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writing-rat · 3 months ago

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Truth of the Addams Curse

Pairings: Wednesday Addams x Enid Sinclair, Wednesday Addams and her family, Wednesday Addams and Yoko

Warnings: Angst, suicide Addams curse, my first time writing angst

Summary: Enid dies and Wednesday can't live without her. She decides to kill herself but she has to say bye first.

WC: 2025

It had been a tough fight against Crackstone and Wednesday felt like she achieved something. She had saved the school after an entire investigation. Yes, there were some twists and turns she didn’t expect but she was pleased to finally have done and solved it. Wednesday now had another issue to resolve. The Addams Curse. She had fallen for her roommate, Enid, and it was time to confront it. With Bianca and Eugene following her, she left towards the front of the school. She may be dizzy, but she needed to see if Enid was ok. When she did approach it, however, there was no sign of the wolf. “Where’s Enid?” she asked aloud and looked towards Yoko. Yoko panicked and looked around. Wednesday knew something was up then. That was when she quickly dashed to where she left Enid.

Being an Addams, she was scared that Enid had died. That would be the end of her life as well, she couldn’t live without her beloved. It was true that once an Addams fell, an Addams fell! If they got rejected, or their lover died then the affected Addams would fall into a deep depression, one they couldn’t get rid of. One that would end their lives, or it would be a slow, painful death of heartbreak. Wednesday always hated the potential of the curse, but she had started to accept it. Damn her for falling and her potential lover already dying. No, she couldn’t think that. She just had to hope that Enid was ok, just injured and unable to move.

She didn’t process the footsteps behind her, voices calling her name. That was when she reached where Enid fought, and there was Enid, curled up. Thing was there, trying to stop the bleeding as he protected Enid’s dignity with her long, pink coat. Wednesday went next to him, checking her pulse. It was faint. That was when Enid stirred, her eyes opening. The light was fading fast. “Wednesday?” she asked.

“Don’t move or speak, don’t waste any energy,” Wednesday spoke, looking up as Bianca was already on the phone, calling the hospital it seemed. Yoko was shocked, watching before she went next to her best friend.

“‘M sorry. I tried. It’s too late. I’ve lost too much already…” Enid spoke, putting her head on Wednesday’s thigh. Wednesday was trying to dislodge the lump in her throat, but it was impossible. She felt a stray tear come down. Yoko and Bianca definitely noticed, but they didn’t say anything and she appreciated that.

“No, help is coming, you will be fine,” Wednesday spoke, reassuring herself more. Enid shook her head.

“No… it is too late. But… I wolfed out. Aren’t you proud?” she asked, looking up at Wednesday as she was still bleeding. Wednesday nodded, slowly accepting that it was impossible to save her.

“I am proud, you did well,” she reassured. “I… this is my only time to say this. You are correct, it is too late. But I won’t hold this statement off. Enid, you have left a pink mark on my black heart. I never thought you would do that, I hated you at first. You dug deep though, like a maggot on a corpse. I… have learnt this past hour that you mean more to me than a friend. I see you as a lover, and I will be seeing you soon too,” she spoke. Enid was tearing up before she smiled.

“It only took this for you to confess… Before I go, can we kiss?” she asked, feeling herself fade faster. Wednesday was thankful Yoko and Bianca had walked away, leaving them peace. Wednesday nodded, soon starting to kiss her gently. Enid was smiling, kissing her back as she was soon pulling away. “Thank you for staying with me during death,” she murmured. She was scared of dying alone, she thought it would happen, but not until Wednesday came around. “No problem. I shall be seeing you soon anyway due to the Addams curse,” she whispered. Enid looked up at her. “It’s true? Damn, I wish it wasn’t. I want you to keep living. Please try,” she spoke. Wednesday nodded, Enid soon closing her eyes as she took her final breath.

That was when Wednesday was starting to break down, has she had to try and keep calm for her lover before death. Yoko and Bianca heard the sobbing, seeing that Enid had passed. That was when they tried to drag Wednesday away from Enid, but it was impossible, especially when she got her knife out. The only thing that got her off was when the cops had to take the body, yet Wednesday hadn’t processed it yet. She just walked away from everyone after saying her statement, ignoring everyone who wanted to talk to her as she went to her dorm, her eyes lingering on Enid’s side. She thought before she went onto her bed, curling up. She just hoped she would wake up and it was all a nightmare.

When she woke up the next morning, she was still lying in Enid’s bed, and she was alone. Tears sprung out of her eyes, staying where she was before she got up after 3 hours. There was a knock on the door, and she opened it, still wearing her bloody clothes. Yoko was there, worry and concern on her face. Yoko saw the clothes she was still wearing and felt her heart slightly beat faster, even if her heart never beat. “What?” Wednesday snapped.

“I got you breakfast,” Yoko spoke, handing her some food. It was a breakfast burrito, her favourite.

“Not hungry,” Wednesday mumbled as she went to close the door but Yoko immediately walked in. Wednesday sighed, going to her closet as she got some sweatpants and a black shirt then went to Enid’s and grabbed one of her sweaters, sniffing it slightly. As much as Yoko mourned Enid too, she felt bad for Wednesday, knowing that she was one of her only friends and the one who taught her love and friendship. Hell, she had listened to her speech and she didn’t want Wednesday to die. She would stick around her to make sure she survived.

“You need to eat, please try after you shower, ok?” she spoke. Wednesday shrugged before she walked into the bathroom. Yoko sighed.

***

It had been 2 weeks after the incident and Wednesday was still depressed. She didn’t wake up till afternoon now, didn’t eat nor drink much and she didn’t sleep and if she did, it was plagued with nightmares. She also kept sleeping on Enid’s bed, slowly getting hives but she didn’t care. Yoko was taking care of her, as well as the rest of the Nightshades, minus Xavier who she cussed out. She appreciated everyone’s help but she didn’t need it. She was going to die. Her parents also knew what had happened, and knew that it would be their last months with her. Hell, Fester came back. Since classes were forced to go on, she didn’t go anymore and instead went to town where her family would see her and have coffee with her. They would offer to do her favourite activities but she always pushed them down. That was when Gomez broached the topic one morning. “So… when do you plan on joining Enid?” he asked.

“I have tried multiple times already but the Nightshades have always stopped me. I want the pain to end already…” Wednesday spoke, looking down. “Can I ask you to buy a gun and a rope for me? I am thinking of what to do, and I am thinking of those… or jumping off our balcony. I mean… my balcony,” Wednesday asked, her voice going quiet at the end as she didn’t even bother drinking her coffee. Gomez nodded.

“Can we have a last, final meal with you at least before you plan on it?” he asked quietly. Wednesday thought then she nodded.

“Can you also tell Yoko that I will die anyway, it will just be more gruelling and painful?” she also asked. She thought of the most recent time of when she tried to drown herself but Yoko had come in, going to give her dinner when she got concerned at the lack of response and ‘saved’ her just in time.

The family soon invited the Nightshades over to their temporary house, Wednesday going on a walk. She was going to Enid’s grave, as she did every day. Yoko was confused when she only saw Gomez, Morticia and Fester there who didn’t have dry eyes. “Hello,” Yoko spoke politely.

“Sit down everyone, please,” Gomez spoke softly. Everyone nodded doing as told. “Wednesday has decided tomorrow she is going to end it. She should go on her own terms. It’ll be a long, painful death if not,” Gomez started.

“She will die from heartbreak and it only happens if an Addams beloved dies. It is best she just goes and joins Enid,” Fester spoke, explaining the curse of the Addams. They all listened, everyone, crying either silently or loudly at the end. “Now please… even if I don’t want her to go… let her go, please. She deserves it,” Fester finished. They all nodded, Yoko, taking it extremely hard. Safe to say, they all had a hug, and Wednesday walked in on it. She just watched and was thinking before she joined in. They all were hugging her back, but she accepted it. She couldn’t wait to join Enid again.

It was time for dinner and Pugsley finally joined them. He was sad he would be losing his sister, yes, but he also didn’t want her to suffer. He was still losing sleep over it of course, but he knew this was for the best. Wednesday was sat there, mute as usual and Gomez and Morticia were speaking. They were making it like a normal dinner, except that they knew Wednesday would be gone. They wouldn’t ask though, they would let it happen and they would mourn her and Enid like they usually did. Hell, she might decide to wander the halls with Enid. “Hey sis… will you haunt the house after you go?” Pugsley asked what was on everyone’s mind. He wanted to know.

“If Enid is willing to go, then yes, I will be,” she answered, taking a sip of her water. Pugsley nodded.

“Wednesday, Stormcloud, can you please text us beforehand?” Morticia asked, trying to remain strong. Wednesday saw through her, though, and she nodded.

“I will… and please… don’t act strong. I know you’re broken,” she spoke. “I am too, but I can’t live without her. She was my soul and life. I tried to help her but it was too late, Thing is moping and I know it hurts him too so please… tell him that I will miss him,” she spoke. The family nodded, a sombre mood filling the air as food soon arrived. Wednesday decided to have the most expensive steak. It was her final meal after all. She kept eating, listening to her family as they talked.

Once dinner was finished, she got up and hugged her entire family. Fester patted her back before she went off towards the graveyard. “I am joining you tonight my beloved, don’t you worry,” she spoke to Enid’s grave, putting a rose down before returning to Nevermore. That was when she reached her room and set up a noose directly in the middle of her room. She put on Enid’s clothes beforehand too, and got the chair ready. That was when she texted her family. ‘Goodbye. I decided to do it a few hours early. I shall haunt you’ the text read. She then turned off her phone and chucked it off her balcony.

“My beloved, I shall join you now,” Wednesday spoke aloud, kicking the chair harshly. From there she was hanging. Wednesday loved the pain, it was better than the constant chest and heart pains she got. She was quickly choking. After 5 minutes, she took her final breath, and in her death, she smiled. She was finally seeing Enid again. She couldn’t wait.

#ratboy writes #ratboy writing

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thewritersblocksblog · 18 days ago

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From Brain to Blank Page: Conquering the Idea-to-Paper Gap

That brilliant idea, the one that sparked like a firework in your mind, now stares back at you from the blank page, mocking your attempts to capture it. We've all been there. The struggle to translate the vibrant landscape of our thoughts into written words is a common affliction for writers of all levels. The idea is there, shimmering just out of reach, but somehow, the connection between brain and pen (or keyboard) seems severed. So, how do we bridge this frustrating gap and finally get those ideas out of our heads and onto the page?

The problem often lies in the transition. Our minds are incredibly fast, capable of weaving complex narratives and vivid images in the blink of an eye. But translating these fleeting thoughts into the linear structure of language can feel like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands. The very act of trying to write can sometimes stifle the creative flow, leaving us feeling blocked and discouraged.

Here are some strategies to help you overcome this hurdle and unleash the stories trapped within:

1. Brain Dump: The Untamed Flow

Forget about perfect sentences and polished prose. When you're trying to get an idea out, the first step is to simply get it out. Grab a notebook or open a document and let your thoughts flow freely, without judgment. Don't worry about grammar, spelling, or structure. Just write down everything that comes to mind – keywords, phrases, snippets of dialogue, scene descriptions, anything and everything related to your idea. This "brain dump" can help you clarify your thoughts and identify the core elements of your story.

2. Mind Mapping: Visualizing the Narrative

If you're a visual thinker, mind mapping can be a powerful tool. Start with your central idea in the middle of the page and branch out with related concepts, characters, plot points, and themes. This visual representation can help you see the connections between different elements and develop your idea in a more organic way.

3. Talking It Out: The Power of Vocalization

Sometimes, the act of speaking our ideas aloud can help us crystallize them. Talk to yourself, a friend, or even your pet. Explain your idea as if you're telling a story. The process of verbalizing your thoughts can often reveal new insights and help you identify the key elements of your narrative.

4. Freewriting: Unleashing the Subconscious

Set a timer for a specific amount of time (e.g., 10 or 15 minutes) and write continuously, without stopping to think or edit. Don't worry about making sense or staying on topic. Just let your thoughts flow freely onto the page. Freewriting can help you bypass your inner critic and tap into your subconscious mind, often revealing unexpected ideas and connections.

5. Outlining: Building a Framework

Once you've gathered your thoughts, it's time to create a framework for your story. An outline doesn't have to be rigid or overly detailed. It can be as simple as a list of key plot points or a brief character sketch. Having a basic structure can give you a roadmap to follow and prevent you from getting lost in the weeds.

6. Start Small: The Power of Tiny Steps

Don't try to write the entire novel in one sitting. Break your project down into smaller, more manageable tasks. Focus on writing one scene, one character description, or even just one paragraph at a time. Small victories can build momentum and make the overall task seem less daunting.

7. Embrace Imperfection: The First Draft is Always Rough

The first draft is meant to be messy. Don't strive for perfection. Just get the story down on paper. You can always revise and edit later. The important thing is to get your ideas out of your head and into a tangible form.

8. Find Your Writing Ritual: Creating the Right Environment

Create a writing environment that works for you. Find a quiet space where you can focus, gather your writing tools, and set the mood. Some writers prefer complete silence, while others find inspiration in background music. Experiment and find what helps you get into the flow.

Bridging the gap between idea and paper is an ongoing process. It takes practice, patience, and a willingness to embrace the messy, imperfect nature of creativity. But by using these strategies, you can learn to tame the wild horses of your imagination and finally unleash the stories waiting to be told.

What are your go-to methods for getting ideas onto paper? Share your tips in the comments below!

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nev3rfound · 4 years ago

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blame it on the neighbours : b.b

having recently moved in next door, you and bucky become fast friends. however, there's something looming between the two of you and it comes to light when it's revealed you're in the hospital. (1.7k)

masterlist / permanent taglist / etsy shop - requests open!

requested: yes! by the very sweet @didsomeonesaybucky warnings: bucky freaking out if that counts? descriptions of hospitals

Ever since you moved in and became Bucky's next-door neighbour, he could tell things were going to be different. In the first instance, he could hear you in the corridor, chatting away happily to your other neighbours, offering baked goods. He watched cautiously through the peephole, still having to yet meet you, he merely observed from afar.

When he finally met you, it wasn't the interaction he quite hoped for.

Standing in front of his door with a tray of cookies in hand, you release a shaky breath having heard from your other neighbours that the occupant in apartment 4F wasn't the friendliest. But you would simply have to judge that for yourself, you told them.

"He's a bit of a strange one, dear." Your neighbour, Clarissa in 2F warned you as she accepted the container of muffins you had made that morning. "Doesn't really leave or go out much, I think I've only ever heard him say morning once in the six months he's been here!" Her words echo in the back of your mind as you lift your hand up, knuckles lightly tapping the door.

With wide eyes, Bucky hesitantly walks toward the door and stares straight through the peephole. His breath halters, watching as you stare down at your feet.

Taking a deep breath, Bucky glides his fingers over the several locks across his door and slides through the small gap in the doorway with an attempted smile gracing his lips.

"Hi," You start, now lifting your eyes up toward this mysterious neighbour who is definitely not what you anticipated. "I, I'm Y/n, I moved in next door a week ago," Motioning to your apartment, Bucky forces his eyes to glance across down the hall before averting them back to you, taking in your features up close as you rub your lips together.

"Yeah, I heard you moving in." Bucky comments, internally cringing at his choice of wording. "I mean, I," His words falter at the sound of you chuckling softly to yourself. "can I start again? Is that alright?" He asks, grateful that you nod. "It's nice to meet you, Y/n. I'm James."

"Well, it's lovely to know my other neighbour, James. I, these are for you." Thrusting the tray forward, Bucky pushes his door open further with his foot to accept the tray, forgetting he didn't have his glove on.

Your eyes wander down to see his left arm is entirely metal. "Thanks." He mutters, feeling your eyes burning into his arm.

"I'm sorry," You quickly say, looking up at his face. "it's rude to stare, my Mom would scold me if she were here right now."

Bucky shakes his head, moving his leg to catch the back of the door. "Don't worry 'bout it." He brushes it off, but he notices your eyes wandering around the bland corridor and your lips parting.

"You don't happen to know any good places for dinner 'round here?" You move the conversation on, causing Bucky to raise a brow in response. "I'm kinda new to the area and I was wondering if you knew any good spots." You shrug your shoulders, hoping he couldn't read your mind and know that sentence was a complete lie.

"Erm, yeah." He sheepishly tells you, hearing Doctor Raynor droning in the back of his mind about putting himself out there, and not on those godforsaken dating apps again. "There's a great sushi place I know of."

Your smile brightens at his suggestion, and Bucky can't ignore how his lips rise at the sight. "Great, wanna join me then since you know it so well?" You suggest nonchalantly. "And you can always enjoy those as a dessert afterwards."

Looking down at the tray of warm cookies, Bucky tries to hide the sound of his stomach grumbling against the tray.

"Sure," He reaches into his apartment, grabbing his things including his gloves before following you out. "so, what brings you to Brooklyn?"

It's been several months since you moved in next door, and Bucky couldn't be happier that you plucked up the courage to knock that day.

Every week you two hang out, sometimes you join him and Yori for lunch who spends most of the time trying to convince Bucky to ask you out (only to be scolded when you're absent.) Sometimes you'll cook dinner, dance around your apartment and watch movies or wander around the city whilst Bucky tells you old stories; just like normal friends do, right?

It was truly blissful, but there was still so much about each other you had yet to learn.

Running his fingers through his combed hair, Bucky tugs on his blue henley before heading out.

As he locks his front door, he carries out dinner that he promised to make for you tonight.

"Oh, James." Your neighbour in 2F, Clarissa, stands in front of her door with her handbag and walking stick.

"Hi, Clarissa." Bucky forces a small smile, having heard her conversations regarding his past, muttering about having a murderer in the building shouldn't be allowed.

"Heading into Y/n's I take it." She hums, eyeing him carefully as he nods in response. "She should be back later, told me she had to go to the hospital." Waving herself off, Clarissa turns the lock in her doors.

"The hospital?" Bucky speaks up as the containers in his hands begin to slip, his mind going a hundred miles an hour. "Y/n's in the hospital?" Trying not to yell, Bucky steps closer, causing Clarissa to clutch her handbag tightly in front of her chest.

"Yes," Clarissa states calmly, but Bucky notices the keys in her right hand begin to shake.

"Thanks." Bucky mutters, stepping away as he darts back into his own apartment and grabs his coat, barely able to process his thoughts before rushing down the stairwell with nothing but you on his mind.

Reaching the entrance to the hospital, Bucky hands the driver some money without any words being exchanged. Bucky knew he looked like hell; he couldn't focus properly on anything. He had only seen you last night, the two of you in his apartment painting his living room walls, laughing together as you accidentally flicked paint across his cheek.

The reception area was crowded, voices bounced from wall to wall as Bucky strode toward the desk where a woman sat, staring blankly at a screen.

"How can I help?" She asks, briefly glancing up at Bucky before focusing on her screen once more.

Suddenly lost for words, Bucky homes in on a man crying in the waiting area, loudly sobbing into his hands as a nurse stands over him.

"Y/n Y/l/n, I'm looking for Y/n." Bucky forces the words out as the Nurse simply nods whilst typing away, humming a tune to herself.

"Oh okay," The Nurse pauses as her eyes scan over the monitor.

Clutching the edge of the desk, Bucky can hear the plates in his metal arm whirring as his grip tightens, nearly tearing the panel off as the silence becomes insufferable.

"So Y/n is currently in the operating theatre." The nurse tells Bucky nonchalantly, glancing up to see something change in his expression.

"No," Shaking his head, Bucky steps back. "she, I, I we were going to have dinner." It sounds pathetic to him, saying it aloud. But seeing you, having any moment with you made him feel human again, almost normal.

"Yeah, crazy how schedules fall." A heavy sigh leaves the nurses lips, unaware of the cool gaze that is locking in on her.

"Do you know when she'll be-" Before Bucky can finish his sentence, he's caught off guard by someone calling his name from the corridor.

"James?" You chuckle, walking toward him wearing your uniform adorned with your badge.

"Doll?" Bucky stutters, stepping closer as he tries to stop the tears in his eyes from forming. "You, you're okay?" He mumbles, looking you over, keeping his hands on your arms.

"Why wouldn't I be?" You ask, evidently surprised. "Everything okay, James?" Lowering your voice, you peer down to look him in the eyes whilst his head hangs low.

"Clarissa said you were in the hospital." Bucky huffs in annoyance to himself. "I, I didn't put it together," He mumbles. "I forgot that you,"

"That I'm a Doctor?" Holding back the laugh in your throat, you sigh before tugging Bucky closer into your embrace. "I'm okay, James. I'm only sorry you came all this way."

Keeping you in his arms, Bucky doesn't want to let go. Whilst your face rests in the crook of his neck, he allows a few stray tears to fall in relief. "I, I made us dinner." He eventually says, feeling you pull back to look at him, your eyes softening at the trails left on his cheeks.

"Oh, James." Raising your hand, you cup his cheek. "I'll be off work in an hour. I'm so sorry I should've said something or let you know sooner."

Shaking his head, Bucky takes your hand from his cheek and runs his fingers over your knuckles. "Don't worry 'bout it, Y/n. I'm just glad you're safe." He tells you, wishing he could say something else, but for now, that was enough.

"Did you make,- Your eyes light up in excitement, but Bucky cuts you off before you can finish your sentence.

"Yep." Bucky chuckles as you do a little dance. "You're such a dork sometimes, doll."

"Yeah," You admit, slipping your hand from his as you bury them in your pockets. "but would you have me any other way, neighbour?" Raising a brow to him, Bucky shakes his head. "Thought as much."

"I'll keep dinner warm for you." He smiles, hearing the word neighbour circle his thoughts. Yet, for once, Bucky forces his intrusive thoughts aside as his lips brush across your forehead. "Be good, Doc." He can't help but laugh to himself at the sound of your heart beating rapidly whilst externally, you remain cool.

"I'll try my best, Barnes." You salute him, watching as he walks back out of the hospital, knowing he's one step closer to calling you his girl.

t a g l i s t (thank you for the support!) link in my bio and at the top of this piece to add yourself☺️(if your user isn’t tagged, it’s because nothing comes up sorry!)

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dreaminpetals · 4 years ago

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Can you do Idv Andrew relationships Hcs, maybe add nsfw if it's not too hard. thank you so much also I love your writing style :))

⏳ Andrew Relationship HCs . . .

SFW ;;

♡ when andrew first arrived at the manor, everyone welcomed him pretty well but nobody ever went out of their way to make him feel welcome

♡ except for you

♡ you'd always make sure he had something to eat, an umbrella for the sun, and would help him walk if he felt dizzy or couldn't see very well

♡ he couldn't understand why a stranger was being so kind to a monster like him

♡ he was so enamoured with you, it was like you had put a spell on him

♡ thank goodness his shaggy hair covers so much of his face because every time your hands touched when you handed him a snack he'd blush furiously

♡ when you shared an umbrella with him, he was squirming so hard from how happy you made him and how new this feeling was.. you noticed he was walking weird and thought it was due to his condition, not that he was trying to stop himself from bouncing like a puppy every time he walked with you

♡ before the sound of footsteps shook him to his core, now he associates them with you approaching him to tell him about your latest match and he gets 🦋🦋🦋

♡ andrew is a religious man, so he figured you were an angel sent to watch over him

♡ you laughed when he referred to you as an angel but secretly... you didn't mind the name

♡ whatever you were, he felt blessed by your presence and unworthy of your kindness

♡ when he asked why you never degraded him for his condition, you explained that the timeline you were from before reaching the manor is about a hundred years ahead of his so you knew all about albinism, you even had classmates with it

♡ he stared at you in awe and sniffed back tears, thinking about how people like him were able to attend school and make friends

♡ you held his hand when you noticed him battling the urge to cry

♡ he'd never felt such warmth before

♡ andrew was the kindest, most gentle man you've ever met and it felt like daggers to your heart when he told you about how he was tormented his whole life

♡ that was when you kissed him and whispered, cupping his cheek and staring lovingly into his eyes, "it's okay andrew, they're all gone now, we all love you here... i love you,"

♡ he nearly fell off the bench the two of you were sitting on

♡ hearing those words, feeling your warm lips on his icy chapped ones;;;; he pinched his wrist under the assumption he was dreaming

♡ "this can't be real, if it is... she has to be deceiving me... nobody could ever..." poor andrew didn't know he was speaking out loud

♡ you hushed him and pulled him close to you, so close he could feel the heat radiating off your body, and planted a kiss on the crown of his head. "andrew... please don't say that. it's okay if you don't feel the same, but... i want to be yours,"

♡ he stiffened up in your arms and nodded profusely

♡ he was tongue tied, especially when it came to the word love. he's never loved or been loved before this

♡ love was a scary word for him but his nodding told you that he felt the same way, he was happy, he was warm, he wanted more kisses, he wanted you, he loved you

♡ the two of you laid there while you rubbed his back and whispered words of endearment into his ear, he was completely relaxed for the first time in his life

♡ luca and victor passed by you two and victor promptly slipped a coin into luca's pocket

♡ "told ya they were gonna get together eventually," luca snickered before whistling at you two, mortifying you in the process

♡ your relationship is the softest thing ever

♡ andrew loves to hear about the future

♡ even if he's completely lost when you describe video games to him, he cherishes being able to hear you speak about what you're passionate about

♡ plenty of nights he falls asleep to you reading aloud to him, andrew loves to snuggle up to you and nod off to a bedtime story told by his love

♡ he's a very attentive lover, always picking up on what you like and what you don't

♡ dating is a brand new concept to him so there's lots of explanations you have to give, it's all worth it though. andrew is like a puppy around you, he's sooo so so happy and in love

♡ he sometimes feels insecure about holding your hand, especially in the winter, due to how cold he is but you told him he made you feel so warm inside that it cancelled out

♡ that's how you make andrew so flustered he has to hide his face in his hands 101

♡ he's ripped from digging graves all day long and can give you piggyback rides

♡ you beg him to run around with you in his arms but he always refuses, he doesn't wanna drop you

♡ doesn't matter, getting picked up by him and hearing both of you laugh in sync while your legs wiggle in the air is the best part anyways

♡ speaking of his laugh

♡ he'll laugh at whatever joke you tell him, whether he understands it or not

♡ he loves you call you angel, sweetheart, honey, dear... especially like, my dear sweet wonderful y/n the light of my life my angel from above - he thinks the more petnames he stacks, the more love he conveys for you. it gets ridiculous at times

♡ you two never fight and can agree on pretty much everything

♡ the second somebody in the manor makes a joke about you two getting married, he seriously considers it and goes searching for rings

♡ he wants to be with you for the rest of his life 🥺

NSFW ;;

♡ if you thought andrew was inexperienced in relationships, just wait till you want to take things to the next level with him

♡ i feel like he'd know what sex is but only because he was told not to do it before marriage and he knows that it makes babies, he has no idea people do it out of love

♡ he's so affection starved that he gets horny when you do the smallest things

♡ he'd never dare to speak on it though

♡ your clothes dip to reveal your chest or ass and he feels something down there, but he doesn't know what to do about it and feels humiliated

♡ he thinks he's being cursed, he's been too lucky and too happy for far too long

♡ the final straw is when he accidentally opens the door while you're getting changed and he catches a glimpse of your naked body

♡ he's reduced to a trembling mess who can't do anything but palm himself through his cassock

♡ that's when you have to explain to him that he's just horny and there's nothing wrong with sex, even if you aren't married

♡ you emphasize that you'd love to do it with him and you've wanted to for a long time

♡ he trusts you but he's so embarrassed he doesn't know where to start

♡ you start off by slowly undressing him and running your hands all over his body, kissing every scar and praising him endlessly

♡ he's shaking and dripping so much precum with every word of endearment, he's waited so long for this to happen

♡ you sit in his lap and stare into his eyes and he cums before you even get to his lower half

♡ he can't sit up straight and clings to you for support, he's never had any sort of sexual action before and this poor guy is way too sensitive

♡ showing his body to you was scary but with the way you tenderly kissed him and drew circles on his skin with nothing but pure adoration, he realized maybe he wasn't so ugly after all

♡ your first time with him lasts hours and he proposes to you seconds after pulling out because he wants to do that with you everyday from now on without feeling guilty

♡ nobody thought he would have such a high sex drive but he's like a rabbit, he always wants to touch you and make you feel good

♡ he can't initiate things but you can tell by the way he squirms and eyes you when you walk in the room that he's about to explode

♡ those years of isolation did something to him

♡ his favourite activity is when you give him handjobs because he's scared of hurting you somehow, paradise for him is sitting in bed together while you pump his cock and kiss him gently

♡ his hands and fingers are HUGE and super calloused so the friction feels like heaven when he gets the guts to touch you

♡ not to mention his dick is like the eiffel tower, he needs to learn how to use it bcos it is biiig

♡ he's so addicted to the noises and faces you make when you cum, you truly are an angel to him

♡ he loves to go slow and savour every moment, but right before he cums his carnal side comes out and he's like an animal

♡ he goes from soft cries to straight up growling

♡ something unexpected he loves is bath sex

♡ the two of you covered in bubbles in a warm bath getting each other off makes him so happy, especially when you're back from a particularly gruesome match

♡ he'll be extra soft if you have any injuries

♡ andrew is willing to try anything that you want, even if he thinks he won't like it, he wants to make his darling happy

♡ he doesn't like when you bury your face in a pillow or try to hide from him, he wants to see your body in all its glory and worship it like you do his

♡ his moans can get so loud that your neighbours victor and luca have to smack the wall to tell you to quiet down in there

♡ which is pretty unfair since they aren't any quieter either :/

#andrew kreiss imagine #andrew kreiss x reader #andrew kreiss #andrew kreiss smut #idv imagine #idv x reader #identity v imagine #this is so long i got carried away for my boy andrew fjfkdks

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kikis-writing-world · 4 years ago

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The Reason

Summary: You can’t sleep as you near Moff Gideon’s ship, but neither can Din. He wants to tell you about what happened on Morak.

Pairing: Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Rating/Warnings: SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 15!!!! Other than the spoilers, it’s all fluff and no editing lol. But seriously, if you’re avoiding finding out what happens in Season 2, Episode 7 / Chapter 15 of The Mandalorian, don’t read this yet. It takes place after, and there’s talk of what happened during the episode.

A/N: It seems like every freaking week I watch the episode and tell myself “don’t write something. Everyone will be writing something, you don’t need to add in your silly fic too.” (Not to say I don’t enjoy reading them, but I just always feel like I won’t be adding anything new.) Well, this week I said fuck it and cranked this little ditty out this morning after the new episode. I hope y’all like it.

Edit: Follow-up drabble here

You sat silently beside Din as the ship - not the Razor Crest that had become your home over the past months, but Boba Fett’s ship Slave I - travelled through space. If the coordinates were right, you were heading into what was sure to be a hard-fought battle but it would be worth it. It was all to get Grogu back.

You willed yourself not to cry as you thought of the little green child you’d come to think of as your own. What he must be feeling right now. Alone and scared while they did unthinkable experiments to him. You’d cried several times since he’d been taken from your care, sick with worry over him. You were sick of crying. Soon would be the time for action, for getting him back.

Fennec and Dune were both sleeping on the opposite side of the bay. You tried to sleep, knowing you’d need your wits about you when you reached Moff Gideon’s ship, but sleep wouldn’t come. Sleep was hard to come by lately.

A whisper to your left surprised you. The low, modulated voice speaking your name. You had thought he was also asleep, reserving his strength for the battle to come. You should have known he’d be struggling to sleep too.

He nodded his head to the side as he unbuckled the harness keeping him secure in the seat. You nodded as you unbuckled your own and followed him to the darkened corner of the hold. You waited for him to sit in the corner, knowing he liked to have his back secured and a view of the room. Instead, he gently led you into the corner and sat with his back to the others. You were too surprised to ask, you followed his lead and slid down the wall to sit on the floor.

He hadn’t said much of what happened on Morak, but you hadn’t been expecting him to. You’d learned long ago he wasn’t one for unnecessary chatter. There were times he tried, for you and the kid, helping to fill the silences as time passed on the ship. Hearing him strain, pushing the boundaries of his usual comforts to ease the minds of you and his foundling, was one of the ways he snuck into your heart.

It wasn’t easy loving The Mandalorian. He was so used to being alone, both physically alone and having few people to trust. It took a while, but you earned that trust. You knew you had. You also knew he cared about you in his own special way. He would take your hand in his larger gloved hand to avoid losing you in a crowd. His hand would squeeze yours when you were visibly anxious. A hand on your shoulder, your back, or your hip as he passed you in tight quarters. Leaning his forehead against yours anytime the two of you parted.

To most these fleeting moments wouldn’t look like much, but you knew the stoic Mandalorian didn’t give these touches lightly. That his keldabe kiss was just as precious as any lip-to-lip contact.

You didn’t fully understand his creed. He answered questions when you asked, but a lot of it didn’t make sense to you, an outsider. Even so, you never pushed him to break it or put him in a position that made him feel like the creed was in danger.

“I know you’re worried,” his voice was quiet. The crackling of the modulator even more prominent as it tried to broadcast his hushed tone. “We’ll get him back.”

“I know.” You nodded, looking down at your crossed legs. If anyone could rescue Grogu, it was the man sitting across from you.

That large gloved hand entered your vision, resting lightly on your knee. A small smile broke through your worry at the man’s attempt at comfort. You placed your hand over his, feeling the warmth of him through the smooth leather.

“I-” He started to speak before stopping himself. While it wasn’t unusual for him to search for his words, he usually did so before starting to speak. By the time he spoke, he was confident and sure in what he had to say. That short, clipped syllable caught your attention in how different it was. He was trying to tell you something, but still wasn’t sure how.

“What is it?” You gently prompted, squeezing his hand with your own.

“On Morak…” He sighed.

“What happened on Morak?” You asked after a beat.

“I did what had to be done.”

His answer confused you. You knew that already of course, but it also sounded like he was trying to convince himself as well as you.

“I know that. You got the coordinates. We’re going to find the kid because of you and Mayfield.” You smiled at him, praising him for the success. It was easy to overlook the triumph when it was just a stepping stone to a much larger problem.

“I had to…” He looked away from you as he once again searched for the words. Your smile dropped a fraction with his unease. “I had to take off the helmet.”

You didn’t know what you were expecting him to reveal, but it hadn’t been that. You knew that he had taken the helmet off months ago, but that had been a life or death situation. No one had been around, just the IG droid who had treated his wounds and saved him. This was a mining refinery full of people. Full of imps.

“Are you okay?” You asked, moving your hand from where it was resting on top of his so you could grip his hand fully. “What happened?”

“I-I had to.” He stuttered. “The terminal had to scan my face to get the coordinates.”

“Mando,” you didn’t dare speak his name - something he had shared with you in confidence - with others around. “Are you okay?”

He nodded once. Relief filled your body. You foremost worry had been for him, and how he would have felt to have broken his life-long creed. You supposed with the explosions, anyone who would have seen his face was likely dead. Unless Mayfield had seen him.

His hand slipped from yours as he brought both of his hands up to the sides of his helmet. He started pushing it up and your eyes widened as a sliver of skin was revealed. You surged forward, covering his hands in your own to stop him.

“What are you doing?”

“I want to. To show you.” He explained. His voice came in this awkward mix of his natural timber through the bottom of his helmet and the modulator still trying to pick up his voice. You could see his chin move as he spoke. Your heart was racing. It was the most you’d ever seen of his face.

“You don’t have to.” You told him firmly.

“I think… I think there are reasons to keep it on, and reasons to take it off.” He spoke slowly, like it was something he had been thinking about. You thought of the Mandalorians on Trask who claimed the creed was outdated. You thought of Boba Fett in the cockpit, who wore his newly-polished armor with the pride of a mandalorian despite being without it for years. Thought about him revealing his face for the information needed to save his foundling.

“I want to show you my face.” He told you, his voice unwavering. It was the surety, the confidence you had grown used to from him. “I want to show who I am to the one I love.”

Your breath caught in your throat at his admission. You knew it in your heart, but he’d never said the words aloud to you before. You bit your lip as you felt the tears welling in your eyes again, this time from happiness instead of grief and worry.

“Okay.” You breathed, barely able to find your voice.

With your hands still on his, he lifted the helmet, revealing his face inch by inch. You held your breath as he was slowly revealed to you.

The scruff covering his jaw. His plush lips. The mustache over his mouth. His aquiline nose. His deep brown eyes. His shaggy dark brown hair. He set his helmet in his lap as your eyes scanned his face.

Wow.

You hadn’t realized you had said that out loud until his eyebrows furrowed. That was new. You were used to guessing his emotions through his body language, his tone of voice. Now you had facial expressions to read. He was waiting for your reaction and you hadn’t given him much to go by.

“You’re gorgeous.” You told him. It was the only way you could think to describe the ridiculously handsome man sitting in front of you. You were almost mad at him for hiding his face away for this long.

His lips quirked up in a lopsided grin, a single dimple appearing in his cheek. Maker, you thought he’d already taken your breath away and then this-

“Come here.” He ordered. His natural voice was deep. Rich. It sent a shiver down your spine.

“Huh?” Your brain wasn’t processing. It was in some kind of overloaded state. Din’s face. Din’s voice. Din’s beautiful brown eyes that you could simply drown in.

His hand was on your cheek, pulling you into him. You gasped, holding your breath as his lips brushed against yours. You had dreamed of this, but not a single one of those dreams lived up to the real thing.

He was hesitant, clumsy even as he kissed you. His lips were chapped against your own, the stubble on his cheeks tickling your skin. He smelt of sweat and blaster fire, of fresh air and leather. Maker, you could melt into the floor of the ship never to be seen again and you would have been happy with the life you had lived.

“I love you.” You whispered against his lips. You felt him smile in response.

You brought your hand up to his cheek. Feeling the lines of his face with your hand, you trailed your hand to his hair. It was damp with sweat but so soft. It felt amazing between your fingers.

“Where’s Mando?” A voice across the bay shocked both of you, the two of you shooting away from each other as if you’d been burned. You felt like a teenager who had been caught making out by your parents. You looked over Din’s shoulder as he pulled the helmet back into place - his strategic placement of the two of you making sense now. Not only did he not want them to see his face, but he trusted you to have his back. That thought made your heart speed up even more than it already was.

You saw Fennec shaking Cara awake. Luckily she hadn’t looked in this direction yet. Had Cara woken first, she likely would have seen the two of you.

“Sorry, we’re over here.” You admitted, trying to calm the heat in your face. It was dim in the hold, hopefully they couldn’t tell. “We were talking, didn’t want to wake you.”

“You should be sleeping.” Fennec told you, leveling you with a gaze that truly did make you feel like you’d been caught doing something wrong by a parent.

“I should be sleeping.” Cara grumbled, cranky for having been woken up for no reason.

“Come on. We’re all gonna need to be at our best.” Fennec said, ignoring Cara.

“She’s right.” Din admitted, standing up and offering you his hand. You took it, letting him help you to stand. “Let’s try to get some sleep, cyar'ika.”

Tagging: @wickedfrsgrl @din-damn-djarin @thisisthe-wayson @insideafictionaluniverse

#The Mandalorian spoilers #Din Djarin x Reader #Din Djarin x GN!Reader #The Mandalorian x Reader #Din Djarin drabble #The Mandalorian drabble #Din Djarin imagine #The Mandalorian imagine #Pedro Pascal Character fanfiction #WookieTales

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amorgansgal · 3 years ago

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Cruel, Cruel World - I've Been Living Too Long

So here's the first chapter of my Charlotte x Arthur fic, it was inspired by @rivetingrosie4's other idea suggestion during the TY Giveaway I did. I liked both so much and wanted to do an Arlotte story anyway, that I decided to write it as well as The Bitter End! It will cover their meeting and feelings for each other, but it's going to be a tale of unrequited love, so prepare yourself for angst and feelings!

You can read it on AO3 and The Bitter End on AO3 too.

Warnings: Depiction of skinning and gutting an animal.

The first time they meet she’s still crying. The overwhelming shock of grief that left her gasping for air and howling like a wounded animal is gone, replaced with tired sobs. Her back and shoulders ache from digging, there are blisters coming up on her fingers. Charlotte knows she must look a sight, her blouse is covered in filth, mud smeared across her face, tear tracks run down her cheeks and her eyes are red and sore.

She has no widow weeds, nothing suitable to wear for a funeral. The closest she can get to is a blue blouse and a grey-green plaid skirt. She hadn’t exactly planned on having a funeral. What young couple does? Why would she think that the beginning of their new, exciting and adventurous life would mean the end?

Charlotte thinks about the one funeral she attended a long time ago. A Great Uncle. They hadn’t been close so she felt no real absence or loss. Grief had been a pretty thing, played out with processions, quiet sobs, small handkerchiefs fluttering like white birds amongst a black sky. A neat, tidy performance. What would all those people think of her now, crawling in the mud, dirt etched into her fingernails, her belly aching with hunger, as she sobs hopelessly?

‘We’ll read books and we’ll grow vegetables like we did back home and we’ll learn as we go!’ Cal’s excitable words haunt her now. What absolute fools. It would take thousands of books, hundreds of years to learn what they needed to know. ‘We don’t need anything special. All we need is each other.’

She’s so lost in thought, feeling her heart beating traitorously against her chest, that she doesn’t even hear the man’s footsteps or the rustle of grass at his approach.

‘Er, you alright there?’ A warm, rumbling voice says.

She turns quickly and gets to her feet. ‘Who are you?’

He’s as tall and broad as an oak, wearing a light brown leather jacket and blue shirt. His soft brown hair touches the collar of his shirt and rough stubble lines his cheeks and jaw. The hat on his head is tipped back slightly, as though knocked by a branch, and she tries to gauge from his blue-green eyes whether he will hurt her. He looks rough, strong, doubtless he could injure her if he wanted to.

He raises his hands in surrender, though she has already seen the revolvers at his hips and the rifle slung across his back. ‘Oh, it’s okay, ma’am. I don’ mean you no harm.’

What does it matter if he does? The world has pulled every last bit of love and warmth away from her. If he knocked her into the ground, raped her, robbed her, killed her, would it really matter? She cannot feel anything anymore, her body won’t allow her to feel any more pain.

Charlotte watches him cautiously, his gaze steady and sure. No sense of danger within them and better still no false pity or assumed grief. He doesn’t know her; he isn’t going to pretend to feel her pain. For that she’s grateful.

‘Well, it makes no difference now. If an outlaw or wild animal doesn’t get me, starvation will.’ She says hollowly. She looks over to Cal’s grave and sees with shame that the flowers she left on it are streaked with mud. She thinks about the bouquets and wreaths that were given at her Great Uncle’s funeral. So lovely looking and well ordered, that they almost didn’t look like real flowers.

Charlotte picks up Cal’s flowers and does her best to wipe away the smears of mud. When she turns her head, the stranger is still there, watching her. There’s still no artifice in his gaze and almost without meaning to she finds herself speaking openly to this man.

‘We came out here from the city in search of a different life. Something true, something real. All this squandering and indulgence we wanted to strip it away, to find something authentic.’ She hates the words, she hates herself. If this man mocks her now, she wouldn’t blame him. What a stuck-up prig she sounds.

A sob gets caught in her throat and she almost chokes. ‘What a pair of fools.’

He looks away briefly, almost a little uncomfortable with her grief, but then returns his sea green eyes to her. He looks saddened for her, but more for the situation she’s in rather than anything else. He does not deride her dreamy notions of escape and adventure, he does not pity their foolishness, he won’t offer false sentiments of his condolences for her.

‘Is there a train station or a town I can take you to?’ he offers.

His offer is sensible, practical, reasonable. Everything she and Cal hadn’t been. Her head says she should take the stranger up on it, pack her things, head back to Chicago. But to what? To a family that will give her nothing but pitiful looks? To in-laws that will do the same but may whisper behind their hands about her? To a society that will look at a childless woman in her thirties and will shake their heads at the shame? Her heart tells a different story. Do this for Cal, do this to show the world you can, do this to show this strange man you aren’t afraid.

‘No, I can’t give up now. He wouldn’t want that. I… I can’t have it.’

She turns to the grave, looking at the rough wooden cross she had made from two planks nailed together. ‘I’m going to do this for you… Cal.’ The very act of saying his name aloud says a sharp wave of pain through her, but she bites back her sobs.

‘Well…’ the stranger murmurs. She begins to walk past him to go back to the little cabin Cal and her once called home. Her muscles are stiff and aching and she struggles to walk normally. ‘I’ll erm… I’ll leave you to it.’

The tight feeling in her chest grows as the restrained sobs seem to grow more and more, pressing against her throat and lungs, till her eyes burn. He’ll leave her, he’ll go and she’ll be alone to face this terrifying, looming pit of grief and hunger and pain and loss. Charlotte staggers and drops to her knees, the tears all too easily dripping from her face and the pitiful sob forces its way up. She hears his footsteps stop, but she can’t look back, she can’t watch this man go.

‘Damn fool,’ she thinks. ‘Damn, damn you, Charlotte. You don’t know this man; you can’t feel pain at his leaving. He would leave at some point. What would he do otherwise? Offer to stay with a grieving widow?’

‘Is there anything left for you to eat?’ The warm, gravelly voice asks.

She looks at him, wishing she could offer a real smile. He might be uncomfortable, but he’s kind. Unreasonably so to a widow he’s found in the cold grey afternoon who is acting like an idiot. Any normal man might just leave her to her fate, rolling their eyes at the ridiculous notion of her surviving.

‘Nothing.’ Charlotte manages to fight back her tears again and gets to her feet. ‘No, we didn’t know the first thing about hunting, we… couldn’t even catch a darn mouse. If you need any poisonous berries though, I’m a natural at finding those.’

The joke is a poor one and it sticks uncomfortably in her throat. Though the man does the decent thing and lets out a small murmur of amusement. She realises she is still holding the flower from Cal’s grave in her hand. The flowers are almost wilted, the petals sticky with mud. Tears burn in her eyes again; she can’t even do this part right.

‘Well… you ain’t goin’ to last much longer out here if you don’ know how to hunt. Come on,’ he says, gently cajoling her. She gazes up at him seeing his expression has softened considerably. ‘I’ll show you.’

She feels strangely reassured as she rises to her feet. ‘Alright… But you better not try any funny business. You know, I may be weak but I still know how to stand up for myself.’

‘Oh, I don’ doubt it,’ he gives her a quick smile. From anyone else it would be mocking, but it’s genuine from him. ‘Come on.’ He gestures with a hand for her to follow and Charlotte is surprised when she finds her feet moving towards the pathway.

She looks back to the grave. Despite the hunger the claws in her stomach, the grief that weighs heavily on her heart and the tiredness she feels from digging that cold, dark pit, a small glimmer of hope seems to blossom inside her. Perhaps in the moment of absolute loss and heartache, Cal has guided this man to her. Perhaps he was still looking out for her. Charlotte looks back at the man walking ahead, his reassuring smile that he turns on her so welcoming she could weep all over again.

Arthur walks through the woods, hearing the quiet, steady footsteps of the woman beside him. He finds himself still reeling at the thought of his eagerness to help her, perhaps the old Arthur would have turned aside. The old Arthur Morgan would have shaken his head and left the woman weeping by the grave. He doesn’t like to think if he would have done anything worse, but there’s no denying it, he did go here because of a robbery tip.

Old Arthur wouldn’t have time to teach her to hunt, to survive. But for all that his time is rapidly running out, it seems almost as though he has plenty of it. Plenty of time to offer help and aid instead of a cold shoulder of indifference. More and more he longs to help others. Perhaps it a longing for redemption, to do what little right he can do. A lifetime of sins isn’t easy to unpick and untangle, but he can at least balance out the bad with some good.

He glances at her, trying to see the woman underneath the streaks of mud on her face and the mask of grief her features have become. Dark hair that is straggly and unkempt, eyes swollen, her clothes plastered with mud.

‘Tell me, you ever skinned an animal before?’ He needs to know how much she knows; he doubts whether a city girl would ever need to learn such a skill, but he could be wrong.

‘No, but then again, I haven’t caught much of anything either.’

For all the comfort and privilege of her upbringing, he appreciates her humour and straight forwardness. ‘Well, you’ll need to know how to do both if you’re going to survive out here.’

‘I am all too aware,’ she replies grimly. ‘So where should we head for?’

‘Er… let’s try in the trees down there, near the river.’ He gestures the large body of water that spans the length of the train bridge. There must be something down there, even if just a rabbit or a duck. The woods are quieter, the shadows of the late afternoon lengthening. There is still a little golden light from the sun that reaches through the trees, making the grass and low-lying shrubs glimmer as though gold coins are being tossed amongst them.

‘What happened to your husband, if you don’t mind me asking?’ Arthur says. He remembers she talked bitterly about the poisonous berries she found and, as they pass a patch of bright pink oleander sage, he thinks perhaps he’ll also need to teach her which plants are good and which are deadly.

‘A bear got him… it was horrifying.’ Her voice sounds hollow and tired, he wonders when was the last time she slept properly or ate. ‘He survived but only for a couple of days.’

Arthur risks a glance at her, seeing her pale drawn face, the pain in her soft grey eyes. He thinks about reaching out and touching her shoulder, offering some comfort that way. But he quickly pulls his eyes back to the path and the forest floor. Any comfort he could offer would be a poor affair and doubtless she does not want it.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says instead.

‘This was really his dream more than mine. I’d have hopped back onto the next train to Chicago if he’d said the word… but now… I don’t know, it’s hard to explain… I have to do this.’ The calm resolution in her voice makes him reconsider his first thoughts, that whatever he could show her would be of little use. That perhaps like many he has met in his travels, grown to both like and love, she would not survive. But maybe she will. Maybe that steely calm resolve will help.

She spots the rabbit before he does. He quickly dispatches it and uses the time, where he bends down to pick it up, to hide the fact that he’s somewhat impressed at her keen eyesight. He only sees it when the rabbit begins to hop about, trying to escape from him. The woman seems to see it when the thing is nestling quietly amongst the bushes. Her voice trembles when she hears the shot.

‘Oh! Oh… Good shot.’

He shuffles the rabbit from hand to hand, busying himself so she does not see how the small amount of praise has affected him. It’s ridiculous, absurd that he should find a hot flush creeping up his cheeks at the kindness of her words. Has he really been so starved of approval from Dutch that any slight, meaningless compliment makes his head spin?

She approaches him cautiously and he passes the rabbit to her. ‘Okay then, go on. Time to get your hands dirty.’

‘How do I… I mean… what do I do?’ she asks apprehensively.

‘Just hold the legs tight, and pull the skin away, quickly. Should come righ’ off.’

She tentatively holds the rabbit up, her face betrays no squeamishness, just nervousness at getting it right. Her right hand carefully grips the fur by the rabbit’s legs. She glances up at him and Arthur wonders if he should show her how to grasp it more firmly. But then she tightens her grip and begins to tug on the fur, till bit by bit she manages to remove the coat.

‘Oh my… it worked!’ she exalts, a rare genuine smile crossing her lips. He finds himself smiling back, a deep sense of pride running through him. He taught her that and she did it. She’s a smart woman. Her cheeks flush pink and she looks away back to the rabbit. Arthur clears his throat nervously.

‘And that is all there is to it. You did good.’

She lets out a soft sigh, almost of satisfaction. ‘I think I’ve seen enough blood for one day. Do you mind if we head back now?’

‘Sure, I’ll walk you back.’ He falls in step beside her, the rabbit slung over her shoulder and he thinks about warning her that the blood will stain her blouse. But he remembers that she has a thick coating of mud all over her clothes, so it’s unlikely that any of them will ever truly be clean again. ‘That should keep you fed for a few days.’

‘Oh yes, at least. Thank you so much.’

Arthur is glad she’s walking ahead of him, though he shakes his head a little and stares down at his boots. Has a death sentence made him a complete fool? A twig snaps under his foot and the woman glances back at him, she offers him a quick smile. The fearful, desperate look in her eyes is gone, she looks comforted.

‘I mean,’ he says, clearing his throat and eager to change the subject. ‘This really ain’t such a bad spot. You got a good water source. It’s remote, but you can survive here alright.’

‘I have no doubt that one can survive here… whether Charlotte Balfour can is a different matter entirely. You’ve probably lived your whole life in the outdoors.’

‘A lot of it, that’s for sure.’ So that’s her name, Charlotte. He repeats her name in his mind, keen not to forget it immediately. Should he offer her his? Would she recognise it with the law and Pinkertons drawing in ever closer? Would she draw back in fear or contempt if she did? It doesn’t feel like he can stomach a rejection right now. He faces so much of it back at camp he probably should be used to it. But is it any better to lie and hide his true self from her? He feels bad when he realises she has been speaking and he hasn’t heard a word, too caught up in his own fears and concerns. For a man who has once insisted he didn’t think much about anything, that is another thing that has changed.

‘…Cal spent his summers growing up at his grandparents’ lodge in Maine, but I get the impression they did more punting than hunting.’

‘Right.’

‘Ever since we got here, it feels like every step forward has come with a hundred steps back. People always talk about the simplicity of country life. But there’s nothing simple about any of this.’

‘I guess we only know what we know…’

‘Oh please, I’m sure it wouldn’t take you long to adjust to a life of privilege and indolence in the big city.’ She smiles lightly.

‘I don’t know about that… it sounds awful.’

‘Oh, it is. A truly empty and boring existence… but an undeniably easy one.’

Arthur thinks about it. The notion of him being a banker or a shop owner sounds ridiculous. He’d be one of those many people he had robbed over the years and it almost tickles him to think on it. Would he be a well to do type? Someone who regularly smoke cigars and drinks brandy in the evenings, with a small wife and a family he’d occasionally see on weekends if the notion took him?

He glances at Charlotte as she climbs the hill, trying to picture what it would be like to be married to a woman like her. A city girl who has soft, delicate hands and has never skinned a rabbit. He almost scoffs aloud at the notion. Then scowls in thought.

Perhaps that was why he and Mary were destined to fail, he can’t imagine himself with a woman who hasn’t had a bit of rough living, who hasn’t skinned a rabbit or gone hunting. How he thought Mary was well suited to him he would never know. He wasn’t good enough for her. Not good enough for a woman who was better off living in cities, who could keep her hands soft and her skin unblemished.

They are approaching the apex of the hill, a simple wooden structure marking the entrance. Ahead two buildings. One looks to be more of a barn or shed, doubtless filled with tools and useful odds and ends. Outside the low wooden structure sits a wheel and a water trough. Arthur wonders if he should suggest Charlotte get herself a horse, but he doesn’t doubt the woman has thought about it already.

Ahead of him sits what could be a pretty cabin. He admires the slate tiling on the roof, providing far more protection than any thatch or wooden panelling could. Around the front door is a small porch, with a bench outside, practically ideal for any person to sit out on warm summer evenings and admire the sunset over the trees. Curling smoke drifts up from the chimney and he is glad that she seems to have enough wood to keep it lit. The path in front of the cabin is lined with stones and either side of the steps that go up to the front door are flowers, the tall blue ones he recognises from around the area of Little Creek River. A pretty place.

Once they reach the doorway, Charlotte pulls the door open slightly and then turns blocking the entrance. He can only see the wooden walls and maybe a chair from where he’s standing.

‘Thank you. That was the first time anyone’s done anything nice for us.’ She sighs at her mistake and raises the rabbit. ‘For me… since we got here.’ The recent loss is evidently still all too recent.

‘Well, nature provides, but she sure don’ always make it easy.’

‘That she doesn’t… I’d invite you in, but I’m dead on my feet, if you’ll forgive the pun.’ She manages another strained noise of amusement. ‘Please do call again some time, though. A good rest and hopefully I’ll be a new woman.’

‘You take care Ma’am.’ She lingers by the entrance and gazes at him for just a moment, then steps back into her house and closes the door. Arthur breathes out a sigh he had been holding and lowers his head. Then he turns on heel and begins to walk down the path. He whistles for his horse.

#charlotte balfour x arthur morgan #arthur morgan x charlotte balfour #arlotte #charlotte balfour #arthur morgan #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr #arthur morgan fanfic #arthur morgan fanfiction #red dead fanfiction #red dead fanfic #red dead redemption fanfiction #red dead redemption fanfic

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faulty-writes · 4 years ago

Note

A scenario where Tamaki's been trying to confess to his crush for literal MONTHS but just can't ever get it out. Since his voice doesn't work around reader he decides to write a letter, penning down his innermost passions and it ends up being REALLY long with flowery Helga Pataki-esque descriptions of his feelings. But he ends up EATING the paper to prevent reader from seeing it when yn almost sees it. Later that dayduring training, his quirk manifest forces him to say everything he wrote aloud.

[ Finally your girl posts something after forever. Sorry guys! Life has been a bit crazy, I got obsessed with a couple role play groups, and of course, school. But, I’ll try to be better with my blog. I hope you all enjoy this Tamaki piece, thank you for the request dear anon! I thought this idea was a very unique take on Tamaki’s quirk. ]

There you go again. His eyes locked on your every move as you walked through the hallway, your friends by your side, and you were laughing and smiling. Making his heart accelerate and his cheeks flush as always. It was true, Tamaki Amajiki. One of the members that made up The Big Three, had fallen for you. Unfortunately, despite trying to confess to you countless times.

It did no good. Honestly, he didn’t know what he was thinking. He’d always be nervous when he approached you, cheeks red, and that stutter of his present. Even when he did finally manage to speak, he’d find his tongue felt like it was swollen, then he’d get more embarrassed and panic. Despite the fact, you would always ask him what’s wrong or if he needed help.

The fact is, he was nothing but a coward. He’d turn and run which didn’t help much with his confidence considering he knew that you probably thought he was some kind of a freak. But, he had to tell you how he felt. He couldn’t stand the idea of seeing you with someone else which might sound selfish. He knew it was selfish but, he didn’t care. He wanted you all to himself and for once, maybe he deserved what he wanted.

But, he didn’t know how to tell you. How could he reveal his feelings to you without looking silly or fearing rejection? There was only one person he thought of asking, “Well!” Nejire’s voice was as bright and cheery as ever as they sat outside a cafe. Nejire had insisted because they had good lattes and Tamaki was never one to argue.

She smiled as she reached over to place her hand over his, the warmth and comfort from that gentle touch put him at ease for the moment. But, still, he needed an answer on what to do and eagerly waited to hear what Nejire had to say. “If you ask me, nothing says I love you more than the words of a love letter!” Tamaki’s expression completely dropped, his eyes widened and his eyebrows furrowed.

“W-What?” he questioned, he could already feel his stomach twist. That nauseous feeling of butterflies beginning to bother him, his cheeks grew unusually hot and he shook his head. “I c-can’t d-do that!” he stuttered out as his free hand tightened around the styrofoam cup he held. Nejire looked at him with a cross expression.

“They don’t have to know who it’s from silly!” she half scolded, “Besides maybe it’ll help you sort out what you really want to say to them!” she suggested with a bright smile that made Tamaki groan in response. “I c-can’t! T-That’s so e-embarrassing and w-what if t-they find out the l-letter was f-from me!? W-What am I s-supposed to do?! W-What am I supposed t-to say?” he questioned and Nejire shook her head before slowly getting up from her seat.

“Well duh!” she said before reaching over to lightly knock on Tamaki’s head, something that caught his attention but also made him flinch. He leaned back with a present frown on his face, “D-Duh what?” he asked, growing a little scared as she leaned over. He didn’t exactly like that smile on her face. “Then you have nothing left to hide,” she concluded as she reached up to boop his nose which made him wiggle it in response.

He then looked down, nervous eyes shifting back and forth, “I...I d-don’t know,” he said which had Nejire sighing and she placed her hands on her hips. “Just start with the love letter and see where it goes from there, you may not believe it Amajiki, but you’re pretty brave when you’re determined,” she said before patting his shoulder. “Don’t forget that,” she said, smiling yet again before she walked away.

Leaving him sitting there alone, his body hunched over the table as a gentle breeze came to ruffle his hair. Should he try to write you a love letter? Sure it sounded easy, but what if he got nervous and ended up writing the wrong thing? Was there a right or wrong way to write something as personal as a love letter? Your feelings across paper? Well, he supposed it wouldn’t hurt to try.

So he purchased a notebook and pen and began to get to work, at first he found it rather difficult. His words were sloppy and lacking the meaningful nature he wanted them to. But, on occasion, this would change. Especially when he saw you in the hallway or in class, he couldn’t help but feel a rush of inspiration and would always write the words that screamed from his heart when he was near your presence.

He often rewrote the confessions he had, longing for them to be perfect. He was almost finished with what he believed to be the perfect love letter and though he was still unsure how he’d give it to you. He was currently sitting in the library, body hunched over the table as he neared the end of his letter. All that was left were those three big words, the words he was too shy to speak.

But, the ones that he longed to scream from the top of his lungs, the ones that could only be used to summarize how he felt about you. His pen continued to glide across the lined paper, prepared to write ‘I love you’ before he jumped. You had noticed Tamaki around and while you knew he was a member of The Big Three, you had never actually had a full conversation with him.

Though you had class together and on occasion, you got the chance to fight side by side with him. He was amazing and you admired him for the heroism he showed, it was almost silly to think he was the same shy boy you saw roaming through the halls. You had always wanted to try and become friends with him, given you knew from past experience he tended to stutter and honestly couldn’t hold up a conversation.

Still, you were determined to try. Of course, you hadn’t expected him to jump when you spotted him in the library and decided to walk over. You noticed he was writing something and couldn’t help but try and sneak a peek at it, looked pretty serious. You blinked before lowering your mouth to his adorable elf-like ear. “Hi Amajiki-san!” the cry that left his mouth ended up scaring you and without thinking.

You stumbled back and watched as his head turned, those precious indigo-colored eyes wide and fearful and his cheeks dusted over a faint red. “Y-Y/n!?” he exclaimed before pulling the notebook to his chest, fingers securely grasping it. Hiding the written evidence of his feelings for you, despite you having no knowledge of his feelings for you in the first place or how he was trying to convey them through written words.

You did, however, know he was hiding something and couldn’t help but smirk. “Hm?” you raised your hand, pointing a finger at the notebook. “What are you trying to hide there, Amajiki-san?” you questioned as you took a step closer, reaching out to grab his upper arm. You tugged on his sleeve and Tamaki let out a soft whine. “N-Nothing! I-It’s nothing!” he stuttered out, feeling his stomach twist into knots.

He hoped he wouldn’t get nauseous, you were so close. You were touching him! “Oh? If it’s nothing then why are you hiding it?” you questioned in a teasing manner as you took a firmer grip and yanked his arm away. “Show me, I’m curious! Is it a project? Essay?!” the questions left your mouth in an excited manner. “I-It’s not uh, h-hey!” you had reached over and snatched the notebook away.

“Oh boo, let me at least proofread it for you,” Tamaki’s stomach flipped upside down and his hand was clutching his chest, twisting the fabric of the signature red tie of his school uniform. He couldn't let you read it! He’d die! But there you were, holding his notebook with his dedicated words of love scribbled across it. “Now then,” you turned your attention to the notebook, about to read the first line just as the sound of a chair falling came.

You jumped and turned to look but before you could react you felt a strong hand around your wrist. “Amajiki-san!” you exclaimed, prepared to activate your quirk or at least find your way out of his grip. But then, another noise echoed through the air. Your attention shifted back to the notebook and your jaw dropped as you realized he had ripped out the single page you were trying to read.

“Amajiki!” you scolded again, “S-Sorry! B-But you c-can’t see t-this!” he said as he proceeded to crumble the paper into a ball. You looked at him bewildered as he then shoved said ball into his mouth. “Uh…” was the only sound that managed to come out of your mouth as you watched him chew and proceed to swallow the paper. You blinked, lowering the notebook.

Jaw hanging open in absolute awe at what you had just witnessed. Tamaki on the other hand had an itchy throat, and when the crumbled paper reached his stomach. He felt a small ache, which prompted him to place a hand over his stomach. His face was completely red, all the way to the pointy tips of his ears. “G-God, that w-was e-embarrassing u-uh…” he couldn’t even bear to look at you.

He did, however, reach out to snatch his notebook back. The action caused you to gasp and you took a step back, your mind still trying to process what had just occurred. Damn, was it that much of a secret he had to eat it? What sense did that make? Still, you watched as he took the notebook and put everything into his backpack before scurrying away. Strange.

You knew you’d see him in just a few moments, given you had class and hero training together. But, you weren’t entirely sure if you wanted to see him after he pulled such a strange stunt. “Uh...okay, bye then?” you said, clearly still confused despite the fact he was long gone. You placed your hands on your hips and sighed. “Well, wonder if I’ll see anything stranger than that today,” you shrugged and exited the library.

It was almost a nightmare trying to sit through class, much less pay attention to the lesson. It didn’t help that you sat near Tamaki either, but he seemed to give you the cold shoulder. Not so much as dare to take a glance at you, though you happened to notice his hand was over his stomach. Maybe he had a stomach ache, though after consuming a whole piece of paper splattered with ink.

It didn’t surprise you much, if at all. Still, you couldn’t help but wonder just what he had to hide. When afternoon came, you seemed to have forgotten about the strange incident as soon as you slipped on your hero attire. You grinned as you walked alongside your classmates to Ground Gamma, given you couldn’t help but glance over at Tamaki.

He was currently talking to Nejire, but you noticed his face was twisted in some form of discomfort. “Y/n...Y/n!!!” you snapped out of your thoughts before turning to face one of your classmates. “Huh? What?” it was a little shameful you had zoned out, but even so. The teachers had decided that instead of team exercises, you’d be facing each other one on one.

This disappointed you as you rather enjoyed working with your classmates to form tactical strategies and such, but it was important for heroes to learn how to work on their own as well. The who versus whom opponents were randomized as to assure fairness and the element of surprise, you were hoping you’d be one of the first students to show your skills in combat.

But, unfortunately, you weren’t and much like the other student heroes in training, you had to stand back and observe. Though you found yourself growing bored and decided to take a seat on the ground, pulling your knees up to your chest and sporting a dull expression. You glanced over at Tamaki once more, taking note that he was still holding his stomach and Nejire was patting his shoulder.

You assumed she was telling him he was fine. As the second pair of students finished their training exercise, you leaned back and gave a loud yawn which seemed to catch your teacher’s attention. “Y/n,” they said and you turned to look at them with a raised eyebrow, but answered nonetheless. “Yes?” you replied, “Since you seem so bored, I’ll give you a task. Next match, Suneater verse Y/n!” your eyes widened and you sported a dumbfounded expression.

“W-What?” you questioned and your teacher merely smirked at you, was that even legal? You knew your teachers were also pro heroes and as such, should be respected. But, sometimes you couldn’t help but question their teaching methods. Your classmates seemed rather surprised, whispering how lucky you were to be facing a member of The Big Three and how you’d more than likely get your ass kicked.

Tamaki didn’t seem to take the news very well either, in fact, his face twisted into what you could only describe as pure fear. “Uh, I d-don’t think-” he tried to protest, but the teacher cut him off quickly and ordered you two to start at opposite ends of the training ground. You looked to Tamaki and shrugged, “May the best student win?” once you had taken your position among the twisted landscape of metal piping.

You crouched down, going through strategies that could possibly give you an advantage. You wouldn’t let the fact he was a member of The Big Three bother you, even though this all boiled down to one thing. You had to try your best, with that in mind. You decided to lay low and take a running start, keeping your eyes and ears open for Tamaki.

Carefully avoiding those obnoxious pipes in your way before you heard a noise. It was just a small creek, but you knew better than to believe it was just Ground Gamma settling. You stopped briefly, legs bent and ready to make an escape if you needed to. You stared into the abyss of metal before suddenly a tentacle shot out toward you, but a quick dodge saved you from being captured and you took off.

Slithering between big and small pipes alike before you decide to ricochet between two of them, angling your body so you landed on top of a sturdy pipe. You quickly turned on your feet, glancing over the landscape once more. Your eyes searching for any sight or sign of Tamaki, you also had to be aware those tentacles of his could be trouble. With that idea, you quickly looked down.

Ensuring there was no sight of those powerful octopus arms, you then opted to travel above the pipes. Easily jumping from one to the next, your head turning back and forth despite the fact that wind was ruffling your hair and causing your bangs to sway in your face. But, it was quiet. Everything was so quiet which it shouldn’t be, Tamaki’s steps couldn’t be that silent, unless...he wasn’t on the ground.

Your eyes widened at the realization and from the corner of your eye, you saw a single brown feather. “Oh no,” you turned your head as a shadow cast over you. Instantly, your jaw dropped as you saw him. Tamaki, Suneater, the best of the best. Right above you, brown wings spread to their span. His right hand was morphed into long tentacles and his left shaped into a clamshell.

Before you could blink, those wings flapped and the next thing you recalled was a hard hit to your stomach. It threw you off balance and you fell a good few feet before reaching the ground. Pain surged through your person and a long groan escaped you. Every fiber of your being was screaming for you to get back up, but you were too slow. You heard Tamaki land behind you, but he said nothing as he approached you.

Which at the moment, was scary even though he was normally a quiet and reserved person. However, you yelped when you felt those tentacles proceed to wrap around you, binding your arms by your sides. Your quirk was useless without the movement of your hands and knowing that simple fact, you couldn’t help but clench your jaw. It seemed Tamaki had to add insult to injury as you felt the pressure of his enlarged chicken foot against your back.

“I think...y-you’re...done…” came his words, seems he was always a tad braver when he was Suneater which made sense. You turned your head as much as you could, sending a glare toward him. You were usually better than this, but to get bested this quickly. It only reminded you of how much further you had to go before you could truly call yourself a hero.

“Suneater…” you hissed out, flexing your arms as you attempted to get out of his grip. Tamaki however, felt his stomach twist again and his face once more showed discomfort. Maybe eating that letter was a bad idea. It certainly wasn’t settling in his stomach right, and his heart was racing at an unusual speed. But, he felt a strange sense of happiness course through his body as well.

“Y/n, I think you’re my love,” a gasp left his mouth and you felt those tentacles retract. You pressed your hand to the ground, now looking at Tamaki with a wide-eyed expression. “W-What?” you questioned, wondering if you heard him correctly. But, judging by the way he was holding his hands over his mouth and how red his face was turning.

You assumed you had indeed heard the words he had spoken correctly. He took a step back and you noticed his wings were disappearing, was his quirk so consciously controlled that when he was distracted by overwhelming emotions it became faulty? You were more than certain that if the teachers and fellow hero students were still watching, they would be confused as to why Tamaki had let you go.

You slowly rose to your feet, though your body. Mostly your ribs coursed with a dull ache which had you grasping your side. Your eyes were locked on Tamaki as he shook his head and took a step back, his hands tightened around his mouth to prevent it from opening again. But, it was no good. His jaw ached and he couldn’t stop himself, painfully he opened his mouth and more confusing words spilled.

“I...have...been watching you...for so long! I see...you in the...h-halls...and I…” his body went tense as he forced his jaw closed once more, teeth pressing tightly together. What was happening? He had no idea, but he needed to be quiet or else. Oh God, was this because he had eaten the confession he wrote? Your jaw was hanging open, unsure of how to process the words he was speaking.

First, he ate a piece of paper, now this? You took a step back when Tamaki stepped forward, “Uh, T-Tamaki, are you okay?” you questioned before he opened his mouth once more, his eyes watering over which concerned you all the more. “I...f-freeze! You’re the one...p-plaguing...my t-thoughts, my desires…I,” Tamaki’s jaw clenched once more and he leaned over, his hands curling into fists.

“I w-want you...my l-love,” your heart began to pound in your chest, being called ‘my love’ by Tamaki of all people. Well, it was sweet. But, you couldn’t ignore the fact this was clearly not a willing confession. Something was making him speak against his will, maybe his quirk? His voice was strained and breathless which only furthered your assumption he was truly fighting with himself.

“I...long...t-to hold…y-you! My darling...and b-be your hero, to c-cradle and protect...y-you!” his body was trembling as he raised his hand, fingers spread out and palm facing toward you. Your eyes shifted to that hand, eyebrows furrowing together. “Uh...Tamaki,” you said, though you were tempted to take that hand. “I long...t-to be yours!” he stumbled forward, his face was hot and he could feel droplets of sweat fall from his person.

The fact his cheeks were completely red was a good indication he was embarrassed by what he was saying which caused you to frown. You planted your feet on the ground, knowing that you couldn’t exactly run away or restrain him in his current state in order to win. That wasn’t a fair fight and in addition, you knew heroes don’t run from those in need.

However, it seemed even in his...current abnormal state. He was still in control of some of the aspects of his quirk, in fact, before you could properly react. Those tentacles were around one of your arms, the suction cups digging into your skin and taking firm grip. “Amajiki!” you took a step back, trying to pull your arm out of his grip. But, it was no use as you just got pulled forward again.

“AMAJIKI,” you warned again, going as far as to reach over and begin to claw at those tentacles. The sound of your shoes scraping against the metal ground wasn’t exactly comforting, neither was the fact you knew you were going to lose this small struggle. “I w-want to be your husband...one day! Scream your name...f-from the rooftops! My love...my one and o-only!” you shook your head, now growing afraid of the shy reserved boy.

Especially when he finally pulled you forward, causing you to shriek. Your hand was out as you collided with his chest and you immediately felt the pressure of his arm against your lower back. His nails digging into your hip which made you hiss. But he continued to speak, “Just let me h-hold you and soak y-your body in! M-Melt together in a beautiful...ember of love and j-joy,” you blinked, trying to jerk your body out of his grip.

But, it was of little use. He leaned over and you shivered when you felt the soft skin of his face bury itself into your hair. “You are...my w-whole world…” he sucked in a breath, still fighting but it was beginning to hurt. His stomach felt heavy, too weighed down. He needed to say everything, “Fear and c-courage, the one...s-sole purpose in my life...i-is you,” the words were mumbled slightly and he lifted his head.

“I won’t g-give up. I’ll f-fight the army that holds m-my love hostage, I want you to be...m-mine,” your eyes widened and you wanted to tilt your head up and look at him, but you were almost afraid to. “My l-love and my heart, the one...I w-wish to worship. D-Drop to my knees...a-and kiss your skin,” he choked out and you could feel those tentacles loosen around you.

“Tamaki…?” his name came out of your mouth in a soft whisper and you finally lifted your head to look at him. His face was still twisted, a painful expression spread across it and you gasped as he leaned close. You were taken back by the intense expression that danced in his eyes and your face began to grow red. “I want t-to set up a s-shrine...pray to your p-powerful aura,” this was just getting weird, but somehow you knew it was the truth which made it even scarier.

You were tempted to run when those tentacles finally retracted, but you didn’t have time to even think about such as Tamaki’s hand now gently took hold of your chin. You felt a lump form in your throat as you found yourself staring into Tamaki’s eyes. “Forever...m-more...until the end of my...d-days...I...” he suddenly stopped and his breath hitched.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. However, you let out another shriek when Tamaki suddenly dropped to the ground. You stumbled back, not having expected such a thing. The sound of his panting filled the air and you watched as he reached up and ran his hand through his hair. Such didn’t help the sweat that covered his person and your eyebrows furrowed once more.

“I...Amajiki, are you...I mean...everything you said...was it…” you were almost afraid to ask and took a sharp breath which caused a shooting pain to course through your ribs. You latched onto your lip to prevent yourself from hissing and Tamaki slowly lifted his head to look at you. His eyes full of horror and regret, “I...I…” he wasn’t sure what to say, what could he say?

He wasn’t entirely sure what made him say what he did, every word he spoke was in his letter. Did eating it make an effect on his quirk? He groaned and covered his face, saying no more before he took off running in the opposite direction. It took you a moment to fully realize the Big Three member was indeed making a run for it, “Amajiki, wait!” you called out, your hand outstretched in his direction.

Your teachers and fellow students who witnessed this odd interaction were currently scratching their heads, trying to piece together what could have possibly happened to cause one of the top students to run with his tail between his legs. But, the fact you were being watched through this whole exercise was the last thing on your mind.

You couldn’t help but run after Amajiki, your feet pounding against the metal flooring of Ground Gamma. While you had lost sight of him, you knew there was only one place he could have gone. To the end of the training ground where the exit was located, though you weren’t as fast as Tamaki which caused some anxiety as you hoped he’d be where you thought he was.

When you reached the location of the exit, you leaned over with your hands on your knees. The sound of your soft panting filled the air before you wiped your brow. Your jaw then clenched as you tried your best to ignore the pain in your ribs, the exit to Ground Gamma was a large hallway with very dim lighting. In a way, it made you uneasy seeing Tamaki there.

Despite being dressed in his hero attire, he was facing the wall. His forehead pressed against it and you could tell he was trembling, you had known Tamaki to do this exact thing. Given the fact he was rather shy and suffered from anxiety, you frowned and slowly approached him. “Amajiki,” you said, your voice was soft. But, that didn’t stop the fact that Tamaki ducked his head.

You reached your hand out, wanting to touch him but you decided against it for now. You took a deep breath, “Um, so…” you reached up, scratching the side of your temple. Where would you even begin? “I’m not sure...what that was but...did you mean it? Everything you said?” Tamaki wanted to smack his head against the wall, your question left his stomach twisting with butterflies.

Honestly, part of him wished his heart would stop as opposed to continue to pound inside his chest. Of course, everything he said was the truth as terribly spoken and previously written down as it was. He honestly didn’t know what he was doing. In fact, he had never written a love letter before and though he had made countless drafts. It seemed he just wasn’t talented enough to write such romantic words on paper.

“Mm…” is the only way he managed to respond to you. “Mm? Amajiki…” you paused and decided to finally reach out, placing your hand on his shoulder. However, he seemed to shy away from your touch. Shuffling to the side, you let out a sigh and lowered your hand. A friendly touch wouldn’t do anything in this case and you didn’t know the other Big Three members well enough to ask them how to properly handle Tamaki when he got like this.

You’d feel bad if you left him all alone, but it didn’t seem as though he wanted your company at the current moment. You glanced down, hearing the sound of wind echo through the open exit way. You turned your head to look around, you knew you couldn’t afford to waste any more time.

Else your teacher would begin to look for you or another verse competition would start. “Amajiki…” you said yet again, allowing your hands to rest by your sides. “Regardless if...what you said was true or not, I think we need to leave an-” before you could say anything more.

Tamaki had turned and began to sprint away and it honestly made your heart sink. You watched him disappear from view again and let out a sigh, maybe you’d confront him about it later. But, if what he said was true. Well, you’d need to figure out how you felt about it.

#tamaki x reader #amajiki x reader #bnha reader insert

130 notes · View notes

koboldsoul · 4 years ago

Text

a new little day within my hand

this was supposed to be for sg week but I’m bad at finishing things period, much less on time. in any case, we get to have some indulgent h/c between our two emotionally constipated wizards. as a treat. special thanks to @strwpup for betaing! 4585 words, shadowgast, gen, ao3

“I have more of Caduceus’ mixture,” Essek said from the doorway, the little ceramic pot in his hands testament to the words. Caleb nodded his assent to a question that had not been asked.

“Ja,” he said aloud, rather unnecessarily. The hoarseness was new, but welcome: for two days after that final, awful battle, he hadn’t been able to speak at all. Maybe he was still relishing the ability to coax sound from a shredded throat. “Thank you.”

That seemed all Essek needed to be confident in his approach, and this, too, was new. Since reuniting in Eiselcross, mutual hard worry had softened into gentle concern somewhere along the course of relearning their dynamic, and though Caleb had warmed at the change, there was no telling what had inspired it.

In any case, Essek settled beside Caleb on the low settee without apprehension, and removed the lid from the little pot. A week into his recovery, Caleb no longer flinched at the sharp smell of herbs; now, as Essek took his battered hands and carefully unwrapped the bandages, there was a comfort—nearly a sweetness—to both the touch and the scent.

Caleb’s hands immediately began to tremble without their wrappings, the tendons flexing in uncontrollable spasms. Time had yet to complete its work on their appearance, either: to Caleb’s eyes, they seemed a stranger’s, warped and scarred beyond what his past teachers (the archmage, the streets, the call of adventure) had managed on their own. There were many things he used to know like the back of his hand—they were a mystery, now, and the limbs themselves unrecognizable.

He glanced at Essek’s face instead of contemplating that further. His impeccable recall wouldn’t let him forget what his ravaged flesh looked like, anyways, and he would much rather commit to memory the dusting of silver across the bridge of the drow’s nose and the sharp angle of his cheeks, a shade darker than the platinum of his lashes and hair. His brows, knit together in concentration, matched.

They were seated close enough that Caleb could feel the puff of air from Essek’s soft sigh. It accompanied a flash of hurt in his eyes, something vulnerable and sad, when he brought Caleb’s exposed fingers up for inspection. “Your hands look…” He trailed off, apparently searching for the words. Caleb was not sure what would hurt most, what would ache best—there were no words for the destruction he had wrought on his one infallible tool. “...better,” Essek eventually decided, and got to work applying the salve.

Caleb could argue, but it was true enough. Each day of intensive healing, of careful application of potions and poultices and therapy, had made them more closely resemble what he remembered. Neither cleric was sure if they would ever be the same, though Veth was—as always—recklessly optimistic, promising he’d be back in fighting form in no time. Sometimes it chafed, the hope. It burned and blinded the same as any raw magic.

“Any sensation, yet?” Essek asked, voice low.

Caleb watched the salve spread over his skin and imagined it cool and smooth, faintly tingling as was typical of many of Caduceus’ blends, but...he shook his head. “Nothing,” he rasped, and tried not to let the terror behind the admission show on his face.

He must not have been able to keep it out of his voice, however, for Essek paused in his application to shoot him a look of concern. Why he had elected to oversee Caleb’s treatment when he was not well-versed in the healing arts—and moreover, why Caleb preferred his fellow wizard in the role as opposed to another, better-suited member of the Nein—was still something of a puzzle to them both.

Perhaps it was reassuring to be tended by someone who understood, better than anyone else, that a wizard’s hands were his life. Perhaps—and this was a notion Caleb loathed to put words to—he simply enjoyed Essek’s company, the practiced motion of his fingers. Or perhaps Caleb was simply a coward, and could not bear to look the Nein in the eyes, not after what he had done to ensure they all returned to the Material Plane alive.

Saved us, Veth had said. Scared us, Beau had said. Really done a number on yourself, Caduceus had said, and Jester: Protected us, so now it’s our turn to protect you for a little bit, okay?

Caleb knew they meant well, and a part of him longed for their companionship and their care; the rest of him, however, could not bear to see them, or to be seen. Because...for a little bit was optimistic. For a little bit implied a promising prognosis. For a little bit was not—was not what was in the cards for a scholar who could not write, an adventurer who could not fight, a mage who could not cast.

But even after a week alone with these thoughts, Caleb was hardly about to articulate this to himself, much less say this to his friends. So he let Essek finish his treatment in silence, patiently massaging the salve into each hand and working them through stretches that Caleb could not feel. When he was done, they simply sat, hand in hand. Breathing. Thinking.

Essek cleared his throat and absentmindedly rubbed some circles into Caleb’s ruined palms. “I…” he started, trailing off, and Caleb tensed; these treatment sessions were not habitually accompanied by conversation. “I understand, how...how difficult this must be—”

“Difficult?” Caleb repeated, the consonants catching in his throat so sharply he had to bite back a cough. He knew he was meant to be resting his voice, but although there was no vocabulary to describe his present circumstance, not in a way that captured it faithfully, difficult was so woefully inadequate that reticence was out of the question.

“Essek,” he went on incredulously, “I—I cannot do anything like this—write! Eat! Dress, even. I can’t cast or light matches or turn doorknobs or—anything. Without my hands, what am I supposed to—how do I—” It was too many words at once, and he tugged his hands out of Essek’s grip to muffle a round of coughs with his arm. When his eyes watered, he blamed it on the discomfort and could only hope that his nurse also ascribed the symptom thus.

Essek remained quiet through the outburst and fit alike, but out of patience or unease, Caleb did not know. Palm-up and empty, his hands rested loose and...forlorn, almost, in his lap. Oily residue from the salve gleamed in the lantern-light, gold on the dark of his skin.

Lanterns, for once. Lanterns—because Caleb could not muster the dexterity for even a simple cantrip he had learned to cast at six years old. His eyes continued to burn even when the fit passed. His throat remained tight.

“I don’t...I don’t know what to say.” Essek addressed their knees, knocking together on the narrow couch, but the unexpected honesty still hit Caleb full in the face. Uncertainty, Essek had once said, was the surest way to lose one’s footing in the court, and though his time with the Nein had given him ample opportunity to labor at vulnerability, it seemed to Caleb that developing the habit was a glacial process. “You are...such a gifted mage, and I—”

He broke off again, but Caleb had nothing to add. Was, he might have corrected, but the past tense would have grated like broken glass, and he choked it back with the tears.

“I cannot begin to imagine,” Essek said at last, studying his own hands, flexing his fingers and rubbing at his palm with the pad of his thumb, “how it would feel to lose my own hands. How...terribly feeble, and exposed, and...and useless I would suppose I seemed to others.”

Caleb scoffed to cover up his sniffle, and turned his head away and down so that he wouldn’t have to see the pity in Essek’s eyes when the drow inevitably looked up to meet his gaze again. “Ja,” he said, harsh and bitter, “you have the right of it.”

“But,” Essek went on, louder, more firmly, “I am not any of those things, and neither are you, do you hear me, Widogast?”

Essek might have thought this a kindness, these trite words, but all they did was sour the hopeless feeling in Caleb’s chest. It was heavy enough on its own without the gall of false affirmations.

“Like this, I can open a locked door, blur my form, and cross a space, and that is all,” Caleb said, and the rasp only made him sound angrier. He had catalogued his spells over and over again, every morning and evening, mentally flipping through the books whose pages he could no longer physically turn.

“That is all,” he repeated, and it was wet where he wanted scorching. Fire was familiar. Anger was easy, and burned better than sorrow. “That is the extent of my ability without my hands, you understand? I cannot protect them this way. I cannot—I cannot even summon a place for them to stay, a place for us to regroup while they plan around my...my inability to—”

“They don’t keep you merely for your ability to—”

“I know!” Caleb burst out, and there were tears falling in earnest now, landing on his useless, scarred-up hands and leaving dark splotches on the blanket over his legs, left there lovingly by Veth some hours ago. “I know. But I...I need this, Essek. You have to know this. You know this better than anyone else I have ever met.”

Essek did not do him the disservice of trying to argue. “I...I do.”

“If I don’t…” Caleb dashed uselessly at his eyes, and it was clumsy and humiliating the way he couldn’t feel what he was doing, the heel of his hand catching on his nose before he could reach his cheek to brush away evidence of at least this one failing.

Foolish, this attempt at subterfuge. As if he were without an audience. As if Essek had not already seen him at his lowest. As if crying like a child was the only sign that things were terribly, terribly wrong.

“If I don’t recover, all I can do is get them killed.”

“Do you regret it, then?”

That brought Caleb up short. He abandoned his attempts to scrub his face dry. “Was?”

“You could have let go,” Essek explained, kindly, as if this weren’t the most obvious thing in the world. “As soon as you felt the magic begin to burn, you could have let go. Let the gate close. If you could go back—do it over—would you have let go?”

“You know I wouldn’t have.” He said it softly, like a dirty secret, even though it was insultingly self-evident. The alternative—it didn’t bear even considering.

Essek nodded, and when Caleb turned his head away—tried to escape some of the intensity in Essek’s gaze—the drow dropped to his knees on the rough wood floor, equally unyielding. “You weighed the risk,” he agreed, and insisted, “and you chose their lives over—” Essek bit his lip, one sharp canine peeking out as he laced his fingers, folded his hands in front of him. “Well. You...you have to understand what you—what I—what...what it looked like to...to watch.”

Caleb could only imagine. The gate had resisted his touch with violent intent, endlessly fed by a wellspring of terrible, raw planar magic. He remembered...pain. Remembered the iron conviction that his friends—the Nein—his family—needed more time. He remembered...counting out the seconds, holding the gate open with his bare hands, even as his skin bubbled and melted and his nerves weathered the assault of surging magic, waves whipping the Weave about with the furious abandon of a storming sea, and the burn burn burn of power—too much, not enough, everywhere.

He didn’t remember screaming, but by the state of his voice afterwards, he must have. He didn’t remember Veth and Jester making it out, though they must have—they were here, safe. He certainly didn’t remember passing out, but that must have happened, too. So no, he supposed he did not fully know what his suffering must have looked like to an outsider, but...

He chuckled entirely without humor. “I assure you it felt worse.”

Essek nodded. “I don’t doubt that,” he said quietly. “I don’t doubt that. And you knew, if not before, then certainly very quickly after, what was at stake. Am I wrong?”

He was not. Caleb didn’t need to say the words aloud for Essek to know.

Shoulders slumping, Essek settled on his heels and rubbed at his eyes with the back of his wrist. “And you would do it again,” he said. “Even knowing you might never cast again, even if it cost you the magic you love, the alternative...that price would have been too steep, and no one would disagree with you on that. Caleb,” Essek said, leaning forward and taking his face between his hands, brushing away frustrated, shameful tears with his thumbs, “they both would have died. Veth, Jester—neither of them would have made it out.”

Instinctively, Caleb’s hands came up to take Essek’s wrists—not to tug them away, but just to hold—but he could neither feel them nor sufficiently flex his fingers for a satisfactory grip. It was the final straw.

“I know,” Caleb said, voice cracking along with what remained of his composure, and he did not fight when Essek pulled him down into an embrace.

This, too, was new, and—Caleb hesitated to call it good, because touch had always been a fraught thing between them. There were so few touches they had ever shared without pretense, but...he did not have the energy for pretense now. He didn’t even know what agenda he would be pushing if he had.

Numbness in his hands aside, every other inch of skin seemed abruptly hyper-sensitive, and Caleb rattled apart in Essek’s hold, blind and trembling. Careful fingers found their way into his hair, gently guided his head into the crook of a neck, encouraged his hands into the tiny gap between their chests as arms tightened about his shoulders. Claustrophobia warred with the awful certainty that he would shatter without this grounding pressure to hold his pieces together.

It had been a long, long time since Caleb had cried with such abandon. He had tipped past some long-forgotten (or long-buried) threshold, found himself drowning in the great whelm of fear—grief—fury—relief—and knew, suddenly, that this was why it was always Essek who insisted on treating Caleb’s injured hands, who never suggested Caleb accept help from one of the clerics. That Essek had been patiently anticipating this—and had wanted to spare Caleb the anguish of losing control in front of the others.

Trust was a complicated thing, and this was not trust so much as it was understanding. Essek was not safe in this sense, but—he was a place free of condemnation. Hypocrites they were, both, but playing at judgment was a thing of the past, and despite the uncertainty, the still-healing rift, they had both silently agreed to turn their eyes towards the future.

And so Caleb sobbed like a child and ignored the many warring voices inside of him that by turns berated and applauded him for this show of weakness. All the while, hands that had rent reality, started wars, plucked at the threads of fate like the taut strings of a harp—these hands cradled him like something precious. Comfort and protection in one.

There were no words for this, not even those that could be expressed in touch. If Essek tried to speak, Caleb could not hear him over the blood roaring in his ears, the hiccuping gasps and involuntary wails coming out of his own mouth. If any of them resolved themselves into intelligible speech, he had no inkling of what he was trying to say.

He had saved his friends, yes, and in so doing had damned himself beyond the point of no return.

It was a long time before the shaking stopped, and when it did, Caleb slumped, exhausted. He ached from his knees to his sinuses, scooped out and hollow. He was warm here, tucked up against Essek’s chest, and stooped—Essek was slightly shorter than him—but Essek’s fingers were cool where they rested against the back of his neck.

Embarrassment quickly rushed in to fill the empty space left behind by this great purge of emotion. Though it tested what little reserves of energy Caleb had left, he tensed. Essek’s grip tightened in response, and faintly, over the sound of his own rattling breaths, Caleb heard him whisper shh, shh, shh.

This is alright, he seemed to say. This is alright for a little while. And Caleb did not have the wherewithal to argue, so he curled in tighter and resolutely did not think about the arms wrapped around his torso.

“Let me teach you something,” Essek murmured into his hair after some time. “Something new.”

The words were difficult to find, and when they came, they were rough. “How would that work?”

“We will start small.” Essek pulled away—Caleb mourned the contact briefly, though the relief of being able to breathe freely again washed over him in a confused wave with his release—but only to resituate at Caleb’s side and stretch his right arm out over Caleb’s, his left underneath. Caleb’s palm, he sandwiched between both of his hands. “You will remember if I show you, I have no doubt, but...this is better.”

Wish I could feel it, Caleb thought, absurdly, but that was fruitless thinking. Wish I could feel you was even more sincere, but that was a step too far. “What does it do?”

“Does it matter?” Essek asked, and Caleb supposed it didn’t.

For several long minutes, Essek manipulated Caleb’s shaking hands and useless fingers into careful shapes, puppeting him through a series of somatic gestures that he narrated in a soft voice directly into Caleb’s ear.

Fingers curled, wrists twisted. Over and over again, they formed poetry in angles and strokes, some of the elements—the careful geometry—familiar from past lessons in the dunamantic arts. Their hands blurred together, deep blue-gray-purple and angry red-pink-white, exhaustion or the lingering burn of tears painting their shapes with a singular uniformity.

Perfect memory had Caleb anticipating each movement by the second sequence, and it felt good—even satisfying—to trace out the gross motor elements with his arms, though he could only watch the finer motions take shape. He was putty, malleable clay. And then...Essek’s ministrations stuttered, an uncharacteristic hesitation.

“Did you just—” Essek cut himself off. As if trying to forget the moment entirely, he made as if to finish the sequence. It was slower, though, and sloppier, and no sooner had he completed the final flick than he seemed to reconsider. “I thought I…” he started, faltering. “Did you…?”

“Do it again,” Caleb whispered. Seven times Essek had gone through the motions, and on the last...Caleb could hardly dare hope, knew he was likely imagining things, but…for a split second, maybe…

They traced the rune on the air together. Essek tugged Caleb’s pointer finger in, extended the outer three. Brushed them through imaginary gossamer, lack of intent unable to bring them in proper contact with the Weave, and then—a simple thumb stroke. But Essek’s gentle grip was just a split-second behind the movement of Caleb’s thumb against the outside of his index finger.

Neither of them spoke. Bringing it to light, giving voice to it—it was not up to them to tempt fate in this manner. They only sought out fate with intent to control it, and this was too fragile a thing.

But Caleb could hear the tension in every inhale-exhale. Excitement—curiosity—very nearly hope—was in the very air they breathed. There was no sensation in his hands, but the frisson of thrill was an illusion of lightning arcing down his arm, making the hairs stand on end and...and easing the tremble in his fingers.

They repeated the somatic component one final time, but Essek did not let go of his hand. He laced their fingers together and let both fall to Caleb’s lap. “Now with the material component?” he suggested, and it was the most tentative sort of excitement Caleb thought he had ever heard from the man. Essek was a reserved individual, yes, but his anticipation had never been a frail thing.

“What is it?”

In lieu of answering, Essek freed one hand from their tangle and reached back. Caleb heard the jingle of metal and precious stone, much closer to his ear than he’d expected and—he craned his neck, curious.

“Ah,” Essek said, and just as he managed to free one piece of jewelry from his left ear, he said, “any crystal will do, though of course quality can, ah, affect the spell’s potency. Not in the shape standard for this particular spell, but it will do in a pinch.”

And how like a mage to ensure he was never without his tools of trade. How like Essek to ensure that his components were both beautiful and quick to hand. They were both ever-practical, but where Caleb’s pragmatism was, by necessity, ruthless, Essek’s had always been a touch elegant.

“Between your third and fourth fingers,” Essek instructed softly, and demonstrated himself. The stone shimmered between his knuckles, and when he twisted his hand, it caught the lantern-light and flashed like a tongue of flame. “Here.”

Essek slipped the gem into place—Caleb dutifully raised his arm to an appropriate casting height—and used both hands to mold Caleb’s into proper formation.

“I’ll drop it,” Caleb warned, as Essek went to release his fingers in order to begin guiding him once more through the somatic sequence.

“You won’t,” Essek replied, and it even sounded sincere. “We will...we will go slow. All you need to do is hold on.”

And wasn’t that always the case? Wasn’t that how Caleb had gotten here in the first place, what he had told himself as he counted down the seconds through a haze of pain? All you need to do is hold on.

He took a deep breath in. Held it.

Hold on.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could just see the edge of Essek’s profile. His chin rested lightly on Caleb’s shoulder. His cheek brushed Caleb’s jaw.

We will go slow.

Caleb thought about dancing, and circling, and spiraling inevitably towards gravity’s center until you were close enough to walk hand in hand. He was human; he was not accustomed to going slow. Essek, with his elven lifespan and his particular expertise in the arcane, had so much more time at his disposal—

And he had chosen to spend it here. With Caleb. All you need to do is hold on.

Caleb breathed out, focused hard, and steeled his will. “Ja, okay. I can...I can do that.” He felt Essek nod, then heard his verbal acknowledgement.

“Just hold on,” Essek said again, and Caleb did. He honed in on the crystal between his fingers, bid his deadened nerves and healing muscle to bend to his will. And when Essek let go, left the gem entirely at the mercy of gravity and Caleb’s grip, it—it shook in his grasp, but it didn’t clatter to the floor.

The sharp laugh that Caleb barked out startled them both, but the sheer delight—sunlight breaking through clouds, the first POP of a corn kernel in the pot, the last term slotting into place to make a formula work—could not be contained to his chest. How ridiculous to be so pleased by so simple an act, and yet—

Essek let out a disbelieving chuckle that quickly gave way to several more in succession before devolving into a full bout of giggles that he tried and failed to muffle in the crook of Caleb’s neck. Had Caleb been wearing his scarf, the sound might have found some measure of cover, but clad as he was in clothing for sleep, each giddy exhale was a spark against his skin and deafening in his ears. Infectious.

They did not manage even half the somatic sequence with the crystal in hand—it fell to the ground when Caleb curled his arms over his aching abdomen, quaking with hysterics—but he had not laughed like this in...in...he did not know how long. He was wrung out. There was nothing in him left to dampen the hilarity of it, to absorb the heady, intoxicating spread of this great wildfire feeling.

Was this it? Was this the tipping point? Where the simple act of holding a stone between two fingers was enough to promote wonder? Had he finally cracked entirely, gone over the edge?

(Maybe. Maybe. But was that so awful? Especially when it might be enough, too, to send them both over a different edge entirely?)

Briefly, Caleb considered the fact that this small victory was no indication that things would truly improve, that the future held anything more than the tragedy of a slow and incomplete recovery, but nevertheless...he laughed. It was something. It was something. Hearing his voice and Essek’s mingling—wordless mirth—and reveling in a shared moment over a personal triumph...it was something.

When the laughter died, Caleb became aware that they were leaning solidly against one another, foreheads pressed together and Essek’s nose brushing his cheek as they both recovered their breath. Joy—the first he had felt in weeks—faded to simple hope, but that was no small thing. It ached, still, but...not quite as unbearably as before.

“What is the incantation?” Caleb panted, drunk on the feeling of it.

“Ah, it is—” Essek cleared his throat. “Gyllenek’eroth zere. Be careful not to—ah, to agitate your throat. Repeat it...repeat it slowly. You should feel it, ah, here.” And so saying, he pressed his fingers to the vulnerable skin under Caleb’s jaw, just to the outside of his jugular. It should have been a viscerally distressing sensation, intrusive at best, and though it certainly wasn’t what Caleb would call comfortable, he found he didn’t mind.

“Gyllenek’eroth...zere,” Caleb repeated. With Essek’s hand there, he was keenly aware of the vibrations of the rumbling consonants.

“Nearly,” Essek whispered, breathless. “Again. Slower.”

Letting his eyes fall shut, Caleb complied. “Gyllenek...eroth...zere.”

“Again?”

He repeated the incantation, softer. Then again, even softer, tilting his head. They both sighed when their noses brushed, when Essek’s hand slid around the back of Caleb’s neck. Once more—carefully enunciated—Caleb murmured the incantation, and felt the warmth of his own air against his lips. It would be a matter of millimeters to press their mouths together.

“Is this okay?” he breathed, and wondered how many steps were left in this dance.

He felt Essek’s answer, a breath against his skin, before he heard it. “Your pronunciation is perfect.”

Just a few more steps, then. “Okay.”

“Once more?” Essek asked, and Caleb was braver with his eyes closed.

He whispered the incantation into Essek’s mouth and swallowed the gasping reply.

#critical role #cr fic #critfic #caleb widogast #essek thelyss #shadowgast #so I started writing this early in the aeor arc before we had any idea what the final battle was gonna look like so uh #ya girl was speculating and wringing every ounce of h/c potential from the complete lack of limitations as she could #so here there be vague references to events that didn't actually happen BUT it was my excuse to write wizardly intimacy #which I now realize might be becoming my brand :|#whelp nothing for it I suppose #my fic #fun fact the spell essek is teaching caleb here is reality break #why? it's the only dunamancy spell with components that worked for the scene I had in mind 😂😂#L E T T H E W I Z A R D S T A L K

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delwrites · 4 years ago

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hii! soo i saw you want to get back into writing and i thought maybe this would be interesting:)) (i imagined a sirius x reader one but change it however you'd like <3) in the marauders era y/n goes out at full moon with the guys for the first time and she gets hurt by remus and sirius and the reader has a fight afterward then make up and a whole bunch of fluff. i'd be delighted to read it, hope you consider it!

kisses <3

Sirius Black x Reader

word count: 2,990 (very long I know and I apologise)

feedback and criticism fully welcomed!

As you were slowly waking up, you felt the grogginess settle into your half asleep form. Becoming more aware of your surroundings, you begin to feel an uncomfortable feeling of wetness on your cheek. After a battle with yourself, you open your eyes, only to be met with black fur.

Well that isn’t normal.

Before having the chance to internally fight with yourself, weigh out the realness of the situation and come up with any valuable solutions, you immediately start flapping your arms, trying to fight this unknown creature that wasn’t seeming all too harmful.

Then you realised. The creature stumbled back out of shock, and when those all too familiar pools of grey drown out all of your initially frightened thoughts, you realise that this was no creature.

Trying to apologise (but it all just comes out as incoherent babble), you back up against the headboard of your bed, trying to get away in case you had caused any real damage, until you heard the silky sound of laughter. His laughter.

Sirius Black. A man of many talents, one of them being the fact that he is an animagus. It really wasn’t the most pleasant thing, waking up to a large, terrifying and unknown animal, but knowing it was Sirius soothed your nerves immensely.

The truth is, you’d been loving the man from afar for a while now, but had never decided to make a move on it, as you had persuaded yourself that those feelings could never be reciprocated.

If only you’d have known that he was the one who had been staring at you when you weren’t looking, the one who had stayed up all night longing for your touch, being excited to see your face the next day.

As he turned back human, you realised how close your faces were, both breathing rather heavily and staring into each other’s eyes. You could’ve sworn you heard his breath catch in his throat and you became slightly dizzy, it was almost as if he was leaning in.

And then he gasped, eyes widening, and leaned back, the dopey look returning to his face.

“Full moon tonight!” He practically screamed in your face, already extremely hyper, even though he had just woken up. He had clasped his hands together, rubbing them in excitement. He had always seemed to be happy whilst around you, and it always put you in a good mood.

“Hey, why don’t you come?” He beams at you, rocking on the heels of his feet.

“Oh, no- I.. I don’t think I should..” you stumble, feeling your cheeks burning with the previous events, the feeling of his body pressed against yours, his lips so close to that of your own, his sparkling eyes only a mere distance from yours.

“Oh come on, it’ll be better if you're there! Come support Remus, please?” He gives you the puppy eyes that he knows you can’t resist, and you let out a big sigh, chuckling under your breath.

“Fine... but only for Remus.”

He laughs, persuading you to laugh along with him, his smile shimmering up making his features bright.

“Well, better get ready then! Oh, and meet us at the lake after dinner” he says, a certain mischievous glint in his eye that you could never live without. He tumbled out of your bed, gave you a two finger wave, and ran out.

As soon as you know he’s out of sight, you heave out a sigh, holding your chest. Little did you know, on the other side of the door that Sirius was doing exactly the same thing, an unnoticed tint of blush on his cheeks, idiotic grin painting his plush lips.

You had just excused yourself from dinner and had started making your way to the lake when James ran after you, shouting your name. Stopping for him, you spin on your heels and see him trying to wave you down. You smile at him, and he comes to walk beside you, already wiggling his eyebrows at you.

James had (very much regrettably) found out about your crush on Sirius- and of course James knew that Sirius liked you back, and would be secretly trying to set you both up with each other, telling them that he is sure the other likes them back. James had practically guessed, which utterly astounded you, but one day he caught you staring at Sirius, and when he brang it up, it made you blush harshly, so he came to his own conclusions.

You were severely surprised that he had managed to keep it a secret, and it did feel nice admitting it aloud, your crush on one of your closest friends. Every time James would speak to you, he’d tease you over it, but deep down you loved how he could joke about it with you.

Sky becoming inky, you and James arrived at the lake, only to see Sirius and Remus mumbling about something, and if only you could’ve seen the rosy tint on Sirius’ cheeks, but alas due to the very vast light that the sky emitted, you did not.

He did, however, look breathtaking here, in the moonlight. And his thoughts mimicked your own, only about you instead. You had unintentionally both been staring at each other for a solid half a minute in silence, until James and Remus share a very knowing look, and James smirks at him before Remus clears his throat, visibly uncomfortable.

You slightly jump back, cheeks flaming (as has now become the usual when around sirius), and give a sheepish smile in remus’ direction.

And then remus starts to transform. Obviously, you knew about this, but seeing it actually happen, the switch in him, it terrified you. You subconsciously moved much closer to Sirius, grabbing his wrist in the process.

It had all happened so quickly, you were just too slow. Remus was no longer remus.

You didn’t know how you, James and Sirius had all stayed with Remus, trying to get him to calm down, trying to find the real Remus in this different body, but nothing had seemed to work.

The claws were horrifically sharp, piercing the skin on your arm and leaving an unbearable sting behind. A strangled noise came out from deep in your throat, and Sirius grabbed your hand, squeezing it to let you know without having to say that he was there. James gasped, and shouted at you all to run, but Sirius started arguing with him, not wanting to leave Remus behind.

Quietly, you mumble a sorry out to Sirius and let go of his hand, grabbing james’ hand instead and running off with him.

Tears had been welling up in your eyes since Remus had scratched up your arm, but we’re now flowing freely since you had left Sirius behind.

James squeezed your hand comfortingly- much alike sirius had done mere minutes ago- the moment he had heard the sobs uncontrollably leaving your body as you ran with him.

The Potter boy had dropped you off at the hospital wing, leaving to get Sirius, and leaving you to get your arm fixed up and sleep on the lumpy mattress.

Waking up, your head felt heavy, and it took a lot of energy in you just to open up your eyes. Slowly peeling them open, you see James sitting next to your bed, pitifully smiling at you. You frantically look at your arm, not feeling the extremely unpleasant stinging that you had felt hours prior, but to see mere scars. Madam Pomfrey really did work magic.

She had dismissed you very quickly, claiming that you were now fine and shouldn’t need any more help from her. You quickly made your way to find Sirius, scared he had gotten hurt, ignoring james’ shouts at you to slow down. Upon entering the gryffindor common room, your eyes scan around, looking for the mop of black hair.

While James shouts still behind you, you run up to the boys' common rooms, bursting in to find Sirius laying on his bed, eyes fixated on the ceiling with Remus asleep in the bed next to him. Sirius turns his body to the door, looking to see what had made all the noise of bursting into his room, but upon seeing it’s you, scoffs softly and lays back down, eyes finding their way back to the ceiling.

You let out a soft sigh, not willing to put up with his childish behaviour at the moment.

“Sirius,” you start as softly as your voice will let you, trying to let no annoyance come through,

“Will you please come talk to me? In private?” you question, referring to remus’ sleeping form, so peaceful compared to last night.

Letting out an over-the-top sigh like the drama queen he is, he rolls out of his bed and follows you out of the room and back to the common room.

“So?” He starts aggressively, he shrugs, refusing to make eye contact with you.

Pacing around the room, you frown and bite your lip, wanting to be delicate as possible, seeing as this was his best friend you were talking about.

“Sirius... it’s remus. He really hurt me last night..”

“Well, what did you expect from a werewolf? It isn’t his fault, you know. That wasn’t him.”

You sigh, bringing your fingers up to your temples.

“Listen, you’re being over-dramatic. You’re not hurt anymore, no? Hasn’t madam pomfrey healed you and what not?” He says, sitting down on one of the sofas.

“Well, no, not anymore, but-“

“Then leave it.” He cuts you off, clearly annoyed.

“Just like you left me...” he mumbles under his breath, and your ears have to strain to catch it. The image of you and James had been playing in his mind, running off together with fingers interlocked, and he did not like it.

You start to show your annoyance now, voicing your thoughts.

“Sirius, why are you being like this?” Sighing, you cross your arms, standing on the floor in front of him and giving him a look that you’d expect a naughty toddler to receive.

“Like what?” He mumbles defensively, finally dignifying you with a glance in your direction.

“You’re acting like a toddler having a tantrum because they didn’t get the toy they wanted! Remus hurt me, he’s dangerous when he’s in that state, and I know that he’s your friend, but can’t you see that he needs serious help? He could end up killing someone! He could’ve killed you!” By this point, tears are streaming down your face, not that you had noticed as it had become distorted with fury.

“Why on earth are you crying over this! If I’m the drama queen here, then I’d love to know what you are! Jesus Christ y/n, you’re so dumb!” You couldn’t lie, that did sting a bit.

“No wonder you’re always clinging to us, we’re your only friends!” When he said that, it was as if time had stopped, as if the world had stopped turning.

As his words hung in the air, really settled and processed through both of your minds, your tears had stopped flowing, and his eyes had blown wide.

It had been a metaphorical slap to the face. And those words were all you needed to let out a huff, face only showing a somewhat calm emotion, one that mimicked disappointment, a tinge of disdain and disgust as you lowered your head, walking back to your room.

Sirius wished you would’ve screamed in his face, shouted about how outrageous his words were, but alas you hadn’t. You had been mature enough to not make any smart remarks, make the situation worse, no. You were smarter than Sirius, he had concluded. He couldn’t bare to think that he was the reason that look was on your face, the reason you were sobbing mere moments before, the reason that his heart was currently in an unbearable, searing pain.

He knew that he had definitely taken it too far, but he hated it when people judged his best friend due to something that just wasn’t his fault. The amount of sleepless nights that Sirius had spent hugging Remus as he was upset with something that he felt helpless about, something that they both knew he couldn't control.

Sirius hated this. It felt like he was choosing between yourself and remus, which was the last thing he wanted to do.

That night, Sirius spent a majority of it wallowing in his own thoughts, trying to imagine up different ways to apologise to you. It was times like these when it hurt most that he couldn't go to his family for advice.

The next morning, Sirius drags himself out of bed, trudging to the great hall, dark circles painting his under eyes. He simultaneously did and didn’t want to see you.

Yet seeing you in a similar state to him, a scowl adorning your features, expression so glum compared to the stoic look that usually engulfed your face, wordlessly telling anyone that crossed your path to not press your temper, hair disheveled, eyes droopy and heavy, it almost made a kind of strange confidence surge over him, seeing as you had had the same sort of night as he had.

And yet it made his heart wrench.

Making his way over to you, he tries his hardest to give you the brightest beam he can muster, but it just comes out as a bittersweet and sheepish smile. You stay staring dead on, puffy eyes holding so much exhaustion. Refusing to make eye-contact, you look at your fingers twisting around one another and fiddling with each other, a habit you had picked up to help with situations like these. As he steps closer to you, he presses a warm hand to your shoulder, calloused palm making contact with your robes in a comforting way. He won’t stop looking at your face, trying to find your usually shining eyes that seemed far too dim for his liking on this particular day. He’d never noticed it before, how much your mere presence soothed him.

He had never been good with words, let alone apologies. But he would try for you.

“Listen, y/n… I’m sorry. Truly, I am. I didn’t mean to snap, it’s just… people always see Remus as a villain, as the enemy for something that he was born with and I just-“ he stops to sigh, clearly struggling with where to go with it. You place your hand over his one that stayed stroking your shoulder, delicately rubbing his knuckles.

It may have been a small movement, but it was one that meant all the world to Sirius.

“I’m sorry too. And listen… I understand why you’d be so protective of Remus. But know that you don’t need to protect him from me. I want the world for Remus.”

He smiled a very soft smile, eyes slightly wrinkling at the edges, and you reciprocated it, finally looking him in the eyes.

“I know, but nothing can justify what I said yesterday. I know it’s only been one night but.. I-“ he didn’t know how to phrase it, it was so obvious how carefully he was thinking about his next words, which slightly scared you.

“It was horrible knowing that I had been the one to make you upset. Please, I don’t deserve your forgiveness, I mean it would be wonderful but that’s not why I’m apologising. I just want to acknowledge that what I said was wrong and that-“

You couldn’t help it, but you had to laugh. At first, Sirius was terrified, taking his hand off of your shoulder, thinking it was a sarcastic one, that you’d laughed in his face and was about to shout, but it was a genuine, happy laugh. Well, as happy as this circumstance could allow.

Upon seeing his confused features, furrowed brow and frowning lips, you try to explain.

“I’m sorry but, since when do you speak like that?” You laugh again, and it makes Sirius think he’s said something wrong.

“How long did it take you to come up with that?” You tease, poking his side lightly and it makes a small but impactful smile join yours in a beautiful harmony that anyone would’ve been privileged to witness.

“I was up pretty much all night thinking about that one..” he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. You let out another small chuckle and you both feel a strong tension release, a relief that both of you are glad has accompanied the conversation.

“Well, it worked.” You give him the most genuine smile your face has ever made, and he brings you into a tight embrace, mumbling incoherent apologies into your ear and stroking your hair.

“Y/n?” He pulls away slightly from you, enough to look you in the eye but not enough to not be touching you.

“Yes?” It comes out as an almost embarrassing whisper, so small and delicate. Your faces are so close, your breath mingling together and eyes boring into one another.

“May I?” He poses it as a question, eyes travelling down ever so slightly to be focused on your lips, before coming back up to your eyes.

“Please.” It was all he needed. You didn’t care about the desperation that had adorned your voice, you didn’t care about the previous events, and you didn’t care what may happen after it. You just allowed yourself to be kissed, he grabbed your face making sparks fly and electricity shock your senses making you feel both on fire and underwater, a truly magical feeling that you never wanted to stop.

As he pulled away, he placed his forehead to yours. The silence around you, the still air in Hogwarts, it all went hand in hand with this moment.

This was all that either of you had ever wanted. And no one could take it away from you.

#sirius black x reader #sirius x you #sirius black #james potter x reader #james potter #harry potter x reader #mauraders #marauders era #marauders x reader #Harry Potter #harry potter imagine #sirius black imagine

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mrsalwayswrite · 4 years ago

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Murder Is Not On The Schedule (Ron Speirs x Reader)

So this is loosely based on a prompt I found on Pinterest about murder not being on today’s schedule and immediately thought SPEIRS! I also wasn’t feeling great this week so I wanted to write something lighthearted...ya know? So this is what my brain came up with.

Warnings: some swearing, sexual tension (cuz i can’t seem to write Speirs without it...sorry?), my poor attempts at humor

Words:2500

Tag List: @happyveday @sydney-m @saritanotserena

The sound of mortars and 88s followed me as I walked into the room being used for Captain Speirs' office in Haguenau. Those same sounds should be terrifying but no one flinched anymore thanks to Bastogne. The office was in the back of Easy HQ, looking towards the river. All the walls and windows were still intact, even if the place was dreary and drafty, it fulfilled its purpose.

Speirs, who had been staring out the window in parade rest, turned around to lean back against the window and looked over at me. "Lip in bed?"

"Yeah. Finally convinced him that I could handle it." I dropped down onto one of the two chairs. Both chairs were placed at the table which occupied the center of the room.

Lipton was an admirable man, second only to Winters himself. But Christ Almighty, he had to be the worst patient with his perpetual refusal to rest. I did not envy any of the medics who were diligently trying to take care of him. It pretty much took both myself and Luz to drag him to one of the cots in the back and me swearing in blood that if I needed help, I would find him.

And if I threatened him a little, no one needs to know, right?

"Well, I appreciate you stepping up and taking over for Lipton while he is sick."

I shrugged, already looking at all the paperwork spread out on the table. "He kept us together while in Bastogne. It's the least I can do. Besides, I used to be a secretary before joining up. It's not a problem."

"Lucky us." He murmured, distractedly. One of his hands tapped a repetitive pattern on his thigh as he seemed to stare at nothing.

I knew there was to be a patrol tonight. A prisoner snatch. From what little I had overheard and observed, it weighed heavily on both Lipton and Speirs. My guess was all the names had not been chosen yet on who had to go. Glancing at Speirs, eyebrows furrowed just slightly, repetitive tapping, biting just the inside corner of his lip...he was working on the list in his head.

I could not help it as my eyes traced his jawline...his messy hair that looked so damn soft...those dark eyes that pierce your soul but also lit up like a beacon when amused. He looked like a rugged, dirty Greek god with an affinity for bloodlust. Even his hands looked perfect to hold my--

You are here to help. NOT OGLE YOUR CO!

Even if he is pretty.

Handsome?

Gorgeous?

Wet dream worthy?

Whoa! Too much. Pull up, you buffoon!

With all my willpower, I turned back to focus on organizing the reports on the table and checking to make sure we had enough paper. Who knew the army used so much paperwork? Everything had to be documented. I could see why it seemed Winters never left his office...or Nixon. Without Lipton's help, I doubted Speirs would ever see his men. I absent-mindedly wondered if I should offer to help out more often.

Obviously out of the goodness of my heart and not to ogle the handsome devil currently before me.

Nope.

Several minutes later, there was a knock on the door. After Speirs bid them enter, two replacements stepped into the room. Their ODs were clean, helmets practically sparkled in the sunlight, eagerness written all over their faces. They did not carry the weariness from the Ardennes on their shoulders. They still looked like boys wanting to play soldier with the other neighborhood kids. All I could figure was they had gotten dropped off with the other soldiers returning from the hospital.

Both rapidly saluted Speirs, who only lazily saluted in response, still leaning against the window.

"Captain, sir." The shorter of the two spoke first, practically bouncing on his toes. "We were wondering if we'd see some action soon."

The other one chimed in, a proud smile exaggerating his chubby cheeks. "Yeah, we heard a rumor there's a patrol. Sir, we're ready to get our rifles dirty by killing Krauts, sir."

Christ. These two are greener than the Jolly Green Giant.

I quickly muffled a snort by turning it into a cough. It must have not been as subtle as I hoped with the side-eye Speirs gave me.

Speirs sighed, crossing his arms across his chest. "Your platoon leader will let you know. I suggest you head back to your OP… and try not to get hit by mortars or snipers on your way there."

The two glanced at one another, seeming to remember that Nazis were just as likely to kill them. A necessary reminder. After another round of salutes, they hurried out and closed the door behind them.

"Jesus Christ! If I hear those two asking about killing Krauts again, I'll shoot them both…. And murder wasn't on my agenda today."

"Murder usually isn't on anyone's agenda." I murmured, making notes on a supply list. We definitely needed more ammo...and chocolate bars. There might be a mutiny if we did not receive more chocolate bars and cigarettes.

"No, it's on mine. Just not until Thursday."

Wait….

...What?

My head whipped up to stare at Speirs. I honestly was unsure if he was joking or serious. I mean, hell, we all knew the rumors about him. With his signature serious expression, he held my gaze, as if waiting for me to question him. I chose not to. Really, I believed him. He would be the one to throw a grenade near his men to get them to pay attention. Or get bored and sneak into the enemy's camp to steal their rifles or something just to mess with them.

Then I saw the twitch of his lips, forcing back a smile.

At that I laughed, shaking my head. "No offense, sir, but I think we need to find something better for you to do with your time."

"Oh?" He tipped his head slightly, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Like what?"

Me.

Shit. Don't say that aloud.

"Mmm…" I tapped my lip with my finger, pretending to think about it. "Preferably something other than terrorizing your men."

"Ah, but it's fun. You should join me."

I shook my head, not even trying to suppress the indulgent smile on my face. What had my life become? Here I was joking with CAPTAIN SPEIRS about committing murder…. for fun? Later I should question my sanity, but right now, I was more than amused to see him in this new lightheartedness. I had only ever seen him always stoic, poised, ready for anything in war. I found this new side of him only increased his attractiveness.

Damn it.

"What are you doing on Thursday?" He probed, still watching me with a hawk-like gaze.

I shrugged my shoulders, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible. If he was going to joke around, I felt I could return the favor. "Maybe I'm going on a date."

"With who?"

"Whoever can afford me, I guess."

He laughed, widening my own smile. I had never heard him laugh before, and if I could admit it to myself, the world was missing out without that sound. He shoved off the window, to come sit on the corner of the table, one leg dangling off the side, almost touching the chair I sat on. "And what would a date with you consist of?"

I thought back to before the war. Back before I was weighed down by pain and death. What my life had once entailed. "An elegant dinner at the best restaurant around. Pictures or dancing afterwards. I'm not picky. Then after all that, if I had a very good time, I might be tempted to bring him back to my apartment for some late-night drinks and, well, we'd see where it went from there. But don't tell my mother that last part."

"Sounds like you've got it all planned out."

"I'm a lady who knows what she wants."

"Mmm…" He ran a hand over the stubble growing on his jaw. "I need to change my schedule for Thursday now."

This information you are trying to process does not compute. Please try again.

"You taking me out on the date?" I teased back, leaning back slightly in my chair. Mentally, I prepared for him to make a joke about killing whomever was taking me out for the company's sake or something along those lines, since the idea of him having interest in me was preposterous.

In one swift move, he shifted over so his leg was between mine allowing him to lean forward and hover over me. The air between us suddenly felt hot compared to the rest of the room. Those dark eyes scanned me, as if slowly undressing me with both the utmost care but also unbridled passion. "Yes. Though we might have to skip with the elegant dinner. I'll share the better parts of the K rations. We also might need to skip the pictures or dancing. But I am positive I can steal some of Nixon's Vat 69 and we can go straight to the late-night drinks. Of course, I'll be a gentleman and let the lady decide what happens after." He finished with a cocky wink at me.

Holy mother of-

I was not ready for that.

I could only stare at him for a long moment. My body practically throbbed for him with the image he painted in my mind. The way his voice became so smooth and sensual. The peak of his tongue as he quickly licked his lips before speaking. Now he sat there, his leg dangling between mine, keeping me glued to my seat. Subtly, I tried to press my thighs together to alleviate some of the pressure building. Not that it helped with his intense gaze making my heart beat faster and his lazy smile telling me he KNEW the effect he was having on me.

Act cool.

Act cool!

Play it off!

I leaned forward, smirking. "Do you always offer to take your executive officers out on a date? If so, I can see why Lipton likes you so much."

He chuckled, eyes alluring and heated. "No, not all of them. Just the ones that I've been admiring for some time."

Well shit.

Abort.

Abort!

Don't you dare, you've dreamed about this man before. Ride it out, you coward!

I blinked in surprise but before I could respond, he had already made his move. He leaned forward and braced his hands on the arms of my chair, hovering over me. His face now was only inches from mine. I was positive he could hear how fast my heart was beating. My lips parted, trying to encourage breath into my lungs that were struggling to send oxygen to my brain. His eyes drifted down to my lips and lingered there. As if in compliance, my own eyes glanced at his lips, how soft they looked, even slightly chapped still from our time in Bastogne. His hands slid ever so slowly further up the arms of the chair, stopping just next to my elbows. Now I could see the faint lines around his eyes. His hair slipped forward, calling my eyes upward. I struggled to not reach forward and touch it. To see how it felt with my fingers running through it. A soft chuckle had my eyes snapped back to his, as he watched me with an intensity that border-lined frightening and lascivious.

I gulped. "Captain Speirs…"

"No," he just barely ran the tip of his nose over the shell of my ear. His hot breath caressed my skin. My eyes fluttered closed on their own accord; my body unable to handle the pleasurable sensation. He whispered into my ear, voice fully commanding and salacious. "No, you call me Ron when we're alone."

Mission control. We are going down. I repeat we are going down in flames!

My underwear was not prepared for this!

"Ron." I liked the way his name rolled off my lips. If the quiet, sharp inhale from him said anyway, he liked the way it sounded too. Tilting my head just the slightest, I could look up into those dark, smoldering eyes. Our lips though...I could taste his breath on my tongue. I could feel the warmth from his skin radiating onto mine, turning me into a puddle of desire.

Oh God, he smelled like everything that is beautifully masculine. Not the nasty, sweaty teenage boy but the pheromones that make your ovaries take notice and your uterus demands for something to be done with it. How was that possible?

"I'll...um, I'll make sure to add this to your schedule on Thursday." I whispered, almost able to feel his lips ghost over mine as my lips formed each word.

"Excellent."

His hand trailed up my arm, setting fire to my nerves. Gently, he wrapped it around the base of my throat, his thumb rubbing a pattern into my skin. The whole time our eyes remained locked. His pupils dilated, desire coloring them and I wondered if mine looked the same. The small amount of air between us was thick with tension and salacity. My body screamed for me to drag him down and crash our lips together. To see if he tasted as good as he looked. My hands were stuck in my lap though. It felt like we were in a stalemate, unable to move forward, to take that next step.

If something does not happen, I swear I will spontaneously combust!

Then someone knocked on the closed door.

Dear universe. That was NOT what I meant!

With a sigh, he slipped his hand up to rub his thumb along my bottom lip for the briefest of seconds. I swear the regret coursing through my veins, I could see mirrored in his eyes. Ever so slowly he retracted his hand and leaned back, but stayed on the edge of his desk, his leg still between mine.

"Enter." He called out, only turning his heavy gaze from mine when the person stepped through.

First Sergeant Talbert walked in, opening his mouth then hesitated for a second as his eyes seemed to take in but not fully comprehend the scene before him. "Um, sir, there's a couple of replacements asking about a patrol…"

"Oh, for fuck's sake!"

I laughed at Speirs' pained expression. Quickly, I jumped to my feet and brazenly patted his chest, my hand lingering on the feel under my palm. "I'll take care of it before murder happens."

"That's not till Thursday." He looked at me with a wry grin. His hand subtly reached forward to skim my hip before grabbing the edge of the table.

"Remember, you're busy now. Murder has to wait."

"Fine. Friday it is then."

"If you have the energy after." I winked at him. I only caught a glimpse of the hunger that flooded his eyes before I turned on my heels and headed out the door. The whole way out I could feel his heated gaze on my back, like his fingers were trailing down my spine. I shivered in anticipation for what it would really feel like.

I'll make sure he doesn't have the energy to terrorize Easy… I'm definitely doing this for their sakes… completely self-sacrificing… yep, I won't enjoy this at all.

#band of brothers #Band of Brothers fandom #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers imagine #ronald speirs #ron speirs #ron speirs x reader #ronald speirs x reader #ww2 #world war 2 #mzwrites

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successfullyadhd · 5 years ago

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Your Memory Isn't Terrible, I Promise

Okay, please hear me out. This is NOT a post shaming you for not being able to remember anything. It is, in fact, the opposite. There will be no “Just try harder and you’ll do better! :) :)” type of nonsense advice.

Here’s the true root of the problem - it’s not that you have a bad memory. If you have ADHD, it’s most likely that you didn’t truly absorb the information that you were supposed to remember in the first place. Or it’s that you have so much external stimuli bombarding your brain, you can’t pull out the piece of information hidden in your mind when you need it because it’s buried under a ton of other things coming at you in the moment. And now you’re probably thinking “Uhh, okay cool but that’s still not helpful!!!???”

I used to constantly forget things. IMPORTANT things. A weekly meeting, doctors appointments, assignments - you name it and I’ve lost it in this grey matter behind my eyes. And then someone would mention it out of frustration or concern (usually both) and I would gasp, hate myself or just be completely shocked. The worst feeling is when you realized you knew something but your brain didn’t supply it until far after it was needed. I can’t number the amount of times someone has said “Em, did you know about this?” and a hot feeling of shame would pour over me because I did, in fact, know but had just completely forgotten. And it’s hard using the phrase “I’m so sorry, I completely forgot!” over and over again without skepticism from neurotypical people. “How is that possible?” they would wonder aloud as a I scrambled to make amends. Does this sound like a familiar scene?

So this is what I did about it - it might work for you, or maybe it will spark an idea of some things that are helpful.

First - names. I used to be the WORST with names. I’ve literally forgotten my cousin’s name while introducing him to a friend. I once read that if you said a person’s name three times during a conversation, you would remember it later. I couldn’t usually make it that far because the name would drop out of my head as soon as I would hear it, so I came up with another method. When someone tells me their name, I look them in the eyes and repeat it in my head three or four times. It took some time to train my brain to consciously grasp the information as it was being given to me instead of a panic of 1,000 other distracting thoughts, but I got into the habit. If I’m meeting a group of people, like clients or a team on the first day of work, I try a different tactic. When the name is mentioned, I repeat their name mentally with an unchanging feature. It will be something like this “Cindy - blonde, Cindy - blonde, Cindy - blonde”. If it’s a natural opening, I’ll make a point to speak their name out loud. “Cindy, it’s so lovely to meet you.” This helps cement it in my mind and makes sure that I’m consciously absorbing the information.

Next - write everything possible down. Smartphone notes are the greatest modern invention. If someone is telling me an important detail, I write it down immediately. Telling yourself you will remember it later is our favorite lie - don’t fall for it! Don’t be afraid of taking an extra moment or of people thinking you’re distracted - they actually love it. I will always say “Give me a moment, I’m just making a note of that in my phone.” and they are delighted that you’re showing that you heard them and the information is important enough to record. Again, it has the added benefit of forcing my brain to record the information instead of being distracted by external forces. It’s also a proven fact that if you write something down, even if you don’t read it again later, it reinforces that moment in your memory. And if you realize that your mind wandered while they were talking and you didn’t catch what you needed, writing something down is a great excuse to get them to repeat themselves without feeling as if you’re annoying them.

Now, you’ve put the facts into your brain - but how do you pull them out again? This one is a bit more tricky, and it has more to do with how your ADHD brain processes information. See, our brains are more controlled by external stimuli than neurotypical people. One theory is that ADHD was developed evolutionarily because the humans who could take in the most stimuli around them were more likely to notice and react to threats than neurotypical people, and therefore live longer. This was great while hunting on the savanna and far less helpful in a class lecture or corporate meeting. ADHD brains are great at reacting to what is right in front of us, but any stress - like being put on the spot to answer a question or being surprised by seeing an acquaintance out shopping - makes extra information harder to retrieve. When your body feels stress, it starts wanting to deal with it’s immediate needs and shoves everything else away.

To counteract this, I’ve found consistent practice of mediation very helpful. When I get the feeling I’m forgetting something important, I take a moment to calm my body and sort through my thoughts until the essential information begins to surface. The best way to explain it is that it feels like unravelling a crocheted scarf - if I can find the right thread to pull, everything else follows. “Okay, but I don’t have time to meditate in the middle of the grocery store when I can’t remember why I’m here!” you may be thinking now. I get it, and you’re right. The process I’m talking about should take just a moment. Consistent meditation practice will help you learn not to clear your mind, but instead evaluate and focus on specific thoughts. You know there is something important, and you start pulling threads until you find the right one. “Okay, I’m in the grocery store, and I know I’m forgetting something but what? What actions have I done today that could spark a memory? I was with my daughter earlier, and she has school tomorrow, is it something with that? Yes, she needs a packed lunch for her field trip! And if she has a field trip, she needs some sunscreen too and I need to remember to make sure her form is in her backpack. Lunch, sunscreen, form.”

The combination of meditation practice and writing everything down has changed the way I remember things and made me feel so much better about myself. Let me know if there are any other helpful memory tricks you use!

#actuallyadhd #actually add #adhd hacks #memory hacks #neurodivergent #executive dysfunction #successfully adhd

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nev3rfound · 4 years ago

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someone i once knew : b.b - p.3

tony has questions, but he isn’t the only one wanting an explanation (2.6k)

(anything in bold/italics are flashbacks/memories!)

masterlist / permanent taglist

PART ONE . PART TWO . PART THREE . PART FOUR . PART FIVE . PART SIX

(also thank you for the insane amount of support for this series! you guys have taken me by such surprise and i am so grateful you’re all invested :) )

Tony steps into your suite, trying to subtly notice the changes you’ve made whilst he was gone.

“Look, Tony, if this is about the files I’m really sorry,” You sigh apologetically, catching Tony’s attention as he turns to face you. “sometimes my R’s end up looking like N’s and I didn’t mean for it to look like I’d written Tony Stan-”

Holding his hand up, you stop your rambles as Tony raises a brow. “Y/n, that’s not why I’m here.” Tony interrupts you. “Wait, it said that?” He questions and you weakly nod, but quickly he returns to his original thought process; why he is here in the first place.

“Then, why are you here?” You ask nervously, feeling a pit begin to form in your stomach.

“Nat passed on a message, that you didn’t seem very well.” Tony explains, now pacing around the entrance of your suite whilst you remained still, too still for his liking. “And I overheard a conversation from two super soldiers discussing you.” Tony motions to you, catching sight of your eyes widening.

“I, why would they talk about me?” You question in disbelief, hearing multiple voices run through your mind, some yelling over Tony as he continues to talk to you, but you can only see his lips moving.

“-and that you know them somehow, funny really.” Tony huffs to himself as he walks in the direction of the small kitchen you have, noticing a glass half-filled with a single flower, dried out, dead. “Don’t you think, Y/n?”

The prolonged silence from you catches Tony out as he glances over his shoulder, seeing you stood calmly, tears streaming down your face.

“Y/n?” Tony calls out, carefully nearing you as he waves his hand in front of your eyes, but there’s no response. “FRIDAY? Get Banner for me.”

With a deep exhale, you collapse down to the ground. “I, I, I’m sorry,” You breathe out, coughing loudly on a sob that chokes your throat.

Kneeling down in front of you, Tony eyes your movements carefully. “What’s going on with you, Y/n?” He thinks aloud as you manage to sit upright, clutching your legs to your chest as a look of horror solidifies across your expression.

Bruce opens the door to your suite, looking alert as he notices both you and Tony on the ground.

“Everything okay, Tony?” Bruce asks hesitantly, seeing a level of concern cross Tony’s frown.

“Just, sit still, okay.” Tony instructs you, but you’re barely responsive as Tony walks away, taking Bruce outside of your suite as the door remains slightly ajar.

Rubbing his temples, Tony sighs. “What’s going on with her? Bad day or something?” Bruce jokes, but Tony shakes his head.

“I think she might be a plant.” The tone leaving his voice is enough to remove any humour from Bruce as he straightens up. “Somehow, Steve and Bucky know her, or at least knew her.” Tony explains. “But she seems oblivious, and I’m just wondering if she’s just like Barnes, waiting to be activated.”

Bruce hums in response. “What’re we supposed to do with her then if she’s potentially some killing machine?” The words feel sour leaving his lips, but Bruce has read the files on HYDRA.

Over Tony’s shoulder, Bruce watches as a small hand reaches out to the door and pulls it open.

Tony can’t help but tense as you stand against the door frame, a weak smile forming on your lips despite the dried tears lining your cheeks.

“I don’t know what’s going on with me, Tony.” You sadly admit. “Do, do you think you can help me, please?”

“Come with us, Y/n.” Bruce forces a grin as he walks toward the elevator, Tony hanging back as you slowly walk out and stand beside Tony.

“Can you help make it stop, Tony?” You plead to your employer who seems conflicted.

“We’ll do what we can.” Tony coldly states, walking behind you to the elevator, ensuring you stand between him and Bruce, just in case anything happens.

Your footsteps can be heard throughout the base as you follow behind the woman in charge. Heads turned as she walks with confidence, no one taking notice of who you are in her presence.

Pushing the door open to her office, you follow in and hover by the chair. “Please, Y/n,” Peggy motions to the chair as she closes the door, lowering the blinds too to ensure privacy.

“Thank you for meeting me, Ms Carter.” You speak politely, trying to keep a facade up that everything will be alright, but if there’s anyone who can see right through it, it’s Peggy Carter.

Rifling through the files on her desk, Peggy opens up a series of them as the papers cover the space in front of her. “Oh Y/n, call me Peggy.” Her red lips rise to a sincere smile, hoping you’d ease the tension you’re holding. “Well, the good news is I’ve had the report in from the Doctor, and you’re fit and healthy all around.”

You can’t stop the giggle of excitement escape you. “Sorry,” You mutter, but Peggy doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest; it’s the most positive you’ve sounded in the past two years you’ve known her.

“No need to be, there are still a few more tests we have to run on both you and the machinery. However, if all still stands, we should be able to do our first test run within the year.” Peggy explains, catching sight of the frown on your lips deepening. “I know this isn’t the news you hoped for today, but trust me, this is progress.”

Peggy reaches out, placing her hand on the desk. Slowly, you extend your arm, allowing her to take your hand in hers.

“We both lost, Y/n. But we can move forward.” She assures you once more, hoping someday you’ll believe it yourself.

“It happened again,” You explain, looking up directly to the clock, noticing five minutes have passed since you focused on it. “it keeps happening, more frequently than before and I can’t control it.” Panic rises in your voice as you perch on the lab bench, studying Tony and Bruce's reactions as they monitor you closely.

“So these, ‘memories’ aren’t your own?” Tony asks uncertainly.

Rubbing your eyes as they continue to pound, you shrug your shoulders. “I don’t know, they’re in my head, and I can remember aspects of them, certain noises, settings and sometimes people. I, I was with a Carter,” You squint, trying to remember her name, but you sigh heavily. “I can’t remember, sorry.”

“Carter?” Tony repeats, and you nod. “Interesting.” He mumbles as he helps Bruce hook you up to the systems, hoping to catch your next ‘memory’ and see your brain activity whilst monitoring your heart. “I, I’ve gotta make a call.” Tony excuses himself, nodding to Bruce before exiting the lab.

“If you can just lie down, Y/n.” Bruce asks you gently, seeing the fear in your eyes as you lie back. “I’m just going to place these on your head and chest.”

Closing your eyes, you try your best to relax whilst images of a brunette with red lipstick form in your mind. You can hear her faintly saying two names, but your ability to focus is gone once again.

Across the compound, Bucky is barely able to focus as he slams his fists against the torn punching bag whilst Steve stands on the other side, keeping it in place after Bucky nearly threw Sam across the room.

“Are you sure she’s okay?” Bucky shifts his attention across the gym to Natasha and Wanda’s conversation.

Natasha shrugs her shoulders as she stretches out. “I don’t know, she went dead behind the eyes and as I left her, Tony was heading her way.” Natasha explains, and Bucky looks over to Steve.

“Buck, I’m sure it’s fine.” Steve tries to help, but Bucky shakes his head.

“I can feel it, Steve,” Bucky mutters. “somethings wrong, I, I can’t just leave it.” He explains, swiftly walking off out of the gym as eyes turn to Steve holding the rocking bag.

Scoffing under his breath, Steve pushes the bag away from him. “Bad day.” Steve comments before running after Bucky before he can do any potential damage.

Sitting with his fellow soldiers, Bucky tries to disguise his rising fears, but his foot continues to tap against the ground. “You got a dame back home, Barnes?” One of the soldiers, Johnson asks and light laughter echoes through the cells as they all wait for some movement to be heard.

Lifting his head up, Bucky focuses on each of those he can see from his regiment, those who are left at least. No one is sure who captured them, but Bucky knows they aren't likely to get out of this scot free, or alive for that matter.

“I do,” Bucky admits quietly. “and she’s the most wonderful gal I’ve ever laid eyes upon.”

“That’s sweet,” Johnson comments, sitting opposite Bucky as he wipes his bloodied nose with his palm. “just, just keep thinkin’ about her, alright? That sorta thought helps.” He nods to Bucky before resting his head back against the metal bars.

“Yeah,” Bucky whispers as footsteps can be heard, heading directly towards his cell. “if I don’t make it out, can you tell her I,”

Before Bucky can finish his sentence, two large men unlock his cell and grab him. He manages to catch a glimpse at the red band on their arms, noticing a different symbol than the Nazi one branded in his mind.

“Please, just tell her!” Bucky yells as he’s dragged out of sight, unaware of the horrors he’s about to face.

Focusing on Bruce, you tense as the stickers are placed on your forehead. “Sorry, did that hurt?” Bruce asks timidly, but you shake your head.

“Just kinda cold,” You nervously remark as the rest are slowly placed. “where did Tony go?”

Bruce looks past you at the glass walls, seeing Tony walk out of sight with his phone against his ear. “He, er, had to make a quick phone call. I’m sure he’ll be back shortly.” Bruce reasons as he attaches the last sticker to your chest before averting his attention to the computer systems.

Closing your eyes, you listen to the methodical tapping of keys and the sudden sound of your heart rate beside you flashing up on a monitor.

“Okay, all systems in place. Now it’s down to you to induce a ‘memory.’“ Bruce forces an anxious laugh as you simply look at him before tilting your head back to focus on the blank ceiling, a shame they couldn't cover it in stickers like the dentist used to, you think.

“Do you think I’m evil?” You ask, not daring to move your vision from the ceiling, unaware of Bruce stepping back.

“No.” He responds quickly. “I think you’ve been manipulated with, but I don’t think you’re evil.” Bruce justifies, checking the brain activity to see any spikes, but it remains standard.

“You’re acting like I’m made of glass.” You comment, now moving your head to see Bruce rubbing his hands together as he watches the monitors. “But I’m not, I, I know my parents, my childhood home and school." Your voice begins to waver, but you carry on regardless. "I can tell you the classes I took in college, my first boyfriend and my first time drinking.” You ramble, but Bruce is trying to ignore you. “Please, I, I know who I am.” You whimper, slamming your head back as you stare at the bare white walls above you.

Outside, Tony listens as the line ends up with him left answering a voicemail for the third time.

“Fury, it’s Stark, listen, I need to speak with you urgently. There’s something going on with my new assistant, Y/n Y/l/n. She, she knows Peggy Carter and, just call me back, ASAP.” Huffing, Tony leans against the wall, wondering how he got himself into this mess.

Yet, his moment of contemplation is short-lived as yells from Steve can be heard up ahead.

“Buck, just stop!” Steve shouts as Bucky comes into view, eyes dark and fists clenched as he marches down the corridor.

“Woah, woah, where do you think you’re going?” Tony asks, standing in front of Bucky as Steve catches up in time before Bucky raises his fists.

Holding Bucky back, Steve grunts as Bucky fights against his hold.

“Where is she?” Bucky can feel the anger rising through his veins as Tony buries his hands in his pockets, remaining perfectly calm.

“Where’s who?” Tony asks, looking up to Steve who shakes his head, still struggling to hold Bucky back.

“Come on, Tony. We know you have Y/n down here,” Steve sighs, a brief moment of weakness that Bucky detects as he slams his elbow into Steve’s stomach, causing him to recoil and release Bucky.

Without a moment to lose, Bucky rushes forward to the lab and before he’s stunned by Tony, he catches sight of you on a metal slab, hooked up to machinery with tears streaming down your face.

“No, Y/n!” Bucky screams, pausing by the glass wall, his metal hand resting against it as you begin to turn your head, a second too late as Tony fires a stun at him, forcing Bucky to the ground.

Your breathing increases, causing your heart rate to spike and Bruce rushes over. “Hey, Y/n, it’s fine. Tony has just er, stunned him.” Bruce explains, but your eyes widen.

“Bruce, I, I need to see him, please, let me see Bucky.” You practically beg, trying to pull the wires from yourself but Bruce manages to hold you down before you notice a needle piercing your arm.

With heavy eyes, your focus on Bruce begins to fade. “I’m sorry, Y/n. We’ve gotta keep you here.” His voice sounds too far away as your vision darkens, the last of the ceiling disappearing as your eyes close.

Bucky grunts as he remains on the ground, but turns his head to see Tony stood with his hand covered by his Iron Man tech, a glow of pale blue emitting from his palm, yet to be fired.

“You alright, Buck?” Steve calls out from beside Tony.

Not responding verbally, Bucky nods as he uneasily stands, holding his hands up and remains on the spot where he fell, out of sight from you.

“Tony, lower your hand.” Steve scoffs, and Tony hesitantly obliges, powering his charge down. “I told you not to come here, Bucky,” Steve comments like a disappointed parent, but Bucky’s jaw clenches as he looks at the floor beneath him, the scuff marks from where he fell moments prior.

“Are one of you planning on telling me what the hell is going on here? Because I’ve got a delusional assistant having a brain scan in there who might be a potential HYDRA plant and I want answers.” Tony steps forward, looking between the two super soldiers. “No, you don’t wanna tell me?” Tony raises his arms in defeat and begins to walk away, back to the lab.

“Bucky,” Steve mutters to his friend who eases his jaw and finally looks up.

“Y/n Y/l/n,” Bucky speaks up, and Tony spins on his heels, facing Bucky. “she was my fiance.”

Tony stares at Bucky in disbelief before whistling loudly. "Well, I didn't expect that."

P A R T F O U R

(thank you to the following for all the love in the first two parts! if you’d like to be tagged in this mini series do let me know) (tagging those who wished to be tagged from p2!)

@mellmellmell12@theofficialzivadavid @fandom-princess-forevermore @lokilovefoever @vivalakatee @chgevorgian @captainwinterwriter @carliewinchester @spn-obession @buckysquad @shower-me-with-roses @basicgukk @yasminwashere @sunfouler @feminist-fan-girl @stealapizzamyheart

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thewritinggrindstone · 5 years ago

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Identifying Harmful Repetition in Your Writing

Something I’ve encountered ad nauseam over the last few projects I’ve edited is a relentless repetition of words, phrases, and ideas. One of the most frustrating and confidence-destroying issues a reader can encounter is poorly executed repetition, which can stem from different problems, including:

Too much reliance on your natural stock phrases.

Limited vocabulary.

Not proofreading close enough or editing thoroughly enough.

Lack of confidence.

Not writing with the reader in mind.

I want to preface this with the fact that obviously certain types of repetition aren’t bad. Repetition is an incredibly powerful tool when used effectively, and what’s effective is subjective per book and per reader. That’s a massive topic for another time. This post is specifically about egregious uses of repetition, the types that any good editor or beta reader will point out as in need of fixing.

Stock Phrases and Words

Every person has their own unique lexicon, a repository of words and phrases they naturally will draw upon when they speak, write, and even think. There’s a reason clichés are prevalent, and that’s because the brain likes the path of least resistance. It’s easy to mentally grab those words and phrases that are constantly in arm’s reach, those words and phrases that are comfortable and familiar, but constantly doing this while writing and then not changing them can result in overuse that is noticeable on both stylistic and technical levels. It can also lead a reader to the understanding that you haven’t thought critically about what you’re writing, which can and will undermine their confidence in you.

If you’re writing a first draft, don’t worry about this too much. You probably just need to focus on putting words down, not exactly what those words are. Repetition is an issue that can and should be intentionally fixed during the revision process.

If this is a problem that bugs you even when you’re drafting, there are different ways of dealing with it. I tend to be highly aware of most repetition within my work, and because I constantly edit as I write, backtracking to add/move information as I go doesn’t tend to interrupt my workflow too much. If I know I’ve already used a word and can’t think of something better after several seconds’ thought, I’ll use the repetition and immediately flag it somehow—usually with a “repeat” comment—so I can deal with it once I’ve completed the draft. Opening a thesaurus or dictionary tends to be more disruptive during drafting than it’s worth, but sometimes it isn’t, and you will need to determine what works best for you according to your own style.

Once you’re ready to target the issue of repetition, you will need to work hard, think hard. Don’t settle for the easy word, the stock phrase, the cliché. Discard the timeworn, the tired, the used-before. Play with language—try to come up with new phrases, unique descriptions. Get silly, flip rocks over, dig around under them, push things as far as you need to create something different, then go back and edit again, refining what you’ve written until you’re satisfied.

It’s going to be a process. It’s going to be difficult. It won’t be natural at first; you’ll need to form new pathways in your brain, just like when you learn any new skill, and that’s uncomfortable, but if you persist, your writing will be fresh and alive and won’t be as prone to being bogged down by reader-infuriating repetition.

Limited Vocabulary

Tying into the idea of your personal lexicon is the size of it. No matter how much you pay attention to precisely what words or phrases you’re using, you won’t have much in the way of options if you don’t have at least a good-sized repertoire to draw from.

Increasing your lexicon is something that just takes dedication and time. You can’t rush it, you can’t force it, but you can be deliberate in growing it. Read broadly, maybe bookmark or sign up for your favorite dictionary’s word of the day, or keep a word cache of interesting words or phrases you like.* I have a document titled “word hoard” in Dropbox where I keep all unusual, unfamiliar, or beautiful words I encounter as well as their function(s) and definitions. Most of these words haven’t properly entered my own lexicon yet, but actively being aware of words that are anywhere from slightly to completely outside what you usually use will help you become a more mindful writer.

* I got this idea from Barbara Baig’s Spellbinding Sentences, which is one of my favorite books I’ve ever read on writing.

Lack of Proofreading/Editing

The identification and elimination of repetition hovers somewhere between content editing and technical editing. It’s an easy problem to skim over, especially when you’re the writer because you’re likely too familiar with every word you’ve put down, and issues like this tend to fade into the background. This is particularly true of writers who have reworded or reorganized a given piece of writing, since repetition can easily become lost in the jumble.

If possible, set your project aside for at least a few days—preferably a few weeks or even longer—then come back to it and read it with fresh eyes while intentionally noting and commenting on or highlighting all uses of repetition, big and small. If you aren’t sure if it’s something you repeated, flag it anyway—you can always check later.

If you don’t have time to set the project aside for a while, read your work aloud. If you can’t bear reading your work aloud or you aren’t able due to circumstances, listen to the document instead. Word has a read aloud function, and there are many online text-to-speech websites where you can paste a piece of writing. The unnatural cadence of the artificial voice might be weird and awkward at first, but listening won’t fully engage the “reading” portion of your brain, and you’ll likely find it easier to notice uses of repetition, among other problems. While writing this post, I have listened through it three times, tweaking phrasing and eliminating repetition—and deleting some of the harsher statements—as I go.

If you’re feeling really brave, have another person read your writing back at you. Nothing like being uncomfortably hyperaware of every word you’ve put down to recognize pretty much every single problem within your work. Just do not overcompensate and decide that nothing you’ve written has any value at all (it does), or that you’ll need to change everything (you don’t). If you approach this method with the understanding that it’s going to be awkward but are nevertheless determined to get something useful out of it, you’ll benefit, especially if your reading partner is willing to help you with any areas you feel you need assistance in.

When editing for repetition, if possible, pay attention not only to noun/verb/adjective usage. Go deeper. What types of repetition are you prone to using? Do you begin a significant portion of your sentences with conjunctions? Are there certain conjunctions you use more frequently than others? Do you reiterate entire sentences two or more times with only slight variations in wording? Do you return to the same idea numerous times? What about tone, do you use lots of rhetorical questions? Sarcasm? Self-deprecation? Self-boasting? Do you frequently return to the same imagery or settings or use of metaphor? Or grammar—are there certain punctuation marks or grammatical conventions you use more than others? Do you have a sentence construction you consistently fall back on?

Again, some of these questions might require an outside opinion for you to find suitable answers, but becoming self-aware of not just what you do but why you do will help you recognize these patterns, which in turn can help you mentally eliminate repetition before it even makes it past your fingertips.

Lack of Confidence

Widespread repetition of sentences and ideas is often a major symptom of a writer who isn’t confident in their abilities to communicate what they’re talking about. “If I just tell you this fact again, surely you’ll believe me this time. I’ll make you believe me. Do you believe me now? What about now? Now? Now?”

The painful truth is... no.

Encountering mindless or fear-based repetition is extremely frustrating for readers. Inevitably, without fail, every single time I edit a book by a writer who has repeated themselves over and over and over again, with every single repetition, I increasingly doubt both their credibility and their ability to pass on important knowledge to me. I feel either patronized and insulted, or I feel annoyed because it seems like the author threw their thoughts down on paper in whatever order they came out and then hit publish with

no regard for how those thoughts will be perceived by others, and

no regard for how they are wasting the reader’s time.

Please, please do not undermine your credibility by repeating yourself. Readers usually only need to read information one time for them to absorb it, maybe twice, so trust your readers. If the reader needs to come back to information, they have that ability. Do not force unnecessary repetition in their faces. Always assume readers are at least as smart as you. If you don’t need the information repeated, give your readers the same respect.

Increasing your writing confidence will once again take time and effort. You’ll need to determine why you’re not confident and then seek out methods of correcting the issue(s). In general, fear of not being heard or understood tends to be the underlying cause of repetition, so learn how to be deliberate in your writing. Say what you mean to say. Say exactly what you mean to say. Understand that you have something important to share with the world, so share it—then stop. Readers will appreciate you for not wasting their time.

Writing for Yourself

Yesterday I finished editing a project just over 88,000 words. Nineteen chapters. Almost 250 pages.

I hated every word, and I learned nothing.

If it had been a line edit, I could’ve cut the book’s word count down below 50K merely by eliminating all of the repetition. This author is infatuated with the sound of their own voice, talked on and on and on merely to hear their own self-revelations and how special they are compared to everyone else stated again and again in near-identical sentences.

I’m editing another book right now that is less self-important and is far more interesting on the whole (and is thankfully over a hundred pages shorter), but again, the author has repeated themselves sometimes three or four or five times, with some phrases appearing over fifteen times, and I can feel my resentment growing. If an author isn’t going to take the time to put forth a thoughtfully crafted piece of writing, why should a reader likewise invest in it?

There is absolutely nothing wrong with writing for yourself. You should—you’ll learn a lot about yourself as both person and writer, and you’ll enjoy writing more, and you’ll (hopefully) be able to refine your skills.

But if—if—you intend to share your writing with the world, if you actually have something to say, you need to be aware that you have a duty to make yourself understood without wasting people’s time. Do not make people regret having picked up your writing by being so in love with the sound of your own voice that you are no longer courteous to others.

Love your writing. Love it fiercely and passionately and with reckless abandon, but reach a place where you know how your writing is going to be perceived at large. Use as many words as you need to get your point across and no more.

In Closing

If you’re still having difficulty identifying repetition within your own work, ask someone who is skilled at recognizing this issue to look over your writing. It’s always easier to recognize repetition when you haven’t written it, so fresh eyes can give you the insight you might not be able to see yourself.

Know your audience. A children’s book will require a different level of repetition than an instruction manual or a sci-fi novel or an autobiography. If you’re reading a recipe, you’d be annoyed and confused if the author told you to add the same ingredient twice due to shoddy proofreading. Write and repeat accordingly.

Whatever you’re writing, make a point of intentionally performing at least one round of editing with the intention of eliminating unnecessary repetition. Your readers will appreciate it more than you’ll ever know.

#writing #repetition #editing #proofreading #advice #red talks

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kindahoping4forever · 5 years ago

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Call Out My Name Like Lines From A Page // Calum Hood

I was blessed with this concept by an anon a couple weeks ago and almost immediately had to stop what I was doing to write it. Clownery in its purest form. Thank you for sharing, anon. And thanks to my fav Cal girl @cal-puddies for the advice (which for this piece was mainly yelling at me to finish it but still.)

Warnings: Boyfriend!Cal, shades of soft dom!Cal, manual and oral stimulation of a female, male masturbation, slight cumplay, this is basically PWP, ngl

Word Count: 2400

Masterlist // Taglist // Ko-Fi

Let me know what you think!

————-

“Hey, pretty girl, I didn’t think you’d still be up.”

It’s late when Calum walks into the bedroom, after a long day in the studio led to a late night blowing off steam at a bar downtown.

“Honestly didn’t mean to be, just got caught up reading,” you shrug, holding up your dog-eared paperback for him to see.

“Aw, well thanks for makin’ me feel special, love,” he jokes, leaning in to give you a kiss on his way to the bathroom.

You playfully bite his lip as he pulls away. “You know I didn’t mean it like that, needy,” you tease.

While Cal takes a quick shower, you get up, take your teacup to the sink and turn off the lights you’d left on in the living room for him. When you get back to the bedroom, he’s sprawled out on the bed in his black tank and grey sweatpants, reading the back of your book.

“Looks good,” he comments as you climb in next to him. “You know what’s also lookin’ good right about now…” He exaggeratedly raises his eyebrows in approval of the sight of you wearing only panties and one of his t-shirts; he reaches over and slides a hand up and down your bare thigh to test the waters.

You smirk at him. “Are you ever going to be able to go out and get tipsy without wanting to come home and eat me out?

“Oh, I come home wanting to get between your legs even when I’m stone cold sober, baby,” he replies, pecking at your neck, hand traveling higher to brush against your clothed center.

You giggle, basking in his attention for a minute and then wriggle away from him. “I was actually hoping to finish my chapter before bed, babe,” you admit.

“I’ll wait,” he declares, passing the book to you.

You grin at his persistence. “It’s late.”

“You’ll stay up,” he insists, laying back with a cheeky smile.

You chuckle and resume your reading while Calum pulls out his phone and starts mindlessly scrolling. One hand remains stroking your thigh and you feel his eyes on you every so often and you have to admit, you like it; when he’s like this it makes you feel an irresistible combination of loved, desired and powerful.

You’re surprised that you actually get close to three pages read before his hand starts wandering again. Your eyes flicker over to him but his gaze stays fixed on his phone, as if the hand currently rubbing you over your panties has a mind of its own.

You are able to stay focused on the words in front of you for a few more paragraphs, until Cal’s hand slides beneath your panties and starts making contact with you; his fingers dip in and out of your wet folds, lightly tracing the geography of your pussy and you involuntarily rock your hips against them, looking for friction.

“Thought you said you could wait for me to finish my book, baby,” you complain playfully.

He brings his hand away from your thighs and turns to face you as he raises his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean. “I know a busy woman like you appreciates a good multi-task,” he shrugs.

You bite your lip at his boldness and tentatively return to your reading. He keeps to himself for a minute or two and then suddenly his hand is nonchalantly inside your underwear again. “I have less than 10 pages left, Cal,” you laugh.

“Sounds great, baby, take your time,” he nods casually, as he presses on your clit, causing you to jump.

Your voice is shaky as you say, “Instead of stretching out my panties, you can take them off, you know.”

He looks at you, amused. “Thought you said you wanted to finish your book,” he teases, pulling the material down and off your legs.

“Who said I wasn’t going to?” You fire back, eyes glowing.

Calum laughs in a delighted, low tone that goes straight to your core and moves to lay between your legs. “Fair point, love.” He traces a finger from your knee down your thigh, to just over the lips of your pussy. “We’ll see what gets finished first, you or that chapter.”

You raise the book to your face once again and try your best to focus despite his light strokes up and down your center. He’s having fun messing with you and that’s turning you on almost as much as his touches. You decide to push his buttons right back and quickly rid yourself of your shirt. He looks up to see you with your book in one hand and your breast in the other, tugging at your nipples. He groans.

Your brain manages to process some more words on the page and just as you’re about to turn it, you feel Cal’s tongue on you, licking a long stripe up your center. You shudder but keep reading. Unsatisfied with your reaction, he does it again; only this time, when he reaches your clit, he sucks it between his lips and you cry out. You feel him smile against you as he pulls back and goes back to tracing your skin with his fingertips.

This dance continues for the next few minutes: you gain your composure and keep reading, he teases you by slowly grazing his digits across your folds and just when it feels like you’ve gotten used to that, his mouth suddenly makes its move.

You’ve been staring at the same sentence for what feels like forever now and Cal’s mouth is firmly attached to your clit, swirling and suckling. You notice the hand that had been bruisingly gripping your thigh isn’t there anymore and you peer over your book to see he’s shifted his body so that he can get a hand on his cock. You assumed he had been rutting up against the bed, he usually can’t help it when he goes down on you, but you still moan when you see the tell-tale wet spot on his sweatpants.

“Cal…” you breathe, setting your book down to thread your fingers through his hair. “I give up… fuck… just want you to make me cum.”

He pulls away from you. “I don’t know, baby, that chapter seemed really important to you, I wouldn’t want you to be left wondering,” he says with a slight edge to his voice. He gets up and looks directly at you as he strips off his clothes and wraps his hand around his cock. “Keep reading and I’ll let you cum.”

You whine in frustration and he scowls at you with disdain; Cal doesn’t get like this too often, usually after a stressful day, sometimes after a night out. It’s undeniably hot, especially when the memories flood your mind during the months you’re alone while he’s on tour, but in the moment it’s unbearable.

He gets back on the bed and gets next to you, on his knees; he purposefully strokes his cock in front of you and leans down to let the precum he’s just teased out fall onto your nipples. You suck your lip and start pawing at your breasts but he swats your hands away and reaches over to pick up your book and shove it in your hands before crawling back between your legs.

Calum nips at your thighs, waiting for you to resume your task before he’ll resume his. You impatiently buck your hips and lament, “Baby, please, I shouldn’t have made you wait.”

He shakes his head and shifts again so you can see him touching himself. “That doesn’t look like you reading, does it, pretty girl?” He groans as he teases over the head of his cock. “Told you I could wait for you then, I can still wait now.”

You grumble and hold your book up, hands shaking as you turn the pages to find your place. He purrs his approval and licks a long stripe up your pussy as a reward. You try to continue and do what he asks but he’s devoting all of his attention to you now, tongue alternating between dipping inside your entrance and dancing around your clit. Just when you’ve started to recover from one sensation, he switches it up and your entire body trembles.

You realize you’ve been on this particular page for quite a long time and have absorbed none of it; your lust-addled brain tells you there’s no way Cal could possibly know that though and you turn the page anyways, hoping he’ll reward your progress and let you cum.

A glimmer of hope shoots through you as he lifts his head up and coos, “Another page? Great job, baby.” A knowing look spreads across his face as he sinks back down to you and growls, “Now read to me.”

Dread and confusion washes over you. “Cal… no,” you whimper.

He shrugs at you. “Seems like such a good book, I’d like to hear some of it, please,” he says in an even tone, as if he isn’t currently squeezing his cock. “It’s had no problem holding your attention so far.”

You take a breath and start to read aloud. It takes a couple of tries for you to make any sound, your throat is so fucking dry. Every sentence comes out in a voice that’s not your own, every word is a struggle, every letter looks like an unknown alien symbol. You could be making this all up off the top of your head for all you know, it feels like you’re speaking in tongues.

Calum makes good on his word and continues to eat you out dutifully as you move swiftly through the book; a moan escapes you every now and again and whenever he applies suction to your clit, you let out a series of gasps that you fear will make him stop and reprimand you, but he never does. You can tell he’s getting desperate too, you can feel him grunting against you as he works.

Your voice is barely audible as you announce, “Cal… babe… laaa… last page…”

He looks up at you, fire in his eyes, your wetness on his face. “Doing so good for me, baby,” he praises, panting almost as much as you are. “Let me have it.”

You’ve never read faster in your life; your eyes fly over the page and you’re speaking at a lightning pace. You’re actively thrusting against Cal’s mouth now but he’s beyond the point of caring, he needs you to cum too. You see him rocking his hips against the bed, cock shiny, angry and longing for attention. He openly moans as he prepares to finally bring you over the edge, lips attaching to your clit and not intending to let go until you finish.

You choke out the final few words and fling the book across the bed, hands rushing to dig into Cal’s hair. Now that you’re able to be fully focused on his actions, you can feel your climax building with great intensity. One long whine is all you’re able to manage as your orgasm plows through you; your hips thrash wildly against his face, you tense up so hard your body seems to fold in on itself and you squeeze your eyes shut so tight you can see stars.

He licks you through it, murmuring in encouragement; he pulls away at the first sign of oversensitivity but he lingers around your thighs, pampering you with soft kisses and reassuring tones. As soon as your body starts to relax and your breathing slows, he’s sitting up and frantically tugging at his cock.

You’re absolutely spent from what you’ve just experienced but the sight of your boyfriend so desperate to get himself off just from pleasuring you has you immediately feeling needy again. You can’t seem to find your words yet so you just whimper and reach for him.

Cal gets next to you, hand working his shaft relentlessly; he’s breathing in that pronounced way that tells you it won’t be long before he’s finished. He starts to lean in and you sit up on your elbows to meet him halfway, kissing him hungrily. You don’t want to disrupt the rhythm he has going on his cock so you scratch your nails up and down his thigh, which makes him groan into your mouth.

His hand speeds up as he starts panting your name and that needy feeling washes over you again. You get his attention by squeezing his thigh; he opens his eyes to see you sitting there with your mouth open, tongue out, waiting to be filled with his cum.

“I fucking love you, baby,” he sighs as he scoots closer. He lays the head of his cock on your tongue and gives himself just a few more strokes before you feel warm cum shooting across your mouth. He moans as he slows his pace but maintains a firm grip, making sure he gives you every drop he has. You’ve earned it.

Once he’s finished, he drops his hand and his head and lets out a giant sigh. Before he can pull back, you make quick work of taking him into your mouth under the guise of cleaning him up; really, you just wanted to taste him for even a minute longer.

Calum murmurs in protest and pulls away, collapsing onto the pillow next to you; he pulls you into him and you rest your head on his chest. You lay there for a few minutes, listening to each other’s breathing, enjoying the comfortable silence you often find yourselves in after being intimate.

“Never been more proud to be such an avid reader,” you joke, pressing a kiss to his chest tattoo.

He lets out that surprised raspy laugh you love that always happens when he’s tired. “Lucky my girl’s such a nerd,” he teases, squeezing you close.

Cal sits up and reaches across the bed to retrieve your discarded book. You watch curiously as he pats around the sheets and glances at the floor before he hands it to you and says sheepishly, “Sorry, baby, dunno where your bookmark ended up. Looks like we lost your page.”

A wide grin spreads across your face as you take the book and pull him back down to you. “I don’t think I’ll mind starting back from the beginning.”

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My tag list is breaking my posts atm so apologies if you get tagged more than once/don’t get tagged at all while I figure out what the problem is!

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#5sos smut #calum hood smut #calum smut #calum hood fic #5 seconds of summer smut #kindahoping4forever #smut #kh4f fic #Call Out My Name Like Lines From A Page #kh4f requested #shouts to this anon I really was inspired by this lol #popped out about 1k of this in one sitting #honestly tho what a dream am i right #not since the Pizza Hut book club has reading been so rewarding for a person #Feedback is appreciated #thank you for reading!!!

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