#rated more for the kinks and general level of spice

[sometimesrosy]

Heya Rosy, hope you’re doing well! Haven’t seen you around here much but I hope everything’s ok! It’s NaNo month, so… do you have any resources or tips to write intimate scenes? Not full smut but… smut. Thank you!

HI! It's nanowrimo also known (by me) as Writevember!

I have not been here much. So sorry. Nothing sinister. I'm just busy writing and painting and kidsing-- er raising kids, who are almost raised btw. And reading. I've been on threads a bit also, since there's a pretty good and supportive community of writers and artists and readers there. I'm rowenamurillo at threads if you want to join me. mention you're from tumblr if you want to or don't. you could probably just call me rosy since that name is mostly used here.

ANYWAY. Tips to write smut.

Listen. Writing smut is so hard for me. For a few reasons. One because you can psych yourself out thinking about how it's smut and somehow not the same as regular writing, which it is. Just writing.

Remember the rules of writing. Use those.

Writing smut is hard for me mostly because it's action. I struggle with action scenes.

Someone once told me to write smut (and action) as if I were describing choreography, because that's essentially what it is.

Another difficulty with writing smut is LANGUAGE.

You have to choose the language for the smut that is appropriate to the genre. For instance, I cannot write the words for smut here in this post because I feel constrained. They are NOT appropriate for the genre of "english teacher giving writing help" which is rated PG. So my suggestion is to pick some books of your chosen genre and spice level and check out the words they use during their smut scenes. There are some words that are generally seen as reliable workhorses and then there are some words that are creative and descriptive or metaphorical and can sometimes get a bit goofy. The simpler c*** c*** p**** d*** might actually be better than some of the overblown prose that has been known to be used. Clinical words are questionable unless the characters in question would use them. Remember to stay in character, don't have an earthy person use the clinical words or an innocent suddenly become foulmouthed (unless you're using that as a character point.) ANYWAY language should fit genre and character.

And then there's smut level. It's very important to pick your smut level, and there's some debate about what smut level is acceptable. Again, read books that you'd like to write like and see how explicit or how fade to black their spice is. A lot of romance will take a spicier level of smut, except for "sweet" or "clean" (don't really love that descriptor because it assumes sexy=dirty) where there really aren't sex scenes or "close door" or "fade to black" where there are characters having sex but you don't write those scenes, just assume them. But smutty scenes also have levels of explicitness. Some books have love scenes but the description is mild and focuses more on the emotions and connections and less on the 'money shot.' SOME smut is really smutty and spicy and is very descriptive of exactly what is happening. What goes where. The relative temperature, soft or hardness, colors, shapes, levels of moisture, sounds made by characters etcetera. The more detail, the smuttier it is.

AND THEN there's kink. Kink adds another level of smut, but it can be less descriptive or more so. You can just suggest kink, or you can show all the whips and chains and descriptive character.

Some books are ALL about the smut. In which case you can go crazy and give more attention to the sex scenes. Some smut serves instead to intensify the emotions and character development in which case you should connect all the smut back to those more emotional bits.

All in all, you should pick a spice level that YOU are comfortable with. Don't feel pressured to write XXX scenes when they make you uncomfortable. I myself prefer a mature level of smut which is medium spicy, but not outright adult movie star spicy. But in a non romance genre, I might also do a bit of fade to black because it's not about the spice. Unless I want it to be.

I hope this helps and didn't make it more confusing.

[jaskierswolf]

He Had It Coming

Also on AO3

Geraskier - Chicago inspired Fanfic. Rating: E. Word Count: 2165

Warnings: implied weapon kink, masturbation, general spiciness

_________

Geralt scowled as he peered up at the building in front of him. On the outside it just looked like an ordinary house but the rumours about town said something different. Brothels weren’t unusual in a town like this, but for some reason that Geralt couldn’t quite work out, this one was talked about in hushed tones, whispers in ears, and flushed faces. He hummed and tugged at the strap holding his scabbard in place on his back. His medallion was still on his chest but he couldn’t quite shake the feeling of danger. 

He sighed and shook his head. The rumours said that a certain bard had taken up residence at this address. Geralt had been chasing Jaskier around the Continent for months, heading south from the mountains, weaving across the map getting ever closer to Cintra and to the looming threat of Nilfgaard. Geralt’s heart felt tight in his chest, worrying about the bard that he’d tossed aside. He had a remarkable talent for getting in trouble, but this time Geralt wasn’t around to protect him. 

With one last sigh he knocked on the door.

A lady answered, the door ajar, but even through the small gap Geralt could smell the scent of sweat and sex, barely masked by the familiar incense of a brothel. She had short dark hair cropped above her ears, dark skin with thick muscles, more than he would have expected from a whore or a madam. She had silky black bands wrapped around her biceps, a lacy black corset and her skirt, if you could call it that, was shredded. It wasn’t completely unusual for a whore but… there was a dangerous glint in her eyes that put Geralt on edge.

“Yes, witcher?”

Geralt frowned. “I’m looking for Jaskier.”

“Funny place to come looking for a flower,” she narrowed her eyes at him, but didn’t close the door. 

“I’ve been told he’s here.”

“The interesting thing about buttercups, witcher, is that despite their pretty appearance… they’re toxic,” she hissed, dark brown eyes challenging and strong. 

“I know, I’ve come to apologise.”

She laughed and pushed the door open. “Well don’t say I didn’t warn you, Geralt of Rivia. He said you’d come for him.”

Geralt hummed but moved inside. It was dark inside too, barely lit with candles. The air was thick with incense and he grimaced. He’d never enjoyed the stronger perfumes preferred by whores in places such as this. Now he was inside he could see why his sense had been alerted him to danger. Every one of the whores had daggers sheathed in holders on their thighs. They were all draped in lace and silk, some corseted some not, and high heels that could easily be used as a weapon in the right hands. 

Geralt swallowed, looking around the room for his colourful bard amongst all the black lace, but Jaskier was nowhere to be seen. 

“He’s getting ready for his performance. Take a seat near the back, witcher, and don’t touch my darlings, they bite.”

Geralt did as he was told, watching her as she glided through the room with enviable grace. The whores, if that was what they were, were of all different races and gender. He noted a pretty blond elf sat in the lap of a client on the opposite side of the room. He had fishnets covering his arms and long hair covered a sheer chiffon chemise, embroidered with flowers, his underclothes were tight and leather, barely covering the man’s cock as he moved sensually in the client’s lap. Geralt tore his gaze away, he wasn’t here for sex, he was here for Jaskier. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to think of anything that could distract him from the heat pooling at his core. 

He was so deep in thought that didn’t notice Jaskier appearing on the stage, not until he started to talk. Geralt’s eyes snapped up, Jaskier was partially hidden in the dim light by a set of prison bars. He gripped the bars, one long leg stretched out above his head…

Geralt’s breath hitched. Jaskier was wearing long high heeled boots, and like the elf, he had fishnets covering his arms. Geralt had seen Jaskier shirtless countless times but this… this was something else. His forearms looked like they would rip the netting apart as he gripped the bars. Thick, dark chest hair disappeared into a silky black corset, tied at the front. Geralt adjusted his eyes so he could see better in the darkness of the brothel, and he was not disappointed. There were buttercups shimmering on the black fabric and the corset cinched in his waist. His hair had grown out, now just tickling his chin and he looked… he looked like a nightmare; Dark, dangerous…. perfect.  

“My witcher, Geralt and I had this double act,” Jaskier’s soothing tenor took command of the room in an instant. The background hustle and bustle faded to silence, and Geralt heard a steady rhythmic beat of heels, tapping against the floor. The performance had begun. There was a quiet soft chanting in the background, from the performers all around the room; he had it coming. 

Jaskier’s leg slid down the bars and he sauntered out from behind his cage, hips swaying, blue eyes lined with dark kohl. Geralt’s cursed under his breath as Jaskier’s eyes met his in across the room, and the bard winked, licking blood red lips that took Geralt’s breath away. 

My witcher

Geralt hardly deserved that title anymore. He wasn’t anyone’s witcher, he was alone… as he deserved to be. 

“And this sorceress, Yennefer, traveled round with us,” Jaskier’s blue eyes watched his audience carefully as he strutted around the stage. It was only then that Geralt noticed the holsters strapped around Jaskier’s thighs, twin daggers sharp and lethal, jewelled hilts glittering in the candle light. 

“Now, for the last contract together,” Jaskier tilted his head and smirked as two performers joined him on the stage, the blond elf and a pretty young girl with long raven hair, a silk ribbon tied around her neck. 

“We were summoned to join a terrible hunt. There were knights,” Jaskier put his hand on the blond’s shoulder, “dwarves,” one hand landed on Jaskier’s waist, “Reavers,” legs interlinked,”monsters,” the fake Yen put her hand on her hips “dragons,” the elf’s hand linked with Jaskier’s above his head, and the bard’s eyes closed, his head tilting back, bearing his neck… and it took every ounce of Geralt’s self control not to fight his way to the front of stage to claim Jaskier as his own. 

“sword fights, Hirikkas, mages, one right after the other,” Jaskier turned back and smirked at Geralt. 

Jaskier gently pushed the two dancers away and strolled casually to the edge of the stage, hands sliding down the inside of his thighs as he dropped seductively, shimmying back up again, fingers toying with the hilt of a dagger. Geralt couldn’t look away. He didn’t want to look away, this was Jaskier; his bard. There was no use fighting the arousal anymore, he was hard in his pants, and his growled as he palmed himself through his trousers, never taking his eyes off Jaskier.

“So this one night before the hunt we were sitting around the campfire, the three of us, drinking, having a few laughs, until it was time for bed, so.. I settle down on my bedroll,” Jaskier slowly ran his hand through his hair, lips parted, he pulled one dagger from its holster flipping it expertly in his hand. “When I woke up, I went to Yen’s tent…”

He crossed the stage, the flat of the dagger pressed against his cheek carelessly, the elf and the raven haired beauty were in shadows behind him but Geralt could see they were close, his heart dropped. He knew what was coming… knew by his own memories and the ice in the bard’s eyes. 

“And there’s Yennefer and Geralt, in each other’s arms, fucking around!” Jaskier’s voice was like thunder; harsh and unforgiving. 

Geralt winced, looking away from the stage, guilt surging through him. He’d known Jaskier loved him, the bard hadn’t been subtle, and yet… he hadn’t allowed himself the chance to be happy with Jaskier, choosing the icy embrace of the Djinn wish instead of listening to his heart. 

The dagger in Jaskier’s hands brushed the bard’s throat in a clear threat. “Well, I was in such a state of shock, I completely blacked out, I can't remember a thing,” the dagger returned to its holster and Jaskier turned around, as a dancer crossed his path, when he faced Geralt once more his fists were clenched. “It wasn't until later, when I was washing the blood off my hands, I even knew they were dead.”

Red ribbons fell from Jaskier’s hands, a sinister grin on his face. The chanting got louder and Jaskier joined the song. “They had it coming!” He growled as he sang, and fuck it shouldn’t have been so hot. Geralt knew he should feel bad but all he wanted was to drag the bard from the stage and fuck him until neither of them could remember their own names. 

The dance routine was like fire in his blood, hands were all over Jaskier’s body, in his hair, on his arse, hips, thighs… It wasn’t fair. It should be Geralt, but he’d missed his window. All he could do now was stroke his own cock to the sight of his bard dressed like sin, confident, calculating, deadly. He bit his own hand as he came, the candles in the brothel extinguishing as Jaskier returned to his ‘cell’. 

“Fuck,” Geralt growled as he wiped his hand on his trousers, grimacing at the mess. This was not why he’d come to the house… how could he face Jaskier now?

“Oh dear, witcher…” Jaskier’s voice whispered, light and teasing, in his ear. He shivered and closed his eyes. 

“Jaskier.”

“Why are you here, Geralt? In case you hadn’t noticed… you aren’t exactly welcome.”

Geralt resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Not dead either,” he groused. 

“Hmm, true… but that’s hardly a good story,” Jaskier chuckled, his hands brushing along Geralt’s shoulders before he straddled Geralt’s lap. “You never answered my question, witcher.”

Geralt swallowed, unprepared for the lapful of bard. He’d expected Jaskier to keep his distance, but this was more torturous, to have what he wanted so tantalisingly close, and yet out of reach. “I came for you.”

Jaskier laughed. “I can see that, Geralt, but why are you here?”

Geralt snorted. “To apologise, I, I miss you.”

“Go on then,” Jaskier cooed, his hands wrapping around Geralt’s neck. “apologise.”

Geralt tried, he really did, but Jaskier was rocking against him, soft moans falling from his lips. Geralt groaned and buried his face in Jaskier’s neck, hands gripping the bards arse. He could already feel himself getting hard again as Jaskier moved so delightfully in his lap. “Jask,” he hissed. 

“Yes, darling?”

“I need you,” he panted “I need you in my life… but right now, fuck. Have you got a room?”

Jaskier laughed and brushed his lips along Geralt’s jaw. “I do, do you deserve an invitation?”

Geralt moaned and shook his head. “No, gods, I fucked up, Jask. I don’t deserve you, want you though, need you.” 

Jaskier’s lips ghosted over his, never quite kissing him. He smirked and pulled away with a tilt of his head, sliding from Geralt’s lap and extending a hand. “Come along, witcher. We will talk about this properly in the morning, I want a full apology or else we’re done. Is that clear?”

Geralt nodded as he was pulled from his seat.

“But, I have been dreaming about this since I was eighteen, so I’m allowing myself one final night of self-indulgence,” he winked. “then it’s judgement day, witcher.”

“One night?”

Jaskier laughed, fingers wrapping around one of the daggers strapped to his thighs. “We’ll see, darling, depends how good your apology is,” the teasing glimmer fell from his eyes. “I loved you, you know that?”

Geralt nodded glumly. “I knew yeah.”

“Good, I wanted you to know,” Jaskier shook his head. “bit masochistic of me, but I needed you to know someone loved you, without destiny or magic, without any expectations.”

Geralt hummed, unable to say the words that were stuck in his throat. So instead he pulled his bard into a kiss, pouring his love into it, hoping Jaskier would hear the words hidden behind his actions. Jaskier seemed startled but soon kissed back, moaning as the kiss deepened, pulling Geralt towards the stairs without letting them break apart. A warmth spread in Geralt’s chest. Jaskier had said he loved Geralt, but he knew now that he still did. It wasn’t too late, it should have been but someone somewhere thought that Geralt deserved a second chance, and it would try his hardest not to fuck it up this time.

________

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[kpoporacle]

I wish people would put more thought into the characters that they write....

Sometimes I feel like they just take an archetype and just slap it on the character... it's very obvious in gay fanfiction, so I will use it to demonstrate....

So first, we have our dom/alpha/top, who is generally considered "the man in the relationship." They are generally considered in control of the relationship, and often wrestle more control from their s/o, can be emotionally detached, and can be abusive. Their entire point is to express an image of strength.

Then there's the bottom/beta, who is often considered the "woman" in the relationship. Their level of autonomy may vary depending upon the angle they are going for in the more dominant partner, and may have absolutely none if the partner is abusive. Alternatively, they may have some problem that the partner needs to fix for them. The author may exposit a couple of goals or dreams, and promptly forget about them once they meet their partner.

And that leaves us with the sub/omega, usually treated as hyper-feminine, and often has a vagina because the author doesn't know how to write for someone who has a dick. They have absolutely zero autonomy, and are often depicted as just lying around all day waiting to get fucked. They often are the equivalent of a kink bingo card, and it is often a moment for the author to give in to their rape fantasies and then go for the "men deserve it" or "men like it" twist.

So how would we fix this lumbering hot mess of a fiction?

To start with, instead of saying "they're gay" every 200 words or acting like being gay is a personality trait, perhaps just let it blend into the background as more of a theme. Most of us who are gay have hobbies, listen to music or watch movies like everyone else. So using stereotypes like being obsessed with pumpkin spice, unicorns, rainbows, tattoos, dyed hair, or painted nails are not always true....

So let's get started.....

If it's a porn without plot this isn't as necessary, but longer stories should have dreams and goals for their main characters, and either they achieve those, make progress towards them, or realize new goals and change course.

Also, your characters should have autonomy. Even if you are going for a BDSM angle, your character should have the option to decide what he wants to do. If he doesn't, he is in an abusive relationship, unless that is the angle you were going for in which case congratulations.

Your characters might have more of a range of the roles. Sure, there is usually one who is more dominant and one is more submissive, but the lines between those distinctions can be blurred. Also the top doesn't always mean he's more dominant, but maybe he makes a poor bottom, or he just doesn't like it, or he is just a better top.... maybe he likes both.

Although it is possible to write a story that discusses rape, using it as a fantasy or to disregard male victims is disgusting. According to 3/4 studies by the CDC, men and women are assaulted at an almost equal rate. The fourth was the only one that showed women higher, but only because it excluded female perpetrators, and men are far more likely to be assault by women.

And finally, this might be controversial, but stop slapping a vagina on men. It never turns out right, and it always seems to be an author self insert.... if you want that, then just write an original character.

Okay, let's take a more practical look.... let's use the ABO angle that I started with.

Let's start with our "alpha". He's a member of an idol group, and after years of setbacks, he just wants one of their albums to chart in the top ten. He's tried acting to increase popularity and make money, but he's still struggling so he works part time at a restaurant. He was raped by a sasaeng, but he keeps it from the other members because he can't get the authorities to help, and he worries how the other members will see him. He tends to bottom because he has low endurance and cums too quickly, but he often cums untouched as the bottom.

Our "beta". A member of the same group, he's somewhat oblivious to how close the group has been to disbanding, probably because of his overly positive outlook on life. He really wants a specific breed of dog, but the members don't want any pets. He used to not like the "alpha", but he overheard his CEO arguing with the "alpha", and realized that no one was willing to help him. He decides to be to be there for him, but keeps it a secret, and ends up in a relationship with him. He is a switch, so he usually tops.

Finally, our "omega". He's a producer at tv station in charge of finding cast for variety shows, and is maybe six or seven years older than the boys. He wants to follow in his father's footsteps and become a PD of a major show. He discovers the boy's relationship by accident, and tries to keep their secret for them, but eventually they offer for him to join. He becomes increasingly conflicted as he begins to question if he is abusing his position, not only sleeping with them, but also getting them work in various shows. Despite his image, he would be bottom, and often likes to be tied up, having a preference for having his control stripped away from him.

Well, there it is. It isn't much, but I feel like it's a better concept..... if work wasn't so busy, I would have actually put some work into it.

[best-sex-toys-for-couples]

Best sex toys for couples

If you and your spouse, romantic partner or casual fling are looking for ways to spice up your bedroom life, perhaps it’s high time you start using – sex toys! As cultural and social taboos or restrictions against sex toys are slowly eroding, more couples today are searching for far more intimate types of erotic toys and technologies. Read on to find out more about the benefits of using the best sex toys for couples.

Sex Toys Enhance a Couple’s Sexual Enjoyment

How do the best sex toys for couples today help enhance a person’s intimacy levels? Well, according to recent studies which looked into the prevalence and demographics of sex toys, heterosexual males who had used sex toys with their partners had higher levels of sexual satisfaction. 

The rising levels of understanding among men and women with regard to using sex toys in the bedroom is also slowly eradicating the misconception that using a sex toy means that you or your partner are not a good lover. 

This has also led to a rise in the number of couples who are now happily experimenting with their sex life, and are dabbling into stuff like double dildos, remote-controlled vibrators, massage candles and more. 

The same study also noted that the more frequent use of sex toys among people who do not identify as strictly straight has been noted more among women. The study points that while 53% of heterosexual women have admitted to using a sex toy, 86% of women who have sex with other women say they’ve experienced a major uptick in their sexual satisfaction. 

The very same research also notes that men who identify themselves as bisexual or gay appear to be the more frequent users of vibrators, butt plugs and beads and other sex toy types. 

Couples Who Explore Novel Ways of Erotic Desire Have More Passion & Desire

In general, the people who are into using the best sex toys for couples, and who are into exploring novel ways of being intimate (or plain kink) actually tend to fare better in terms of having more passion and desire in bed. 

In a study conducted by researchers from Chapman University in the United States, it was  discovered that couples who reported more sexual satisfaction in their relationship were actually the ones who were using sex toys together in addition to other erotic activities like trying out new positions in bed or taking a shower together. 

The study also notes that the more positive the couples were in trying out newer erotic avenues like using sex toys, the higher they tended to rate their desire for each other, regardless of whether it was inside or outside the bedroom. 

So, who said that shaking up your sex life as a couple was a very risky thing to do? Whether it’s using a vibrator, dildo or butt plug, the best sex toys for couples today can help teach couples to be more in tune to each other’s erotic needs, and it’s also a new way for them to open up their relationship further!

[samshafaghi]

How CNN's John King Is Using His Magic Wall After The Election

Family Dinner Options

John's wife and kids watch as he enters their home address into Google Maps on the magic wall, then uses his fingers to zoom out. Multiple restaurants in the area are flagged with red pins.

Well, we're all familiar with the Applebee's over in Dekalb County. Dekalb County as everyone knows has three Applebee's locations, that's a net gain of two locations since 2016. But in 2018, they lost our business to the Cheesecake Factory right here in Fulton County. Their food portions were massive. If you recall, we brought a ton of it back home and ate it the next day. But we also had to wait 1 hour to be seated - not ideal, as the large turnout isn't favorable for us. It doesn't appear that another visit to Cheesecake Factory is on the cards. 

Instead, we shift our attention to Gwinnett County, where there's a new Red Robin that has surged in popularity the last few days in our household. This could be the next big one, folks. And no surprise that this comes after our disappointing outing to Chilli's last week in Cobb County. Chilli's in Cobb was a surefire success in 2008, and 2012, but failed to capture that same young generation in 2016. It's still too early to call, and we want to take our time here. I understand we're hungry. We have to let the process play out. But based on recent trends and the latest data, if you're a Red Robin fan, you've gotta be pretty happy right now...

John's family sneaks out of the room. Not realizing they're gone, he just continues to yammer away. Vacation Destinations

John gathers his family around the magic wall and opens up Google Earth.

Well look, here's the facts - in 2018, we went to Barcelona. Our last trip. Barcelona is in Catalonia. As we know the President of Catalonia at that time was Quim Torra. A bit of a wild election because Torra was elected when the Spanish courts blocked the other three candidates. We spent a majority of our time in the populated Barcelona region, like over here at the landmark Ciutat Comtal. We enjoyed a nice walk through this section over here, at the beach of La Barceloneta towards Port Olimpic. We also did branch out to rural areas and landscapes, populated by the mostly blue collar workers in the Girona and Lleida regions, which had massive turnouts in the regional elections of 2015. 

But due to a rise in busy schedules in our household, along with a seismic shift in how we want vacations to feel like, the "10 day tropical resort" option is the frontrunner. Now we all remember the debacle of Cousin Mark's destination wedding in Cabot, where two unnamed family members got drunk and threw up in the pool. But heading back to that region with just our family is not only doable, but also economical. We can try Bermuda, which is over here, or maybe Turks and Caicos over there. 

John looks away from the wall. Day has turned into night. His family, exhausted, has passed out on the couch. Buying Ikea Furniture 

With his wife waiting in the car, John pulls up the IKEA floor map on the magic wall.

OK, so if we look over here, the dining table sets are on the first floor in the right hand corner. These are your Mörbylångas, your Skogstas, and your Möckelbys. Now if we tap on the Mörbylångas, you'll see it has one five star review on the IKEA website. Pretty high rating, but can you purchase something based on one review? Well, we have to be patient. It's still too close to call, so we have to go there and inspect. Next on this floor, if we just scroll through here, there's not much - we don't need any of these Hemnes bookshelves, or the storage combination units like the Bestå, or the sturdy Kallax. We can just walk through here, but it may be difficult. Usually there's a large amount of foot traffic through this area. I'm just gonna circle it and you can see, hour by hour as the magic wall data will show you, that it rises exponentially after store opening. 

John's wife begins honking the horn multiple times. She gives up and drives off. Social Media Drama

On the magic wall, John opens a browser with multiple tabs.

Here we have the Facebook profile of Shirley open. Shirley is a trusted family friend. We know this as we've known her for 30 years. She dropped a bombshell by posting disproven claims about the election with the hashtag #stopthesteal. It has 15 reactions and over 200 comments. In the business we call that getting "ratio'd". 

So let's scroll through some of these comments here. Here's one from Mark. Zooming into his profile picture, it's clear he's wearing Oakley sunglasses and he's taken the picture in his car. His comment: "Biden sucks balls #MAGA". So when you put it all together, that's not surprising coming from Mark. He's a surefire supporter of Shirley's recent post, no question.

I should also point out a lot of these comments are GIFs. We'll just scroll through them quickly here. Here's one from the 1996 film "A Very Brady Sequel," in which Marcia Brady says to Jan Brady, "Sure, Jan." By the way, that film earned 21 million against its 15 million dollar budget. Not a great return, but it did spawn that GIF so maybe not all was lost there. And then there's about 25 comments here that are 7000 words each. We obviously can't read them all, but they mostly contain a roundup of all the misdeeds by the now former President. And I'm just now seeing another 5 comments have been added, taking our total to 205. We'll keep monitoring this situation as it unfolds.

John's wife can only shake her head. She apologizes to her dinner guests. Annual Check-Up

The Doctor is astonished as John has somehow set up his magic wall in the office. A 3D model of John's upper body appears on screen.

Now, Doc, let's look up top at the respiratory system here. Check out this evolution of my lungs over time. Here they are in 2008. They look good, right? That was a watershed year, when I first got this magic wall. And then here they are again in 2012. A bit more collapsed. And that starts to become a trend. Then in 2016, it looks even worse. You said it's because I never stop talking and then you gave me a puffer that year to help control it, which ended up working pretty well. Here's a snapshot of my lungs now, in 2020. Clear as a bell.

But here's a new issue. Let's move up to my head. Let's open up the top of my skull and look at my brain. There it is. As you can see, the cerebral cortex region is just completely inflamed. You can see the color there - it's totally red. But if you look at this image from before I got my magic wall, in 2007, that same region blue. It looks normal. In 2012, however, that blue started to fade away. Clearly my cerebral cortex was flipped red - what caused this? Well, let's try and find the answer. There's a battleground situation happening here.

The Doctor writes John a prescription for Zoloft, Ambien, and horse-grade tranquilizers. In The Bedroom

John stands beside his magic wall, wearing just boxers. His wife, on top of the covers and dressed in lingerie, looks defeated. An overhead shot of their bed is shown on screen. Now honey, before we start, I just wanted to point out two key battleground areas. First, right here in the middle of the bed. This is the spot where we get into our usual position. Back in 2012, you wanted me to be on top. But in 2016, you wanted to be on top. Will there be another swing this year in 2020? Well, based on your recent trip to the chiropractor for back pain, I think it's not a total shock if it does indeed slip. Right now it's too close to call, but we'll see how things play out through the night.

Another key battleground - over here, in your nightstand drawer, are the handcuffs. You've tried numerous times to incorporate them into our love making to spice things up. Well, we can now project that I will once again refuse to wear them. This was a safe projection as I'm not yet comfortable with this particular kink. However, there was a significant effort at the grassroots level to flip this decision, and as a result, it was a lot closer than in previous years. Wolf, over to you.

Wolf Blitzer, hiding in the closet, steps out and banters with John. John's wife falls asleep.

[distant-rose]

Villains That Live in My Head (1/4)

Notes: I made a promise back in June to @effulgentcolors a story about dealing with intimacy and PTSD and I’m like two months late. Lyubi, I’m truthfully sorry for how late this is but admittedly, I’ve been struggling with this subject material because it’s not just PTSD, it’s violent PTSD episodes so we’re straddling a very thin line which could constitute as domestic violence, which naturally makes me  uneasy. However, I think it’s important to stress that the violence depicted in this story is not due to any sort of maliciousness but due to a violent PTSD episode and this story is about exploring how to deal with trauma and intimacy issues and get past such issues as a couple. This is some hard, heavy and upsetting stuff, but I’m trying to be as sensitive and tentative to the material as I can. I can’t stress enough that this isn’t going to be for everyone and to approach with caution because this is a story about violent PTSD and accidentally hurting your partner, and please read at your own risk. A special thank you to @initiala and @shireness-says for helping me struggle bus through this story. Summary: The wounds made when we're young tend to linger. It’s something Killian and Emma learn a little too well when a well meaning surprise goes terribly wrong.  Word Count: 3,300+ Rating: M

--

The truth is that Emma Swan has never had a real boyfriend, so to speak.

Sure, she was with Neal during her teenage years, but their relationship wasn’t necessarily conventional. Born out of loneliness and camaraderie, theirs was based mainly on survival, and survival doesn’t mean dinner dates in fancy restaurants or going to the movies. The most romantic thing he ever did for her was steal a family pack of pop tarts and some boxed wine when she turned sixteen and she thought it was the sweetest thing to ever happen. That had been the pinnacle of romance for her until “pick a partner who knows what he’s doing” and “ you traded your ship for me?”

She’s so out of her depth when it comes to being in a real relationship, but so far, it seems to be going great. Killian is attentive and generous with affection, which comes in a variety of forms from bringing her coffee every morning to playing with her hair. He listens to her when she de-stresses after work, plying her with alcohol and... not sympathy, necessarily, but empathy and an understanding that everyone else seems to lack. Everyone views her as the Savior, including her parents, but it’s nice to have someone who just sees her as Emma. 

And then there’s the sex. Which is another story altogether. 

It’s good, don’t get her wrong. He’s surprisingly sweet and very generous, with soft eyes and even softer touches. However, it’s also intimidating, because while Emma is the one-night-stand wonder, she wouldn’t call herself particularly knowledgable when it comes to sex. It’s mainly been insert Tab A into Slot B, repeat until satisfaction (and more often than not, no satisfaction - but that’s another story altogether). Such relationships didn’t necessarily lead to a lot of exploration or discovery. Quite simply, you don’t ask a complete stranger to help you discover your kinks unless you’re a serial killer or preternaturally uncomfortable in your own skin. Emma was neither of those things. So, her experience, while lengthy partner-wise, didn’t necessarily extend beyond what was considered relatively standard.

Killian, on the other hand seemed to have a fountain of knowledge and experience.

He didn’t necessarily brag about it to her per say -- aside from his rather outrageous innuendos -- but there was a certain sureness and innate knowledge that wasn’t something you could necessarily fake, and could only come from wealth of experience. While there had been some fumbling in the beginning (usually on her end), he was nowhere near as clueless as others had been on how to touch her. It had been more like watching someone relearn a path rather than discovering it for the first time. And while it’s been great to be with someone who didn’t need a road map to her clitoris, it was also a bit disconcerting to be someone who was, quite frankly, a lot more experienced than you. 

And even more mortifyingly, teaching you things about sex despite getting your v-card swiped more than a decade ago.

It makes her feel like she’s being trained a bit. And honestly, she kinda hates that.

She doesn’t like the fact that he seems to be leading her around a training ring like she’s some skittish horse and he’s some absurdly patient seasoned equestrian. It makes her feel foolish and, even worse, she can’t help but feel like she’s boring him. And the last thing she wants to bore him.

(Boring means getting left behind.)

She knows it’s irrational to think so, but there’s nothing Emma is more terrified of than being left alone again. Sure, she has her family, and her boyfriend literally gave up his home and his entire way of life to be with her, but that fear runs deep. No matter how many justifications her parents, Neal, or anyone else give her, that pain doesn’t just disappear.  

(In the spirit of Jake Peralta: cool motive, still abandonment.)

She isn’t sure that she’s in love with him. Considering the fact that her parents are the Olympic gold medalists of True Love, she’s more than a little gun shy when it comes to even broaching that subject. However, she knows she doesn’t want him to leave. She wants more than anything for him to stay.

And that’s how she reaches the decision to “spice” things up.

(And naturally, as it is with all situations where someone tries to perfect an already good thing, it blows up in her face. Spectacularly.)

She doesn’t remember how she settled on the idea of bondage, but it’s something she’s the most familiar with, and all kinky things considered, it seems pretty low level; exciting, but not as far out there as some of the other things she’s come across when perusing for ideas. She’s not looking to do anything Fifty Shades, but she thinks it might be fun to tie him up and make him the focal point for once. Killian always focuses on her, and it might benefit their relationship for things to be a little less one-sided when it comes to the bedroom.

Besides, Killian is a pretty adventurous guy, and a pirate to boot. She’s pretty certain he’s had more than a few nights of debauchery, featuring far more lewd acts than a little light bondage play. Hell, she wouldn’t be remotely surprised if he’s been involved in an orgy or two. He’ll probably find her plans as vanilla as everything else they’ve been doing.

(You know what they say when you assume. It makes an ass of you and me.) 

She doesn’t tell him her plans, mainly because she can’t imagine he would object and also because she wants to surprise him. After letting him take the lead in this aspect of their relationship, she wants to show him that what she lacks in experience, she can make up for with a willingness to explore new things. She wants to be on his level, not someone he needs to teach.

So, she doesn’t tell him. She just brings a box of condoms, a pair of cuffs and a smile.

It starts the way it always does - with a kiss that has them both swaying side-to-side until they teeter awkwardly backwards into his room. She chucks her bag on the nightstand, only to have it smack the table lamp and send both items to the floor. She can’t bring herself to care when she has Killian splayed out on the bed below her, pupils blown wide, lips bruised and noticeable tenting in his incredibly tight pants.

(Seriously, is he capable of wearing anything else? She might have to buy him a more relaxed fit, if only to help her sanity. While he doesn’t have much of an ass, they highlight the muscles in his thighs and make her eyes jump to places that aren’t necessarily appropriate for the public.)

And then there’s the hair.

She loves his hair and the way it’s starting to get a little longer and curl over his ears. She loves tugging on it and the noises he makes when she does. She leans forward, unable to resist threading her fingers through the dark strands as she tilts his head up for another kiss. He accepts it enthusiastically, a low pleased grumble emitting from the back of his throat as she gives his hair a playful tug. He pulls her into his lap, hips rolling upwards with impatience.

Clothes are shed gracelessly. It takes more than a few tries for her to unbutton his vest, cursing him for choosing such finicky clothing. It’s just so typical for him to pick style over functionality. He laughs at her impatience, eyes twinkling with amusement. She wants to rip the bloody thing off.

(Holy fuck, she’s starting to sound like him.)

“Why so impatient, love? We have all night,” he asks, chuckling as she finally manages to undo his buttons. 

She doesn’t respond immediately, more focused removing his hook from its brace and placing it on the nightstand. More articles of clothing have fallen victim to that hook than she cares to count, and she has such a limited wardrobe as is.

“Maybe I have plans,” she responds with what she hopes is a coy smile. 

Both of his eyebrows rise at this, a smirk spreading across his lips as he settles back on his elbows.  

“Plans?”

“Yes,” she says, running her fingers along the length of his collarbone. “Plans. Fun plans. And if you’re good, you might even find out what they are.” 

“I’m not sure I’m capable of being good,” he responds, leaning up and placing all too brief kisses along her jaw and neck. “But I promise you, you’ll certainly like it when I’m bad.” 

“We’ll have to see about that.”

She pulls him into another fierce kiss, using it to distract him as she reaches back to riffle through her bag for her cuffs. It gets a bit awkward, the angle not quite right, but Killian does his best to make it work. When she finally gets her prize, she makes a noise of triumph against his lips before pushing him back against the bed and reaching for his wrists. 

“Swan!” 

Killian’s eyes go wide with shock, growing even larger as he catches sight of the handcuffs. Emma expects it, but it doesn’t last long. His face contorts into a new expression, one that’s far from the enthusiasm. 

She doesn’t get much time to process it, however because the world turns suddenly on its axis. 

One minute she’s straddling his thighs, trying to handcuff him, and the next thing she knows, she’s on her back with Killian looming above her with his only hand pressed to her throat, and not in a way that’s remotely friendly. His fingers dig painfully as they press into her windpipe, cutting off her oxygen. Every muscle in his body is tensed and his chest keeps heaving as if he’s struggling to breathe. His eyes aren’t shocked; they’re panicked. 

They stare at each other for a few seconds, Emma still stunned by the turn of events while Killian looks more like a frightened animal than a person. Her lungs burn painfully and she chokes a bit as she tries to breathe. He jumps at the sound, his face changing from frightened to horrified. He pushes himself away from her forcefully, propelling his body until he’s precariously close to falling off the bed. He pulls himself into a sitting position and turns his back to her, fingers gripping the side of the bed as if holding on for dear life. Emma lays there, mind reeling, still stunned by the sudden turn of events. Her fingers move to touch where she can still feel the hard press of his palm. 

A million questions buzz in her head, each too fleeting for her to truly grasp but each more panicked and disturbed than the next. She doesn’t know what the hell just happened, but her pulse is thundering loudly in her ears and she has the same feeling of ice water in her veins that she did in the Clocktower when Gold was about to crush his heart.

Killian still has his back to her and while she can’t see his face, his shoulders are shaking, and she can still hear the harshness of his breath even over the chaotic orchestra her insides are playing.

“I…” The vowel sounds hoarse leaving his mouth. “I…I’m sorry…I…” 

He reaches for his clothes, pulling Emma away from the hornet’s nest in her head. She sits up, on instinct reaching out to him. He flinches and inches further away from her hand, which somehow hurts more than when he tried to choke her. A wounded noise emits from the back of her throat. He doesn’t acknowledge it. He picks up his shirt and pulls it over his head one-handed. It’s on backwards but he doesn’t seem to care.

“What the hell are you doing?” 

“I need to go,” he says shortly, not looking at her.

She opens her mouth to speak, but her words fall short. Emma doesn’t know what she wants to say. She knows she should say something, but what exactly, she doesn’t know. She still hasn’t processed what exactly happened.

Emma can still feel his hand on her throat.

(What the hell just happened?)

She’s still trying to answer that question, while Killian’s haphazardly pulling on his boots. She raises her hand again, but pulls it back. She wants to touch him, to do something, but she doesn’t know what to do and she can’t bear the sight of him pulling away from her again, like she’s something vile. 

Before she can even come to a course of action, the door slams shut. And she’s alone.

(Again.

She’s alone again.)

The thought leaves her feeling frozen, like she’s back in the ice prison again except this time she’s not surrounded by ice. It’s inside of her spreading over each and every one of her organs. She wraps her arms around herself in attempt at...warmth? Comfort? She isn’t sure anymore.

She isn’t sure of anything.

(What the hell just happened?)

One minute they were fine and about to have a good time, and the next thing he’s attacking her and then suddenly he can’t even look at her. All of it happened so fast that she’s still not quite sure what caused all of it. What the hell did she do?

She gets up, pins and needles shooting through her legs. They’re completely unhappy with her after sitting on the bed for so long. She doesn’t know how much time has passed, but she knows she needs to do something. Walking into the ensuite and turns on the light, she winces at the harsh intensity of the fluorescent bulb; sucking in a breath when she catches sight of herself in the mirror.

There’s an angry red ring around her throat.

She touches it again, this time more tentatively. The flesh is tender and a small hiss leaves her without her permission. Killian is long gone, but the phantom pain of his hand is still there. It had only been a few seconds but the feeling and the fear refuses to leave. 

Fear.

The realization hits her like whiplash. She had been afraid of him. He could have hurt her.

He did hurt her.

(Why?)

She doesn’t have any answers. She doesn’t know what she did for Killian to act like this, but he’s left her and she’s pretty certain he isn’t coming back. 

She hates the fact that hurts her more than the potential bruises.

Angry tears form at the corner of her eyes and she splashes water on her face to keep herself from seeing them. She glances at the clock, not necessarily because she’s interested in the time so much as she doesn’t want to see herself reflected in the mirror.

2:00.

Fuck.

She should leave. She hadn’t been planning on going back to the loft, but she knows she can’t stay here even if Killian doesn’t plan on coming back. She needs to get out of here and sleep somewhere else, where the imprint of his hand can’t follow her.

She pulls her hair into a messy, half-assed ponytail, not bothering it to smooth out the awkward bumps. Her limbs feel as heavy as lead as she puts on her clothes. She wants nothing more than to sleep, but she can’t. Not here.

The streets of Storybrooke are deathly silent as she walks back to the loft. It’s a cool night and the chill highlights the unnatural warmth pulsating from her neck. She pulls her jacket tighter around her. It has always been her shield from the world, but it’s protection was futile. What she needed protecting from had already gotten past her walls.

She can’t stop thinking about it, her brain like an old scratched DVD, playing the same scene over and over again in her mind. She can’t help but relive that moment when he was above her and she couldn’t breathe. She still remembers the look on his face; eyes wide, nostrils flaring and cheeks white. It hadn’t been anger on his face.

It had been fear.

What the hell did he have to be afraid of? He wasn’t the one with the hand on his throat.

Why did he do that?

Why did he leave?

The questions swirl around in her mind as she attempts to unlock the front door of their building. It takes her an embarrassing three tries to open it, but when she finally did, a sense of relief came over her. She’s home and she can sleep.

She’s so tired.

The door to the loft groans as she opens it, sounding unnaturally loud in the stillness of the night. The noise wakes the baby, his wails as ear-piercing as thunder. She can hear her parents waking up behind their curtain. 

She can’t face them. 

Not right now. 

Not after everything that happened with Killian.

She races across the room instead, making her way up the stairs. Her hands tremble as she clings to the bannister like it’s a life line, each ascending step feeling heavier and more precarious than the last.

It’s a relief when she finally reaches her bed and crawls underneath her covers, pulling them over her head in an attempt to cocoon herself away from the world. She wants to escape, to find some peace and quiet. Unfortunately, Little Neal doesn’t seem to want adhere that desire. His screams keep getting louder and louder.

“That’s a mood if I ever heard one,” she mumbles, burying her face in her pillow.

Her mother’s soothing voice sounds throughout the apartment as she attempts to lull Neal back to sleep. Slowly, the cries quiet down and the growing silence echoes inside of her. It’s then that the anger gives away to immeasurable sadness, tears dribbling at the corners of her eyes and leaking down her cheeks.

Once again, she’s alone and no one wants her. Not her parents. Not her brother. And especially not her pirate boyfriend, if he’s even her boyfriend anymore. She’s not so sure.  

(What the hell happened?)

It’s frustrating to be in this position again, hurt and confused as to why. She should have known it wasn’t going to work. She’s never been in a healthy and real relationship before and it was silly of her to think otherwise. She should have known it would blow up in her face.

(But why?)

(Why?)

(Why?)

It’s the question on her mind keeps playing over and over in her mind as she falls into a fitful slumber, hoping against hope that sleep will bring some clarity.

It doesn’t.