going through that gets me emotionally invested. I think that’s why I love the second chance romance trope so much, too. It’s a really versatile trope, but there’s a lot of room for angst in those kinds of stories because of that established history between the characters and a past that tore them apart the first time around.

11- Do you ever recognize yourself in any of your MCs or in your writing?

I think I sprinkle a little bit of myself into all of my MCs/OCs. It’s usually something small like a favorite food, a hobby, certain mannerisms, etc. I think the one that I’ve added more of myself into than any other and can relate to the most personality wise would definitely be Charlotte.

12- What element of writing do you struggle with most?

I struggle with all of it here and there, and I’m constantly questioning whether something makes sense, if it’s flowing together, if it’s too descriptive or not descriptive enough, etc. I think the one area I most consistently struggle with is deciding where and how to end because I always want to leave my chapters with a cliffhanger or if I’m finishing something for good, I want to give it the ending it deserves.

13- Do you have any neglected work you really want to finish?

I have quite a few that are unfinished that I know I more than likely won’t ever pick back up, mostly because I just lost my mojo for them, but there are definitely some that I want to finish. I’d really like to get back to Past Meet Present one day. I don’t even remember why I got off track with writing it, and it’s been at least two years or more since I last updated it 🫣 so I’m not sure if anyone would even still be interested at this point, but I’d really like to finish that along with Breaking Point and Us Again.

14- If someone you know in real life (who isn’t involved in fandoms) asked to read your work, would you let them? If yes, what would you recommend they read first?

No. Maybe. I don’t know, lol. I try to be a “never say never” kind of person, but writing is something that I’ve done for almost five years that literally no one in my real life knows about. Not my friends, not my family, not a single soul. It’s like my dirty little secret. And it’s a little tough because it does get lonely sometimes when you have something that you love doing so much but you just feel like you can’t share or aren’t ready to share that part of yourself with even those closest to you. I’m a pretty self-conscious person, and posting on here where I can hide behind a screen is hard enough; I get nervous and have a good spike of anxiety every time I post something, no matter what it is. I don’t know if I could handle someone who knows me personally even knowing that I write, let alone actually reading something I’ve written. I’ve got the bubble gut just thinking about it 🥴

15 - Are there any writers (published authors and/or fanfic writers) who influenced your writing?

I’ve been lucky enough to talk to and befriend some amazing and talented people in the time I’ve been here who I’ve certainly looked up to when it comes to their writing talents. And there are also those writers who I got to know after I’d been writing for a while that not only continued to inspire me with their amazing stories and talent but who also became a huge support and really close friends. They were and/or are always willing to brainstorm, look over snippets, help in those moments when I’ve been extra critical of myself and feeling very unsure, and/or have just been the absolute best cheerleaders and constantly supportive and encouraging to not only me but others as well. I don’t want to make a list because I always end up forgetting someone and I don’t want to leave anyone out, but anyone that fits that bill above, you know how much I love and appreciate each one of you.

16- Which one of your stories would you most like to see as a movie/series?

I’d say either Always You or Hopeless Hearts for a movie. Series I think Full Disclosure with some Charlotte shenanigans would be pretty fun 😂

17- Do you write original fiction?

I haven’t. I’ve been asked a few times about whether I’ve thought about turning a couple of my series into original stories, but I just don’t think I’ll have the confidence to ever do it 😬

18 - What other hobbies do you have?

I do photography. I love calligraphy and making hand drawn quote signs on wood or canvas. I love to read — I’m currently in my fantasy girl era and have been obsessing over the ACOTAR series for months, lol.

19 - What’s your favorite emoji?

I use so many to express myself in conversations that I think it would be hard to pick just one. My most commonly used ones: 💀 😂 🥲 😬 😍 🥴 🥹

20: BONUS - tell us anything you’d like (if you want to).

I just want to thank CFWC for working so hard to help keep this fandom active and supporting everyone here.

To anyone who’s taken any time to read my stories and interact with me in any way, I appreciate it more than I can say.

This place has been such an escape for me over the past (almost) five years, one I’m still very much in need of. So, whether you’re a content creator, writer, artist, reader, whatever the case may be, whether we’ve interacted before or not, thank you for what you’ve done to help keep this fandom alive.

#choices fic writers creations #cfwc writer of the month #playchoices #choices the stories you play #writer of the month #ao719 #august 2023 #choices fanfic #playchoices fanfic

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cycwrites · 1 year ago

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A (Few) Day(s) in the Life - Lingerie

A very overdue second chapter of random glimpses into the lives of my favorite girls.

This was meant to be a short, fade to black ficlet while I tried to remember how to do this words thing. Close enough.

Thank you to everyone who has ever left me a comment on AO3 (I owe so many responses over the last 3 years) or sent me a message on Tumblr, encouraging me to continue after all this time. I’m really hoping to finish a few things next year as I still owe everyone a Staubrey origin and cliffhanger reveal.

For @tiny-maus-boots and @kimmania. I honestly don’t know if I’d be here without your unending support and encouragement in life as well as writing.

And for Rylee, who somehow convinced-slash-hoodwinked me into thinking about the Mitchsen chapter, which in turn reminded me I needed to get this one done first.

Words: 3600ish (aka the 2nd shortest thing I've ever written.)

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter 1 (and the whole Nowish Universe) on AO3

Master Post for Tumblr

And just because, the Spotify playlist that helped me write pretty much every Pitch story.

A Pitch Perfect Lifetime

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~S~

Wednesday, October 11th, 2017

“Is it dumb that I’m nervous?”

Stacie turned to look at Aubrey who very clearly was avoiding looking at her. Which meant she missed the loving smile that Stacie aimed her way.

“Bree.” Aubrey didn’t turn, merely slid another hanger to the side and intently looked at the clothing behind it, which was exactly the same style and color. “There is a list of things you are not, and dumb is definitely on it.” Stacie resumed going through the rack in front of her, deciding this was one of those times that Aubrey needed to pretend they weren’t having a discussion about whatever was bothering her. She knew they’d eventually get to the heart of it. “Were you nervous with Chloe?”

A pause. “No.” Another few seconds filled with the sounds of hangers sliding along metal racks. “Chloe is home.”

“Are you saying Beca’s less?” Stacie grinned even though they still weren’t looking at each other.

“I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer.” Very snooty, very amused but then a longer pause. “But my history with Beca is more…”

“Spicy?” Stacie looked over her shoulder and saw Aubrey’s beautiful smile in profile.

“I suppose that’s one way to put it,” Aubrey agreed wryly. “But that’s not quite what I meant.”

Stacie looked around them and lowered her voice even though there was no one else near them in the shop. “You guys have been alone before.”

“Not like this, no. Not since…” Aubrey’s voice was even quieter and Stacie had to strain a little to hear it. “You and or Chloe have always been in the house or within minutes of getting home.”

“Really?” Stacie turned and rested one elbow on the rack. “I’d have sworn…” She thought for a minute, watching Aubrey’s hands as they ran down lacy fabric. Their movements were graceful but precise. Controlled.

Chloe had a convention she wanted to attend the following week and it was Stacie’s turn to go with her, leaving Aubrey and Beca at home to hold down the fort. It was something they had done many times before, but it was the first time since beginning their new shared life together.

The nerves were making a kind of sense now, Stacie mused, reaching out to run her hand down Aubrey’s back before moving past her to another rack of lingerie. She didn’t know yet what exactly was going on in her beautiful wife’s head, but since Aubrey was at least dancing around the subject, it hopefully wouldn’t be too long before she could help work through it.

Briefly she wondered if Beca was nervous before deciding that of course she was. The two women were far more alike than either of them usually admitted to. In fact, she’d almost be willing to place a large sum of money that whatever was setting off Aubrey’s nerves was at least partially in Beca’s mind as well.

“Bree?” Stacie waited until Aubrey turned and held up a random negligee. “What about this one?”

“Hmm?” She turned, eyed it narrowly from top to bottom and pursed her lips before giving a single dismissive shake of her head “No.”

As she turned away, Stacie sighed and hung it back up before moving to stand next to Aubrey and flip through the same rack, though she wasn’t paying any attention to the clothing in front of them. “Are you turning your nose up at everything in every store we’ve stopped at today because you can’t find anything you think will make a good impression on the woman who already loves you?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Another precise sliding of hangers from right to left.

“You’re using your high voice, Bree.” Stacie nudged her gently with her elbow. “The denial tone doesn’t work on me anymore.” She’d used to think it was just haughty and dismissive – and okay, sometimes it was – but now she knew that it usually hid uncertainty and a need to look in control when Aubrey felt anything but. “You could wear the Bella uniform and she’d still think you’re one of the three hottest women she’s ever seen. She’d be dying to rip it off you.”

Aubrey snorted. “That last is true – mostly because of the PTSD it would cause.”

“Ooh, yeah. That’s probably true.” She waited a moment, trying to figure out the best way to help. “It’s true though. She loves you and when I asked if you wanted to pick up matching lingerie, I didn’t mean to make you think you needed to dress up.”

“No, I know.” Aubrey glanced at her from the corner of her eye. “And I know I don’t, but…” She bit her lip in a very Chloe manner that made Stacie smile. “I want to make it special.”

“The fact that you exist makes every day special, love.” She leaned over and kissed Aubrey’s cheek. “For all of us. What’s really going on?”

With a sigh, Aubrey finally turned to face her, sheepishly meeting her eyes. “I have a lot to make up for.”

“What do you mean?” Stacie’s brow furrowed.

She wondered if there was something else she was missing, having obviously not realized that the two women had never been fully alone together before. Sure, she and Chloe hadn’t yet either – a circumstance they were happily changing next weekend as well – but that was more random luck than anything. She knew how they all felt, knew them better than herself some days, and it had never occurred to her that any of them would be hesitant. Not with how much they loved and trusted each other.

Then again, she reminded herself, they were only three months into their new phase of life. A fact that she found hard to accept since it felt like they had been together for years this way. Plus, Aubrey and Beca were built a little different. More prone to listen to their darker fears even knowing they shouldn’t. Not anymore. And now that Stacie was thinking about it that way, things started falling into place.

“I wasn’t nervous with Chloe because she’s been my home for years. But with Beca…” Aubrey continued, looking down and then back up through lowered brows. “I worry she… It’s just that, the first year I was so terrible.”

“Aubrey.” Stacie very much wanted to reach out and hold her but didn’t think it was the place even if it was the damn time. “You’re both so far past that –”

“Rationally I know that!” Aubrey raised her hands in frustration but kept her voice low. “Or tell myself I do.” She signed softly, shoulders slumping. “But does she know?”

It was said so plaintively that Stacie pulled her into a hug, potential audiences be damned. “Know what, love?”

“That she’s as necessary to my continued existence as you and Chloe.” Aubrey pressed her face into Stacie’s shoulder, the words muffled but the worry coming through loud and clear.

Stacie thought about the way Beca would sometimes watch Aubrey in their quiet moments – while one or the other was working quietly on a laptop on the couch; when Aubrey was taking pictures of her garden, trying out her artistic angles while sober – her eyes so filled with peace and love… Chloe had confided to Stacie that on at least one occasion she’d had to make up some excuse and leave the room because it had moved her to tears.

“Oh… I’m very certain she knows.” Stacie kissed the side of her head. “But I’m definitely behind Project Woo Her if that’s what you want. I will never say no to looking at all these sexy outfits and picturing you in them.” She leaned down and whispered in Aubrey’s ear. “And to imagine Beca slowly removing them from you.” There was nothing more beautiful in Stacie’s mind than the image of any of them being together.

With a laugh, Aubrey stepped back, her smile genuine and more than a touch wicked. “Don’t think you’re going wind me up and lure me into the dressing room, lover.”

Relieved at the teasing, Stacie lifted her chin at the challenge. “Don’t think I’m ever going to give up trying.” She turned Aubrey around and patted her on the ass. “Now, let’s find you something that’ll make Beca’s legs weak before you even lay one silken fingertip on her skin.” Aubrey flashed a wink over her shoulder and Stacie felt some of the tension drain from her. It was likely only temporary, but she’d just do her best to draw the rest of it out or, at the least, keep Aubrey distracted for the next week.

In part she supposed that’s why she had made the suggestion that they go shopping for the non-boring sleepwear that Beca said they should bring over. Both because she wanted to reaffirm, once again, that this was all okay and she was one million percent behind this amazing new life they were making as a foursome. But also, that she expected Aubrey and Beca to enjoy any and all of their moments alone just as Aubrey was encouraging Stacie to do with Chloe. Sure, it might be a little strange to just be two bodies instead of three or four, but they all knew each other inside and out – puns absolutely intended – and she couldn’t imagine it feeling awkward for any of them.

It certainly hadn’t phased Aubrey just a few weeks earlier when she and Chloe had finally realized what had been growing between them for years.

Then again, the rest of them didn’t have the contentious history that Beca and Aubrey did, and the last thing she wanted to do was dismiss Aubrey’s worries and make her feel worse about them. Maybe she’d just have to have a talk with Chloe to see if there was matching nerves and anxiety at the Beale-Mitchell household and see what they could do to help their partners relax. She smirked to herself as she continued that thought and realized that even if she and Chlo failed, once the other two were past the first few minutes they would help each other relax just fine. Repeatedly.

After a couple more minutes of perusing, holding up various outfits up to each other and dismissing them, Stacie pulled a white bustier and panty set and held them up. It was satin and lace, zipped down the center and it was solid with none of the peek-a-boo cutouts that she normally bought. Simple and yet it called to her to try it on.

“Hey Bree? I’m going to go try this one.”

“Oh?” Aubrey turned and Stacie held it behind her back. “Seriously?” She pouted and Stacie laughed.

“You’ll see soon enough.” The pout deepened and she relented. “I won’t make you wait until we’re home – you’ll get to decide if we buy it or not.”

“Oooh, I’m in charge today?” Aubrey’s eyebrows rose in delight.

“For now.” As Aubrey laughed behind her, Stacie made her way to the fitting rooms and found most of them unoccupied. Taking the one against the left wall, she locked the door behind her and quickly stripped, knowing that Aubrey would be drifting closer as she looked for the perfect outfit.

The straps over the shoulder were adjustable and fit comfortably and when she zipped the top closed, it wasn’t constrictive. The front of the bustier came down to points that would pair perfectly with nylons and garter straps if one were so inclined.

Each room had tri-fold mirror on one wall so shoppers could get a better idea of how everything looked from all angles and after a couple minutes of turning this way and that, Stacie decided she approved. She’d also decided that Aubrey would look utterly fucking delicious in this same outfit in black and definitely with nylons. Satisfied with how it fit her, she opened the door and found Aubrey only a little way away, holding up another bustier and panty set that was all silk, lace and almost matched the color of Chloe’s eyes.

“We’re definitely going to have to get that one for her,” Stacie said softly, leaning against the doorframe.

“Yeah?” Aubrey tilted her head as she eyed the outfit. “I think so too.” She finally turned her head and toward the dressing rooms. “I thi –” She stopped mid word, her eyes widening and her hands going slack, suddenly nerveless fingers losing their grip on the hanger and letting it fall to the ground, utterly forgotten.

It immediately brought to mind the night she’d proposed; Aubrey had reflexively dropped the rib that she’d been eating when Stacie had brought out the ring. It almost shamed her to admit it, but her ego purred under the immediate desire that lit Aubrey’s face, even as she marveled that this beautiful and complex woman was hers to love forever.

Then Aubrey was moving, a not-quite-casual swift power walk that bordered on a charge. Stacie was unprepared as her wife pushed her back into the fitting room, closing the door behind them. Stacie started laughing as Aubrey’s hands began to run over her hips and thighs; the amusement at the best reaction she had ever gotten in public from Aubrey filtering the slow building sizzle as the touches burned with serious intent.

“Bree?” The chuckles still bubbled up but they were followed quickly by the urge to moan as Aubrey’s fingertips dipped just under the edge of the panties and slid back and forth.

“Can you be quiet?” Aubrey’s lips were busy pressing kisses to her exposed upper chest and Stacie took an involuntary deep breath, lifting herself closer and it was Aubrey’s turn to chuckle against her skin.

“Me?” Stacie found herself in the unfamiliar position of having her mind short circuit and having to sprint to catch up with her normally restrained in public spouse. “You’re the loud one.”

Aubrey’s head snapped up, indignant. “I am not!” To her credit, it was whispered and not shouted like it usually was at home. The corner of her mouth twitched. “That’s Beca.” She slowly backed Stacie up until she was against the wall.

“Oh, right.” Stacie licked her lips as Aubrey’s hands resumed their wandering over her body. She flicked a look at the door and was grateful to see that even in her rush to get them in the room, Aubrey had locked it behind them. “You’re going to get us kicked out of here before we can buy these, aren’t you?”

“Not if we’re quiet.” She paused, just the slightest bit, giving Stacie the opportunity to stop things before they got too far.

As if.

“Well, I did say you’re in charge…”

With a familiar wicked glint in her eyes, Aubrey’s fingertips once again dipped under the edge of the panties but this time she pushed, her palms skimming down and taking the fabric with them until they fell to the floor. Her nails ran back up the outside of Stacie’s thighs and up her sides to trace the edge of the bustier, tickling as they barely grazed her skin. “God, you look amazing, Stacie.” She flattened her hands and ran them over Stacie’s breasts to her stomach, curving them around her ribs before retracing her steps. “You feel so good.”

It was unspoken that they would need to be quick as well as quiet. There had only been a handful of times that Stacie had been able to coax Aubrey into anything even half as risky and all of them had been at night and most with alcohol. She knew without being told that if she hadn’t come before Aubrey reached whatever timer she had going on in her head, Stacie would have to wait until they got home.

Aubrey’s fingers were on the zipper of the bustier and Stacie could tell she wanted to do it slow, teasingly, but they just didn’t have that sort of time. She pulled normally, as if this were any normal trying on of outfits, but the second Stacie’s breasts were free, her lips covered one nipple and sucked lightly.

Stacie’s head rebounded lightly off the wall as she jerked in pure reaction and she winced at the small thump, hoping it didn’t carry. She tried to say something, anything, to keep anyone from asking if she was okay, but even a simple “Oops” wouldn’t pass her lips when Aubrey’s hand slid down and cupped her center.

“I think that one looks great, Stace.” Aubrey’s voice was shockingly even for someone who’s lips brushed Stacie’s nipple as she spoke for the benefit of an audience that might not even exist. “Try the other one.” As if her middle finger wasn’t slightly stroking Stacie’s clit in all the right ways to make her whimper even though that was definitely not in today’s rules.

‘Let’s hear it for Posen control,’ she thought giddily, her legs parting to give Aubrey a little more room. But even as she really hoped Aubrey didn’t expect her to answer, she looked down and saw Aubrey’s eyebrow lift in challenge.

Goddamnit.

She licked lips suddenly gone dry and took a deep breath. “Sure, Bree.” She was rewarded by Aubrey’s mouth on her breast once more, tongue swirling to match the motions of her middle finger.

Stacie could already tell it wasn’t going to take long, the sheer fact of Aubrey – her unbelievably sexy but usually-proper-in-public wife – taking her in broad goddamned daylight, even if they were in a locked room, was enough to throw her halfway to orgasm; she could hear people talking in other rooms for fucks sake and Aubrey was still touching her and showing no signs of stopping.

With an ease brought about only by familiarity and deep trust, it didn’t take long for Aubrey to have Stacie wet and writhing against her. She swallowed the gasp as those long, skillful fingers filled her in a way guaranteed to reduce her to a trembling mess in their bed. Except she was plastered to a wall and had to lock her knees to keep herself upright as Aubrey took her in complete silence, their eyes locked together.

She would have thought it was the images of them in the mirrors that surrounded them that would have done it, but it was Aubrey’s gaze softening from wicked determination to sensual devotion – a distinction and emotion Stacie had never known before Aubrey – that pushed Stacie to the peak. She reached down with her hand and gripped Aubrey’s wrist, pulling up until Aubrey understood what she was after and thrust deep within, her palm tight to the curve of Stacie’s body; letting her set the pace and take what she needed. Her eyes closing involuntarily, Stacie rolled her hips, rising and falling, chasing her release until Aubrey leaned forward and raised ever so slightly on her tiptoes to whisper in Stacie’s ear.

“Come for me, mon Soleil.”

Her body surrendered instantaneously. She pulled harder on Aubrey’s wrist, her hips driving downward in rocking spasms as she rode Aubrey’s touch. Eventually her body slowed and she realized she had no idea how much time had gone by, though she was very aware she didn’t have enough time to sink into the blissful lassitude spreading through her muscles in the aftermath. They had to pull themselves together – or apart as the case may be – and clean up. There was also no way they were leaving without buying the garments that had been so gleefully stripped from her.

In several variations.

Leaning against the wall, she kept her eyes closed for another few moments, enjoying the languor before she had to hustle back into her clothes. Except she heard another zipper and looked around to find Aubrey digging into her purse one handed. She couldn’t help it; she started laughing as Aubrey pulled out a pack of wet wipes.

“Always prepared, aren’t you, love?” Just one of the legion of reasons she had fallen in love.

Despite the hint of rose in her cheeks, Aubrey handed over several. “Never know when they might come in handy.” In a lower aside, she half muttered, “Besides, it’s not like I’m going to go walking through the shop with you all over my hand.” A pause. “You’re definitely going to go pay and I’ll meet you in the car.”

Stacie merely smiled. “’Kay.”

It didn’t take long to clean themselves up and for Stacie to get dressed. When Aubrey left the room, power walking like a champ, Stacie took another moment to rearrange the outfit on the hanger and hopefully make it less obvious the room had been very occupied.

When she went back to the rack, she kept an unobtrusive eye on other shoppers but no one seemed to be paying any special attention to her. Deciding to stop worrying about it, she picked up the same outfit in black in Aubrey’s size, as well as a red outfit of similar design that caught her eye. It took only another moment to find the blue lingerie Aubrey had been holding and bring all four outfits up to the counter.

Finishing the transaction without the cashier giving her any sort of knowing look, she pushed her way through the door and out into the bright sun, wishing she’d brought her sunglasses with her. Lengthening her stride, she headed down the block to where they’d parked the car, anticipation singing through her veins like champagne. She couldn’t wait to get Aubrey home and in bed to return the gift she’d just been given…

And maybe later they’d invite Beca and Chloe over and see who was louder once and for all.

#aubrey posen #stacie conrad #chloe beale #beca mitchell #staubrey #bechloe #bellas squared #a shared lifetime #cyc writes #a few days #pitch perfect fanfic

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the-wip-project · 1 year ago

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SloMo WriNo: Q & A

A few questions about how the SloMo WriNo challenge have come in, so here's the answers to a few of the easy ones. (Don't worry, more complicated questions will be getting their own posts!)

When does it start? The official start date is November 1st.

However this challenge is about you finding your own long term writing rhythm. So if there’s some reason why you can’t begin for a week, a month, or even until next year, that’s fine. Feel free to jump in at any time, and even if you feel like you can’t ‘officially’ start your novel just yet, perhaps you can still begin trying out writing in a SloMo way. You may find yourself easing into things anyway!

Is this plan/event supposed to be just for novels?

Definitely not! I’ve had one person express their intention to write a series of novellas, another to do a second draft, and others plan on writing fanfiction. It’s for whatever you want to write but have been struggling with.

Do those min/max brackets apply for everything one would write in the year? Ideally yes! At least when it comes to writing you’re doing for your own self. (Writing for work and school obviously need to get done at whatever pace you’re required to do them!) The goal here is to establish writing as a long term sustainable habit. Now as time goes on you will probably want to tweak your minimum and maximum word counts, as you get more familiar with your own process. Please go ahead and do that, and then keep on writing within that adjusted ideal zone.

I’m kinda burned out. Should I even try to attempt this? That’s a tough one, and really something you need to answer for yourself based on your current situation and emotional state. If you do decide to attempt the challenge, I recommend keeping your goal word counts (at least initally) at a level that feels ‘too easy’ and taking at least two days each week off writing. If it starts feeling like too much, dial it back even further, or take some time off. This challenge will be going on all year, so you can hop in and out whenever you need to. No guilt needed!

Who are you and why are you claiming to be an expert on this stuff anyway? Actually no one has been so mean as to say that, but there’s been a little confusion about who I am and why I’m posting here. My name is Maree, and Barbex (the one who actually runs this blog) was kind enough to help me out with this challenge and let me post on the WIP blog and the WIP discord. (you can find my own blog at mareebrittenford.)

I completed my first novel in 2015, and since then I’ve written 8 novels, as well as assorted shorter stories and a few (okay maybe more than a few) fanfics. I have managed to publish 4 of the novels and a few short stories have made their way into magazines and anthologies. Now I don’t claim to be a great writer, but the one thing I’m confident of is that I’ve become very good at is Finishing My Stuff. (And finishing stuff with ADHD is a very special skill!)

I created this challenge to share all my tips and tricks, and hopefully help other people also Finish Their Stuff.

If you have any other questions about the challenge (or for me personally) you can reblog with comments, send an ask, or hop onto the WIP discord

#slomowrino #questions about the challenge #writing

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irondad-creator-awards · 6 months ago

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Writer Spotlight - Spagbol99

This week we're talking to the 2023 Winner of the Best OG Writer Award and the Best Plot Twist author, @spagbol99 of A Peter Parker Problem.

Summary:

Peter Parker was back from the dead. At least that is what everybody told him. He'd been snapped out of existence until some sort of time travel and an active death wish by his mentor had saved him and the universe. Just your average sort of life for a 16 year old from Queens. Peter comes back to find May has a husband and a kid. A new family he has to fit into. But he has done it before, he can do it again. The only thing that feels solid is Tony: the Blip and fatherhood have mellowed him and Peter loves the bond they have now. He knows Tony would be there for him through anything. But Tony needs to focus on his own recovery - not small time Peter Parker problems. When things at home take a turn for the worse, Peter decides that he'll handle it himself. He is Spider-man. He's been to space and fought aliens. He can get through anything. After all, if May is happy, he is happy, right? Right?

How did you get into Irondad?

I stumbled into reading fan fiction for the first time at the start of the pandemic. I was a mild MCU fan at the time, so I went in search of Spider-Man stories and ran straight into IronDad and the rest is history… !

What’s your favorite Irondad scene?

Ooh, that is a mean question, how can I choose just one?! I think it has to be the ferry scene for me. I’m sure it will come as no surprise to anyone who has read my writing that I live for the angst!

When did you start writing and what made you sit down and write that first story?

For the purposes of this question, I’ll assume you mean writing fan fic but I’ve written original fiction for a long time. As soon as I found IronDad and MCU fanfic at the start of the pandemic, I devoured fic after fic. I loved the recurring tropes and seeing how people tackled them in different ways. As I read more and more, ideas started to fester within me and I decided I wanted to try my hand at writing my own fic. I wrote 150K in four months so it’s fair to say that I was inspired and enthused. I actually had no intention of posting. After sitting on the finished product for a month, I decided ‘what the hell’ and went for it. I’m so glad that I did.

What do you like about writing most?

Pure escapism. There is something about creating and manipulating a world that only you control that is very powerful.

Which of your stories is your favorite and why?

Asking me to choose between my children? How rude! Hmmm, I would say that A Peter Parker Problem is probably my favourite. Something about it being my very first fan fic and being the exact kind of story that I like to read – which was my motivation to write it.

What’s your favorite trope to write?

Found family is probably my favourite trope overall. I also love writing characters overcoming trauma (or at least starting to), whomp and miscommunication.

What inspired the story? In my original works, I have often written stories about teenagers in difficult family situations so when I started reading fic and came across the ‘Aunt May’s abusive boyfriend’ tag, it started ideas churning. I kept thinking how unique a situation it would be to have the physical power that Peter has but still be subjected to abuse. That even though we can be powerful, confident people, it doesn’t mean that we are immune to coercion and abuse in our lives. In this story, Peter particularly is in such a vulnerable position post Endgame coming back to a family that has changed in his absence and I imagined how he’d do anything to keep May happy after the grief she had been through.

Can you tell us a little about the experience of writing it — did anything stand out or was there a particular person that helped more than others?

It was such a fun experience writing it. I hadn’t felt that passionate about anything in a long while and it gave me something to focus on during that early pandemic uncertainty. It quite honestly helped my sanity being stuck indoors during lockdown with two young children. At this point I didn’t know anybody in fandom – I had only read fic not interacted with anyone so other than a few later chapters, it was not beta read. What struck me most about the experience was the warm welcome I had by the IronDad community once I started posting. I was overwhelmed by the support for the story. I hadn’t imagined that so many people would read it, I would’ve been happy with a handful of hits, so to say I was blown out of the water was an understatement. Similarly, I reached out to a few authors to take a look at some later chapters I was unsure of and they helped without hesitation. I have made long lasting, deep friendships, meeting up with three people in two different parts of the globe in the last 18 months – including a trip to Avengers Campus in California! I can honestly say that finding fan fic has enriched my life immensely.

How did you feel to be a winner of the Awards last year?

It was such a lovely surprise to be honored with a win last year. The fandom has such a slew of talented, prolific writer that I was surprised to have won. Thank you to everyone for reading my scribblings and taking the time to vote for me.

Thank you so much @spagbol99 for answering our questions and being part of the Awards.

Nominations for the 2024 Irondad Creator Awards are now open here.

#irondad creator awards #irondad #spider-man #iron man #irondad and spiderson #fanfic #spider son #fandom awards #writers #Irondad Creator Awards 2024

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lesbiansanemi · 8 months ago

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Why did you orphan your fairy tail fics?

Ahhhhh, to be honest there were quite a few reasons! And they kind of go hand in hand

When I orphaned them, I had completely lost all interest in the series. It was a fandom I could tell I would never be coming back to, or enjoy interacting with again. Especially writing my own fics for it. I didn’t want half-finished things I never had any intention of working on again on my profile

Also, as I shifted interests (namely to demon slayer, but also jujutsu kaisen, bleach, and chainsaw man) all the fairy tail fics just felt very out of place on my ao3 page. I get that that’s not something that bothers many people at all, but it did me!

There was also no secret that I had many, many issues with the way fairy tail was written. Both quality wise, but also with the abysmal way women, queer characters, and characters of color were treated. As well as its misogynistic over sexualization. Once any lingering fondness for the base concepts and characters were gone, it was VERY hard to find anything positive within the series, and I did not want to associate with it anymore because it kinda just pissed me off. So completed fics and one-shots were orphaned too

I also did not want people from the fairy tail fandom finding my account and ever expecting anymore writing from me. So both my ao3 and tumblr were pretty much scrubbed of posts related to it

Also all of my ft fics were written when I was a teenager, and when I orphaned them, I was no longer proud of the writing quality and didn’t want it attached to my name

And finally, the fandom was easily one of the most hateful and mean-spirited I ever participated in. Almost every fic I wrote got at least one hate comment (multi-chap fics tended to get multiple). On tumblr people would make posts talking about disliking me and my fics in the main tags. They would regularly send me asks and comment on my posts to complain. And a lot of the hateful interaction was based on disliking me making characters gay or trans in fics, or because I would talk about the horrible ways the minorities in canon were treated and they didn’t like that. It wasn’t something I wanted to put up with, and really soured me on the fandom as a whole. It was a big reason I orphaned fics, deleted all my original posts on tumblr regarding the series, and initially changed my url of this blog years ago around the time I did all this. I wanted to completely rebrand to shake all of that off

So essentially, there were a lot of reasons. While I did enjoy certain aspects of the series a long time ago (and I think this was due to me going through a very, VERY hard period of my life and I just so happened to get very attached to a more light hearted “happier” series filled with characters I could relate to), it’s not a series or fandom I wanted to be associated with in any capacity anymore for a lot of negative reasons

I’m happy and glad there were people who enjoyed my fics (which is why I orphaned them rather than deleting them) but I no longer wanted them attached to me in any capacity, and it is not a decision I regret at all. I’m very glad I did it, and I have a lot more fun interacting with people and writing for the fandoms I currently do

#I am glad for some of the people I met through the fandom!#we still talk and are still mutuals/friends #but other than that… yeah can’t say I have a lot of fond memories of positive feelings associated with the series #kaz rambles #asks

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indelibleevidence · 2 years ago

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Broken Wings, chapter 1 (Reller, M-rated)

Author's Note: Also on FanFiction.Net and AO3! Updating on Saturdays, because I made sure to actually finish the fic before I started posting it, to ensure I didn't consign it to WIP hell like my other WIPs. XD

Wow, this is going to be a lot of explaining, but here we go! First off, if you haven't read Strikethrough, Crossroads, and the Damaged Goods summaries for the rest of the fics that I haven't written in between Crossroads and this one, go do that first. There's also a one-shot called Stalling that's set a month or two before this fic, but it's not necessary reading to get what's going on here.

This fic contains suicidal ideation, suicidal distress, and a depiction of Remi at rock bottom. If you're in a bad place, it might be better if you don't read this right now. (And I hope you feel less terrible soon.)

Remi is a lot different from the Remi in Crossroads. She's got pretty much all of her memories from her Jane years back now, and is a little bit softer and less sweary, until she's provoked, and then she reverts to 'fuck you' mode. Much like Jane's 4x15/4x16 self in canon, she's overwhelmed by the weight of her past mistakes, as Remi and as Jane. She's definitely not on the 'yay, law enforcement' train, and is still mostly ACAB in nature, but she knows that at least Kurt and his team are well-intentioned, and their eyes are open to the corruption within the system (mainly because of the first set of tattoos). By this point in my timeline, she also has accepted the fact that she's in love with Kurt, but she'd die before she'd ever admit it to him.

Jane is referred to as a third person throughout this fic, because neither Remi nor Kurt are at the 'Jane and Remi are just two time periods sans memories for one person' stage of acceptance. Also because it's easier for me, as a writer, to differentiate between those different time periods and mindsets by just using the names she was going by at the time. I do think that in another year down the Damaged Goods timeline, both Remi and Kurt will stop referring to Jane as a separate entity, but Remi kind of needs it right now, and though Kurt is further down the line as seeing Jane as a part of Remi, he's still getting there too. So things might seem a little bit disassociative identity disordery, and I apologise to anyone who might stumble upon this who actually lives with DID and hates what I did with this. But Remi is compartmentalising a LOT, though interestingly enough, now she's seeing Jane as the better person, whereas before, she loathed Jane with the fire of a thousand suns. The difference a few memories can make...

This fic is complete, so I'll post updates on Saturdays, I guess. This is my first time actually finishing a multi-chaptered fic before starting to post, but I really didn't want to start posting another WIP that was going to hang around in limbo (I'm sorry, Remember to Forgive and Taken for Granted fans! I will get there, I hope!).

Lastly, I really have to thank nachosandcheeze for her enthusiasm for this AU, and her encouragement for me to keep writing for it. She's not the only one who's been lovely about it (and thank you to everyone who cares about my weird little enemies to lovers universe where Jane never quite made it back to her brain - really, you guys are fantastic!), but she's been pretty consistently poking me with metaphorical sticks, and making Remi gifsets, and squeeing over Reller, etc. - to the point where I showed her the half-scene I had written from a fic several fics away from where I'd left off with Crossroads, just to get it out of my brain. And she loved it so much that I wrote a bit more, and a bit more, until over 16k later, I ended up with this. So thank you again, nachos. You're proof that nagging a fic author for more story does actually work, sometimes! :D

Absently tracing the carving on the stone with her finger, Remi glanced over to the small vial of clear liquid on her nightstand. It sat on top of a small, leatherbound booklet—El Libro de la Eternidad—which she’d smuggled out of Peru, along with the stone brick from Machu Picchu. Maybe she should feel guilty that she’d stolen a couple of pieces of Peruvian history from its citizens, even if one of them was a loose brick, but after all the things she’d done in her short fuck-up of a life, her conscience was way past that. And the brick contained a carved message for her: RB 4 RB, Roman Briggs for Remi Briggs, along with binary code that pointed to Roman’s data caches, and a message that had made tears sting her eyes.

Hey, sis.

I got you something. I never solved this one.

I hope you can. I did my best.

May you outlive this… for both of us.

Your brother, always,

Roman

Even during his bitter feud with Jane—Remi still flinched to think of him ZIPped and claustrophobic in his FBI cell, even though she now remembered Jane’s reasons, and her anguish at her brother’s state—Roman had still been looking for a cure for her. He’d had his own, the one she’d stolen from Dr. Roga and used to cure herself—after all, Roman had died before he’d had the chance to benefit from it. But still, he’d hunted down more Stanton cells, which meant that now, Remi had a cure for ZIP poisoning all lined up.

She had everything she needed. If Roman’s cache intel was right, New York billionaire hypochondriac Ken Lee would trade El Libro de la Eternidad for the Stanton cells. Dr. Roga could synthesise a new cure, if Kurt approached her. And Remi would need that cure, because the ZIP on the nightstand would be going into her body, as soon as she laid the plan out for Kurt.

There was just one more thing left to do.

Setting aside Roman’s carving, she accessed the video recording setting on her phone, and held it up so that her face was visible. She’d made a video for her future self once before, to further Phase One of her grand plan by introducing Jane to Oscar, and verifying his trustworthiness.

And you know how that turned out, her internal critic whispered.

Swallowing hard, Remi made herself focus on the task at hand, ignoring the guilt gnawing on the synapses at the back of her mind. How was she going to start this thing? Saying hello seemed redundant.

“I know you’re suffering right now, and I’m sorry for that. You don’t remember your old life, and that’s intentional. Please, trust me when I say you shouldn’t go hunting for the finer details. I’m sparing you a lifetime of pain and futility by taking the ZIP, even though you might not be able to appreciate that.”

She sounded whiny as hell, but how else could she put it? She had to make future Jane understand that this was for the best.

“The only options, as I see them, are suicide or ZIP. I’ve got enough here that I should be able to wipe out any trace of my old memories. You might get a few flashes, but I hope you don’t. You don’t need to go through this again.”

If you weren’t such a coward, you’d just put a shotgun barrel in your mouth and pull the trigger. Maybe Jane would think she was cowardly. But she wasn’t afraid to die. She just didn’t want Kurt to have to suffer, knowing his wife was dead along with Remi.

“I’m doing this, instead of killing myself, because you have good people around you, people I’ve already hurt enough, and don’t want to hurt any more by making them lose you. You have loyal friends. A husband who loves you very much. Things will be hard for you at first, but you’ll build a life again, like you did before. And this time, you’ll know who did this to you, and why, and you won’t have me telling you to disregard your instincts and undermine the people you care about. I was misled, and betrayed, but I made bad choices, too. I was too stubborn to see it for so long, but the first time we were ZIPped, Jane found happiness, and a new purpose, and even though I still don’t think law enforcement is the shining star of morality… If you’re working with Kurt and his team, you’ll be working towards good things. Hold onto that.”

She took a breath, picking up the ancient Peruvian brick again.

“The one thing I want to tell you about is my—our—brother, Roman. Or Ian. That was his birth name, just like yours was Alice. Ian Kruger. Later, Roman Briggs. He wasn’t perfect, as I’m sure Kurt will tell you. But he was a follower his whole life, not a leader. He followed me, and our adopted mother, because he loved us, and didn’t want to be rejected. Jane hurt him too much, and he turned on her, and on Kurt, but deep down, he was a good man. He just wanted a loving family, to belong somewhere.”

She held the brick up in the camera’s sight. “I want you to keep this. Take care of it. This points to his last message from him to me, on his data caches. To Remi, I mean. Not the old version of Jane.” How did things get so confusing? “I have the actual message saved on my phone, so you should be able to see the message itself there. As for the brick, I took it from Peru, along with something to bargain with for a cure for your ZIP poisoning. Roman was looking for a cure for me, even while he knew I—the old Jane—was working to bring him down. He just wanted his sister back, I guess.”

If she kept this up for much longer, she was going to get too damn emotional, and there was no way she was willing to break down and cry on video. She had to cut this short. “Roman and I went through hell together, and that’s one of the things I don’t want you to remember anything about, so I won’t go into it. But we survived our childhood by relying on each other, and then our teenage years were the same, in a different way. We used to pass a South African rand coin our parents gave us back and forth, giving it to each other as a gift. It wasn’t worth much back then—and it’d buy even less now—but its symbolic value for us was priceless. For Roman, it was a comfort object. Jane buried him with it, so I don’t have it now, but I wanted you to know about it.”

She dug her fingernails into her palm, a technique she’d first used at the orphanage to keep outwardly calm, while a torrent of emotions churned within her. The pain centred her, making the grief easier to bear.

“Things went so wrong, but I never stopped loving Roman, even as Jane. And he never stopped loving me.”

She sighed, knowing she should say more, should give Jane more closure, but knowing she’d never be able to get through it on camera. Maybe she’d write Jane a letter, before Kurt ZIPped her.

“I hope you can build a life again, and find happiness. You sure as hell couldn’t do worse than I did. Please, look forward, not back. There’s nothing here but pain. Good luck.”

She threw down the phone and buried her face in her hands, breathing deeply, striving for the numbness that could get her through the final days of this life. Soon she’d fly to New York, and wipe the slate clean.

The end of my memories can’t come soon enough. I can’t do this anymore.

Three days later…

Kurt stared from the vial and hypodermic needle to his wife, a rapidly growing pit in his stomach. What…is happening here? What the hell, Remi?

“It’s okay,” she said, shrugging as though this was a foregone conclusion, a logical end to everything they’d battled through on their way to this moment. “I’ve made my peace with it. There’s nothing left here for me now. This is Jane’s world, and I don’t belong in it. At least…at least this way, you can get her back. Or as close to it as it’s possible to get.”

“It’s okay?” he finally managed to say, his throat choked with an intense mass of emotions that he couldn’t even begin to analyse right now. “Your identity is what makes you you, Remi. You’ve fought to defend it so damn hard, it nearly drove us apart for good. You’ve spent over a year getting so many of your memories back, and now you want a clean slate again? I know you remember how hard it was for you after Times Square, and after Cape Town.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, still not meeting his eyes. “The first time, you didn’t know who Jane was. Nobody knew. This time, everyone will. And she’ll have you, and your friends. It’s…easier that way. Even though I hated you when I found out what had happened to Sandstorm, at least I had…” She shook her head. “Anyway—Jane will adjust quickly. You can get the woman you married back, as she was.”

The words shook him, in so many different ways. He rubbed a hand over his face, floundering to make sense of everything.

To get his Jane back…it was everything he’d dreamed of for so long. During those ten months that Remi had gone off the radar, he’d been desperate to find a way to bring Jane back to the forefront of her mind. Aside from Bethany and work, it had been all he’d thought about, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel a spark of hope for that outcome now.

But it was all wrong. It was a fairytale. Jane had been a product of the situation she’d been in, from the bag in Times Square to not knowing who she was, to thinking she was Taylor Shaw and then discovering she wasn’t, to being tortured by the CIA—and then discovering she used to be Remi Briggs, daughter of the leader of a terrorist organisation. She’d become who she was because of the way things had been back then, the way her new life had unfolded, and there was no way to know how much of that would be replicated in a newly ZIPped Remi.

Remi. God… I… He swallowed hard, something akin to grief seeping into his bones.

“What about you? This is like…like mental suicide for a huge part of you. You really want to kill yourself that badly? Why not shoot yourself in the head? Jump off a building? Overdose on pills?” His voice was harsher than he meant it to come out—demanding, angry.

Terrified. He was goddamn terrified.

Remi flinched at his tone, finally looking into his eyes. “Because you don’t want to live without her. And if I did one of those things, you’d have to face that she’d never come back.”

He rose from the couch abruptly, the twister of conflicted emotions within him too much to handle if he stayed still. Tears filled his eyes as he stalked over to the kitchen, and he rested his palms on the worktop, his back to Remi, as he tried to breathe.

“So you really want to die?” he managed to ask.

“There’s nothing left for me. My mother, my brother, my friends, my cause, my convictions… Everything is gone, Weller. There’s no point in trying to rebuild. I’ve spent the past year not knowing what to do with myself, fucking things up…”

He turned on her, snarling, “There’s nothing left for you? Then what the hell am I? Why do you keep coming back? After everything that’s happened, you don’t care enough to stick around?”

She got to her feet, crossed the room, her eyes sad. “The only thing I care about in this life is you, and I hurt you constantly, just by not being Jane. This way, it kills two birds with one stone. My empty life goes away, and you get Jane back. You get to be happy, and I get to…forget.”

A tear slid down his cheek, and he dashed it away impatiently. “Remi…”

She reached up to brush another tear from the corner of his eye, her fingers gentle. “I don’t want either of us to hurt anymore. We’ve suffered enough.”

Staring down at her, he finally put names to the emotions within him. Fear and pain had been easy to identify on their own, but they were joined by a surge of something else, so strong and fierce and breathtakingly real that he could hardly bear it.

Remi… Fuck, I can’t lose you. I need you.

I love you.

Despite everything she’d done to him, all the mental torment she’d put him through, the bitter arguments they’d had, the misunderstandings and deceit that had shredded their trust in each other…he’d fallen for the whole of her, just as hard as he had for the Jane part of her. Remi was Jane, intensified. She’d called herself damaged goods, and he couldn’t disagree, but so was he. Remi understood him in a way Jane never could have on her own.

And he was suddenly, powerfully certain that she loved him just as much.

Unable to control himself, he pulled her into his arms, giving her a crushing kiss that seemed to shock the breath from her, even as she returned it just as ardently. Part of him wanted to reject this whole conversation, carry her to bed, fuck her until they were both too exhausted to do anything but fall asleep in each other’s arms.

But this was too serious to hide from, even temporarily. He had to make his position clear.

Wrenching away from her, he stalked over to the table, picked up the small bottle of ZIP and brought it to the kitchen sink. Unscrewing the lid, he poured the contents down the drain, then dropped the bottle and turned to Remi, who was staring at him as though he’d gone mad.

“What the hell?” she demanded.

“Listen to me,” he told her, his eyes locked on hers. “I will never use that stuff on you. Ever. It doesn’t matter to me that there’s a cure for ZIP poisoning all lined up. There’s no going back for us. I can’t just inject you and turn you back into the Jane you used to be. It wouldn’t work like that.”

She sighed, looking down at the splashes of ZIP remaining in the sink. “Better the devil you know than the angel you don’t?”

He cupped her face in both hands, making sure she couldn’t look away from his face. “You’re my devil, and my angel, and everything in between. Remi, the thought of losing you scares the hell out of me. You’re my wife, and you may not be the way you were when we got married, but you’re still the woman I fell in love with, deep down.”

She was frowning, shaking her head, and he rested his forehead against hers, closing his eyes as she drew in a shaky breath.

“I love you, just as much as I did when you were Jane. You didn’t make it easy to get to know you, but every time you let me in a little more, I fell for you even further. I need you to stay you.”

“What?” She breathed the word, and he opened his eyes to find her visibly trembling. Her expression was a study in contradictions. Fear. Hope. Anger. Longing.

Kurt smiled sadly. “It’s too late. I already know you love me, too.”

She tore herself out of his arms, stepped out of his reach. “Stop it. This has gone far enough, Weller.”

“No. It hasn’t gone anywhere near far enough. You’re so scared of making yourself vulnerable, of being hurt again, that you’re hurting yourself so that I’ll never have that power over you.” He took a step closer, and she backed into the living room immediately.

He’d once mentally compared her to a trapped animal, defensively clawing and snarling out of fear. He saw that same distress in her now, and ached to hold her, even though it would only make the situation worse.

“I thought we were over this,” she said, her voice brittle. “I’m not Jane.”

“No, you’re not Jane. You’re Remi. I see you, the whole of you. I know exactly who you are, and I love you.”

She eyed the apartment door, her fists bunched at her sides and her jaw set.

“Don’t run from this. Please.” He took another slow, careful step, and though she backed up again, her eyes were on him once more.

“You never took off your wedding ring, even when you were telling me you hated me. You’ve opened up to me more than once. You’ve trusted me to keep you safe, and you’ve forgiven me for mistakes I’ve made, and I’ve done the same for you.”

She pulled at the ring on her finger, trying to remove it. “You can believe what you want to believe, but it’s not true. It was just about sex and anger, and then we became friends with benefits. That’s it.”

He caught hold of her left hand and held it between his, before she could take off the wedding band. “You didn’t even want to admit you wanted me, back when we first realised we still needed each other. Even when you were halfway to coming. Is it gonna be the same now?”

She snorted, but didn’t try to yank her hand free from his. “What, you think you’re gonna fuck a confession of love out of me? It’s not the same thing, Weller.”

“Is that what it’s gonna take?” He couldn’t pretend he was surprised. They’d resolved so many of their other issues through arguing their way into sex. Why would this be any different?

Her jaw trembled before she firmed it, glaring at him. “No, because it won’t work. It’s not true.”

With anyone else, he’d take that as their final answer. A rejection that he’d have to accept and move on from. But with Remi, things had never been straightforward and simple.

She tested him at every turn, refusing to take anything he said at face value, and this thing with the ZIP was likely a part of it. He wanted to believe that was all it was—a manipulation, a shock tactic designed to scare him into laying all his cards on the table—but his gut told him otherwise.

She would never have risked him saying yes to her offer to ‘become Jane again’ if she hadn’t been prepared to accept the consequences. She was too proud to back down from something she’d said she’d do. And that meant that she really was at a desperate end point, unable to find a way to move forward from the ruins they’d left of her pre-ZIP life.

Kurt needed her to see that he could help her find the path, if she’d only trust herself to walk it. But first, she had to know he wasn’t going anywhere, that he wasn’t just settling for a doppelgänger until he decided to stop clinging to Jane’s memory.

And they both had to be clear where they stood with each other.

“Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me.”

Remi stared at him, for a moment seeming completely taken aback. Then her protective bravado and anger kicked in. “You say ‘jump’, I say ‘how high’? No!”

Even as he understood her reasons for refusing—knew she was just trying to protect herself—her words still stung.

“I love you, Remi.” He shrugged, standing straighter as he laid out his challenge. “If you don’t feel the same way, I need to know. So come on—break my heart.”

God, this is going to hurt.

He believed that she loved him. But whether she’d ever admit it to herself, let alone to him, was another story entirely.

#broken wings #damaged goods #reller #blindspot #blindspot fanfic #canon divergence #really hope this posts coherently #the post editor is weird today

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rosenongrata · 9 months ago

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solitary solidarity – iv

Summary: A selection of writings that explore the early days of the odd relationship between Doctor Veritas Ratio and Missus Kagome Ikeda.

A/N: so i actually finished this last night, but just posting it now cuz i may have promptly fallen asleep once i was done lol

c.w/s: varies on what part, but i'll make sure to mark each addition with the proper tags in the a/n. OC-insert. c.ws for chapter: im actually not sure how to put this, but implications to abuse ig?? nothing is explicitly mentioned but it's possible to tell shits wrong between Kagome and her husband (also he calls her a whore once). soft Ratio hours (again). Kagome dissociates pretty hard for half of the chapter

w.c: ~1.4k

The two esteemed scholars had been chatting during lunch today – while Dr. Ratio prefers eating by himself in the sweet, sweet privacy of his office; he chose to accommodate Kagome’s wishes to be in the cafeteria instead for today. He knows well that she’s not the most sociable, so her eagerness to be in the populated cafeteria instead of her office strikes him as odd.

At least, that’s what he was thinking prior to a man with a head of black hair and a pair of tired brown eyes showing up – he even has a disgustingly sweet smile plastered on his face while he stands behind her. When the man brushes his fingers along Kagome’s shoulder, she nearly snaps her lacquered wood chopsticks in half.

“Hey, dear,” He says lightly, “I decided to visit you at your office today! It sure is nice here.” He grasps her shoulder tenderly, but that’s what makes Kagome’s skin crawl.

“Good afternoon, Shoto,” Kagome quickly composes herself, the life and color draining from her expression and eyes – Dr. Ratio didn’t expect to see her eyes to somehow grow even more lifeless.

“Ah, so this is…” The doctor’s eyes flick up and down Shoto’s figure, “…your husband.” Dr. Ratio says, his arms firmly crossed – looking unamused as he always does.

Shoto’s smile cracks a little from irritation, but is swiftly repaired within moments.

“This must be your…friend, right?” Shoto asks his lovely wife.

“…Yes, I’m her friend.” Dr. Ratio answers for her – he can see her inattention to her surroundings written all over her features. It’s a half-lie, but he deems it necessary for his plan to get her husband out of here – away from her. The other day with her – when she had punched him in the face – was all he needed to know about this man.

“Anyway,” Shoto turns his attention back onto Kagome, and the doctor swears he can see her curl a little bit away from her husband, “I got you a gift, dear! I’m sure you’ll love it. Here,” He pulls out a thin rectangular black box before opening it, revealing a pair of black gloves, “New gloves!”

“Oh, uhm… Th-thank you, Shoto…” She shakily sets her chopsticks down, staring down at the brand-new gloves before her.

(…He’s love-bombing her. Why am I not surprised…) Dr. Ratio ponders, eyes narrowing at the shorter man.

“C’mon, put them on. They’re very soft!” Shoto pressures.

“But… Shoto, you know that—” Kagome grimaces slightly, refusing to meet her partner’s eyes that grow with impatient anger.

People in the cafeteria begin watching more intently – gossiping amongst themselves. Not even so-called geniuses are immune to the flavorful taste of brewing drama. And then Shoto grabs her wrist, ready to pluck off her old gloves – the ones that have been patched over and over again, sewn back together numerous times over the years.

“Here, I’ll help you!” He chirps, his voice so fake it’s painful – to the doctor, at least.

Dr. Ratio rolls his dichromatic eyes before standing up abruptly – Kagome fully expects him to leave, she wouldn’t blame him for it, either. But, instead, the scholar grabs the other man’s wrist with a near death grip – leaving a burn ache in Shoto.

“You need to leave.” He mutters to the smaller man, glaring down at him, “You’ve wasted enough of everyone’s time.” If there’s one thing Dr. Ratio is – without a doubt – it’s fearless. “Especially Kagome’s.” He grumbles.

“What’s it to you?” Shoto bites back with a nasty grin, but the stronger man can feel him tremble with fear in his grasp.

“To be frank, it’s none of your business – nor is it any of your business to be pestering Kagome, me, and the rest of the Guild.”

“Very funny. Anyway,” Shoto pushes the doctor off with some ease, but only because Dr. Ratio allowed him to – he’s waiting for the husband to make another mistake, “We’re going, Kagome. We have business to attend to…away from these lovely people.” He throws a glaring glance at the opposing man before grabbing Kagome’s arm and roughly tugging her up to her feet.

“…That’s your last mistake, Shoto.” Dr. Ratio huffs, “I can either call security or…you can leave Kagome behind – here in the Guild.”

Weighing his options, Shoto scoffs at him and releases his wife’s now tender arm, “Fine, then. I’ll leave…” His voice lowers to a dark whisper, “She’s a good for nothing whore, anyway.” He glares into her unfocused eyes, “Look at her… She can’t even make a peep – tsk.” He rolls his eyes before departing.

Dr. Ratio says nothing to him, instead wrapping one arm around Kagome’s drooping shoulders as a way of keeping her upright. When he glances at the remaining people in the cafeteria, he notices they’re still talking with each other about Aeons knows what – most likely that little scene, he wagers.

“…Can you hear me, Kagome?” He whispers to her, and she fails to respond – her expression completely despondent and her eyes absent of awareness. “I will take that as a no.” He sighs.

He quickly cleans up her lunch materials, putting her bento box back together before leading her out of the cafeteria – anywhere that’s quiet and isolated will have to do. And he knows the perfect place – his office in the medical quarters.

They walk there, and each time she stumbles on her weakened legs, he catches her without too much thought about it. He assists her the whole way there – regardless of how slow she walks and no matter how many times she stumbles. And if he ends up having to carry her, he’ll do that, too.

Arriving in his office, Dr. Ratio helps Kagome settle down on the sofa in the quaint room before taking a seat at his desk. He swivels his chair in her direction – folding one leg over the other and resting his hands on his raised knee, they intertwine to form an overall scrutinizing posture.

Her eyes flutter shut, covering her lifeless stare that had been glued to the wall moments ago. It takes many minutes of pure silence – including the doctor removing his gaze from her, instead staring at the floor – before she can form words, let alone a single sound.

“Mmh…” She groans, pressing two fingers to her now-aching forehead – he can immediately tell it’s a tension headache that shoots through her skull.

Yet his offer for medication goes unheard for several moments as she rubs her head. When her mind finally processes that someone was speaking to her moments ago, her eyes shoot open and she finally spots him on the other side of the room.

“Did…did you say something?” She inquires; voice broken and weak.

His gaze is firmly on her figure, but not as firm as it often is – it’s softened, keeping his grumpiness low to avoid scaring her and worsening her condition.

“I asked if you would like some medication – for your tension headache, to be precise.” He replies.

“Uhm…” She sways a little in her seat, eyes losing focus again while her hand falls to her lap.

He sighs softly, turning away in his chair and grabbing a small bottle of headache relief medication from a drawer in his desk. He twists open the cap, taking a single pill out, and striding over to her after grabbing a cup of cool water from the water dispenser.

“You should take it,” He hands her the pill by taking her hand and placing it on her open palm, “At the very least, it will ease the inflammation.”

She gives him a small nod before taking the pill with water as instructed. He then rests the little white cup on the coffee table nearby. When he turns to return to his desk, he feels a weak tug at the tail of his clothes.

“Do you need something else?” He inquires as softly as he can as he turns back toward her – he’s well-aware that he sounds far too strict for his own good right now.

“Stay…” She breathes, the words coming from her held together by a thinning thread.

“I was not going to leave you alone. You are in no shape for isolation.” He reassures and takes a seat next to her once she releases his clothes.

“Thank you…” She whispers, her eyes falling shut again.

And without warning, she falls against his broad shoulder – her head resting there limply. He visibly stiffens – back straightening like a board and arms flexing into knots. When he hears sudden soft snores coming from her, he sighs in relief – his body deflating. He stays still for now, eyes scanning her peaceful features before glancing to the floor.

(…That’s that for now, then.) He sighs mentally, (But I know that this is only one facet of her – too much deeply troubles her. She’s not bored and emotionless by nature – no one is.)

#mine #oc #original character #oc: kagome ikeda #hsr oc #hsr #honkai star rail #honkai star rail oc #hsr dr ratio #dr ratio #fic: solitary solidarity #ship: kagtio

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josephineinc · 1 year ago

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10/13/23

all i wanted when i was 5 was to be a ballerina. i thought it was the most beautiful thing a woman could be. i wished and wished but lessons were too expensive. my parents had me and two infants to provide for. it just wasn’t in the budget.

growing up, i used to finish entire books in less than an hour. i became characters or at least an observer, and then carried on with my day when i was finished. when i was about 8, i decided that reading was not enough and that i wanted to become a writer. i looked at all the books on my shelves and assumed it would be easy. i had an assignment in my third grade class to write a short biography about someone. i chose Queen Elizabeth I. after over 10 pages, i realized it might not be as easy as i thought. my teacher said that i had written too much and i got marked down. it was the first time i remember putting my all into something and regretting it. i debated whether i should go back to wanting to be a ballerina.

at 10, i saw an episode of the X factor for the first time. i was obsessed. i dreamed of preforming on that stage, a standing ovation, somehow convincing simon cowell to like me. i had never wanted anything that bad. i wished for nothing more than to be able to sing. that summer, i got my first i pod, and i forgot all about reading.

when i was in high school, i tried multiple times to keep a journal. i never stuck with it. life seemed to be moving way too fast. i didn’t have enough time to write down all of the things i so desperately wanted to remember. my freshman year, i used to copy poetry and lyrics down for inspiration. anything that made me felt. i found a band at 15 whose lyrics made me want to write my own. and i did just that.

throughout high school, i wrote every chance i got. i started a couple of stories i never finished. the last pages in all of my school notebooks were potential lyrics. it was a huge, yet relatively secret part of my life. i wrote through every relationship, every breakup, every minor or major event in my life.

in the winter of 2021, at 19 i was the most depressed i had ever been. i had dropped out of online school and was doing nothing but rotting within myself. and writing. every time that i wrote it got more depressing. none of my friends were around and although i knew i had support, i couldn’t see it. it took me a while to climb out of that hole.

here i am now, at 21. i don’t read nearly as much anymore, although i have intentions to start back up again. i don’t write as much either. for the last year or so, i’ve gone through phases; either i write constantly or hardly at all. but i still want nothing more than to be all of those things that i wanted to be growing up. (with the exception of a ballerina, but last semester i seriously considered taking a ballet class, so maybe that’s also in my future.) i think i stopped writing because i accepted that i wouldn’t really get anywhere. i would love to be a musician, but i can’t sing and i can’t play an instrument. my words are all i have and i’m not sure that that’s enough. i’m hoping that posting on here will encourage me to practice writing more frequently and that eventually i will finally write something that i like. fingers crossed.

josephine

#writers on tumblr #first post #writers and poets #ballet

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yourpeepysucksdotorg · 5 months ago

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This is #notsponsored but here are some other things I really enjoyed about the game, or I thought were very nice :3

��Very simple controls! (At least on Switch, how I played it.) I wouldn’t say I struggle to control games in general, but I do struggle with remembering more complex control systems, and having to hold down buttons for long periods isn’t great for my wrists & forearms. The controls in this game were easy to remember, fairly intuitive, and didn’t make my arms fall asleep! Even though my left Joy-Con’s stick (the stick you use to move Alba) has succumb to bad Joy-Con drift, I never felt frustrated at the controls.

•Very chill gameplay! I don’t care what the gamer dudebros have to say, sometimes you just need a game that doesn’t feel stressful to play. Even Stardew Valley can feel stressful at times with its time management & combat stuff (still a great game tho). There’s no time limits on anything. Even if you beat the game before finishing everything, you have time to complete it in the post game, and it makes sense within the story why you’re given that time, so it doesn’t feel like cheating. I also don’t think there’s anything you can miss permanently, which is great for my completionist brain. Finally, I don’t know if you can fail the game’s main task, and there’s one other task that you might be able to fail? But the former you will absolutely beat if you play the game as intended (taking pictures of all the animals you see!) and the latter is an incredibly simple stealth mission, I don’t think there’s any real risk of getting caught.

•Chill story! Judging by the age of the main character (12-ish), I think this game was made with the intention of being accessible, relatable, and enjoyable for people of all ages; including kids and preteens. Because of that, there’s nothing triggering or too extreme to be found here. There are instances of animals being sick or hurt, but it’s not graphic at all, and you quickly nurse them back to health. The villain and antagonist are a bit cartoonishly evil/misled, but considering the tone of the game, I wasn’t expecting a deeply mature anti-capitalist message LOL. It’s just a sweet story, yk?

And for some smaller things:

•The two main characters are twelve-ish years old , and they’re written as actual 12 year olds! It’s hard to describe what I mean, but like. They act like and have interests that I think are realistic for children their age. You never feel like the game is trying to portray them as mini teenagers or whatever. The other characters are great too.

•I won’t spoil what it is, but there was a twist involving the gameplay during the climax that I found really neat :]

•The main character, Alba, is canonically semi-verbal! For the majority of the game, she communicates via gestures, head shakes, and nods (you can choose whether she nods yes or no when asked a question!!!), but she does speak once in a scene where emotions are running high. She’s excited and needs to verbalize her excitement and her discovery :,3

•Lots of diversity! Alba, the main character, is a semi-verbal girl of color (I think she’s Indian/Southeast Asian?) The NPCs have a diverse range of skin tones & hair types, including a hijabi woman! Different types of families are present; the other main character, Inés, is presumably being raised by her cousin, Pepe. And while there’s no explicit queer representation, one of the buildings has a big progress flag hanging off it.

•For every copy sold on console or Steam, a tree is planted :3 A million trees have already planted!

My only real disclaimer is that you should proceed with caution if you’re triggered/upset by fires.

I 100%ed Alba: A Wildlife Adventure last night, and I think it’s a must-play experience for alterhumans, but especially therians. You don’t get to play as an animal, but there are so many cool animals you get to observe and I guarantee it’s gotten at least one person to discover a new theriotype

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lifeofa-fangirl · 3 years ago

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Enough Nothings

Pairing: Damiano x fem!reader

Summary: You and Damiano bond over the idea of a quiet night in

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: None, pure fluff

A/N: I saw an instagram post from the Late Late Show where James Corden talks about how he met his wife and my mind went haywire thinking that this would be such a Damiano thing to do. Written in an hour or so, not proof read. First fic in years, let me know what you think!

“Oh come on, having a little bit of fun won’t hurt you! Here, have a glass of wine, it might help you relax. And remember to enjoy this evening, you deserve it!”

Before you could protest, your boss had grabbed a glass of wine from a passing waiter’s tray and shoved it in your hand. You opened your mouth, but before any words were formed, she gave you an encouraging pat on the back and disappeared into the crowd to mingle.

You sighed as you watched her start to make the rounds, shaking hands left and right. She made it seem so effortless it almost made you jealous. Almost. Because as much as you appreciated her effort, appreciated that she had insisted you deserved a night out after all the hard work you put in for the charity organization, you still felt this was the last place you wanted to be right now. You would always prefer a quiet night in, cooking dinner and falling asleep in front of the television.

Another sigh and you finally took a sip of your wine. ‘Come on, you can do this,’ you told yourself as you remembered you did enjoy the taste of the drink in your hand, although you rarely took the opportunity to enjoy it. ‘You’re not even 30 yet, you should be out and about every night. This can be a fun Friday night. Don’t be a party pooper.’

You almost choked on your next sip of wine as you heard those exact five last words being repeated out loud behind you. Coughing, you turned around in surprise. You would recognize that voice and that Italian accent anywhere.

“Victoria!” you said as soon as you confirmed your suspicion.

Victoria De Angelis spun around on her heels when she heard her name being called. “Ah, there you are! We’ve been looking for you!” she cheerfully announced. As she pulled you into a hug, you realized she wasn’t alone. You also realized that her words hadn’t been directed at you, but at the man accompanying her. You recognized the singer of her band.

“This is Damiano, the singer of my band,” Victoria confirmed when she stepped back from hugging you. You nodded your hello as Victoria introduced you to Damiano in return. You only heard half of her explanation about how she met you when the band had stayed in London for a couple of months, and you worked for the organization that was hosting that night’s charity event. You were too distracted by the way the man in front of you was staring at you with the beginning of a smirk.

Damiano patiently waited for Victoria to finish and then accepted the hand you offered him, pulling it up to his lips without hesitation and pressing a small kiss to it. “Hi, pleasure to meet you. You might be the most beautiful woman in the world,” he greeted you, all the while never breaking eye contact.

“Well thank you very much.” You offered him a smile in return and slightly twisted your head to the side to give him calculating look before adding, “That sounds like something you say a lot.”

“I’ve never said it before in my life,” he shot back at you. There was a playful glint in his eyes as he spoke and that smirk never left his lips, but you also didn’t miss the sudden rosy tint on his cheeks.

He could easily be feeding you lies, but somehow you were inclined to believe him. You didn’t offer a verbal response, choosing to shoot him an bright smile instead. Judging by his reaction, it did nothing to hide the matching tint that you were sure was now also on your own cheeks. Was it just you, or had someone suddenly turned up the thermostat?

Not much later, Victoria had disappeared, most likely off getting into trouble. And you sat with Damiano in a dark corner of the bar. Getting tipsy on the sound of his laugh and how his touch gave you goosebumps. It was so easy to be around him. Within an hour and a half of meeting you were jokingly planning the rest of your lives together. Kids were a must, at least two of them, so they’d always have each other. Legolas and Bidet, he had already named his cats, and you insisted that the new kitten would be called Loki. The flower beds in your garden would contain many different flowers, so there would be something blossoming every season. Your bedroom needed a balcony, so he could serenade you from below. And you would need a big kitchen, with plenty of room for all the home cooked meals you were going to prepare.

You found comfort in how he loved the prospect of a quiet night in. Glorious, he called it, the thought of chamomile tea and going to bed before eleven. You had quickly agreed, told him that at your age, you had very much passed the notion of going out every night. He was a couple of years younger than you but took it as a compliment when you teasingly called him an old soul in a young body.

You didn’t realize how much time had passed until Victoria eventually showed up again. “Time to call it a night, lovebirds,” she teased you both with a grin. When you finally tore your eyes away from Damiano for the first time in a long while, you realized that there were only a couple of people left in the bar and the waiters had already started cleaning up.

As the three of you stood outside waiting for a cab, the cold night air did nothing to get rid of Victoria’s words. Lovebirds, she had called you. Away from the secluded, quiet corner of the bar, you were starting to feel anything but, and much more like a fool. The harsh streetlights burned your confidence away and you just stood there, silently waiting as Victoria chatted away besides you. Sneaking glances at Damiano, trying to memorize the sharpness of his jawline, the glimmer of the tiny golden ring piercing his nostril, the brown of his eyes, convinced that you weren’t going to see him again.

When your rides arrived, Victoria gave a quick side hug and a “We’ll talk later” before jumping into the first cab to get away from the cold night air as fast as possible, leaving you and Damiano alone on the sidewalk.

You took a deep breath to gather your courage and were about to pull in Damiano for a hug as well, when you realized he didn’t seem to have any intention to move. Instead, he stood next to you, staring at the pavement and fidgeting with the rings on his fingers.

“Damiano?” you wondered, carefully reaching out to touch his arm, trying to figure out why he looked like a nervous child suddenly.

Damiano looked up at you when you called out his name. His nervousness reflected in his eyes and he bit his lip when he just stared at you for a moment. Then, with a steadiness in his voice that surprised you, he said, “I was wondering… Well… what about tomorrow, we do nothing together. You could come over to my place and we could just do nothing. And then maybe we could stay in and do nothing on Sunday as well. And on Monday, we can go to work and afterwards we can do nothing if you’d like. And I’m thinking that if we do enough nothings, if our evenings are enough of nothing, then maybe this can become something.”

“What do you think?” he asked as he looked at you hopefully. And while he looked so very young under the streetlights, his old soul had just pulled you in. This was it. You were in. And by an absolute miracle, so was he. “That sounds like a fun idea,” you told him with a smile.

He beamed at your answer, before the both of you got distracted by Victoria shouting for him to hurry his ass up and get in the cab.

“Go!” You gave him a slight push towards the car. “She has my number, text me the details for your plan,” you told him with a wink.

Damiano was about halfway to the car and you were about to walk over to the other ride, when he turned and came running back only to stop in front of you. Before you could react, he had put a hand on your cheek, and used the other to pull you close. The next moment his lips were on yours in a gentle kiss.

The moment was over almost before you fully realized what was happening. “See you tomorrow, bella ragazza mia,” he whispered against your lips before running off towards his ride again.

You watched in stunned silence as their cab drove off. Left with the tingling feeling of where Damiano’s lips had just been and the exciting promise of nothing ahead.

#damiano david #damiano x reader #damiano david x reader #maneskin #maneskin fanfiction #damiano david fluff

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itsclydebitches · 3 years ago

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Rewatching RWBY there's this chilling lack of empathy through the volumes that I used to just wave off. Yang has no empathy for Tai, Blake is just entirely about what Blake needs, Weiss almost kills a woman at a party and her takeaway is 'my dad is mean so I'm going to run away'. Qrow sinks hard into depression in vol. 6 and Ruby's reaction is to yell she's never needed him. No one has EVER helped a civilian. It's so prevelant. Knowing how 7&8 go really changes the earlier writing.

I think there was a great deal of well-written empathy in the early volumes — after all, this cast was designed as the kind, well-meaning heroes — but that care was expressed almost solely within the group itself. Ruby sits by Jaune in the hallway and says "Nope!" to his self doubt. Weiss offers Ruby a hand up after she fails to kill the death stalker. Yang seeks out Blake and gets her to open up about what's bothering her. Now, I want to emphasize that there's nothing inherently wrong with this. It actually makes perfect sense. These are our main characters and they're written as peers co-habiting the same space. Of course whatever emotional growth we get, which automatically includes moments of compassion, would be directed towards each other. Similarly, the dynamics originally introduced — that of teachers and parents — likewise (rightly) puts the burden on the adults to provide the comfort, not the other way around. Port snaps Weiss out of her arrogant mindset. Ozpin reassures Ruby about her leadership worries. Tai is there to support his daughter when she's recovering from a lost limb. That's the natural order of things, so to speak.

The problem, to my mind, begins to occur when the group exits those dynamics. They're no longer students, they're licensed huntsmen. They're no longer kids, but equals who never needed adults in the first place. They're no longer doing things for themselves and their friends on personal downtime, they're doing them for the community at large as a profession (to say nothing of the world-altering war they've insisted on shouldering responsibility for). That's what a huntsmen is meant to be, a defender of the people, not someone who uses that power for personal interests alone. All of this is a huge change from where we started out: cutesy kids going off on comparatively low-stakes adventures because one or more of their teammates are invested, only just beginning to realize that they're signing up for a job where their desires come second (that fireside conversation at Mountain Glenn).

This change invites — demands, really — that the audience read them differently too. Qrow's spiral in Volume 6 is a good example of this. If Ruby is demanding to be treated not just as an equal in terms of maturity and experience, but also as the primary leader of this group, then the viewer expects her to treat her uncle as an equal too, not dismiss his hardship. I've seen numerous fans defend that arc with some version of, "He's her uncle. He's supposed to take care of her. He's failing" but that, according to the show, is no longer the dynamic. Qrow is now just a member of Ruby's team, someone she's responsible for as their leader. It's easiest to see the problem if we switch out Qrow for any of the other members. If Blake developed a drinking problem, do we think Ruby would just shout at her until she magically got over it? If Jaune endangered the group, do we think they'd all be angry about it, rather than trying to figure out the source of what caused the mistake? We don't even need to think hypothetically for that one because we saw it on screen. Jaune attacked Oscar and drove him off, not just threatening him, but arguably endangering the whole team by requiring a search party. Fans have long insisted they had to steal that airship right then because being in Argus was too much of a risk, but if we buy that reading (which I personally don't, but), then that means Jaune made things exponentially worse by forcing them out into that super dangerous city, rather than allowing everyone to stay hidden inside. He made a massive mistake which, according to the logic of Qrow's arc, should be met with frustration, disdain, and eventual demands to get over his anger at Ozpin or ship out. But, of course, he received nothing but concern. Yang was worried about him, not Oscar. The search becomes about his grief for Pyrrha and his team's willingness (as well as Pyrrha's family member) to provide more comfort. Suddenly, the tendency to express care solely towards those within the group becomes a flaw the story won't acknowledge.

And then it spirals. The thing to remember is that no single act here is bad on its own, especially when we consider that yes, we want flawed characters. Rather, it's about the pattern. Ruby is allowed to get mad at Qrow for his behavior and chuck her scroll in frustration. She's human. I'd be crazy frustrated too. However, if Ruby is meant to be written as a caring, sympathetic character, she should not only respond to the situation with frustration, yelling, a refusal to listen, and demands that he follow her lead, no questions asked. We can, and should, acknowledge that Weiss was the victim during that party. Her father was hurting her, the woman was beyond insensitive, Weiss was triggered in regards to a horrific event, and her power acted on its own. However, if we want to write Weiss as a compassionate, mature huntress to-be, she should acknowledge that she nearly killed someone — even an asshole someone — and vow to work on her control because she's not willing to put someone in danger like that ever again. Both of these moments have a "They could have been handled better" response attached to them — the former more-so than the latter imo — but these moments are made far, far worse due to later events in the show, events where the characters are cruel without any justification attached. Weiss didn't mean to attack that woman, but she did mean to ignore Whitely and threaten him with her weapon. So once we see that, it informs our understanding of what came before it. "Oh. The fact that Weiss never reacted to nearly killing someone isn't just a bit of missed potential, it's an early indicator that she... doesn't seem to care. If she endangers people, threatens people... that's fine with her." The group has a right to be frustrated with Qrow. The group did not have the right to magically steal Ozpin's entire life story, assault him, and blame him for the world's problems until he felt his only course of action was to run from them. So when we see that it becomes, "Oh. The fact that the group treated Qrow so poorly isn't just a one-time mistake born of a stressful situation and young adults being out of their depth in regards to alcoholism. They really will just abandon anyone the moment they start making mistakes." Anyone outside of their group, that is.

To say nothing of how all of these moments interconnect. Yang's recovery isn't just about getting used to not having an arm, it's about getting used to having a new one. Weiss' party isn't just about nearly killing someone, it's about not committing manslaughter because someone else stepped in. The Volume 6 arc isn't just about trying to escape with the Relic, it's about trying to get it somewhere safe. Fans frustrated with Ironwood's treatment don't harp on these details out of some desperate attempt to make him look good post-murder spree, rather, they recognize that he's a character that's been around since nearly the beginning, originally written as a good guy, and thus has accumulated a number of key connections with the cast. So when none of those connections are acknowledged during an arc about trust... that makes the group look very uncaring. Yang doesn't care that he gave her the arm, Weiss doesn't care that he saved her from hurting/potentially killing someone, Qrow doesn't care that he's trusted Ironwood for years (in a rival-bros way) and that they've been heading towards him this whole time. And when Ironwood begins to spiral, they don't do anything to try and help him, let alone acknowledge that their own choices, that lack of trust and empathy, had a hand in getting them here. "But it's not their responsibility to fix him!" Isn't it? Even a little? Just as human beings seeing an ally struggling under horrific decisions and circumstances? Sure, they don't have to try... but that doesn't make them look very heroic to my mind. And we can't even shrug that off by simplifying things with, "Well, Ironwood is evil now so who cares about him." They simultaneously don't care about finding Qrow who is missing, then captured. They don't do anything to try and find their missing teammates, with the exception of sending May to do it instead. They don't help the army fight off the grimm. Don't try to make sure Pietro and Maria had portals to escape through. Barely hesitate when the newly resurrected characters goes, "Kill me. That's the easiest thing for everyone." And these are just a few of the big ticket moments. It doesn't even begin to cover all the details we get that paint a picture of, "Wow okay. They just really don't care about people outside the group, huh? I mean, they say they do, in a life-or-death way, but they're not putting forth effort to show it on a daily basis."

And if you pick up on all that, if you acknowledge how much the group has changed based on where they started out, you might wonder when in the world that started. Surely we didn't just flip a switch around Volume 6. So you re-watch early stuff and, sure enough, there are moments that feel like setup for what's to come later. Not intentional setup (quite obviously), but a lack of care towards details across the series that, once the dynamic changed, became far, far more pronounced. Characters should be at least somewhat recognizable from start to finish, especially characters who have only experienced about two years of in-world time, so if we now get to see Ruby blandly commenting on all the people who are dying, or Weiss using her weapon as a means of coercing her little brother into doing what she wants, or Yang and Jaune dismissing Ren until he gives in to their point of view... we're going to look for the beginnings of that behavior early on. As you say, we were able to wave all those little details off due to a number of important factors. Now though? Now they feel like they hold a lot more weight, simply by virtue of that early material proceeding what we have now.

#rwby #rwde #mymetas

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matthewbeilschmidts · 3 years ago

Text

It’s been a long while since I’ve posted but I’m so glad that I am :’)

This is for Day 1: of @prucanweek - Ordinary

Apologies for spelling errors, it’s a little short but I hope you enjoy 😭💞

Matthew doesn’t mind that he’s living an ordinary life. Really.

He grows up near the coast, two parents, a fraternal twin brother, and their gangly hairless cat, Tony (picked curtesy of Alfred). Their parents take them everywhere they can during their childhood, the beach, museums, sports game. They focus on their interests, figuring out what the two like and dislike, as they encourage them both to be themselves and do what they love no matter what. Alfred debates between whether he likes wrestling or football more, while Matthew settles into hockey. In between family get togethers, community festivals, and endless sports training, they somehow have time for homework. (The two share answers a lot.)

He and Alfred each have their own rooms when they enter their teen years, a space to decorate and fill with their own mementos and awards. The sports continue, but later their parents find themselves a little bit busier than before. They do though, give them as much time as they can during the school year, never wanting them to go without someone by their side.

Matthew fades into the background a little bit as they get older, while Alfred puts himself front and center. Matthew watches once with a hand over his eyes as Alfred auditions for the school musical, and surprisingly he read and sings the lines well. “It’s always the rowdy ones!” their theater teachers says after he’s finished performing, a mix of anticipation from planning on putting Alfred on stage and dread at the thought of having to manage him.

Matthew silently supports him, after all he has his own things to do.

He’s the co-caption of the hockey team, the coach giving him the position to give him a little more of a voice, and his teammates verbally agree, considering on the ice Matthew has a lot more to show than he does in person. He accepts, albeit hesitantly.

By the time graduation comes by, Matthew can barely believe how the time has passed. His team even wins a championship under his watch. Some of his fellow classmates look so ready to go out and experience the world, and it’s scary to him because weren’t they all going at the same pace?

His parents talk him through picking his college of choice, and he decides to go. He needs to do what everyone does and experience the world.

And if he decides he wants to come home, that’s okay because at least he tries.

He’s in his first art class during his third year at university. The time has been going well, he’s got pretty decent grades and has managed to join a few clubs. But he’s not done yet. Extra curriculars, can’t finish without them. He prioritizes his general education first, and even slips himself into a few major classes early on, but humanities is on record now and has to be completed no matter what one’s studying.

He can get through one semester, he hopes.

Next to him, a student is snickering and the professor doesn’t look amused.

“Gilbert.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“If you’re done, I can introduce myself now.”

The professor goes in with complete, in-depth introductory slides with her name and credentials, and a briefing of all they will overcome this semester.

He’s never been an artist, at least not one that picks up a pencil and creates a realistic masterpiece with nothing but that and a pad of paper. Maybe some poetry contests in high school, if that counts. The written word has its own impact, its own set of colors to breathe out for the world to see.

There’s another snicker, interrupting his internal monologue.

He doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t know the student, and it’s not his place to control others. But, if it starts to hinder the class, maybe he’ll tell him something. He’s paying to be there, too.

The man catches him staring.

“Yes?” he asks Matthew without being spoken to in the first place.

“Oh,” Matthew flushes at being caught, not that he was trying to hide it anyway. “Well, she didn’t say anything funny?”

The guys waves a hand, making a “psssh” noise as he does.

“I’m just laughing because of how formal this all is. She won’t be this dignified later in the semester that’s for sure. She’ll be ripping her hair out.”

Matthew glances back, he doesn’t want to say anyone looks mean but, he would believe it if she was.

“You look scared,” the guy laughs, which is rude because isn’t he the one that just put the thought in Matthew’s mind? “She’s not too mean just a sticker to the rules. Will get real pissy if something doesn’t go right.”

“And you still set her off knowing that?”

The man laughs again, but this time around he’s actually trying to contain it behind the thin art easel. He’s not very hidden.

“She’s my cousin’s wife.”

Ah, that makes sense then? Messing with family is normal, but also he shouldn’t be bothering her at work.

“It’s no wonder you seemed casual.”

“She taught both of the lower division figure drawing classes, too. This is my third semester in her class. She’s the only one teaching this specific class I didn’t have too much of a choice.”

“Art major?”

“Yep! And you?”

“Psychology major. I have to get in some cultural classes.”

“Ever taken art?”

“Actually no, not even in high school. I got through that stuff by working backstage in the theater department.”

“Well not to worry my friend, because you picked the best one.”

“Is it easy to pass?”

“Nope. Well, maybe if she likes your work,” Matthew deflates at the blunt response, “but don’t worry because I’m here to be your guide.”

Matthew perks up, but it takes him a moment. This guy’s gonna help him?

“Are you any good?”

“Am I good?” He looks perplexed Matthew would even ask. Matthew has to cover his own amusement. “I may not look it but charcoal and I go way back. I’ll show you my work later as proof.”

“Deal.”

“Gilbert, since you’re adamant on talking, you can be the first to introduce yourself.”

Even if his name wasn’t said, Matthew feels just as guilty. Caught, for talking on the first day of all things.

“Gilbert Beilshcmidt. Fourth year. I’m an art major and my favorite breakfast food is pancakes.”

Matthew looks surprised that he was paying attention, even to the last addition of their introduction. Matthew’s not sure he would have known considering he was distracted.

And so their friendship starts.

Gilbert sits next to him again. And again.

Where ever Matthew sits in the art room, Gilbert follows not too long after.

Some days they take the sitting desks, some they stand and lean against the stools.

And despite not even talking much, Gilbert treats him like a friend.

“Do you have any plans this afternoon?”

“Nope, this was my last class.”

“Do you want to get some coffee and work on our sketch books.”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

Matthew finds himself meeting Gilbert in his downtime. Every Thursday after drawing for three hours becomes the day they meet. At first, all they do is draw, little more.

Gilbert is animated in all moments, but he has short spurts where he focuses exceptionally on his work. Matthew is no art critic, but he thinks Gilbert expresses himself quite well on paper. Graphite, charcoal, and pastels, all the utensils glide easily without a single stroke missing its mark.

Watercolor though, could use some work, which actually happens to be Matthew’s favorite. Even if the intention is to guide the colors with a brush, it’s okay for them to take a life of their own spreading across the thick paper.

They share snacks, art supplies, and their time.

Gilbert proves himself very useful as he promised. Matthew though never planning to be the next Van Gogh, has to pass this class. And it would be nice to pass it with flying colors, but some concepts are harder to grasp than others.

It’s obvious to tell he’s a beginner, while Gilbert excels. Matthew finds out he only now needs the intro class since it’s the first semester it became a requirement.

Gilbert helps him find the shapes he’s comfortable with, explains the processing for hatching and how it relates to shading. And while he’s no expert, he sees a subtle improvement over the next few weeks that makes some pride swell within himself.

“Do you want to come with me and my friends to this cool bar for dinner on Friday?” Gilbert asks about a month into the semester.

It’s the first time Gilbert and him will have spent time off campus.

“Yeah, I’d love to.”

Gilbert’s friends are just as animated as he, it’s almost hard to keep up. Overwhelming as they are, they’re extremely welcoming. Matthew eases into the atmosphere, joining in when he can but mostly pleased to be out and doing something different.

He’s made friends during his time, but like him they’re a little more reserved and pick quieter places on the town.

It’s fun. And he wants to go out again.

Matthew invites Gilbert and his friends to watch his next hockey game.

After their shock in finding out he plays such a violent sport, they’re all agreeing and planning to find the best seats in the arena.

“Are you serious. Are you hiding muscles under that red sweater?”

Gilbert pokes at him, it tickles when he gets closer to his biceps, but he knows he’s only teasing.

“You think I’m playing but I’m serious! You should have been there, well you were there. On the stands, I mean. We all screamed after you sent that player flying against the wall.”

Gilbert recreates the motions, but only slams himself into the wall and whines after he bounces back. He then plays it off like it doesn’t hurt. Gilbert’s not a very good actor.

People tell him it’s so much different watching him on the ice, but it’s still him. He’s always wondered how much different, he feels like himself. He just knows he goes into the zone when he’s in his gear. He just wants to win. And he will.

“It’s like night day,” Gilbert continues. “You were ready to kill a man down there.”

“You’re not the first to say that. I guess maybe, I could be a little more out there in real life, huh?”

Gilbert stops walking.

“Nope.”

“Nope?”

“You’re perfectly fine the way you are. I like the way you are, so don’t go change. I don’t want to be at risk of dying during art class.”

And as silly as it sounds, he’s pleased. He likes Gilbert a whole lot, too. Just the way he is.

“Do you want to have dinner with me?” Matthew takes the initiative.

“Dinner?”

“Yeah, just you and me. I want to take you out.”

“Like you did to that guy on the court,” Gilbert laughs nervously.

“On a date. Gilbert, would you like go out with me?”

He says yes.

Later that evening when he’s heading home, Gilbert starts running through the courtyard cheering that “I have a date with the cutest guy I’ve ever met!”

Matthew’s window is open, he’s face is bright red and he slams head first into his pillow. He needs to plan the best first date ever.

Three months into dating, he’s finally heading home again for a school break. He wants to take Gilbert with him, who is waiting for the next major holiday to go back home. But isn’t it too soon? They haven’t been dating that long, after all.

But Gilbert surprises him, and jokingly says he wants to go with him because he’ll miss him too much while he’s gone. And then, Matthew asks if he seriously wants to go.

“I do.”

So they ride the 3 hours train down to Matthew’s childhood home. He’s a little bit nervous, because he’s had dates to school dances, and brought friends over, but this is entirely different. This is someone he wants to take a serious step with, even if the time hasn’t been that long. They’ll never get anywhere if they don’t, so they’ll both take the leap and pray it works out.

“Mom, dad, Alfred, this is Gilbert.”

It’s the most timid Matthew’s ever seen him.

“Nice to meet ya, I’m Matthew’s boyfriend.”

After he shakes all their hands, he takes his hand back to link pinkies with Matthew.

There’s not an once of regret in his mind as the long weekend passes.

Gilbert graduates the next year, and the year after it’s his turn. They’re going to move in with each other. Gilbert really has no irresistible urge to go back to his home town, satisfied with just visiting a few times a year. And Matthew thinks he would like to go back closer, just to figure out his next move. So, they go together.

It’s only a one bedroom, but is more than enough space for them both. Gilbert finds work as a docent while Matthew works for a second degree in education.

He still plays hockey for a local league, Gilbert becoming their number one fan. They find their own rhythm, a pace that works for them both, where they can settle down or speed up when they agree with each other. Dewey mornings, warm summers, chilly evenings they spend them altogether.

They decide move up North closer to Gilbert’s hometown. Matthew’s more nervous meeting his grandparents than he was introducing Gilbert to his own family, but Gilbert assures him again and again they’re just a stuffy old family who actually really care about each other a lot more than they let off.

Gilbert’s grandfather towers over him, despite being a hair above 6 feet. He’s silent, eyes boring into Matthew as he introduces himself. And to end all of Matthew’s worries, the elder man pulls Matthew into a hug and tells him he’s glad him and Gilbert are home. Gilbert, just as perplexed as he, stares, but he melts into a pleased laugh.

Yeah, this is his and Gilbert’s home now.

They stay, for a long while, contemplate moving a few times, but they’re satisfied for now.

Gilbert and him always make time for each other, continue their own respective interests with complete support of the other. They’re never afraid to complain, because they always work through it rather then let it simmer.

Gilbert’s vivacious spirit keep them going, and Matthew’s heart keeps them grounded.

His life at first seem a little bit ordinary, but how can he complain when the pieces of the puzzle fit themselves in and stayed locked in tight.

#hetalia #prucan #prucanweek #APH Prussia #APH Canada #.txt post #I forgot all my writing tags #will fix later HAHA

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jaskierswolf · 4 years ago

Note

Would you consider writing a story or drabble about Geralt having to rescue Jaskier after the bard is shrunk and locked in a birdcage after a noble refuses to let him leave?

I thought I could write a short drabble about this... but predictably I got carried away. Jaskier isn’t exactly shrunk? but... I hope you like it! __________

Geralt was pacing in front of the fireplace in the tavern. He wasn’t sure why he was so restless. It wasn’t like he’d made plans to meet up with Jaskier this year, or even last year, but it was strange that they hadn’t run into each other in three years. What was worse was that Geralt hadn’t even heard about the bard in those years. Normally, there would be chatter wherever he was about the bard’s whereabouts, conquests and new songs. There had been no new songs about the White Wolf’s adventures. None of the other Kaer Morhen witchers had heard anything either…

And Geralt was concerned.

He kept telling himself that if Jaskier the master bard had died then he would have heard at least something. The fair maidens would have been in mourning for the loss of the famously unparalleled lover, not to mention the countless beautiful people of other genders that Jaskier had courted in his time.

No.

There was nothing.

Silence.

Jaskier hated silence.

Something was wrong. Geralt was angry at himself for caring so much. He’d had friends before that had come and gone. The Continent was a harsh land and humans were fragile, they died. Geralt’s chest ached at the thought of Jaskier’s cold dead body, no life left in those twinkling cornflower blue eyes, no song left to sing.

He snarled and spun around on his heels. Jaskier wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be. He was barely… Geralt paused to think. How old was the bard? He couldn’t be any older than thirty but he was sure they’d been travelling together for longer than that. He grunted. That didn’t matter. What mattered was that Jaskier couldn’t be dead.

“You there!” He pointed at the barkeeper. “Jaskier the bard, you heard of him?”

The barkeeper nodded with wide eyes. “Course I have.”

“Have you heard any news recently, rumours, cuckolded nobles?” Geralt asked in a low growl. He wasn’t intentional trying to frighten the barkeeper but the icy cold dread had gripped his heart in a vice and he had to get answers.

“Nothing, witcher.”

Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose. “What of his death?”

The barkeeper shook his head. “There’s been speculation but most lasses believe the bard has been cursed, the older folk think he got tired of fame and became a hermit.”

“Cursed?” Geralt latched onto that idea. Surely if there was a curse then a witcher or mage would have been called to deal with the problem. He let out a low sigh. “When did you last hear of him?”

The barkeeper gave a long drawn out whistle. “Sorry, witcher. Not for years.”

Geralt nodded and then turned to leave the tavern. He was going to find Jaskier.

_________

Geralt peered up at the manor house. The gates outside were shining, as if they were brand new. The gardens were in full bloom despite the cold winter chill and Geralt could hear the hum of bumble bees. As he pushed open the gates his medallion leapt from his chest and he frowned. He caught the wolf in his hands and gripped it tightly. That was not good. He whistled for Roach. She cantered up to him from the trees where he’d left her. She butted his head and he softly stroked her mane.

“Don’t know what he’s gotten himself into Roach, can’t let the idiot out of my sight.” He muttered. “I’ll kill him myself if he’s not already dead.”

She whinnied and stamped her foot, nipping at Geralt’s armour.

“Yeah. I miss him too.” He admitted quietly. It was the first time he’d said the words out loud but fuck, he hadn’t realised how much truth lay within them. “I’ll get him back.”

He pulled his silver sword from its sheathe on her saddle and gentle stroked her muzzle. “Stay here. I’ll be back soon.”

The hum of his medallion got stronger as he neared the house. The sickly sweet scent of flowers was almost overwhelming. He covered his nose with his free hand to try block out the smell. If they were illusions they were fucking good ones.

The doors of the house flew open as he approached and he sighed. It was going to be one of those days apparently. He fucking hated mages. They thought the world owed them everything and rarely cared who got caught in the cross fire. The scent of the flowers faded away, replaced by the warm smell of roasted venison and apple tart. The strangest thing was the nightingale song that echoed through the halls. No matter where he walked it sounded like there was a nightingale on his shoulder.

“What the fuck?” He muttered, swinging his sword in his hand and peering around each door with narrowed eyes.

One room was completely empty except a golden cage hanging from an elegant hook; the nightingale. Geralt held his medallion tighter and hummed. The nightingale’s song didn’t stop but it did change its tune as it saw Geralt enter the room. Geralt swore as ‘Toss a Coin’ began to fill the air. It was only then that he noticed the cornflower blue eyes on the bird.

Jaskier.

He ran across the room and grabbed the cage. Jaskier carried on singing, moving onto the ballad he’d written about a bruxa hunt. He fell off his perch as the cage jostled but still he kept singing. Geralt tore the cage door off and Jaskier flew out. As he escaped the confines of the cage the feathers changed into dirty and torn teal silk. Jaskier gasped hoarsely as he fell forwards into Geralt’s arms.

“G’ralt” He coughed.

“I’m here. You’re alright now. You’re safe.” Geralt pulled Jaskier to his chest in a tight embrace. He buried his nose in the crook of Jaskier’s neck and inhaled deeply. His scent was soured with fear but sure enough there was the warm smell of chamomile, of Jaskier.

Jaskier whimpered and shook his head. He pulled at Geralt’s arms and pointed to his neck.

Around Jaskier’s swanlike neck was a ribbon with an enamel nightingale in the centre; the curse. Geralt slipped his fingers under the ribbon. “Will this hurt if I take if off?”

Jaskier nodded. “I. I can’t do it. Only him.”

“Him?” Geralt growled. “Who did this to you?”

“I did,” an icy voice came from the doorway. “I wondered when I’d be seeing you, Geralt of Rivia. My poor nightingale would not stop talking about you at first. If he didn’t have such a beautiful voice I would have cut his tongue out. Luckily, hope doesn’t last for long.”

Geralt snarled and bared his teeth at the man. Jaskier shrunk back and hid behind him, fingers digging into the back of his armour.

“G’ralt…” He whined.

Geralt raised his sword. “Release the bard and I won’t kill you.”

The man laughed bitterly. “Do you really expect me to believe that? The man sings your praises for years. Everyone knows he’s in love with you. The question is, White Wolf, do you feel the same?”

Jaskier whimpered pitifully behind his back. Geralt’s heart jumped in his chest but he filed that information away for later. He needed to save Jaskier first and then they could talk.

“Lift the curse,” Geralt snarled.

The man sighed dramatically. “I can’t. I lied to your bard, witcher. Only—”

“True love’s kiss.” Geralt finished with a groan. “Why?”

He shrugged. “The bard who loves everyone but has no one in return. It entertained me, nothing more nothing less.”

Geralt took a deep breath. “You’re wrong.”

“Am I?”

Geralt lowered the point of his sword slowly and narrowed his eyes. “He has me.”

“Well there’s only one way to find out if that’s really true, witcher?” The man’s lips pulled into a sinister grin. “Care to kiss your bard?”

Jaskier whined again. Geralt threw down his sword and spun round to face Jaskier. The bard was pale and shaking. Geralt did his best to give him a reassuring smile but it was difficult when he was so full of rage.

“Don’t have to…” Jaskier whispered.

Geralt nodded. “I know.”

Jaskier bright blue eyes were shimmering with tears. “I’ll understand. It’s ok.”

The hoarseness of Jaskier’s voice made Geralt see red. Jaskier meticulously took care of his voice, the same way Geralt took care of his swords. This man had taken that from Jaskier and he was going to pay. He took Jaskier’s face in his hands and placed a firm kiss on the top of Jaskier’s hair. “We’ll talk about it when you’re not cursed,” He murmured and then in a blink of an eye he’d turned to face the man again.

His sword was in his hands and at the man’s throat in a flash. The man stumbled backwards but Geralt moved with him, keeping the blade pressed against his neck.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you,” He snarled but before he could slit the man’s throat Jaskier’s hand was on his arm.

“Because of this,” Jaskier whispered and held out his other hand.

The ribbon.

Geralt’s eyes widened. “The fuck?”

Jaskier tilted his head and smiled weakly. “You, witcher, love me.”

“I…. fuck. Yeah.”

Jaskier laughed and then choked on a cough. “So it would be a shame to ruin it with murder, dear heart.”

Geralt glared at the man and sighed. “Fine.”

He pulled his sword away and Jaskier’s fingers intertwined with his as they headed out of the manor house. It was far from over and they had a long journey ahead of them but it was a new a beginning.

Their new beginning.

Together. ___________

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#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #geralt/jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #wolfie's witcher writing #Anonymous

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ilovemesomekillianjones · 4 years ago

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Navigating the Storm (1/4)

Summary: Emma Swan navigates the aftermath of Neverland by trying to deal with everything the way she always has, by locking all her feelings away. Between having to share Henry with two other people now, her parents confession in the Echo Caves, her parents pushing her towards a man she has no interest in, and feelings for another man that she never expected to feel, Emma is at the end of her rope. *Post Neverland - No Curse*

Author’s Note: Thank you to my friend @hollyethecurious for beta reading this story for me! I have had this written for about three months now and have finally put on the finishing touches. This is part 1 of 4 - I will post a chapter a week. Hope you guys enjoy!

Rated M 4.5K ao3 ffnet Under the cut, promise

It had been exactly two weeks since they’d stepped foot back in Storybrooke, since bringing Henry home safely from Neverland. Two weeks in which Emma Swan had had very few chances to just be, to just breathe. Each breath felt like it was choked by the need to scream or cry. Two weeks of restless nights and emotionally fraught days; parents urging her toward a man she did not want, her mom wanting a new baby, another mom wanting her baby, not that she held anything against Regina. Henry was as much Regina’s as he was hers, she knew that, but that didn’t mean it didn’t weigh heavily on her soul. And of course there was Neal, who had been an ever-present thorn in her side during the last two weeks.

Emma wanted to blame everything on Neal, it would be so easy, but she couldn’t do that, there was rarely only one person to blame. She had to take some responsibility, too. He’d been bugging her about giving their relationship another shot, about putting aside the past to make a better future for Henry. Each time, Neal’s words would hit the solid mass of her thick skull and bounce right off, while simultaneously invoking a silent wrath in her being. What the everloving fuck was he thinking? How could the two of them being together be good for anyone? It didn’t help that her parents both still thought Neal was a saint. It didn’t help that each time they unwittingly made little comments about her giving him a chance, it felt like a little more of the world weighed on her shoulders.

Each morning she dragged her feet getting out of bed, if only to delay dealing with the barrage of shit she didn’t want to hear about or deal with. Of course, if she was honest with herself, she’d admit the reason she was feeling like this was because she was effectively not dealing with any of it. But why choose now to be honest with herself, she’d been content to ignore every other issue she’d dodged in life, abandonment, intimacy, self-worth, why stop now?

Emma hadn’t felt emotional sadness like this since the days between finding out she was pregnant in prison and knowing she would have to give her baby up. Her body felt heavy, her mind felt clouded, and her soul was just… sad, there wasn’t a better word for it. She hated this feeling, and when the sadness became too overwhelming, anger often surged in, and no one needed an angry Emma Swan around. She loved her family and her family-by-extension, but she needed a break.

As she walked toward Granny’s at a molasses slow pace, hands shoved in her jacket pockets, head down, where she was meeting her parents, Neal, Henry, and Regina for a late dinner, her eyes filled with tears. She struggled to inhale air past the lump forming in her throat. A deep anger rose within her, mostly because she was pissed at herself for wanting to cry. She didn’t know how to make everyone understand what she was feeling and why she was feeling it. No one had ever taught her the healing power of communication, while growing up in foster care. As the anger finally defeated the desire to cry, Emma Swan did what all responsible folks do and locked that shit up, deep inside where no one would see it.

“I saved you a seat, Ems,” Neal offered as she entered the diner.

“Yeah, look mom, right between me and dad,” Henry piped in.

Emma glanced at the six of them, one seat between Neal and Henry, no doubt by design and one seat at the other end of the table by her dad. “Uh, I have to discuss a case with David,” she lied. And boy did that make her feel like Shittiest Mom of the Year. “I’ll come back in a few.”

Taking off her jacket, she sat next to her dad and began speaking with him about the new project they were working on to make Storybrooke Sheriff’s Department digital. There was truly nothing she needed to discuss with him right this instant, but she could not handle another manipulation by Neal, especially in front of Henry, about getting back together.

“Why don’t you go sit with Henry and Neal,” David whispered, “we can discuss this tomorrow at work.”

Sucking in a deep breath to tamp down the edge of anger that started to creep up on her, Emma realized there was a silver lining here. At least he had whispered.

“I’m perfectly fine where I’m at,” she quietly replied, affecting a sense of calm she didn’t really feel.

“Oh, honey,” her mother began in what was not a whisper, “go sit down there, let me get a picture of the three of you.”

And just like that, there was another brick piled on her shoulders. She understood that her parents really did want what was best for her. Why couldn’t they just magically understand that Neal wasn’t it? She could hear Neal trying to coax her over and her head started to spin. She really did need that break.

As she choked on the sob that wanted to escape, the bell above the entrance rang, and if she’d never experienced what being saved by the bell meant, she was right now. “Hook,” she murmured, just a little more breathlessly than strictly necessary.

“What?” Snow asked.

“Hook’s here,” Emma said. “Why don’t you join us for dinner, Hook?” Emma called over to him. He was just the buffer she needed tonight. She didn’t miss the intrigue in his eyes, which he quickly masked with a conciliatory smile that didn’t quite reach those pretty blue eyes.

“While I appreciate the offer, I don’t wish to intrude,” he answered graciously.

“You’re not intruding, we were just sitting down to eat a meal. Everyone has to eat.”

“Well, if all of their Royal Highnesses don’t mind,” he acquiesced.

“Everyone scoot one seat to their right,” Emma instructed, she didn’t expect him to sit next to Neal, not with the current state of affairs.

Snow stared at her daughter wide eyed and Emma just stared back through narrowed eyes, hoping that her expression conveyed, he did save your husband’s life.

“Ems, I thought you were going to sit with me and Henry,” Neal asked, failing to mask the irritation in his voice.

And I thought I was meeting you with the bag of watches, not the cops, Emma thought bitterly. If Neal was going to use Henry against her, he was going to be sorry. She wasn’t going to stoop to the level of using a child to get what she wanted, but she was also not going to be bulldozed by her ex.

“That’s okay, dad,” Henry intervened. “Mom can sit with her friend. How’s the fastest ship in all the realms, Captain?”

Emma beamed at her son’s cherubic nature. He was truly good. He was innocent and perfect, and she felt like she might cry again as her young son saved her again.

“She’s jolly good, m’boy,” Hook answered merrily, obviously tickled that Henry had asked about his pride and joy. Or maybe it was simply because this boy treated him with common courtesy. Hook had vowed to himself to turn over a new leaf when he’d turned his ship around to help Emma save her son, and although he knew that, most people still treated him like the pirate they’d known him to be.

“You okay, Swan?” Hook asked her quietly, as conversation started up around the table.

“I- yeah,” she said, slapping on a smile, and even though it was an effort to smile, she found that she wanted to smile for Hook. She also found that he knew she was lying.

“If you ever want to talk about it, I’ve a never ending supply of rum aboard the Jolly.”

“I might just take you up on that,” she laughed. And it felt really good to laugh.

“I thought you said you’d back off,” Neal seethed as he walked over to their end of the table.

Emma looked between the two men before quietly sounding a warning. “We do not need another pissing contest here,” she hissed.

“Contest,” Neal fumed. “There is no contest, I’m Henry’s father, he’s a home-wrecking pirate.”

Emma’s head began to swim again as she listened to Neal berate Hook, as she read between the lines of what he’d said. He felt like he deserved her because they bore a child together.

“Is everything okay?” David asked.

Emma closed her eyes and weakly shook her head no. She would lose it if her parents got involved.

“Here Neal, why don’t you take my seat,” Snow offered.

Emma shook her head no again, but apparently no one was looking at her.

“Haven’t you destroyed enough lives?” Neal asked.

Emma’s eyes shot open and she’d hit just about her limit. Her throat felt like it was almost swollen shut as that urge to scream or cry or both, came raging back.

“Haven’t you done enough damage, Hook?”

“Bae-” Hook started

“Stop calling me that!”

“Neal,” Hook corrected, “it is not my intent to come between you and Emma. I was merely accepting the invitation she offered. I did say I would back off, I didn’t say I would ignore Emma if she requested my company.”

“Back off from what?” Emma asked, feeling a little annoyed that they’d been discussing her like a - she didn’t know what.

“Swan, I merely told Ba- Neal that I would not interfere if you two decided to pursue a chance at a family with Henry.”

“I think that is very noble, Hook,” Snow inserted.

“Not now, mom.”

“Well Emma, it’s only fair that you two have a real shot, now that you’ve been reunited,” Snow argued, “and I was just saying that I think it’s noble of Hook to put his feelings for you aside to give you and Neal that chance.”

That was it, that was her limit. Chances? Reunited? FAIR? The lights flickered twice before pitching Granny’s in darkness. Emma stood up and placed both her palms flat down on the table.

“Regina,” Emma said in a ragged voice, barely containing her emotions, which she desperately wanted to contain with Henry present. “Take him home, please.”

“Come on, Henry. I have lasagna at home,” Regina said, without having to be asked again. She could feel the energy of the situation sizzling about, and she knew only too well the magical properties of raw emotion. Of course Henry instinctively knew to listen as well. “Granny’s is closed,” Regina announced, “Mayor’s orders.”

The several patrons around had the good sense to slap some money on the counter and head out.

“I love you, mom. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Henry said as he and Regina readied to leave. He came to her end of the table and gave her a hug.

“I love you too, kid,” Emma responded as she ruffled Henry’s hair, and the lights flickered back to life.

Once Henry and Regina were gone, Emma eyed her parents. She tried breathing in and out slowly. She didn’t want to fight, she didn’t want to hurt them, she didn’t want to cry. But something had to give.

“Mom, Dad,” she whispered, as she knew her voice would crack if she attempted to speak in a normal voice. “I’ve been having a really-” a broken sob overtook Emma, halting her words. Her face crumbled, tears filling her eyes and falling to her cheeks, as the full weight of what she’d been dealing with overwhelmed her.

“Oh honey,” Snow cried as she stood up to try and comfort her daughter.

Emma held up a hand and shook her head no at her mother. “Please… don’t. I have to do this.”

Snow’s face fell as her daughter rejected her, but she sat back down to comply with her daughter’s wishes.

“Go on, Emma,” her father said quietly.

Nodding her head, she took another big breath. “I’ve been having a really hard time since we came back from Neverland. I’m happy that you want a new baby, I am, but it also hurt to hear that you wanted to have a chance to experience everything we never got to, and I know that’s not your fault, but it still hurts. And I am happy that Henry has Regina, because no matter what, she really does love him. But it hurts to have to share him with her when we have a third person to share him with now, it’s less time, when I’ve already missed so much.”

“It wouldn’t be if you spent time with me and Henry,” Neal muttered.

“Goddammit, Neal!” Emma yelled, pounding her fists on the table. “You have got to stop that. I’m struggling with my parents wanting a new baby and I am struggling with sharing Henry with you. But my biggest problem, the one that eats away at me every day, is you! I can’t stand the way you try to manipulate me in front of my son, making it seem like I’m the only reason we can’t be a family. You showed up to Storybrooke with a fiancée, don’t act like you came back here to win me over or some other noble bullshit. And I can’t stand that my parents think you should be my happy ending.” Another sob choked her words and she paused to catch her breath. “You will never be my happy ending,” she yelled before leaving the diner.

Emma jogged down the walkway, unsure of where to go, but knowing she couldn’t remain in there one second longer. She didn’t want to see the looks she’d put on her parents’ faces anymore and she didn’t want to deal with Neal. After an hour of wandering, she found herself down by the icy cold shoreline. She sat down in the freezing sand and folded her arms around her legs. Resting her chin on her knees, she lamented the fool she’d made of herself and the mess she’d made of things.

“Awfully cold for camping at the beach,” Hook said.

Emma jumped so hard, it hurt her butt when she landed back in the unforgiving sand. “Jesus Christ, you scared me. Are you following me?”

“Sorry, love,” Hook apologized, holding hand and hook in the air as he always did when she went on the offensive. “I didn’t mean to alarm you. And no, I am not following you. I was up on the deck of my ship and saw your golden hair in the moonlight; wanted to make sure you don’t catch your death out here.” He handed her a blanket.

“Thank you,” she said through chattering teeth, only now realizing just how cold it was. “You probably need to invest in some warmer clothes if you’re planning to stay in Storybrooke for the winter.”

“Is that an invitation, Swan?”

She just rolled her eyes as she held her hand out to him to help her up.

“Don’t worry your heart, I am plenty hot,” he flirted, extending his hand and pulling her up.

“You are plenty full of yourself is what you are,” she laughed. “I don’t know why I ended up here. I just… I cannot go home. I should probably see if Granny has a room available. Paying her some rent is the least I could do after clearing out her customers.”

Hook scratched behind his ear, his nervous habit that always made Emma chuckle inside, because how did The Captain Hook have a nervous tic?

“You could stay on the Jolly, if you like. You know, instead of walking back to Granny’s.”

“Is that an invitation, Hook?” Emma countered.

“Actually, it is,” he said as he bowed deeply, holding his right hand out in the direction of his ship.

She decided it was probably her best option for the night. She didn’t want to see her parents at the loft, she definitely didn’t want to risk running into Neal at Granny’s, and she was far too proud to ask Regina for a crash pad. So, she followed the direction of Hook’s extended hand and headed to the Jolly.

“Thank you,” she mumbled as they headed down into the Captain’s Quarters. It was only slightly warmer below deck, and she wondered how cold he got at night.

“Perhaps a little gratitude is in order,” he smirked, pointing his finger to his lips as he had done several weeks ago.

Emma didn’t even have to think about it this time. She launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and backing him up against the wall. She kissed him just as passionately as she had back on that Hell Island, but this time, she had no intent of limiting their activities to just a kiss.

“Swan,” he moaned against her mouth.

“Hmmm?” she hummed as she continued to learn his mouth and his tongue which had come out to play.

She loved the way his hook felt pressed at her back and the way his hand cupped her cheek before sliding into her hair. She took the opportunity to quickly run her hands up through his chest hair before shifting them up under his jacket to divest him of it.

“Swan, stop,” he whispered between kisses. “Stop, darling.”

Emma immediately pulled back. Like, what? “What’s the problem,” she asked defensively.

“I apologize lass, it was a poorly timed Neverland reference.”

“A… joke?” Emma’s head began spinning again. One million thoughts ran through her head as her brows furrowed and panic hit her eyes. Her mouth turned down as a strangle hold settled over her... rejection. She’d had one melt down and now she was damaged goods in his eyes. A one time thing, she’d said, and he was the one who was going to enforce it. “I have to go,” she muttered, mind already on auto pilot to the lovely land of orphans-aren’t-worthy-of-love.

Killian quickly blocked her path to the door. Bad move.

“Get. Out. Of. My. Way,” she seethed. “You don- don’t want me...” Oh fuck, she panicked, the tears were going to start again. When would this roller coaster come crashing to a halt? Emma Swan, Dumpster Fire, she mused, it had a truer ring than Emma Swan, Savior.

“Don’t you tell me what I want or do not want,” Hook reprimanded. “I want you, I have wanted you, far more and far longer than you know.” He stepped into her space and lifted her chin with his hook, until she had no choice but to look into his eyes. “Make no mistake about that, love.” A fire burned between them, something palpable, and only by sheer force of will, was Hook denying himself the pleasure she’d been looking to bring him mere moments before.

Truth. Truth is what she saw in Hook’s eyes. “Then why are you pushing me away,” she asked, lips still quivering with the threat of tears.

“Because I won’t exploit your emotions, that would be the pinnacle of bad form.”

“What?”

Hook took her hand and led her to sit on his bed. “Emma, you just confessed major hurt and heartache to your parents. You obviously have unresolved issues with Bae, and you’re harboring a sadness that is ruling your emotions. Despite Neverland and everything that happened there, I have never seen you this close to the brink of despair.”

A tear slipped down as Hook brought his hand up to cup her cheek. “Look at me, Emma.”

She sniffled, but complied, as she realized he was not going to continue until she looked at him.

“You are strong, and you will get through this, but a quick romp in the sack is not part of the solution. I cannot in good conscience let you lead us down a path that you will undoubtedly regret. It’s not fair to you and it’s not fair to me.”

“If I don’t get to tell you what you do or don’t want, then you shouldn’t get to tell me what I will or won’t regret,” she huffed.

Hook smiled at the fire that lit his Swan, and continued on, “I did promise Bae that I would back off, I thought it was best for Henry, if it was what you wanted as well.”

“I don’t want that,” Emma interrupted.

“I know you don’t want that. Tonight made that clear,” he assured her. “But tonight also showed that you have some things to work out. I am here for you, Emma, and no matter what our future holds, I will stand by your side and help you traverse all of it. But where matters of our hearts are concerned, I cannot be your port in this storm if you only plan to pack up and set sail when the tide calms and the tempest parts.”

Tears surged forth once more as she lunged at Hook again, but this time just to throw herself into his embrace. She didn’t even know why she was crying, but she knew that this, him, everything he’d just said, this was what she needed. Someone to stand by her side, someone to accept her for her, someone who knew that she had shitty baggage but was okay with it and wanted to help her lighten her load. “I just want to forget, I want five minutes where I don’t feel like everything is closing around me like a vice.”

“That’s it lass, everything is going to be okay, I promise,” he murmured as he wrapped his arms around her protectively. “Let it out, crying can be quite cathartic when you let it.”

Emma cried a little harder as she listened to his soothing voice. She sat up many moments later when she’d cried herself out. Wiping away her tears, she looked at the man next to her. “How did you get so wise,” she asked in a nasally, I’ve-been-crying voice.

“How’s that?”

“About crying being cathartic.”

“Ah,” Hook chuckled as he blushed a bit. “You pick up some things as the centuries pass. I may have learned that sometimes letting out pent up emotion is better than harbouring it until it blows up.”

“Thank you, Killian,” she whispered, before leaning in and tenderly placing a chaste kiss to his lips.

“You called me Killian.”

The bit of awe in his eyes made Emma giggle. “That is your name, isn’t it?”

“Aye, but you know what I mean, love,” he chuckled with her.

She laughed again until she was caught in a yawn that wracked her whole body.

“Let me get you something to sleep in.” Hook went to an antique armoire and pulled out one of his shirts and a pair of long johns. “These should keep you warm.” After handing them to her, he placed a kiss on her cheek. “I’ll let you get some rest, no doubt your day has been taxing.” Then he turned to leave.

Before he could make it to the door, Emma reached out to grab his hook. He turned around to see what she needed.

“Will you stay with me?”

His eyes pleaded with her not to tempt him into breaking his word. His good form.

“I promise I won’t jump your bones, sailor.” She rolled her eyes playfully, but then she glanced away and folded her arms around herself, a vulnerability encasing her whole form before she spoke again. “I just want you to hold me,” she whispered.

His chest ached for her, for this tender side of Emma Swan that he’d never been privy to. Why would he ever deny her something as simple as holding her? “Of course, love.” After changing into something passable for sleep attire, he joined Emma in his bed.

“I know this is going to sound sappy, but today, at Granny’s, when you showed up, I was on the brink of losing my mind,” Emma confessed as she lay snuggled against his side, his right arm wrapped around her, making her feel safe. “But when I saw you, I felt like… like I might be able to get through it, like everything would be okay, if only you were with me. That’s why I asked you to stay.”

“And did it help, having me there?”

“All I know is, even though I didn’t say everything I need to get off my chest, I did get through part of it, and I am glad you were there.”

“Happy to oblige, darling.” Hook craned his neck forward to place a kiss to the crown of her head.

Pulling the blankets up to her neck, Emma shivered. “Give me your other arm, you’re warmer than these blankets.”

“My hook,” he said, holding up the shiny version of his moniker. “I wouldn’t want to accidentally harm you.”

“Then take it off,” Emma responded as though it were the most obvious answer in the world.

“I don’t think so, love.”

“Why not?” she asked, sitting up to look at him.

Hook took advantage of his freed arm and scrubbed his hand over his face. “It’s not a sight I wish you to see, it’s actually quite revolting.”

“I don’t believe for a second that any part of Killian Jones is revolting,” Emma said, gently pulling his left arm toward her.

“Swan,” he groaned.

“Killian, you saw me at my most vulnerable today, and you didn’t run for the hills. I won’t either,” she promised softly. “I don’t think you understand that what I like about you is this,” she placed her hand over his heart, “the man you are.”

Killian placed his hand over hers, where it rested on his chest and brought it to his brace. “Okay then, go ahead.”

Carefully unfastening the buckles, Emma pulled the entire brace away from his arm. She held his forearm in one hand and ran the fingers of her other hand over the scarred flesh, inspecting the damage. Although Hook was right, it wasn’t a “pretty” sight, it wasn’t nearly as bad as he would have had her believe. “Does it still hurt?”

“Aye, sometimes.”

She delicately massaged in a downward motion, from his forearm to the end of his wrist, and watched his face. He wasn’t making eye contact with her, but rather, watching her ministrations. He looked half panic stricken, like he might bolt, and half enchanted by her touch. She followed the pattern several times until he’d fully relaxed to her touch. “See, was that so bad?”

Hook’s face was a deep shade of red and his entire body had broken out in goosebumps. He didn’t know how to answer her question. He had never willingly let another person see his mutilated arm, let alone touch it. On one hand, it was that bad, he felt laid bare before her and he was still dressed. On the other hand, or hook, as it were, he felt something akin to what she had explained earlier, like he would be okay, because she was there. “I suppose not,” he murmured, all the more enamored by this enchanting woman.

“Good.” Laying back down, she wrapped both his arms around her and snuggled into him. “Much better.” Emma slept better that night than she had since they’d come home from Neverland.

Tagging some lovelies - please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

@laschatzi @qualitycoffeethings @hookedonapirate @wordsmith-storyweaver @kmomof4 @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @wyntereyez @hooklineandswan @teamhook @let-it-raines @whimsicallyenchantedrose @spartanguard @tiganasummertree@apromisednightcap @xemmaloveskillianx @elizabeethan @cocohook38 @optomisticgirl @darkcolinodonorgasm @jennjenn615 @timeless-love-story @girl-in-a-tiny-box @thesschesthair @galadriel26 @ultraluckycatnd @lifeinahole27 @therooksshiningknight @kday426 @djlbg @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @lfh1226-linda @delightfully-difficult-pirate @thejollyswan @csalltheway @xarandomdreamx @vvbooklady1256 @withheartfulloflove @resident-of-storybrooke @mcakers @gingerchangeling @searchingwardrobes @snowbellewells

#cs ff #cs fan fic #captain swan #captain swan ff #captain swan fan fiction

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