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venus-haze · 1 year

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Rip 'Em to Shreds (Mickey Altieri x Reader)

Summary: Mickey’s your boyfriend, and he’s not cheating on you. At least, you don't think so, until your roommate plants the seeds of doubt in your head. While sneakily trying to find out the truth for yourself, being in the wrong place at the wrong time lands you as suspect number one in the Ghostface killings at Windsor College.

Note: Gender neutral (mildly fem-coded) reader, but no other descriptions are used. I think Mickey was a fun Ghostface, and I’m a sucker for Timothy Olyphant, so this is the result. I rewatched Scream 2 recently but obviously took creative liberties with some things. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Descriptions of violence, paranoia, and emotional manipulation. Do not interact if you're under 18.

You stared at the blinking cursor on the library computer screen, silently cursing yourself for letting procrastination get the better of you. As much as you loved going to Windsor College, you were beginning to suspect that declaring a Literature major would be your downfall, especially the paper you were supposed to be working on. You already knew what you were going to write about, having notes and a weird-looking outline ready to go. It had just been a matter of sitting down and actually writing the paper that was due the following week.

It didn’t help that Mickey and his friends were exceptionally good at dragging you into more ways to procrastinate a paper that could easily segue into a grad school application. Perhaps the importance of the paper impacted your attitude toward it, not wanting to face the behemoth that would determine your academic future.

Just as you were halfway through a sentence on the second page of your paper, everything went dark.

“Mickey, c’mon,” you whined.

“Give me some credit, you’ve been hard to track down,” he said, moving his hands from over your eyes.

He pulled up a seat next to you, leaning on the stack of books piled next to the computer.

“What’re you writing about?”

“Sexuality in 19th century gothic literature—dark corridors, bodice ripping, ghosts, rape, incest, vampires, mad women, all that fun stuff.”

He grinned, tugging on the hem of your shirt. “You had me at bodice ripping.”

“Later, lover boy,” you smiled. “I have to finish this draft before the library closes.”

He tapped on the computer screen. “Dining hall closes in about an hour. Don’t skip dinner for this paper.”

“I hate not having a kitchen,” you lamented. “It makes no sense the dining hall closes at eight when night classes go until nine and the library’s open until ten.”

He gave your shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Next year we’ll get an apartment, then you can cook at two in the morning all you want.”

You couldn’t help the adoring smile that spread across your lips. “You wanna move in together?”

“Yeah, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.”

“Good,” he said, his smile matching yours. “Come over whenever you finish that. The roomie went home for the weekend so–”

“So I should plan to be there all weekend?”

“It’s like you can read my mind.”

You laughed. “Shut up before I change mine, jerk.”

“Look, I’ll be late getting in, I have to work on that short film for class, but I’ll leave the door unlocked for you.”

“Okay, see you later. Love you.”

“Love you too,” he said, giving you a kiss before getting up from the chair. “Don’t skip dinner.”

It wasn’t until you were six pages into your paper and your stomach rumbled that you remembered to glance at the clock in the corner of the computer. A quarter to nine. Damn. You took a chance on one of the vending machines in the library, getting a chocolate bar and a bag of chips to tide you over until you could eat a real meal.

You made incredible progress on your paper, though. The promise of spending the weekend with your boyfriend was a good motivator to at least bullshit your way through the first draft. It was only a draft, after all, it didn’t need to be perfect. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

By the time you reached the end of page seven and had typed up your bibliography, you felt like your vision was blurring as you tried to proofread what you’d written. Rubbing your eyes, you hoped to shake off some of the screen exhaustion to at least catch any glaring typos. Finally, at about half past nine, you’d printed your paper and had packed up, heading back to your dorm to get what you needed for the weekend.

Usually when you walked around campus at night, there weren’t many people out and about. Windsor College was a sleepy liberal arts school for the most part, which you appreciated. The groups of people ambling around finally clicked when you noticed Greek letters on various t-shirts. You hadn’t been all that interested in getting involved in Greek life, turning down an offer from some of Mickey’s friends to join them at the Delta Lambda Zeta party that night.

You weren’t surprised, however, to return to your dorm and find your roommate Kim lounging on a beanbag chair, her eyes glued to the small TV on top of her dresser.

“Hey,” she said, barely glancing at you as you walked in.

“Did you go to class today?” you asked as you set your backpack down, unzipping it so you could shove your pajamas and a change of clothes inside.

Kim finally answered when you walked past the TV to get to something in your dresser. “What? Yeah, I went to one this afternoon. I slept through the morning one.”

“Seriously? I woke you up for that before I left.”

“I fell back asleep,” she shrugged. “You going to Mickey’s?”

“Yeah. I’ll be back Sunday night, or Monday morning,” you said.

“Are you seriously bringing your books with you while you’re sucking and fucking at your boyfriend’s for the weekend?”

“First of all, gross. Second, he’s filming tonight. Might as well be productive while I wait.”

“Isn’t this like the fifth time in the past two weeks he’s been ‘filming’? Interesting how that’s happening while all the sororities are having their bullshit pledge mixers.”

“I know the air quotes around filming. I don’t wanna hear it.”

“I’m just saying!”

“Kim, he just asked me to move in together next year. I don’t think he’s cheating.”

“Maybe he’s just deflecting to keep you off the scent.”

“Of what? He’s been working on a short film that has a lot of night scenes. He even asked me to be in it, and I said no. You watch way too much daytime TV instead of actually going to class.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t come crying to me when you catch him six inches deep in an Omega Beta Zeta or whatever.”

You shook your head while shoving the last of your toiletries into your backpack. “Whatever. Bye.”

One more reason to live with Mickey the following school year, no more dealing with ridiculous roommates. Kim wasn’t that bad in comparison to the horror stories you’d heard about other people’s roommates, but she always had a knack for making an ass of herself.

As you walked across campus to Mickey’s dorm, you tried to shake Kim’s implications from your mind. Mickey wasn’t cheating on you. You trusted him, and the two of you had so many mutual friends all over campus that if he were, someone would have told you by now. Despite your attempts to reassure yourself, you found your mind racing, and you became the type of partner you swore you’d never become.

If you happened to divert your walk to his dorm to go past where he was supposedly filming, he couldn’t blame you for the coincidence. The clear, beautiful night was perfect for frat parties and leisurely walks in the moonlight. You passed by a few of your friends from your major, stopping to talk with them for a little bit before continuing on your way.

It seemed like in the fifteen minutes or so you’d spent walking around, you saw less and less people. Mickey said he’d been filming near the sorority houses, but you didn’t see him around. Your heart sank to your stomach. Could Kim have been right? No. You wouldn’t jump to that conclusion so quickly. Instead, you kept walking, hoping to find him a little farther up.

In the distance, you could see a girl standing on the front porch of one of the sorority houses, phone in her hand as she looked around frantically. Weird. She retreated inside, and against your better judgment, you decided to get a closer look of what was going on.

You noticed a gleam of silver out of the corner of your eye and stopped in your tracks upon seeing a black-robed figure with a stark white ghost mask that stood out in the darkness, stalking up the brick pathway across the grassy quad. Whoever was beneath the costume didn’t notice you, and you wanted to keep it that way, hiding behind a nearby tree as you watched him approach the Omega Beta Zeta house.

Clamping your clammy hand over your mouth, you tried to make as little noise as possible so as to not catch Ghostface’s attention. A cold chill raced across your skin. Someone was about to die. There wasn’t enough time to run to a phone and call the police or campus security. It’d take at least ten minutes for either to arrive, and then, it’d be too late. For a moment, you considered running after him, but quickly realized that without a weapon, it wouldn’t do any good.

You watched helplessly as the masked killer slipped into the open door of the sorority house. Just a few moments later, the door shut as a girl left for you assumed one of the parties that night, but it wasn't the same girl you'd just seen outside. Unsure of what to do, you waited, but it didn't take long for a faint yell to tear through the silence of the night.

Fear froze your limbs, keeping you in place as you heard the terrified screams coming from inside the house. Your heart racing, you swore you were going to pass out until you saw the balcony doors swing open, a girl tumbling onto it, followed closely behind by Ghostface. As soon as the knife pierced her, your body finally went into panic mode, and you started running.

More screaming and a loud crash came from behind you. Looking back, you saw the splintered balcony and a body splayed on the ground below. Ghostface slipped out from the front door, and seemed to be heading in the same direction you were sprinting off too. Oh shit, had he seen you? Was he following you?

Tears clouded your vision as you ran, and your shoe caught on a loose brick in the walkway, sending you to the ground. The contents of your backpack crashed and rattled against each other on the impact, and you groaned at your skinned wrists. Still, you pushed yourself off the ground with determination, not bothering to look behind you and see if Ghostface had noticed your fall or was now tailing you.

Slamming the door to Mickey’s room shut, you threw your backpack aside and immediately climbed into his bed, pulling the covers over your head, as if that would shield you from Ghostface. What the fuck was taking Mickey so long? Your breath caught in your throat. He probably had no idea Ghostface was running wild across campus. Burying your face in his pillow, you screamed into it, releasing the pent up anxiety and frustration over not being able to do anything about the situation.

You weren’t sure when you’d fallen asleep, but the sun had already risen when you were woken up by the phone. Shoving the covers off of you, you hastily picked up, almost expecting to hear Ghostface’s unsettling voice on the other end of the line.

“Hello?”

Relief swept over you when you heard Mickey’s voice instead of the one you were dreading. “Hey baby, it’s me—“

“Where are you? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m at the police station. Everything’s—well, everything’s not fine. I am, though. I’ll explain later. Have you been in my room all night?”

You hesitated before answering with a weak, “Yeah.”

The other end of the line was silent for a moment. “Alright, I’m leaving now. I should be there in like, 15 minutes.”

“Okay, see you soon. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

The other end of the line went dead. You looked at your discarded backpack on the floor, and decided to at least freshen up and change out of yesterday’s clothes before Mickey returned. Each article of clothing that fell to the floor felt like evidence piling up. You hadn’t technically done anything wrong, but the previous night's events, your complacency, made your limbs feel abnormally heavy as you changed into fresh clothes. Before you knew it, you were face to face with your boyfriend, who looked almost shocked when he saw you.

“What happened to you? Your wrists–” He gently tilted your head up, inspecting your chin. “You’re all scraped up.”

“I tripped and fell,” you said.

“You’re sure that’s all that happened?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You know Cici Cooper, from my film studies class?”

You nodded. You knew Cici. You also knew she was an Omega Beta Zeta.

“Some Ghostface wannabe stabbed her and pushed her off the balcony of the Omega Beta Zeta house, and then showed up at the Delta Lambda Zeta party.”

“Cici’s dead?”

You sat on the edge of his bed, your head in your hands as you let out a pained whine.

“Baby, what’s going on?” he asked, putting his arm around you as he sat by your side.

“I saw him.”

“Saw who?”

“I saw Ghostface. I saw him run into the Omega Beta Zeta house, but when I heard screaming I–I got so scared I just came back here. That’s when I fell.”

“Y/N, why didn’t you call the police?”

“I was terrified, Mickey! I wasn’t thinking straight and I—if I call now they’re gonna think I had something to do with it. Isn’t that what Randy says? Everyone’s a suspect! Oh my god, they’ll think it was me.”

“No one will think that.”

His paltry reassurance was no match for your word vomit, because before you could help it, you blurted out, “Are you cheating on me?”

“What? No! Why would you even think that?”

“Why did the police question you if you were shooting your movie?”

He sighed. “Derek was running late to the Delta party. He asked me to stop in and check on Sidney. I was at the party for maybe ten minutes before the police found Cici’s body. After Ghostface showed up, they questioned everyone who even looked at the place that night.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. Kim—“

“Is about to be on academic probation because she watches soap operas instead of going to class.”

“Yeah. Maybe I should go ahead and call the police, let them know what I saw.”

“No, like you said before, with the timing and everyone being on edge, I don’t think it’d be a great look right now.”

“So what do I do?”

“Let’s just keep this between us, okay? No more secrets unless it’s with each other.”

“Okay,” you agreed.

He took your hand, turning it over to look at the damage to it. “Jesus, are you sure you’re alright?”

“I should probably go to the student health center, huh?”

“I’ll walk you.”

“You probably haven’t slept. I’ll be fine.”

“Just let me do this. I don’t want you to be alone right now.”

You smiled, giving him a kiss that he quickly escalated, laying you back on his bed. Making out with Mickey was nice, it was normal. For a few minutes, you let yourself forget about Ghostface as you parted your lips for him, letting him slip his tongue inside your mouth. When his hands gripped your wrists to pin you to the bed, however, you hissed in pain, and he quickly released them.

“Sorry, sorry. I forgot,” he whispered, pressing apologetic kisses to your lips. “We should get going.”

Reluctantly, you agreed, remembering that his roommate wouldn’t be back any time soon, and you had the rest of the weekend to yourselves after you went to the health center, and got something to eat, too, since you were thinking about it.

Mickey kept his arm securely around you as the two of you made your way across campus. You spotted Sidney, Randy, and Hallie speaking among themselves at one of the tables outside, and Mickey made a bit of a detour to go talk to them. You couldn’t exactly read their expressions when they saw you until Randy spoke up.

“You sure missed a lot last night. Convenient,” he said, not bothering to hide his accusatory tone.

“Cut it out. I already told you guys they were working on a paper,” Mickey said, holding you closer to his side. “You can check the computer logs in the library.”

“Wh-What happened to your arms?” Sidney asked, her eyes fixed on your scraped wrists. For a split second, you thought it was out of concern, but then quickly realized the suspicion in her voice.

“Look, I’m really sorry about what happened, but I don’t know anything,” you said. “After I finished my paper, I went back to my dorm and then I tripped and fell on the way to Mickey’s. There were plenty of people who saw me last night.”

Hallie gave you a tense smile. “It’s okay, Y/N.”

“Yeah, I’m taking them to the student health center so nothing gets infected. We’ll see you guys later,” Mickey said.

The varying looks of distrust on the group's faces made you want to cry. As you and Mickey resumed your walk to the dining hall, your brain worked overtime to come up with worst case scenarios, as if somehow the Ghostface killings could be pinned onto you, even the ones in town despite you being with your friends during that whole incident.

“They all think it’s me.”

Mickey’s silence was more than enough of an answer to make you panic.

Stopping in your tracks, you grabbed his arm. “You don’t think it’s me, do you?”

“I know it’s not you,” he said, his voice soft and reassuring. “They’re just on edge after what happened last night, especially after Derek went back into the Delta Lambda Zeta house after Sidney saw Ghostface—“

“Oh my god, is he okay?”

Mickey shrugged. “He got cut, but not fatally. Not the best look on his part.”

“What? No way, Derek would never—Seriously?”

“C’mon, Y/N, why would he go back in there?”

“So what, since he happened to get cut and I happened to trip, now they’re all thinking Derek and I have been secretly scheming to chop everyone up? Where is he? Maybe I can talk to him and—“

“Why don’t we just get to the health center before you run across campus to find the other top suspect in this whole thing.”

“Don’t say that. Please don’t say that.”

He nodded. “I’ll drop it. I’m sorry, baby.”

The rest of the walk to the student health center was silent, though Mickey kept his arm wrapped around you.

“If you don’t have anyone else, you know you have me,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“I know,” you said, though you didn’t exactly believe yourself.

#mickey altieri x reader #ghostface x reader #slasher x reader #ghostface #scream 2 #slasher community #slasher fandom #scream franchise #scream fanfic

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zhivaoverdrive · 4 months

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Used to be huge, pt10

This Metabol-x, it's... your body is going to keep nearly all of the calories we put into it. They didn't design it for greedy girls who've been stretching their belly out for weeks with mentos, did they? - Ayu ---

"Oh my god, I've never been this hungry before!" exclaimed Hitomi, the second she placed her final plate back on the table.

She had just finished polishing off what would have been a giant breakfast for anyone else. Even by her own lofty standards of late, that was a lot of food. Not only the multiple breakfasts that Ayu had brought, but the delivery too...

Ayu watched from across the table, feeling the familiar blend of excitement and trepidation that seemed to strike her on a big day.

"Impressive.. how do you feel?" she asked, eyes glued to Hitomi's rapidly expanding midsection.

"Famished! Didn't make a dent. Feels like I could keep going all day! This stuff is AMAZING" beamed Hitomi. And she wasn't joking. It may have only been her second day on the Metabol-x, but the intense pangs of hunger had done nothing but increase so far. For Hitomi, this was heaven.

However, Ayu wasn't so sure. She'd read the poorly translated usage guidelines of the Metabol-x, but Hitomi seemed to be an exceptional case. Hitomi had received a double dose, they didnt mess around at the IEC after all...

"That will have to do for now Hitomi... we have to take this slowly, remember?" Ayu said carefully, her eyes still on the protruding sphere of fat that was her patient's belly.

"But-" Hitomi began.

"I've already told you, and then let you order anyway! You're going to get me in so much trouble" said Ayu, cutting her off. "This Metabol-x, it's serious stuff. I'm supposed to be counting every calorie that goes in!" Ayu continued under her breath.

"And? I love a high score" replied Hitomi.

"I can't count them if you keep cheating! This breakfast I brought you was half a day's requirement, 1800 calories" said Ayu. "Plus whatever was in your order. Not to speak of the calorie drip!".

"But it barely feels like anything!" sulked Hitomi, who at this very moment wanted nothing more than to start the whole stuffing again, from the top. "I just want to keep pushing and grow into my tits! I don't want to slow down now! And It's not like the drip was my idea anyway. Doesn't even work" she pouted.

"Hitomi... it... definitely works. Look at yourself! "I want to push as much as you, but besides me getting in trouble, this is serious shit! This Metabol-x, it's... your body is going to keep nearly all of the calories we put into it. They didn't design it for greedy girls who've been stretching their belly out for weeks with mentos, did they? We just need to start a bit slower, ok?" replied Ayu carefully. While she had meant every bit of it, the concern she felt turned into excitement the moment she heard own words.

"Can I at least have some of my Cola and candy?" groaned Hitomi, putting on her cutest face. "Just to tide me over until lunch. Pleaseeeeee? I NEED to feel full!"

Ayu walked over and removed some of the BOX of Cola that Hitomi had brought in her luggage. Looking closer at the nutrition sticker, the excitement had now completely eclipsed the concern.

"These things are full of sugar Hitomi! It's still calories. Shitloads of them. "You can have... one bottle. Maybe two. Just until lunch." Ayu said.

"Pass my handbag, candies are in there" winked Hitomi.

Soon as the bag was in her hands, Hitomi pulled out 4 rolls of Mentos and began haphazardly throwing them in her mouth.

"Hitomi... is that a lot-" Ayu protested, knowing she was going along with it anyway.

"Nope. Not for a greedy girl who's been stretching her belly out" Hitomi laughed. She'd had a tiny bit more than this before. On an empty stomach. "But this greedy girl is all tired out, and the 2l bottles are heavy..." "Will you feed it to me Ayu?"

#breastexpansion #breastimplants #saline #silicone #expanderimplants #weightgain #bellystuffing

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twst-drabbles · 10 months

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Azul 22

Summary: Azul, in a fashion you’re awfully familiar and annoyed with, tried to be condescendingly coy about your position as janitor.

(So, the heat’s getting so bad that I haven’t stepped into the kitchen at all. There’s no AC there, and with temperatures climbing even higher next week due to my proximity to Mexico, I’ve been relying on snacks and precooked meals. 100 F. On average. I hate it. So much.)

“Though, I do find it rather interesting how you can stay so arrogant in a place where you stand above no one.”

Azul says that like he doesn’t constantly rub his thumb over his contracts. Like he hasn’t panicked when you did a deep clean of his office—at his request—that included touching his safe. Like he isn’t eager to lure in the next scrub that needs something done and willing to give something precious away. Like he hasn’t muttered furiously under his breath when he suspected a contract was missing when in reality, it was in the back of the safe.

You stay away from the business of others because you know of the trouble that will come out of it. This college, from the moment you met the eyes and fake smiles around you, reeked to the skies of egos that that never had to be popped. Because the headmage here refused to dip his hands into the very business he signed up for.

You have a shitload of work to do. You haven’t sat down since you got out of bed this morning. The restaurant Azul owns has just finished for the day and now you’re being paid to do a deep clean again as though he didn’t have any other workers on standby to do that.

You don’t know what the fuck’s going on with this man, but you don’t give enough of a shit to be polite.

“And yet you laugh at me like you’re not my neighbor in this supposed pit.”

Azul didn’t flinch, not like you expect slimy business men such as he to do so. To do the shady stuff he does, he has to be made of tougher stuff, or at least skilled enough with his tongue to turn thing in his favor. Still though, the light pause was enough for you to pick up.

He really thought you were somebody that lets thinly veiled insults fly because of fear of breaching some sort of social etiquette rule.

“…Of course I’m not laughing at you. I have no reason to do such a horrible thing. Though, I have to say, your image of me is quite warped.“

There’s always something grating about people that try to word their insults in this disassociated way, like they’re a birdwatcher or a scientist. Just making an interesting observation, no need to pay them any mind, because if you do, you’re the asshole for supposedly putting words in their mouth.

“Like you know shit about me and what I think. And you don’t even care to know. You’re just pissed and looking for something fun.”

You’ve been temporarily placed in Octavinelle to clean it up for the time being. You can say you’re fairly used to students trying to add more work than you’re required to do. This included Azul, who somehow expected the restaurant he has all rights to be part of cleaning up the dorm.

And you, with every other person that made these assumptions, made them pay extra. Lot of them said no, but Azul said yes with a very low tide of loathing when you didn’t budge an inch.

Authority has never made you give into anything you didn’t want to do. You weren’t going to start now.

“Angry? What gave you that impression? I’m not one to get angry over anything trivial, if that’s what you’re implying.”

Ah, now he’s probing for something. A slip up, any sign of hesitation, perhaps a momentary lapse in confidence? Or maybe he wants you to explode in anger. Oh well, you’re not gonna bother.

“Pay me,” you reached out to Azul with an open palm.

“…What?”

You have to admit, there’s something satisfying about the way he clenched his jaw, like speaking to you was the same as pulling teeth.

“You want my advice on how I can stay ‘arrogant’ in this college while you struggle with your ego, you have to pay me for it.”

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst-drabbles #twst-drabbles exclusive #drabble #octavinelle #azul #azul ashengrotto #janitor au #reader insert

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99corentine · 3 months

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How To Write Good by Corentine

THE DRAFTING PROCESS, PART 2/2

Writing guide continued! Here's PART ONE.

STEP THREE: THE START, THE END, THE BEATS

I’m of the opinion that every story should start with a bang. You could start mid-way through a notable event, as seen in GHD:

- O L H A - D - V - The words, incomprehensible, rattle around his head like the last rumbles of a great thunderstorm. Then, much like after a storm has passed, the air suddenly feels clearer, sharper. A sludgy fog he didn’t even realise he was in clears from his mind and he blinks, confused. The first thing he sees is his own hands.

If you want it to be especially punchy, you can start with a line of dialogue or a short sentence, like I did for T4T:

CHAPTER ONE: It is the end.

It’s reeeally easy to lose readers at the start, so you always want to write a strong opener. Something that grabs the reader by the collar and drags them in to read the rest of the chapter.

You don’t need to have all the details, but you should have at least a vague idea of how the story ends. If you’re writing fanfic that follows along the same plot as a game or existing story, most of the legwork is done for you – so writing GHD, I planned for it to end when Alduin was killed. As I got further into the story, I came up with a more narratively satisfying ending, because it’s okay if the ending changes. As long as you have an ending in mind, you have something to work towards.

So GHD’s original, very basic plot was:

START – the Last Dragonborn wakes up with total amnesia

???

He saves Miraak

???

They kill Alduin together – END

Now you have to map out those ??? parts by deciding the major beats of the story, i.e. notable scenes. This gives you something to work towards other than the ending. I ended up with notes like these:

START – the Last Dragonborn wakes up with total amnesia

Who is he? Don’t spend too much time on this, not important, can be answered later

Goes to Solstheim, meets Miraak

Finds a way to communicate with Miraak – sneaks into Apocrypha? Shares dreams? College of Winterhold has psijiics, use telepathy?

Finds a way to save Miraak

Go to Apocrypha, confront Hermaeus Mora, save Miraak

They look for ways to kill Alduin together

Hermaeus Mora comes for them

Prolonged recovery, tells reader that even ‘redeemed’ Miraak is still scary

They kill Alduin together

What happens after Alduin?

(Redacted for spoiler purposes) – END

The story beats should ebb and flow like the tide; high-octane scenes should be followed by periods of calm. You don’t want to do this too quickly or the story will feel like whiplash; rather this is a process that happens over many chapters. Let’s look at some examples in GHD:

⇈⇈ Miraak dominates telepathy and is really scary!! ⇊⇊ Chry wanders around Skyrim doing errands and Thinking About Life… ⇈⇈ Chry breaks Miraak out of Apocrypha!! ⇊⇊ They recover from the ordeal and have a honeymoon period… ⇈⇈ They go to Blackreach and it’s visually awesome, and also Chry gets jealous!! ⇊⇊ They do misc stuff for a while… ⇈⇈ They talk to Septimus Signus, Mora shows up, nearly kills Chry!! ⇊⇊ Miraak whisks Chry away somewhere to recover in peace…

You see what I mean?

Right, you know roughly what’s going to happen. Time to turn that into words, baby!

STEP FOUR: GOTTA START WRITING

My actual writing style is its own separate topic so I’m not going to tell you how I structure a sentence or anything, just my literal writing process.

In my chapter document, I start by making a bullet-point list of everything I want to happen in the chapter. What happens can, and probably will, change as you actually get the chapter down. That’s fine, you just need a starting point.

I very rarely write individual chapters in order, as in start to finish. Rather, I tend to write the scenes I can picture clearly in my head – then by the time I’ve written those I’m in a writing groove and the gaps in the rest of the chapter will come easier. When I’m done, I’ll stitch the individual scenes together, which sometimes requires altering the scene start or end to make the whole thing more cohesive.

There are times when the writer’s block takes me, and I have like two finished scenes and just cannot summon the words for the rest of the chapter. When this happens, to be honest, the only answer I’ve found is brute force: I sit myself in front of the computer, get rid of phone/alt tabs/other distractions, and force myself to type something. Or I hold myself hostage (i.e. ‘I am not allowed to play more Baldur’s Gate 3 until I have written GHD chapter 47’) that works too, for me anyway.

Whatever it takes to get something on paper. What’s mostly important is to get something written, even if it’s not very good. You can always edit, rephrase or even rewrite sections later. Usually I’ve found once you start writing, you get into a groove and then it’s no longer a chore.

I also aim for a certain word count / chapter length while writing. I know a chapter is exactly as long as it needs to be and blah blah, but I set myself a minimum wordcount to reach. Or if I go way over the word count it’s probably because I’ve waffled too much, so I either aim to split the chapter into two, or to ruthlessly edit it back down again.

For GHD I average 7,000 - 9,000 words, but I actually think that’s a bit too long and risks losing people’s attention span, so for T4T I aim lower, about 6,000-ish. Less is perfectly fine, but if I’m reading another fic I find a chapter length of 2,000 words or lower to be disappointingly short. That’s all personal preference of course, and certain fics will lend themselves better to shorter chapters.

Although I jump around scenes within each chapter, I make a point of writing my entire chapters in chronological order. If I’m on chapter 5, and I know something awesome happens in chapter 12, it’s imperative that I do not write chapter 12 ahead of time. If I do, I’ll reeeally struggle to write chapters 6-11, because I have already rewarded my brain by writing the cool thing. If I hold off, my enthusiasm to write chapter 12 may in fact motivate me to crank out chapters 6-11 in record time.

I do have one other thing – in my Scrivener projects I always have a document called ‘Unused’. Sometimes, usually at like 2AM when sleep has failed me, I’ll get a really good idea for some dialogue or description. I scribble it down somewhere (or it will be forgotten for sure) and later I type it into my Unused document, so it’s just filled with random bits of text like this (note, everything you see here is unused, so it's not going to feature in the last chapter of GHD):

At some point in time I’ll peruse it and think ‘yes, this line!!’ and drop it into a future chapter – again though I just write bits, not entire scenes or I’ll have written all the exciting parts already. Anything I edit out of a chapter (i.e. a paragraph I liked but didn’t quite fit) gets dropped here too, in case I can reuse it later.

STEP FIVE: FINAL EDITING

I will be honest, I’m pretty impatient. Once I’ve finished a chapter, especially if it’s one I’ve been struggling with for a long time, I want to publish it now. So I’m guilty of not editing as thoroughly as I should – but this is what I usually do and it catches at least most of my mistakes:

As a first step, I copy-paste the chapter from Scrivener into google docs. Remember I said Scriv’s word processor wasn’t the best? Yeah, it’s no good at picking up on dodgy grammar, but google docs is, so I run it through there and skim-check for wiggly blue lines, then make the changes in Scriv. You may not have this issue if you’re using Word or another more comprehensive software

Once I know the grammar is mostly fixed, I go back to Scriv and re-read the entire chapter start to finish – I’m looking for whatever google didn’t catch, wonky phrasing, repetition (i.e. I used the word ‘quickly’ twice in the space of two paragraphs, that sort of thing)

I go away for a bit (anywhere from a few hours to a few days) and do another careful re-read with a fresh set of eyes. Sometimes I use a text-to-speech software to read what I’d written back to me; you'd be surprised how much you pick up this way

In my great excitement, I publish the new chapter to AO3. As I re-read the chapter over there, I see a minimum of 5 glaring errors I somehow didn’t spot in the previous steps, and hastily correct them before anyone notices.

I like to get at least the first 2-3 chapters of a brand new story written before I post anything to AO3. This is to make sure my enthusiasm doesn’t immediately wane and I actually stand a chance of finishing it. After that I’m rarely more than a chapter ahead of what’s been posted, because go figure I’ll post the newly-written chapter once the editing is done, then start on the next one.

Some people won’t even post a story at all until they have the first draft fully written. This is admirable, but not always realistic – GHD is like 375,000 words, you think I would’ve sat down and written all that before posting chapter one and even knowing if anyone would read it? Hell no.

But while you don’t need a story to be fully written, you do need it to be decently mapped-out. I used to start fics with absolutely no idea where they were going to go; I’d finish 1 or 2 chapters, get really excited at writing that much and hungry for feedback, then post something that I would inevitably lose all enthusiasm for and leave unfinished.

So, know how it starts, know how it ends, and know the story beats in between so you always have a goal to write towards. There will inevitably be fics that you never finish and that’s fine – it’s all writing practice – but readers don’t like to be left hanging, so try your best to finish! Even if it takes ahem four years or so.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐

And there you go, that’s my writing process! I’m not sure how useful that really is, but if it was I could write more guides in future? I have…

A guide to my writing style (this one might be hard to put into a guide but people like my turn of phrase so, maybe useful?)

How I write a sex scene

How I write a fight scene.

32 notes · View notes

gococogo · 6 months

Text

Day Thirty One: Werewolf

Kinktober Masterlist will be posted after October

Synopsis: A blood full moon is it's way and Haytham has had a past experience with a werewolf turning feral on a night like this. He just hopes that Shay isn't the same.

Word Count: 4.7K

Genre: Assassin's Creed Rogue

Pairing: Shay Cormac/Haytham Kenway

Warnings: Werewolf stuff/Tongue stuff/Size Kink/Ass fucking/Man handling or shit like that/that word for monster fucking/rough sex

Haytham doesn’t knock or make himself known as he enters Shay’s manor. The owner of the estate doesn’t even peer up from his papers he’s currently nose deep in. Striding across open foyer, Haytham throws the newspaper in front of Shay on his table. The man doesn’t even look up to Haytham, only frowning at the paper that has ever so rudely interrupted his reading.

It’s folded open on one of the last pages where the times of the tides are, and the moon cycles are for the month. With a little hesitance, Shay picks up the newspaper and gives a quick skim. His brows furrow and he looks closer at what he is seeing in front of him.

“A blood, full moon?” Shay asks more to himself.

Haytham pulls out a chair for himself on the other side of Shay’s office and takes a seat on the other side of the table. He takes his hat off and places it on top of Shay’s paperwork that seems to be a mess, but it’s organized on the filer’s account. Shay looks up from the newspaper and chucks it on top of the other papers.

“Never heard of such a thing,” Shay points out.

Haytham hums. “Yes, well. I’ve witnessed a blood moon and it doesn’t take fairly to wolves.”

The Irishman only looks to him for a moment, as if waiting for an answer. But when none comes, he asks, “I’m guessing you’ve come across a wolf during a blood moon?”

“Yes.”

“And how did it fair?”

“Dead.”

Shay nods with his lips thinned. “Lovely.”

Why isn’t he surprised by Haytham’s bluntness at this point. There’s some days where he thinks he’s gotten use to it and then there’s others where it takes him solely by surprise.

Haytham picks up the newspaper and gives it another once over even though he’s read it a good couple of times. He’s dealt with werewolves before, Shay isn’t the first cursed man that he’s come across in his lifetime. But only once has he had the luck of being around one during a blood moon.

For his liking, once was enough. Yet with his relationship to Shay, it seems like he’ll have to go through this situation again.

“What happened during the blood moon?” Shay asks.

Even though Shay is a were, one of the cursed, he is only newly turned. Turned by his once called brother, Liam O’Brien. Changed him on the night that Shay was escaping from the Assassins. A reason why he survived the fall and the cold ocean that greeted him below. Haytham would call it a miracle, while Shay would say something else entirely that children should not hear.

Monroe had informed Haytham of who Shay was from the very beginning. Haytham himself, had seen it as a big risk. A risk not worth taking and that he should just kill Shay before the next full moon came around. But that didn’t happen. Monroe had always been known to have a big heart. Even for a Templar.

“The one I encountered had gone feral. Almost like he was in a rut like state,” Haytham explains bluntly.

Shay is a bit wordless and tilts his head slightly as if a dog would. “A rut?”

“I don’t know how else to explain it,” Haytham admits truthfully with a small wave of his hand.

But at this, Shay sits further down in his seat with a huff. His eyes flicker across the reports and the papers on his desk. He suddenly becomes uninterested in finishing any of this today. Haytham thought he dove too much into his work. But with tracking other ships, plus his own and keeping up to date with gang activity, it all does start to pile up after a while. Haytham is just grateful he has the need to keep his work space tidy. On a good day at least.

“I’m meant to be in Albany on that date,” Shay brings up with a soft chuckle.

Haytham thinks on that. The were that he encounters on the blood moon didn’t know him. It was all by sheer coincidence that the two ran into each other that night.

But Shay and Haytham know each other on a level that not many get to see in their lives. In such a short time, they’ve formed a bond that ties them together through their experiences in life. And in doing so, Haytham has helped Shay with his transformations. Controlling the curse when he changes, he is more placid and more so has to wait out the night until he turns back. He has told Haytham that he still feels the hunger, the urge to rip and shred like the curse ensures upon. But Shay’s will is something stronger than most men.

They haven’t had a bad night since last year. But that could all change with this upcoming blood moon. But it’s Shay. There could be something that Haytham might be able to do on that night that can keep him at bay.

“And you won’t be able to delay your trip?” Haytham asks even though he knows what answer he’s going to get.

“Not if you want to lose a lead with the Assassins.”

As Haytham thought. Always onto something. Can’t stick to one place and can’t let the Assassins rest. Especially not after what they’ve done to Shay. The nickname, Templar Dog has seemed to stuck as what the Assassins call him now. Another one Haytham has heard but hasn’t told Shay yet, is the Grandmaster’s Lapdog. He doesn’t think Shay needs to know of it either.

“I’ll join you to Albany then,” Haytham says as he stands from his seat.

Shay opens his mouth to argue but a hand is held up in front of him. His words get caught in his throat and he shuts his mouth just as quickly. Haytham grabs his hat and straightens himself out.

“I’ve already made it final. Make board for one more on your ship.”

The trip to Albany goes smoothly, giving Shay and Haytham a week before the blood moon. But the itch that scratches underneath Shay’s skin becomes more eager with each passing day. He hasn’t felt anything like this since the early days.

To distract himself, he keeps himself occupied with the lead. There are meant to be a few Assassin’s or gang members still lurking around the town even though Shay has ratted them all out. But they like to linger about place they aren’t welcome.

To Shay’s dismay though, the week goes by quicker than he expected. Even Haytham lost track of days with helping Shay try and get this done as quick as possible. But the day of the blood moon comes around the corner and neither of them are ready to leave Albany.

Somehow, Shay had convinced Gist to get everyone off the Morrigan for the night. Gist knows of Shay’s curse but has never seen it firsthand. And he has told Shay firmly he will never have the desire to do so. Shay doesn’t blame him though, it isn’t a pretty sight. Haytham, not a man to sugar coat things, has said it’s something out of a nightmare.

The both of them keep to Shay’s quarters as soon as the sun begins to set, hoping this room is enough for the oncoming night. Haytham locks the doors behind him even though he knows it won’t do much to stop Shay from breaking out if he wanted to. He has seen this man charge through thick wooden doors and break bones in fully grow man’s hands. And all that was done without his were form.

Without saying a word, Shay begins stripping down to just his pants. It’s like a routine at this point, all so his clothes don’t get destroyed in the transformation. On his first transformation he had destroyed a pair of clothes that weren’t easy to replace. Nor was it fun waking up in the middle of nowhere butt ass naked on the outskirts of New York.

It was truly a morning to remember. He had ran into Monroe along the way back. The Templar had been looking for him and all he found was a naked, dirty man hiding behind a bush. That was the morning that Monroe’s suspicion came true and when his care for Shay became something along the lines of parental. Or maybe colonel and soldier. Shay will never know.

Haytham takes off his cloak and over coat, along with his hat to make himself comfortable. The night is a bit humid, even for the River Valley. Shay watches him with tense shoulders. A sinking like feeling grips at his throat. An image washes over him, of one of him hurting Haytham tonight. He turns away, eyes straining to the floor.

Yes, this line of work and this line of life isn’t for the faint hearted. Shay knows, has been made very well known, that Haytham knows the supernatural side of life. Has come into contact with more than one werewolf and on the rare occasion, vampires. But feral werewolves can’t help their transformation, going rabid across the area wherever they hole up. While vampires like to keep hidden in plain sight.

Sounds a lot like the Assassins, but as far as Shay is aware, there were no vampires in the fold. Not while he was there at least. But no sane man goes around telling everyone that they’re a vampire.

Shay exhales slowly as he sits on the edge of his bed with his face in his hands. He can feel it. He doesn’t know how to explain it. He’s tried to do so with Haytham. But how do you explain something that only a were can feel. He can feel the coming of the transformation. The calling of the moon that it seems to have. Shay will have to admit, it is the oddest side of being a were.

But there is one thing that does make sense now. The moon has never looked so beautiful. Unfortunately though, he won’t be able to look upon her tonight.

Haytham pulls out the only chair that Shay keeps in his quarters and places it in front of him. The noise is like a hammer hitting metal inside Shay’s head and he flinches away. His senses begin to become heightened; they always do on full moons.

Shay looks up from his hands with a raised brow. The other man sits with his legs crossed and his hands resting on his propped knee. Posh bastard.

“What are you doing?” Shay asks.

“I’m keeping an eye on you,” the other quirks as if it’s obvious.

Shay only stares at Haytham for a moment. Wondering how on Earth he has come to this situation. Where he grew up, he was taught with the Assassins that the Grandmaster of the Templar Order is a ruthless, heartless son of a bitch.

And yes, they were right about the ruthless part… and somewhat on the heartless. But there are times like this that Shay is able to see the little bit of softness that Haytham is willing to lend out to the right person. The parts of him that Haytham has kept to himself for so many years.

“Promise me something, Haytham,” Shay begins.

“Hmm?”

“If I do go feral, put me down,” he says bluntly.

Instantly, he can see a cord is struck in Haytham. He’s good at hiding it but Shay has picked up his tell. His eyes slightly squint and he ever so slightly raised his chin upwards. As if he’s just tasted something sour on his tongue or smelt something off.

Haytham looks down to the bracers he still has on his arm. He flicks his hidden blade out, the both of them looking over the silver metal. One blade that has probably taken more lives than Shay has. Haytham isn’t shy of using it, nor waving it around. The sight of it almost says a million words itself. The way Haytham looks over it with his own thoughts racing through his head. Most likely, having to image sticking the blade into Shay’s neck.

He flicks it back in with a satisfying click.

“Only if it comes down to it,” he answers poorly without looking up at Shay.

At this, Shay only frowns. But he guesses that’s the best he’s going to get. Particularly, out of a man like Haytham Kenway.

The two continue to talk about mundane things, about Shay’s hunt for the Assassins and about what they’ve found out in Albany. A couple of hours pass by as they wait for the blood moon to rise above the horizon.

And when it does, both of them don’t need to look outside to know it has.

Shay suddenly stops midsentence and bows his head with a pained groan. His breathing becomes shaky and his whole body tremors. He goes to stand in haste but his knees instantly give way. He falls forward and Haytham is quick to catch him, but Shay pushes him away just as fast. He keeps his back to Haytham, not wanting him to see the full mess of the transformation.

It feels different though. More like rats clawing through something to escape fire. Something burning hot within his core that instantly makes him break out in a sweat. It’s hard not to shout. It’s hard not to give in to the choke sob itching at the back of his throat.

And all Haytham can do is stand back and watch.

On the floor, Shay cowers on his hands and knees. Bones can be heard popping and breaking out of their sockets. The first cry that comes from Shay’s throat is something that Haytham will never get use to. No matter how many times he’s seen Shay’s skin ripple and change as if there’s something alive moving under there. No matter how many times he’s heard bones break to only heal back into stronger, bigger ones. No matter how many times he’s watched Shay’s skull and jaw snap and break to elongate forward into a wolf like snout. No matter how many times he’s watched human teeth get pushed out to make way for long fangs that snap and clash together past the blood that erupts from his mouth.

No matter how many times, Haytham will always feel sick in his stomach at the sight of such an inhuman act of God. He doesn’t even truly know if God has a play at this. This is something else entirely. Something that an average human would not be able to grasp at with their small minds. One where they would be instantly calling this a sin. Something that Satan has bestowed upon them and that needs to be burnt with fire. But something like this would only laugh within the flames. He’s seen a were do it before. A truly terrifying sight to behold.

Shay grows at least twice his size, his legs twisting into something wolf like and he rips his pants in the process. A thick layer of dark brown fur grows quickly over his body, more shaggy around his neck and face that is so thick that it’s hard to get to the skin underneath. Hard for a blade to get through.

Haytham watches this all unfold in front of him, keeping as still as he possibly can. He won’t lie, knowing the unknown right now terrifies him. Especially as two amber eyes slowly turn his way. A silence falls over the cabin that has Haytham’s heart beating loudly in his ears.

Shay breathes heavily, panting like a mutt with his tongue lolled out. For a moment, Haytham thinks that Shay is all here. That the blood moon hasn’t done anything to Shay’s will.

But his lip curl up in a snarl to reveal long fangs underneath. Shay tries to stand to his full height, but his head hits the top of the cabin with a loud thud. His ears flick in annoyance but his eyes are locked onto Haytham. Even hunched over, it’s as if Shay takes up half of the cabin. He stands more humanoid than anything but his face is wolf like. It’s short and stubby, his teeth virtually too big for his mouth. It’s something mixed between human and wolf, something that Haytham will only be able to explain as a were and nothing else.

“Shay,” Haytham speaks firmly.

This is only met with a deep, chesty growl that rattles the entire cabin. Haytham is just glad that the crew is gone. Because he wouldn’t even know where to begin explaining this.

Shay jumps forward suddenly and for a moment, all Haytham sees is teeth. But he moves out of the way just in time, feeling claws graze against his shoulder. The loud clack of teeth vibrates against Haytham’s brain as he rushes over to the table. Shay destroys the chair as he lands on it, bits of it going flying. But he doesn’t care for it, he’s already moving Haytham’s way again, claws digging into the wooden floor to gain the space between them.

The amount of force that Shay rushes Haytham as he barges into the table is something that reminds him of a bull. Said table flips over and blocks the only exit, papers and reports flying everywhere that rain down around Shay. Another snarl is spat Haytham’s way and true fear strikes his gut.

Fear that he might have to do something he truly did not want to do tonight.

Shay jumps forward again with every intention of latching himself onto Haytham’s shoulder and tearing off his arm. But Haytham moves before he can think. He ducks and grabs onto Shay’s snout, wrapping his entire arms around and holding tight.

Haytham is thrown about as Shay shakes his head violently, trying to pry this human off of him. This small “victory” is short lived though. Haytham’s grip slips only for a moment, and similar to some raging bull again, Shay throws his head to the side and flings the Grandmaster. Haytham hits the back of the cabin wall with a loud crack. All the wind is crushed out of him and he lands on the floor in a heap.

Shay lands on all fours heavily, shaking the whole ship and prowls over to Haytham. His lips curl up again to show off his fangs, all but dripping saliva as he nears.

Haytham shifts and rolls onto his back so that he’s facing Shay full on. He flicks out his blade, finally bringing up the might to do something. But with how sluggish his mind and body is, he isn’t able to move his arm in time before it’s crushed under one of Shay’s hands. He barks out in pain, not able to retain himself for the moment.

This is how he meets his end then? To his want to not harm someone he loves?

Shay towers over Haytham, his nose becoming mere inches away from his own. Time seems to slow as he looks right into those amber eyes. He stares right back at Haytham and for a moment, he sees Shay. But only for a moment. The effects of the blood moon seem to be something greater than what Shay can break through.

“Shay,” Haytham firmly breathes out finally.

Anyone would find him goddamn crazy right now. They’d be shouting to just kill the thing and be done with it. To fight and lash out or to do anything but be pinned by such a beast. All so this doesn’t happen again. But it’s Shay. He doesn’t think he’d be able to do it. He knows he could, he knows he should, but would he be able to? Now that is a question within itself.

Shay stops his growling and snarling and he just stares at Haytham. The scar over his eye seems more prominent in his were form. One last injury that scarred over before he turned for the first time. Most likely where he was clawed at by Liam, Shay has never truly told him.

Haytham takes a stupid risk and brings his other hand out to Shay’s face. Shay flinches away, but doesn’t move again as Haytham’s hand comes to the side of his large head. The feral look leaves his eyes for a moment again as he lets Haytham touch his cheek. Shay lets go of Haytham’s other arm and quickly, the blade is flicked away.

Shay sniffs him before moving forward ever so slightly. Haytham doesn’t let his guard down, watching this massive form slowly come into his space more so than before. Sniffing him and smelling the fear wafting off him.

“Shay,” Haytham says again, hoping to get through to the man.

His ribs still hurt and a major headache is coming along. He doesn’t want to be thrown around like that again. Not ever.

But to his name being spoken, Shay huffs. But there’s still a slight crazed look about his eyes. Something that the blood moon is doing to him. Causing him to act out. Some humanity has come back into him, but the blood moon still has its effects.

The next thing he does makes all the sense on his feral behaviour. A clawed hand presses itself onto Haytham’s sore chest and pushes him down onto the floor heavily. Then, his clothes are literally being ripped off him. Ripped apart and thrown away until enough of Haytham is revealed.

A feral rut. That is what the blood moon causes. Something that werewolves can’t control and become insane over.

And all Haytham can do is watch as his heart quickens in his chest. Anticipation prickles at his skin as he watches rows of teeth that were just trying to kill him moments before lower to his crotch. As a hot, thick wet tongue licks a strip over Haytham’s ass, it becomes very, very clear now on what the blood moon does. His suspicions were right.

But the buzz that washes over Haytham at the odd sensation makes him quickly realise, he’s not all apposed to this. Something so dangerous, so close, yet so arousing. Shay licks another hot strip across Haytham’s ass and up to his balls, leaving behind a thick saliva that feels sticky.

If this will stop Shay from going on a rage in Albany, then so be it. Best keep this act to this room than anywhere else.

Haytham is just lucky that he was able to calm Shay down from harming him to get what he wanted. Any bite from Shay and Haytham would be in the same predicament as him.

Shay licks and laps at Haytham’s ass, using a clawed hand to spread him open for better access. Almost folding the Grandmaster in half and into the floor. The pain in Haytham’s chest melts away at the sensation that overtakes his body at Shay’s tongue. It’s as if Shay can’t get enough of him, tasting his muskiness from today’s work.

This goes on for awhile and Haytham keeps himself in check. All so that he can watch just where Shay’s teeth go. His professionalism is something that does get in the way sometimes.

But all focus is thrown out the window when Shay’s tongue is pushed deeply into his ass all at once. Haytham throws his head back with a deep, grinded groan, his body twitching at the warm, sticky sensation inside of him.

And Shay doesn’t stop. He uses his tongue to lick inside of Haytham, opening his mouth as wide as he can to push as much in. Haytham’s hard cock twitches and bobs with each movement from Shay, precum dripping onto his stomach. Every movement has Haytham panting and moaning noises he never thought he could admit. The bliss that pools over Haytham is something akin to being high.

He can feel Shay’s tongue go as far in as it can get, moving and pressing against the walls of his ass before coming back out. Just to do the same thing over again. Each pass of the tongue hits a bundle of nerve that has Haytham’s breath hitching every time. It’s so warm and Shay breathes heavily, concentrating on his work at hand.

He has never seen Shay’s werewolf form as a means for pleasure or sexual desire. But maybe they should have done this sooner. Just not during a blood moon next time.

Shay removes his tongue, having deemed it being enough. The emptiness Shay leaves behind is something Haytham has never felt such a burning desire to be filled again. But he gets his desire. Shay moves up and over Haytham, revealing the thick cock between the werewolf’s legs.

Haytham swallows thickly as Shay’s big hand hold him down by his shoulders. Painfully pinning him down. All Haytham can do is keep his legs open so that that thing can fit inside of him. Because at this point, he doesn’t think he can stop Shay. Nor does he want to stop.

Shay lines himself up and pushes in a little eagerly. He growls deep in his chest at the warm feeling of Haytham. He dives in deeper, rutting into Haytham bit by bit.

The stretch for Haytham punches the wind out of him instantly. He grips onto Shay’s wrist, not to push him off, but for some kind of support. It hurts. The more of Shay that Haytham takes, the more of the stretch and the fit is painful.

“Sh-ah ah! Shay,” Haytham tries to get through to him.

But it seems the rut of the blood moon has taken a stronger hold than before. Because his rhythm doesn’t stop. He keeps going, panting over the top of Haytham, grunting every now and again. Haytham’s ass is lifted into the air again as Shay gets a better angle to abuse it.

The size of Shay makes Haytham feel like he’s going to split in half. He feels so full. The pain is still there but it begins to feel a little too good, Shay’s saliva helping a lot. With each hard thrust, a moan is pushed out of Haytham as he’s moved up the floor little by little. They keep moving until Haytham’s head hits the base of the bed.

Shay keeps going, his pace quickening to something desperate. Haytham’s entire body feels like it’s on fire, his untouched dick leaking even more than before. Haytham brings a hand to his own cock, hissing at how sensitive he is. He uses his own precum to jerk himself quickly to Shay’s brutal pace. He can feel himself coming close, but he doesn’t know how much longer Shay is going to be at it for. He holds the base of his cock, hoping to hold out until Shay is done with him.

At that thought, Shay goes on for a few more blissful minutes. Haytham gets lost in the pleasure that makes his head a mess. Shay doesn’t let up once. Hitting that spot inside of Haytham that has his head spinning and has him being left breathless every single time. Haytham looses track of time. He gets lost in it all. And he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to hold out when Shay is finished.

Haytham comes in his stomach, his vision going spotty and black. He doesn’t know if he had his eyes shut or if the orgasm was just that good, but he’ll never know. But his orgasm rips through him like a storm, taking his breath away.

Shay keeps going, fucking him through it and it all becomes a bit too much. Haytham pants and groans as everything becomes sensitive. He can’t even touch his own dick. He holds onto Shay again, just hoping that that were’s stamina dies out soon enough.

Just as Haytham thinks that Shay is never going to stop, the werewolf growls deep in his chest as his movements stutter. He dives his cock deep into Haytham’s ass and fills him up. The hot, sticky sensation that fills Haytham has him catching his breath. It just feels like it keeps going. He can feel Shay’s dick pulsing inside of him, unloading himself until there’s nothing left. Until it’s seeping out of Haytham and onto the floor beneath him.

Haytham has trouble finding air as he falls limp on the floor. Shay slowly takes his softening cock out of him and lest Haytham lay on still. Haytham just hopes that Shay doesn’t need a round two any time soon tonight because this alone, has the more man spent.

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cinderswife · 3 months

Text

so um. did you know rose red ocs are fun to design and come up with lore for??? rose reds are insane i am having so much fun !!! a history of rose red generations and info on these poor bastards in particular under the cut <3

(oh, and the ages are at the end of the war for reference)

there are 5 distinct generations of rose reds created over the 32 years of war (not including briar, generation 0). the first three were separately developed from rose's base, but four and five were iterated from generation three.

also for the record i've decided to take a steven universe quartz soldier take on the way rose reds relate to each other in that they have 0 innate concept of family with each other. most rose reds have like. a co-workerly relationship with some Sisters In Arms although some elect to become Besties or Family or That Really Annoying Guy Who I Hate And Can't Get Rid Of, or in rare occasions, fall in love. this will be relevant to rusty and sparkler

generation 0

[not pictured, born/deployed 1 year after the wedding]

briar is gen 0. although there were years of R&D about clone soldiers prior to the rose reds' existence (cole had this idea in mind for a while), briar was the first actual example of one. she is the only clone to be rose's height; she was meant to be like. a baseline control group for the rest of 'em. she was a bit rushed in the memory department; miscommunications among the scientists meant that they kinda. assumed that porting original flavor rose's memories would suffice since this is a control group. also cole had really strict deadlines for the project for some ungodly reason so even though the timeline between rose's capture and briar's "birth" was a year and she was pretty good, she would've been better off with two or three or more.

generation 1

[rusty and sparkler deployed 2 years after the wedding]

gen 1 was even more of a rushed project; they had half finished notes and a year deadline for deployment. no wonder rusty, the prototype and the next briar, was so janky; they didn't have enough time to sort out all the issues, particularly in the memory department. she's got half of rose's memories and the ability to lie and they screwed up spaying her and there are bits of her body that aren't quite right from scaling up rose from 4'10" to 6'2". however, she passed muster well enough so generation 1 rose reds were made and deployed (with a few tweaks from rusty's base).

the gen 1 rose reds were very prone to nervous and/or violent and/or suicidal breakdowns. later waves of gen 1 were slightly better tweaked, but the methodology + technology used to handle the brain stuff did not take into account uh. rose's severe ptsd. they made the poor bastards with ptsd right out the gate unknowingly. this is the shortest average generation with an average height of about 6'3". gen 1 roses were good enough to tide over while more time was allocated to gen 2 research, but they weren't deployed in the same amounts as they would be in the future. general white's revolution was still in its infancy so it wasn't like. a huge deal. they just had to be super careful

rusty started life very confused but fully capable of Lying to the people who made her and expected her to be a placid soldier. as the prototype, she was often used as the control group for experiments on later prototype models while they worked out what worked and what didn't. while rusty was being like. tested and prodded and stuff, original flavor rose was in suspension so that they could get more samples from her. also og rose was kind of a lava lamp decoration

when rusty wasn't being watched, she was assumed to be still and unmoving. she actually started talking to rose-in-suspension to try and make sense of the half memories in her head and started developing her own conclusions. like what love was and what the wind felt like and extreme opinions about niche comics (for the record my rose + snow are closet nerds - rose has a collection of nichevintage superhero comics and snow is a huge film snob). the story she spun in her head about who rose was was a mess of red string and blurry images. ultimately, she came to the conclusion that she hated holding a gun, actually and that all this sucked but she didn't have enough life experience to have a good idea of how to go about it

rusty's salvation came in the form of another rose red, this time in the form of RR G10072 (later named sparkler). sparkler was one of those being prepared to be deployed on beaumont and was rapidly developing a personality trait, that being a desire for Arson. she wasn't as good of a liar as rusty but in the quiet secret times rusty would school her. they would develop something that was probably love based on half memories and "you and i are going to survive this together." sparkler was terrified of being found out as she'd watched others in her batch be terminated for other things

rusty and sparkler become the first known "rouge reds" though their existence is kept hidden from most. it wouldn't due to have people know that his majesty's new weapons are unstable after all (though what did they expect? rose was not an obedient soldier, she was a weapon you pointed in the direction of the kingdom you wanted gone and ducked for cover). sparkler begins to develop more personality in the form of Autism Flat Affect, a surprising love for both organizing and gambling, and. honestly more arson. someone gets on her case for her collection of fireworks and is like "hey sparkler girl" (rose reds aren't like. A Huge Thing Yet) and she's like. ah. a name.

rusty and sparkler are married and have a kid together named remi (not picture). she's one of the very few offspring from a rose red mostly because most rose reds are sterilized. they fucked it up for rusty cuz she's a janky prototype, something she only discovered when trying out "hm what is this man thing and what is romance with one." turns out she, like 95% of rose reds, is a whole lesbian lol but there were Unexpected Side Effects in the form of A Kid. which. now they had to figure what to do about that and ended up joining with the revolution for protection and also sparkler's arson/rusty's ship repair specialties. it. it sure went for them :) rusty recognized snow and that was Weird and Fucked Up and Bad. luckily she picked up snow's new name of "general mercymourn white" pretty quickly

generation 2

[piper and persephone, deployed 5 years after the wedding]

gen 2 was given decent time for r&d. these rose reds' dna was remade from scratch because generation 1 was so janky. because the production methods were good, they didn't have to waste so much time on those. they spent three years developing a decent prototype, known as prototype 0003. 0003 was not allowed to exist very long; once they ascertaind that she was functional and not janky like rusty they put her down. briar was a whisper myth and rusty was a known quantity. prototypes were too much of a risk.

gen 2 was far more functional. though they weren't nearly as brainwiped as later gens (particularly 4 and 5) they were loyal, obedient soldiers (for the most part). the average height rose to about 6'7" as they were figuring out better ways to improve the size and stature from rose's original Short As Hell. these are the ones that the rebellion first started engaging in combat in earnest, though they were still not a proper supplement to or replacement of the main army just yet. the big con that made them have to be redesigned over the next 8 years (though not one that was initially discovered) is that these poor saps were very malleable. just because they were brainwiped didn't mean they were loyal to the king for any reason other than they were told. if they were isolated it was easy to make them switch loyalties. the rebellion didn't cotton on to this fact until it was too late because general white refused to hear it.

piper got her nickname while still in the army. she was always singing which really, really annoyed her superior officer so they left her for dead after a battle. shockingly, she did not die! instead a pair of conmen overheard her singing herself to sleep (er. death but y'know) and were like "a rose red that sings??? we could make a killing off of this." they patched her up and rehabilitated her (aka. made her loyal to them and do everything they say) and marketed her as a travelling carnival exhibit. they also used her for free protection from the law and also other criminals. however she developed more of a personality and a feeling of "this sucks actually" so when a passing casino owner looking for a new entertainment draw and offered her a job she jumped on the chance

unfortunately, she's still being screwed over. he's the only guy who knows she's a rose red (she gained weight and curves and generally styles herself very femininely which throws most people off the track) so he uses it against her as blackmail. he pays her less than everyone else, witholds vital (if forged) documents from her, and generally makes her life a living hell. she picked up a second job as a bouncer for a nearby divebar which helps cover rent. she's very pretty but perpetually paranoid that someone will find out that she's a rose red and either kills her or turns her in or drives her out. she's slowly losing her mind

persephone is. well. so not her superior officer (jupiter) but her superior officer's coworker (pluto) fell in love with her, specifically. something about how she survived a lightning cannon and just her general personality quirks. she used to be sweet y'know, even despite the horrors. so with jupiter's permission, pluto kidnapped persephone and took her deep, deep underground.

she basically was plutos personal attack dog/trophy wife while they built up an underground criminal empire. it was Bad. she did learn a lot of things about brutal leadership and being in a shit situtation. eventually she snapped and killed pluto, taking their place as the new Big Name Crime Lord on the block. she rules the undercity with an iron fist, although her favorite venture is her collection of illicit speakeasies. she is very proud of being a rose red and sometimes wishes she could go back to that life. however, she's got a really good gig going and she refuses to let it slip through her hands. real queen of hearts energy tbh

her theme song is "our lady of the underground" from hadestown :3

generation 3

[old rosie (canon/not pictured) and rosenrot, deployed 13 years after the wedding]

after the fatal flaw in gen 2 was discovered they had to start from scratch /again/. this time however, they had plenty of time to work it out. they went through prototypes 004 - 011 until they had one that was perfect in every way. they put her down after she was done being useful of course. at this point it was mostly superstition not to keep the prototypes around even though these ones were perfectly loyal. gen 3 is considered the golden generation from the ones designed directly from rose's dna + brain scans : a perfect balance of loyalty and competence.

gen 3 is the longest lasting generation as it lasted for 10 years. they'd tweak the dna over the years as new breakthrough came to light, but they didn't need to remake them. this is the gen where the rose reds got the nickname giants as they now averaged about 7 feet. they're extremely effective soldiers and are very difficult to get to change loyalties due to being Poor Brainwashed Bastards. hardcore programming wouldn't fully show up until the later waves. this is when rose reds got made in their hundreds of thousands. the rebellion was actively a threat now and they needed to defend the empire.

old rosie was from an earlier wave of gen 3 and lasted for a very, very long time compared to all the others. as for rosenrot, well...

rosenrot is a patchwork rose red. she wasn't at first, but she was the best of her batch and kept surviving. every time she lost something, it would be taken from one of her squad and put on her. skin, ears, eyes, hair, even entire limbs. it got to the point where she couldn't tell where she ended and her sisters began. they started referring to themselves in the plural and got what could only be described as "a little touched in the head." that being said, they still fought well so they were kept around. when they were the last rose red in the squad left and were due to be reassigned, they fucked off into the woods never to be seen again

to this day, no one knows what happened to them. there's lots of local urban legends and rumors and whatnot; some claim to see them at the river, others at the full moon, but no concrete evidence. the nice ending is that a lesbian in a cottage found them and took them in. the realistic ending is that they died in the woods. the most likely ending is that they're still out there, surviving in the woods, never able to escape being a patchwork of all her sisters but unwilling to die.

also the name rosenrot came about from a misunderstanding; they were stationed on a germanic planet and all the rose reds were called that because it's a literal translation of rose red. as the only one left, rosenrot kinda assumed that was their name. it's also what the locals call them as a cryptid. just kind of a weirdo

generation 4

[buck, deployed 23 years after the wedding]

considered to be the best generation; they still had plenty of resources to make millions of 'em and were an improvement on generation 3. the best part was that they found a clone who was perfect to iterate off of (unnamed but not old rosie, she was missing a few vital tweaks) so they didn't have to start from scratch again. they went through a couple dozen prototypes in the process of creating them (012-042) but by this time prototyping + putting them down was rote.

gen 4 was involved in the long, drawn out part of the war. they remained at an average of 7 feet tall though they had some proportional tweaks to make them more functional. these rose reds had very little chance at free will, only fighting. only ever fighting. the pop culture image of a rose red post-war is a gen 4 one considering how many were made compared to the first three generations. poor suckers, they never had a chance.

as for buck poor thing got sold to a redbaiting (illegal rose red dogfighting) ring by her superior officers for a bit of cash for booze and gambling. they didn't like her anyways lol she didn't get along with the rest of her squad. turns out they should've asked for way more $$$ because buck's tenacity and nimbleness kept her from losing which basically meant she kept winning. she's been doing this for about 7 years and shows no sign of stopping. all of her scars come from her time in the ring and were inflicted by other rose reds. she has... a very high level of aggression towards other rose reds (slightly innate but also beaten into her)

however, he's the prize champion! this comes with things like an entire showdog style name (QIC Heirloom Bucksin Jacket), he/him pronouns, and some extra special treatment. he's very chill around civilians (if afraid of her handlers) so he's often like. put on display in the top box like a dog. he's very, very dehumanized. he's gonna need hella therapy to be a normal person. what a guy.

generation 5

[farrier. deployed 27 years after the wedding]

this generation is unique as their differences come not from new base dna but from a sudden lack of resources. the rebels finally got the intel on what resources were needed to make rose reds (previously they'd only been destroying factories which made 2 more pop up in its place) and were able to control/destroy it. the crown was forced to make do with less and worse resources and were desparately trying to keep up with how massive the rebellion was as over the past decade or so they'd been relying pretty heavily on rose reds instead of enlisted/drafted forces. rose reds were just. better at being soldiers. they went through a handful of prototypes (043-051) but those were mostly "all right what's the best we can do with the resources on hand."

gen 5 roses are as functional as they can be. they're basically worse versions of gen 4; though equally brainwashed and technically capable, their bodies and minds tend to degrade pretty quickly. this is especially so the more combat they face. they're fast and cheap and hardly the quality they used to be made at. very few gen 5 rose reds survived to see the end of the war because of how badly they were made.

farrier is a gen 5 rose red! she's one of the extremely few who never saw combat because she was a guard model stationed at a super remote outpost so she degraded a lot more slowly. there were a lot of wild horses around so she developed the single trait of "i like horses :)" after the war, she was given the opportunity to be like. a test subject for "can we like. make gen 5 rose reds more stable so we can rehabilitate them?" she said yes because. she'd get to see more horses. she has a very limited view of the world she may have been made for war but what war is there when. Creatures.

she does succeed in having a somewhat more normal lifespan, though still shortened compared to the others. she gets really involved in like. horse things when being rehabilitated. in particular she takes up smithing so she can become a farrier (guy who forges horseshoes). she is just. horse girl rose red extraordinaire the other rose reds Do Not Relate. At All.

she accidentally becomes the gold standard of rose red rehabilitation cuz. honestly she becomes a relatively functioning member of society. but also she only had the trauma of the inherent horror of being made a rose red she's like. vibing??? she has rose's very blase attitude to a lot of things and although she can hold her own in a fight she doesn't seek it out at all. gentle giant. her minders love her so so much

i think she winds up in a weird small rural town somewhere. she's not good with the other rose reds ("damn that sucks" is not an appropriate reaction to the other rose reds talking about the horrors of war and she just. she's not like them. it's not her fault of course she's just. different) and most of the people around her during her rehabilitation period are very politically opinionated and farrier just cannot bring herself to care. however. although its a bit of a weird transition at first she gets along really well with the people of the town she moves into. they needed a farrier anyways and even if it's a bit odd that its her name instead of just her job she's chill. she's vibing. the kids love her. she gets her own horse <3

there's some intense debate in the beginning about whether to accept her because she's a rose red, though this town never... saw the war? like it happened around them but not in their town y'know? but she proves herself when she rescues the mayor's kid from being lost in the woods and almost eaten by a wild animal. she's socially awkward but learning what friendliness is. occasionally she has weird nightmares that are og rose's memories or just. the horrors of being a rose red. but she takes out her frustration with those by swinging a hammer really hard at hot metal. she's got coping mechanisms <3

#the mechanisms #mechs ocs #ouatis #once upon a time in space #planet's doodles #planet's worldbuilding #oc: rusty wrench #oc: sparkler wrench #oc: piper summers #oc: persephone #oc: rosenrot #oc: buck #oc: farrier hoofwise

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saucy-sassy-sparkly · 1 year

Text

Moments: a 2013 drabble

Pairings: Chris Evans x reader

Word Count: ~2.5k

Warnings: none

Note: Just a little something to tide ya over for a while :) Happy holidays everyone, hoping to have part seven to you after the new year as well as some new things I've been working on AND a return to Flight 1311 that I paused when I started expanding Moments.

Moments Masterlist

2013: DC/Boston/on location

Chris started at his phone, trying to convince himself that if he looked at it hard enough, it would ring. He’d been doing this off and on for the last 15 minutes. If he was honest with himself, he’d been doing it since he woke up. His nerves were frayed, he’d had to cancel two other phone meetings today to have his phone free. But now, it was closing in on 7 pm and it was getting harder to breathe.

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“What time?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Y/N, are you going to call?”

“I love you, but I’m hanging up right now. I need to think and I can’t do that when I’m this mad at you.”

He convinced himself to set his phone down long enough to get dinner together. If she’d waited this long, he wouldn’t miss it in the time it took to heat the meal that the nutritionist had prepared. Bumbling around the kitchen he crashed into drawers he left partially open and things fumbled out of his hands. He could hardly see straight; he was so worked up. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop himself from glancing at the kitchen island to see if the screen had lit up.

24 hours earlier, he’d woken up in Y/N’s apartment. The weekend he’d envisioned while he stood at Lowe’s and had a spare key made was much different than what had panned out. He’d pictured hugging and giggling and googling interior design changes. He’d pictured making love and whispering sweet nothings while they worked towards this new stage in their relationship.

He had not pictured the argument.

“Chris,” Y/N paced her bedroom, her hands running through her hair, “I just don’t understand how you can think this isn’t a lot to put on me.”

“And I don’t understand why you won’t see that this is the way it has to be!” Chris snapped back. He was sitting on the end of her bed watching her pace back and forth.

“Why is this how it has to be? Because you make more money than me? Because your job is more important than mine? You know I love Lisa, but I don’t want to work at the theater. I want to do my job with my clients and come home to my apartment with my friends. You’re asking me to move my entire life and you want me to do it immediately.”

“I didn’t say any of that other stuff. And I didn’t say immediately.”

Y/N dropped her hands to her sides and they slapped aggressively on her thighs, making a loud smack, “you’re right, you said in 10 weeks when your filming is wrapped and you’re settled back in Boston. Excuse me, that’s not immediately.” Sarcasm dripped off of every word.

“Why is this so awful? I want a future with you, Y/N, and I want it to start as soon as possible.”

“Don’t try to make me the bad guy here because I’m holding my ground.”

“So I’m the bad guy?”

“No one is the bad guy!” She cried while real tears filled her eyes, “This is just so like you. You’re so impulsive and you’re so passionate and fuck if I don’t love both of those things about you but not when it comes to my entire life. You dropped this on me within an hour of being here and then it’s been a cloud over the whole weekend. We get so little time together, Chris, I just wish this could’ve gone differently.” Y/N winced as soon as the words were out of her mouth. She didn’t mean to make it sound like such criticism. This was just so overwhelming. She’d thought this weekend would be a lovefest before he finished out his latest project. She hadn’t anticipated this massive change of plans and she really wasn’t ready to drop her whole life for him.

“Okay, so if you don’t want to move in with me, you could’ve just said no. You don’t have to call me an impulsive passionate bad guy who ruins our time together.” Chris knew he was laying it on thick, but he was hurt. He truly thought Y/N would agree immediately and jump into his arms while they celebrated.

He hadn’t thought about what he was asking her to do. He thought about how it impacted him– she’d said as much the day before and they’d agreed to put a pin in the conversation until now so they could enjoy the time they had.

But now, his flight back home was in three hours, and she hadn’t given him an answer. Rather than admit that he was hurt and sad, he dug his heels in; unfortunately, his girlfriend was equally stubborn.

“Let me be clear,” she came to stand in front of him and he resisted the urge to put his hands on her waist. She was in her short, fuzzy bathrobe and her long legs were calling his name. The belt around her waist was cinched tightly but in her pacing and flailing, her cleavage was more exposed. Chris forced himself to focus on her face. That beautiful face he’d loved for forever. The same one that was crushing him right now as he thought about the rejection she might give him, “I love you, Christopher,” she put her hands on his shoulders and he took the invitation to touch her waist and pull her in between his legs, “and I’m not trying to make you feel bad or to make this seem like I don’t want to live with you. I’m just begging you to see this from my perspective. I love my apartment, I love my job, I love my friends, and I love my life here. To change all of that is a big deal and I need to think about it.”

“So you’re saying no?” He asked quietly.

“I’m saying no right now,” she clarified. “I’m saying no this weekend. But really I’m saying give me time to think it through and figure out what I want.”

Chris nodded. On some level, he did understand that this was a significant life change that she should have the time to process. He’d had the time to think about it and how it would change his life, so he needed to give her that time.

“Can you just let me bring it up again? When I’m ready to talk it through with you, I’ll bring it up. I need you not to push it right now.”

“I can respect that,” he nodded again and gladly accepted the kiss she leaned in to give him.

He had, however, not respected that.

Y/N dropped him at the airport and they said an awkward goodbye by the car; she’d kissed him but they’d both felt the strain. He’d flown home and called her when he got there. The whole flight and drive back with his mom, he’d thought about everything. He had another few days in Boston where he had a few odds and ends to take care of before he went back to location and in the car running errands he’d called her. He’d apologized profusely and she’d been grateful for his understanding.

And yet even with such a productive, mature conversation with his partner, he couldn’t help himself. He’d still said, “So when do you think you’ll have a decision.”

Y/N’s response had been terse and tried to change the subject, asking for him to respect her process.

He’d pushed again, saying, “I just want you here as soon as possible.”

That hadn’t been the right sentiment and had led to her frustration and hanging up and now here he was, standing at the kitchen counter eating boiled chicken and broccoli and hating every bite while he stared at his phone. After he’d finished the plate, rinsed it in the sink, and loaded it in the dishwasher, he came back to the phone to a text notification. Frantically he swiped through the screen to find messages from Y/N.

Y/N: i’m not ready to talk today Y/N: i love you, i’m just really frustrated Y/N: i don’t want to argue with you. it won’t be productive if we talk tonight

Chris wanted to cry. He also wanted to throw his phone across the room as hard as possible. He was mad at Y/N and mad at himself and mad that none of this went the way he’d thought it would.

Chris: ok. i love you. call me when you’re ready

Her replay came quickly: of course, babe 💕

Y/N set her phone on her nightstand and twisted the gem of her sweatshirt— Chris’s sweatshirt— between her fingers. She was so angry with him that she could hardly stand it.

The last six months had been a whirlwind of love and passion. Chris’s energy was contagious and they’d gotten quickly wrapped up in their love. She loved him so fiercely and would be lying if she said it wasn’t what she wanted: moving in, building a real life that wasn’t out of hotel rooms and suitcases, planning for a future together. But it was just so fast. And Chris had a habit of hoping she’d yield to him.

She didn’t think it was intentional and she knew part of it came with the territory. No one does well in Hollywood without a little vanity and selfishness. He was always asking her to travel- often offering to pay and make all the arrangements, but still asking her to come to him. He liked things his way and he liked things on his terms. She usually held her ground and found that it was something he liked about her. Y/N had her own mind and her own passions and she wanted to be heard. She didn’t want to just be his girlfriend. She’d worked too hard in her career, her hobbies, and her friendships to just roll over and let him push.

And he usually respected that. When she punched back, it usually woke him up and they’d talk and find a compromise. But this was huge; they'd never had to compromise on something this significant and life-changing. And he hadn’t thought about her changed at all. It was clear in their conversations about it that he didn’t want his world to change.

Y/N knew that he saw her as more than a bed warmer but it was hard not to feel that way when he’d so cavalierly suggested she move to Boston as casually as one might suggest having pizza instead of sushi for dinner.

If he didn’t see her and think about her perspective in something like this, what about when it came to marriage? Or kids? Or illness? Or jobs? Or any other major life event.

Her heart ached and she reached for her phone. She needed to tell him no. She needed him to understand the weight this put on her. Instead, she let herself scroll through pictures and remember moments in time- their stolen moments as a couple. They didn’t get to just be together. They were always between his locations or her work schedule.

If she moved in with him… they could have Sunday mornings together every weekend. There were plenty of children in need of a good therapist in Boston. She loved his family and hers would love the excuse to travel. If she could make long-distance work with a movie star she could make it work with her friends…

But if she moved she’d have to quit her practice that she loved and set her clients up with other therapists. She’d have to give up her beautiful apartment. She’d have to change her entire life while all he had to do was add her name to the mailbox and make some space in his already spacious closet.

They’d text each day, but between him getting ready to go back to set for the home stretch of filming, and trying to respect Y/N’s request for space, it was four days before Chris’s phone lit up with Y/N’s contact photo.

“Bunny,” he was breathless when he answered the phone; he’d practically sprinted across his rental apartment to snatch it off the counter.

“Hey,” her voice was quiet and Chris’s heart started to thunder in his chest. She was silent for a long moment and then said, “I missed your voice.”

A sigh of relief escaped Chris before he replied, “I missed yours too. How’s it going, honey?”

“I’m ready to talk.”

“Okay,” he was afraid to bring up the move, so he waited for her to continue on her own.

She took a deep breath, “my lease is up May 31.”

He didn’t speak right away and when Y/N didn’t either, he pressed, “that’s in two months.”

“I know,” she paused, “it seems silly to renew my lease if I’m going to end up moving.”

His heart pounded, but he tried to be casual, “so what are you thinking?”

“I want to move in with you,” Y/N’s voice was quiet, “if you’ll still have me.”

“Is it too soon to make jokes? Because I have jokes.”

She laughed, but said, “maybe not quite yet. I know that it's basically the timeline you were thinking of anyway, and it still feels really fast to me. I’ve been trying to think of a way to do this without rushing in and I only have two ideas. One: I find a place and rent it. I can sign a short lease and find a job and we can be nearby and see how that goes.”

Chris could deal with that. Of course, he wanted her at his house. He’d sell this house and find another home with her if that’s what she wanted. He would live in a tent in the woods for the rest of his life if it meant he got to be with her. But he held his breath while she kept talking.

“Option two is all in. I sell or give away most of my stuff, I don’t re-up my lease, I quit my job and start sending my resume to clinics up there.”

“Do you want me to listen or give my opinion?”

Y/N grinned, forgetting he couldn’t see her, “what a perfect response.”

“Well, which do you want?” He was practically panting he was so worked up.

“I want your opinion. Do you think it's smart to go all in or should we try living in the same zip code first? Or should we just for it?”

He tried not to rush his words but they came tumbling out fairly quickly nonetheless, “All in. Please." The prolonged silence made sweat prickle on his hairline. She'd asked for his opinion but she was now silent and he could hear the rustle of her movement on the other end of the line. Chris's phone started to vibrate in his hand and he saw that Y/N was requesting to switch to FaceTime; he accepted quickly and rested her on a pillow next to him.

"Hey, handsome," she cooed, her cozy set up by the window of her apartment back in place, her hair in a messy bun on her head, and her beautiful body wrapped in his sweatshirt. "I needed to see your face."

"You're killing me here, Bun," he admitted, trying to grin but knowing it was more a grimace.

She played coy, "why?"

"Y/N," he said quickly-- a rare occurrence, he seldom called her by her full name. "Come on."

"What, babe?" She was trying and failing to resist giggling and grinning. He wanted to settle his mind: he needed to hear her say it.

"What about the move?"

"Oh that," she took a long sip from the mug she was holding and took her time setting it on the windowsill before turning back to the camera. "I already told my landlord that I'm not renewing my lease."

Chris held his breath, "really?"

"I'm all in, too, Chris."

Taglist: @bellaireland1981 @before-we-get-started @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @elrw244 @maylaysia109 @royalwritersoftheuniverses

#chrisevans #chris evans x you #chris evans x reader #chris evans fic #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fanfic #chris evans #chris evans drabble #chris evans series

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thevampirecat · 8 months

Note

This might be a longshot, but would you ever consider finishing or even writing a few more chapters for Part 3 of the Ballads for a Dead Man series? I’m a new Kastle fan and just recently discovered your writing and have spent the past week binging this particular series… you’ve seriously created an incredible piece of work with such beautifully wrought characters. I finished Chapter 33 of Be my saviour and I’ll be your downfall a few days ago and just reread certain scenes over and over because

It's actually not a long shot and you actually got me at a very interesting time.

I know it's been a while since I updated and I know I haven't exactly been active in the fandom (or any fandom) for a while. I have a multitude of reasons for this, some personal and some more related to fandom in general (not you Kastle fandom, you are always the best), but recently (and I do mean very recently) I have had some interesting changes happening in my life and I'm feeling pretty inspired at the moment to the point that I have in fact dusted off my documents and started working on the next chapter. I've also started working on the next chapter of my Kastle pirate fic, so who knows what might happen?

But yes, I really want to carry on with it. I really think it deserves it. Not making any promises regarding the timeframe but things are definitely happening.

Thanks for the message and hopefully my other Kastle stuff can tide you over for a bit as well. If not, maybe this gif will help :)

#thank you lovely person

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tracingpatternswrites · 16 days

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20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thanks for the tag @theresthesnitch! This looks like the perfect distraction right now.

Username: TracingPatterns

1. How many works do you have on A03?

122 works across all fandoms.

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count?

1,021,394

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Mainly Harry Potter, mostly Marauders.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Playing with Fire

Of Quiet Hearts and Thundering Dreams

Wilder than Mountain Thyme

Countdown

Hungry Moon

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try! It might take me a while but I do always try to respond to all comments that I get.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Oh dear, this was actually a pretty difficult choice. Many of my fics are quite angsty now that I think about it, but if we disregard the canon stuff, I think I'd say As The Tide Pulls.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I have a lot of fics with happy endings too. I'd say that most of my long fics end happily, but I think I would pick Wilder than Mountain Thyme just because I feel like it ends with hope and possibility.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Sometimes, but really not all that much. I did once have someone write a whole 'clapback fic' (their own words) based on one of my fics though so that was... interesting.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Er, yes? I mean. Absolutely yes. All kinds? Seriously, I mostly write M/M sprinkled in with some M/M/M. I love to write kink so I do that a lot, but there's some 'vanilla' stuff in there too.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

No, never.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Someone once told me that one of my fics had been copied onto Wattpad as part of some sort of collection but by the time I went to look at it, it seemed to be gone. So. Maybe?

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have! I've written wonderful things together with my friends and I love, love, love co-writing. It's so much fun!

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

I think I have to say Wolfstar just because it's the one I keep coming back to again and again and again. However, I do have a very soft spot for a lot of other ships as well.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I have so many ideas and my absolute aim is to finish most of them. However, I think the one I'm furthest away from completing is the one I started for the candyheart challenge last year.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I don't know. Smut maybe 😅 I feel like other people can answer this question better. I think I'm pretty good at working out plot holes. Most of the time that's a good thing, but sometimes it makes me get stuck on silly details. I'm good at angst too, I think.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Writing scenes with more than two people is a constant struggle for me. I think humour is another weakness, crack fic is not my thing.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I think that's fine, and I've definitely done it, but I'm quite picky with how to use it. Also, always ask for help from a native speaking. Google Translate is not your friend.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Lord of the Rings (but those are looooooong gone, I can tell you that much).

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

This is an impossible question and I honestly don't know. I am honestly proud of a lot of fics that I've written. But alright, to be honest I think it might be a tie.

Wilder than Mountain Thyme because it's the most self-indulgent thing I have ever written. I poured my heart into that fic, and I'm really proud of the world building and the characters.

over blackened water because I think this is one of the best things I've written and I keep making myself cry whenever I re-read it.

Open tag - if you want to do this then please do! But I'm also passing on a no-pressure tag to @heartofspells, @puuvillaa, @mundrakan and @soloorganaas. I'm sorry if any of you have already done this and I've missed it!

#20 questions #q&a #random fun

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danielfeketewrites · 4 months

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DOCTOR WHO TOP 10 - 5th Doctor

And now for the fifth Doctor...

Oh, dammit! It's 2024 already... Can we just pretend that I managed to do all of these in 2023, like I originally intended?

10. The Tides of Time

A big epic at the start of the fifth Doctor's DWM run, Tides goes to some weird places and I really like it for that.

9. Omega

While I think it's safe to call it the weakest of the 40th anniversary villains trilogy, I still think it's bloody good and Nev Fountain isn't appreciated enough.

8. The Curse of the Scarab

As a nerd who's into film history, I really think Doctor Who should be doing stuff like this more often. I really love this one. It's the start of the Ground Zero Threshold arc. It's also probably my fave out of that arc.

7. Enlightenment

Doctor Who trilogy finales... aren't necessarily bad but they usually aren't the best. The Last of the Time Lords, Hell Bent, Castrovalva, The Giggle... I don't think any of these stories are bad and they all have their fans. I personally like most of the stories I just mentioned. But I'd wager finding Doctor Who fans that love them over both of the preceding parts of their respective trilogies would not be an easy task.

That's not the case with this one. Enlightenment is rich, lovely, vivid, well-written, and just overall really great. It's a crime that Barbara Clegg never wrote another Doctor Who story...

6. The Caves of Androzani

I think everyone knows that Caves is amazing. It's only at number six because I feel there are two TV stories with Five that manage to do something more interesting... And also there's some eu stuff that I need to shout out like the pretentious eu fan that I am...

5. The Elite

Sike! You thought there weren't other Barbara Clegg Doctor Who stories? Ha! Alright, it's not actually a Big Finish story by Barbara Clegg. It's written by John Dorney but adapted from an unmade TV script written by Clegg. Trust me - this one is a masterpiece.

4. The Moderator

After Dave Gibbons had left DWM, the comic strip was stuck in a rut imo. The stories just sort of waddle around... But not this one. No, the last fifth Doctor comics to be released during his era is an absolute blast. An outpouring of neat ideas, masterfully illustrated by Steve Dillon. I would be lying if I said that it's the most well-plotted thing ever... But I love this one to bits anyway.

3. Kinda

Gonna hand over the next two entries to people who are slightly more qualified...

"Kinda above all things. You give actual drama to actors and you see what they can do with Doctor Who. It's head and shoulders over most of the things around it. In the 1980s, fanzine writers spent a lot of time trying to decode it. But the whole point of drama is to get your mind working and to get you involved in the mystery and to do a bit of work. Kinda is functioning on the level of a Play for Today, which is so completely different to where Doctor Who was at the time."

-Paul Cornell, DWM 542, p. 31 (New Who writers on their favourite 1980s Doctor Who scripts)

2. Snakedance

"Snakedance manages to be even cleverer than Bailey's Kinda the year before. I was 12 years old when it was broadcast, and the brilliant ways it plays upon the 20th anniversary's nostalgia, upon the way the Doctor is perceived - and the shocks, and the wit - had a profound effect on me. I remember watching it over and over on my parents' new VCR machine, and deciding I wanted to be a writer."

-Robert Shearman, DWM 542, p. 31 (New Who writers on their favourite 1980s Doctor Who scripts)

1. Circular Time

Admittedly, I'm cheating a bit with this one. It's four stories in a trench coat. But they all deserve the top spot and I'll explain why.

Confession: I used to really dislike the fifth Doctor. While Peter Davison is brilliant, I always thought his Doctor was a bit... flavour-less? Beige? Not that interesting? Most of this top 10 is formed by eu stories, so you can already see that I'm also not a big fan of this era as a whole. Even the really popular ones like The Five Doctors or Earthshock don't do much for me. So yeah, I was a fifth Doctor hater.

Then I fell in love with the fifth Doctor because of Circular Time. Well, specifically because of 'Autumn', which made me reconsider basically everything about the fifth Doctor. But I don't think 'Autumn' would work as well if it wasn't a part the larger patchwork. 'Spring' gives us a peak at the rules of regeneration and Time Lord politics that feels unique and intriguing 17 years later. 'Summer' is a historical romp that deals with the inherent anachronicity of the Doctor. And 'Winter' reframes this incarnation's final destination in a way that's cold and dark, yet sweet and hopeful. Together, these stories radically shifted my perspective on the fifth Doctor. You owe it to yourself to give them a listen.

#doctor who #5th doctor #fifth doctor #top 10 #doctor who eu #dfpost #60th anniversary

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whump-town · 2 years

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Truth

I've been working on and off on this for like months but for some reason today I actually finished it. So here is post-route 66 stuff with Derek, jack, and hotch (jess too!!) 5k words

No pairings, Derek is just babysitting

It’s purely instinctual, all intuition not profiling as she might accuse it to be. He hasn’t asked her any carefully guided questions or watched for behavioral patterns – he just knows. He knows because he knows her as well as she knows him and she doesn’t need profiling to know him. Besides, profiling around a morphine brain is dangerous, laborious work. It clouds his mind with fears and assumptions. Everything looks like anger and disappointment, he learned a long time ago to hold his tongue in hospitals. He can’t really understand how people aren’t mad at him, at the blood that seeps through gauze or tight hot stitches holding his thin skin together. Logically, he knows they’re not mad at him but he meets their eyes and that logic fades into an immediate panic, into gut-rotting fear. And he can only sit with that rot for so long before his sad eyes drag up from where he’s staring passively at the overwashed blanket across his hips to whisper, “I’m sorry.”

Jessica withholds the sigh that attempts to slip so gracefully right between her lips. She’s exhausted even though she hasn’t really done a thing all day. She’s been here, curled up in his visitor’s chair, watching nurses come and go. His face is flush, his breathing agitated from laying here coming in and out of morphine dreams.

She squeezes his hand, “you’re alright, Aaron. You didn’t do anything wrong.” They’ve had this conversation already, three times. He’s being weaned off post-op drugs but they wash over him in tides that leave him either in the pits of dissociation or looking at her with this sad look. “I’m tired,” she bargains in place of a more complicated conversation. “And I know you are, just rest.”

He’s starting to get restless – makes an agitated sound in the back of his throat. He shifts his head around and looks from one half of the room to the other. He does this every few minutes as if searching the dark corners for some invasive but elusive threat. “You should –” his throat is still raw from intubation and he swallows painfully. He clears his throat unsuccessfully, “you should go home.”

Jessica hates the quiet sickness that holds him down, the weakness that comes from being torn open and sustaining only on what can be given to his body through IV. She looks away from him, his eyes have already started drifting as he fights a new wave of exhaustion. His hand is so cold on her own. Its size is large but thin, the skin discolored into a chilled purple and agitated to roughness. The IV sits in his right hand, a clear bandage holding it’s place firmly.

“I’ll go home when you go home.”

It takes three days. He’s in and out of consciousness, coming to on shuddering breaths. He’s tense and miserable in the hospital but nothing can be done. It’s the hospital, Jessica knows, but she can’t take him home alone. She needs someone stronger to help him upright. She could do it on her own, he will stand and fight his way upright, but she needs someone who he’ll let help him. Who is stronger than he is – and while she can best him in stubbornness, she’s not physically strong enough to manhandle him.

Derek steps into the room just after Jess could have really used his help. It’s not his fault, he’s strangely punctual if Aaron’s complaints hold up (but she does suspect he simply choses things to be annoyed with whether they are factual or just dramatized versions of the truth to fit his need).

Jess rolls her eyes as he greets her, her face hidden by her hair as she crouches by the bed and shoves the laces of Aaron’s sneakers down into his shoe. Fucking bastard walking in here after she’s done all the hard stuff, looking like a million dollars with his fashy white smile and muscles. Stupid hot men.

“I’m being discharged,” Hotch informs Derek, curt and to the point. An air of finality about him. Even as he sits here in grey sweat pants he’s owned for twenty years too many and feet dangling over the edge of the bed, the ease in which he slips into SSA Hotchner is transformative. He doesn’t need the clothes to be the agent, it’s this look. This pinched, inquisition that reeks of the impression of time constraint. Like even as he’s looking at you, paying attention to you, you are aware he’s not got all day. Say what you need and be on your way.

Derek smiles, easy and charming. “I know that.”

His eyes flick to Jessica, it’s a quick movement but that’s all Hotch needs. He’s being conspired against. Ganged up on. So much for respect. For fairness. Unjust, cruel. They’re so mean.

“Oh stop pouting,” Jessica reaches out and swats his shoulder, hardly a graze. He’s not. “Scoot to the edge of the bed so Derek can get you in this wheelchair and we can get the hell out of here.”

He’s not pouting.

_____________

Jack finds it slightly mesmerizing.

Sitting in the hallway, leaning into the shadow, Jack watches the small congregation gather tighter around his father. They’re like swarming bees – humming with a dangerous life force, a quick way to get hurt. He hugs his knees a little closer to his chest, tilts just a little so he can see them better but remains where they cannot see him. It must be a genetic thing, a Hotchner thing, to be able to hide away like this. If Hotch could turn it on he certainly would but his defenses are down, drowning in medications and the giant painfully yellow FALL RISK bracelet hugging his wrist. Jack can see it now as Hotch puts up a weak fight, feet dragging as he attempts and fails a sturdier step in the direction of his bedroom. He doesn’t want to sleep on the couch, he’s tired of being watched and being unguarded. He wants his room with his blankets and his black-out curtains. He’s vetoed easily.

Jack watches curiously. His father is so typically casual and in control, seeing him like this is peculiar.

Hotch whines, he certainly grumbles and pouts, as Derek moves his hands from suggestively guiding to moving. Hotch is exhausted, too tired, and too weak to fight Derek’s stronger arms pushing his hips to pivot. “Morgan,” he grumbles, attempting to outrank the other man, but he has such little say in this. His hand tightens on Derek, legs protesting so much movement and body now at a point that it’s calling quits. He needs to sit now or find a better residence napping on the floor. And with that realization, his eyes fill with tears. He just wants to sleep in his bed.

“Sorry,” Derek offers lamely, thinking the tears are from pain. He’s not wrong but he’s just not right either. “We’re almost there.”

Jack has seen his father cry. His aunts and uncles have a strange impression of his father, one he doesn’t really know how to identify. The sight of Hotch’s tears makes Derek uncomfortable and Jack wonders why. His father cries all the time. Chopping onions. Watching Pixar movies. Looking at Jack’s baby pictures. He’s kind of a crybaby. Jack feels bad when his father cries but he’s not made uncomfortable by the sight of his father crying. Derek is clearly uncomfortable. Willing to do anything to make the sudden downpour stop.

Derek guides him down on the couch, arms holding Hotch upright while Derek makes quick work of moving pillows where they’ll hold his sore body more tenderly. “You okay?” he asks, easing Hotch’s stiff shoulders down. He moves Hotch’s legs slowly, lifting them from the floor and pausing when Hotch cries out. His lips are pressed thin and tight but the sound burst out of him, above what he can control. The movement in his hips agitated the electric burn going on inside his head.

Jack flinches at the sound. His eyes widen, suddenly unable to tear his eyes away. This is the aspect of his father’s life he’s been so carefully shielded from. He knows his father has pains. There are summer days they spend in the A/C, his father sleeping for hours at a time and getting up only to make Jack food. He knows that’s pain. The stiffness in the way he walks. The arm he holds to his chest. He’s seen his father’s face covered in black and blue bruises. Watched him guard broken ribs. Nurse dislocated shoulders. But he’s been saved from the pain. Jack knows very little of his father’s pain and fears.

Derek turns, thinking he’ll find an instant reprieve from big, sad eyes, and finds Jack. “Hey, kid.” He stops a moment and pulls the couch’s throw blanket around Hotch’s shoulders. Thrown for a moment by Hotch’s closed eyes, the tears on his eyelashes, and his slow even breathing. He’s already asleep. Or at least trying to fake his way there.

Fuck.

Derek awkwardly smiles. He’s great with kids, he’s fucking fantastic with his nephews, but he wasn’t expecting mini-Hotch to be gloomily glaring from the shadows. “I think Garcia made your dad some chocolate pudding. You want some?”

Jack is all blonde hair and blue eyes, he looks like Haley, but he’s a Hotchner through and through. He shakes his head, resting his chin on his drawn-up knees, presses his grimacing lips into his knees. Haley had taken him to speech therapy when he was two. He could speak but he did so ill-frequently. It wasn’t that he couldn’t speak, he just hadn’t felt the need to. Even now, Jack says very little. Even when he’s happy.

“Are you sure?” Derek tries anyway. “There’s a can of whipped cream, I’ll let you eat it right out of the can and JJ brought strawberries. We could–”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Oh,” Derek frowns. Derek has had years of practice in this area – in fighting stubborn asses. Usually just with the bigger, meaner Hotchner but the mini version can’t be harder. “Is there a snack you’d like instead?” Jack shakes his head. “Anything, kid. You could have ice cream for dinner.”

Jack shrugs one little shoulder and looks away. “I’m not hungry,” he mumbles, “my stomach hurts.”

Oh. Derek nods, “my stomach has been hurting a lot too.” Big Hotchner would never be this easy to work with. “You know,” Derek offers, smiling, “I have the perfect remedy for that.”

Derek had a lot of stomach aches as a child. It’s really not the same reasoning but it’s the same idea. While Derek’s mother could not pinpoint a reason for her son’s anguish, Derek can identify Jack’s. He knows that pain. That uncertainty.

“Hot chocolate?” Jack asks, tone and facial expression matching his father’s. He’s unimpressed.

This scrutiny Derek knows how to deal with. He smirks at Jack, shaking his head. Poor kid is going to be just like his dad. “Yeah,” Derek smiles, “you don’t like hot chocolate?”

Of course, Jack likes hot chocolate. He wants hot chocolate but he doesn’t understand how it’s going to help him at all. He does like this undivided attention, the way Derek’s letting him sit up on the counter and talking to him like an adult. He likes the promise of hot chocolate. He’s just adamant and scared – everything is so scary lately. Jack watches Derek pull down two mugs and frowns.

“What?” Derek asks.

Jack shrugs and looks away.

Derek’s familiar with that look too. “Jack.”

Jack sighs, “well…” He looks down at his hands, anywhere but Derek. “What if–” he looks over at the couch. At his father. All he can see are his black socks hanging over the side of the couch, but he’s there. Like he always is.

“We can make him a mug,” Derek offers. He goes for another mug, even though he’s fairly certain Hotch won’t touch it. He hasn’t eaten anything in a while, not since he woke up in the hospital. “Your dad likes hot chocolate, I’m sure he’d like that a lot.” Derek hasn’t actually seen him drink any but who doesn’t like hot chocolate? Besides, if Jack makes it for him, Hotch will attempt something.

Jack nods and watches Derek go about searching cabinets for what he needs. Jack knows exactly where everything Derek needs is at but he offers no help. Derek’s stooped low, squatting to look underneath cabinets for the pot he would prefer to use to warm up the milk but he can't find any. Where does Hotch hide them?

“Is he gonna die?”

Derek smacks his head on the cabinet, the question throws him so much. He’s here for the drop-off. Jess had asked him to hang around for another ten minutes, watch Jack and Hotch so she could jump in the shower and wash the hospital off of her. She’d promised both would not be any trouble. Jack is withdrawn and sullen, Hotch not much different.

“No,” Derek answers automatically.

But his conviction is misplaced, Jack knows no is not the right answer. His brows turn down, his trust momentarily lost in Derek as he looks down at his lap. No isn’t the right answer and he knows it. Parents die. People just die. His father has no more control over that than Derek does. Hotch never promises to come home but he does promise to do his best. That’s all he can do. He can’t throw around that promise so boldly, not when Jack has already lost a parent. Not when he is already so aware that nothing is guaranteed.

Derek forgets that, sometimes. Jack is a child but Hotch doesn’t treat him like a little fool. “Not today,” Derek amends. “The doctors looked him over really well. You know your Aunt Jess wouldn’t let him out of there if she wasn’t sure he was taken care of.”

Jack scowls down at his pants for a few more seconds before nodding. That’s true. Jess is a little crazy, protective, but crazy. “Why did he get hurt?” Jack looks up and Derek’s surprised to find his eyes are clear, no tears dancing around the corners. He’s sad but inquisitive, really wants to know.

Derek isn’t sure how much Jack knows. Hotch has mentioned nightmares and therapy, Jack remembers something. He knows that the length between him and being an orphan were tight and near, hovering very dangerously right over his head.

“The bad man that hurt your mom–”

“George,” Jack offers, casual and matter-of-fact.

This kid fucking terrifies Derek. “Ye-Yeah,” Derek aggrees hesitantly. He hates George. Humanizing someone he’s hardly got the courage to breathe the name of. “He hurt your dad, a long time ago.” Jack nods, he knows this. A stabbing. He knows it factually but not very much else than that. Hasn’t acquired a deep enough sense of the world to understand just what it is that has happened. He just knows it was bad. Not to talk about it. But he’s not supposed to mention it to his dad, so Derek seems like a good person to ask.

“But that was a long time ago,” Jack says. Nearing five years ago, he can’t even remember those memories that well.

“It was,” Derek agrees. “But –” How does he explain internal bleeding to a nine-year-old? He understands how this happened. He’d been there in the hospital when Hotch woke up after Foyet. He’d walked Hotch into this apartment, home from the hospital, similar to how he did today. It made sense to him but how does he translate that? How does he take something so brutal and make it sensible? Digestible.

“They don’t know why it happened,” Derek says, which is true. There was no recent injury or signs of sickness. Nothing that Jess or any of them had witnessed but could they really trust Hotch to be forthright about something like this? “Sometimes… Uhm, one day you’ll understand better but for right now, it’s just that sometimes when we get hurt those old hurts just keep hurting. That’s what happened with Hotch– with your dad.”

Jack takes that well, he believes it. His father rarely shies from his never ending questions. He’d sat in the front seat once, not yet twelve and Hotch wasn’t eager for the reminder, because he was curious as to what exactly was happening for Hotch to be able to drive. It began as a simple show and tell, then Jack in the front, watching Hotch intently as Hotch slowly eased down the road. Then he was in Hotch’s lap, steering them back around, easing them into the driveway. But somethings he really wasn’t old enough for.

Hotch never shares details of work. At first, he dismissed it simply, factually. He couldn’t disclose information about still active cases but Jack knew that wasn’t entirely true. Aaron couldn’t but he did. He told Jessica. It takes outside factors, sleep deprivation, head trauma, something out of his control to get the secrets to come spilling out. Jack could hear them after he went to bed. Only the light of the lamp guiding them through the conversation, Hotch’s voice low and interupted by the sounds of gasps, as he worked himself up. So overwhelmed it all just came tumbling down. Turned him into a fit, a mess.

Jack understood this required of him a level of education he didn’t have and, more complex than that, required a level of vulnerability and emotional distress from his father he simply wasn’t old enough to bare.

So, maybe Derek was right. He understood older bodies hurt, his father’s did. Jack could not understand lingering wounds because he had nothing to linger, his father scars and pains older than him.

Derek’s just releaved he’s stopped asking questions.

“Here,” he hands Jack his mug, the first one from the bunch. Derek’s piled whipped cream on top, a big swirl that Jack attacks with a wide grin. The first time he’s smiled in days. “It’s my mom’s secret recipe,” Derek reveals. He looks over hsi shoulder, scanning around him before he leans in dramatically. “You can’t tell anyone,” he warns Jack, “but it’s cinnamon. Just a dash.”

He’s certain all mother’s do this and realizes a few moments too late maybe mother’s shouldn’t be brought into conversation. But Jack giggles, whipped cream on the tip of his nose as he leans in close and tells Derek gleefully and interrupted by more giggles, “mommy’s secret recipe for cookies is cinnamon but daddy never puts the right much.”

Jack is laughing hard, uncontrollable. He thinks it’s hilarious and the sight of him makes Derke join in the laughter. Wondering what sort of awful messes Hotch must make in here if he’s unable to add cinammon to a simple batch of cookies.

Derek puts him back down on the ground and Jack slides his mug back onto of the counter. “I can take it to daddy,” Jack offers, already pulling the mug towards it him. “I won’t wake him up.” He’s not waiting for Derek’s permission.

He’s careful. He’s a coffee master. Every morning Hotch lets him make his coffee. Jack does everything from fill the water to measuring out the creamer and suger. Every morning he makes the trip from the kitchen back to his father’s room. A coffee mug balanced carefully in his steady hands. Not a drop on the carpet and Hotch always makes an impressed face at the first sip. Congratualing Jack for another successful pot with a high-five or hug.

And the carpet remains hot coffee free.

It’s not coffee free. Jack might have mastered walking with a full cup of coffee but Hotch hasn’t.

Jack sits the mug down gently, soft to make the clink of the ceramic on the the hardwood a dull sound. But Aaron’s eyes are already open.

“What’d you bring me?” Hotch asks. He’s just whispering this time, purposefully. Jack only visited him in the hospital once. Then his voice couldn’t raise above a rasp, he could barely speak. Jess didn’t offer to take him again and Jack never asked. Instead, he’s spent the last few days with Dave. He goes there on some weekends, spends a Saturday or Friday night cozied up to the living room fireplace and listening to Dave’s records. He loves it and he loved it this time but it wasn’t the same.

Jack had heard Dave talking to Emily over the phone, pacing his office like he does when Jack is supposed to leave alone him so he can get some writing done. Ripped, is what he hears first. Dave’s voice has changed, he’s angry but his voice is sad. He’s defeated, so consumed by what’s happened. From hip-to-hip. Gutted the poor kid. Jack doesn’t understand who he’s talking about at first. Kid throws him off. He can’t imagine how his father could be young to Dave.

But then Dave laughs and he agrees with whatever Emily’s said. “A big kid, then,” Dave amends, shaking his head. “He’ll always be a kid to me. Like Reid. Known ‘em since they were in diapers.” Jack doesn’t think that’s true but he can never be certain. Dave explains what’s happening to Emily, how they’re dealing with everything. They always keep her updated. Jack does too. She calls at least once a week and he tells her about everything – Hotch’s latest mishap (poor baking skills, poor plumbing skills, etc.), the school drama of who is dating who, and how his grades are.

But Dave assures her everything is fine. And Jack wishes he’d lie as he promises her she doesn’t need to come home. Hotch is fine, sleeping it off in the hospital. Jack is staying with him, at Dave’s, until Hotch and Jess are ready for him at home again.

Emily leaves the conversation a little relieved and Jack leaves with that description.

Ripped, hip-to hip. That’s what Dave said and it’s what Hotch felt. It feels as though his protection has been ripped down, as if his shirt suddenly came open and his chest is exposed. His stomach aches furiously and his body begs for cover, to find somewhere safe and wait for his attacked feeling to abate.

The hot chocolate is a great start. He can’t actually drink. His clear diet restriction might have been lifted and his doctor hopeful with his ability to keep down an Ensure. Hot chocolate, and all it’s milk, would be far too much on his stomach. But it’s warmth is confusing to his brain. It’s comfort immiedte despite how heavily his anxiety fixated on terror, on finding the threat he was certian was hiding just behind the curtains or maybe in the bathroom. To hurt him.

Or maybe to hurt Jack.

Hotch balances the mug to his thigh, uses one hand to keep it there. Jack moves closer, before Hotch can move his other hand out to reach for him. Hotch closes his eyes, exhausted but now relieved to feel Jack’s little hand trying to hold his back. Jack comes closer until Hotch can wrap his entire arm around Jack’s hips. He crouches down, kneels on the floor, and lays his head on Hotch’s chest.

“You can lay on the couch with me.”

Jack shakes his head, he knows that’s not true. Hip-to-hip. Jack had traced his own stomach in the mirror. Dave had huge, giant mirrors and fancy showers. And by the end of his, Jack stood and looked in that mirror. He put his finger on one hip and drew down below under his belly button across the soft flesh to his other hip. Traced, as he imagined his finger a scalpel slicing through the skin, exactly where he thought they cut his father open.

That’s a long way and his body is so small.

Jess pulls Jack away after a while. He’s been sitting so still he can’t feel his legs and the entire side of his face is warm from laying on Hotch’s chest. But Hotch is knocked out. Jess takes his mug and holds his arm up so Jack can slip out and he barely moves. His eyes open for just a moment but close quickly, Hotch exhaling softly as he falls back asleep.

“He needed that,” Jessica tells Jack softly, smiling at him. She kisses the top of his head and guides him away from the living room. No more disturbing the sleeping man now the unofficial rule of the house. Jack is familiar with the protocol.

Jack sits down at the table and Jessica sits across from him. Derek waves from the door and they wave back, all the goodbye they’re willing to chance with Hotch sleeping. But once the door shuts Jack knows he can ask his questions. This is what they do. Hotch or Jessica always makes sure he understands what’s happening but as he’s gotten older they do less telling and he does more asking.

“How soon will he be okay?”

Jessica hums, considering her answer. “Give or take,” she says, shrugging, “he’ll be back to work in four days. For us, I think we just gotta be extra careful with him for this week and then he’ll get there.”

“Can I help?” He’s allowed to help in small ways. Never sees any of the bad stuff but he’s quick with the water refills and keeping a bountiful snack supply.

“Of course. But his stomach is sore, so he can’t eat normal foods right now.”

Jack nods, that might be a challenge. “I can make him oatmeal?”

“Yes but no sugars or cinnamon.” Jack just puts too much of both in, she’s doing Aaron a favor. He’s already going to struggle to eat, no reason it needs to be overly sweetened as well. “And he can juice but not orange juice.”

“Okay.”

“Any more questions?”

“No.” Jack thinks he understands. He has more questions, what ifs that filled his mind but none that he should speak. He’s often wondered who his father would chose, if he had been the option. Jack had seen on TV that mad men will hold guns to people’s head, make them chose. One person lives and the other dies but if you don’t pick then both die. And while that question comes and goes, it’s stuck on his mind. Who would his father chose, him or Haley?

Jack could never make reason of it, never actually decide. Hotch had said once that love is just different for people. He’d tried to explain it. Why he loved Dave, why he loved Emily, why he loved Jess, or Jack. But it was all different. Which Jack understood with some explanation. Love didn’t feel the same with his father as it did with Jess. He didn’t love one more or less but it was simply different. Felt different. Acted different.

And Hotch had said that Jack was a whole different love for him. Unconditional is the word he used but Jack wasn’t so sure about that. Surely there’d be something. He’d had to think hard. Not drugs – Sean does all kinds of those and Hotch still sends him birthday cards with money and evites him on the holidays. Jack couldn’t dare ask about murder – he didn’t know what the answer would be but it’d be difficult, he’d upset Hotch. But as he failed to come up with a proper example, Hotch had just shook his head and ended the conversion. Nothing, he repeated, I’ll always love you.

The thought keeps him up all night. It upsets him to consider either. The idea of his father having to chose makes him cry, ugly and silly over something he’s made up entirely. He knows Hotch holds guilt for not being able to save Haley. He apologizes every holiday, brithday, and every small event that Jack only has Hotch and not his mother.

But the reality is that Jack doesn’t remember Haley. Little glimpses. Good and bad. The bad he’d never speak of. No need to remind his father of their divorce, the messy stuff. But he’s always had Hotch. Jack wouldn’t prefer Haley to his father. If he had to chose, if it were Jack that had to decide, he knows which parent he would save.

And he hates that.

He doesn’t knock as he slides into his father’s bedroom. The door is already open, the bathroom light left on purposefully. Jack tries to slip up into the bed but Hotch is already awake.

“You’ve been crying,” Hotch whispers, reaching a cold hand out from under his blankets and to brush the remnants of a tear away. “Are you okay?”

Jack nods, pulling the heavy comforter around him, and sinking down into the bed under the warmth settles over him. His father’s bed is just better. Softer, warmer. “I’m okay,” he says, turned over on his side, watching Hotch. “Why were you crying?”

Hotch smiles. He’d lied for years to Jack about it but as he gets older that’s not really an options. Jack knows why his father is up pacing the halls at two in the morning. Why he’s up “sick” in the bathroom. “Bad dreams,” Hotch answers, honestly. Bad dreams sounds better than nightmares. “Why are you up?”

Jack shrugs, “can’t sleep.”

“Mmm.”

Jack thought being here would fix it but now he’s just laying here thinking about it. He can’t imagine, doesn’t want to, what it’d be like to not have his father. Jack tells him everything. Hotch taught him to ride a bike and how to read. It’s Hotch’s inability to do math that keeps Jack from excelling at math but he’s a straight A student in English. What would happen without Hotch? No National Geographic movies on Saturday nights, after Hotch has already announced twice they’ll got to bed in five minutes. Opting instead to sleep uncomfortably on the couch so they don’t have to go to bed.

Hotch always says how much Jack would love Haley, he tells Jess too. Jack believes him, he does love his mother. But Hotch always forgets that he’s there too. He’s still in the equation.

Hotch puts his hand on Jack’s chest, rubbing up and down like he used to when Jack was a baby.

“Get some sleep, buddy.”

Jack is asleep before Hotch’s arm starts to hurt.

#criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #jack hotchner #jessica brooks #david rossi #emily prentiss

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danses-with-dogmeat · 1 year

Note

CONGRATS ON 1.5K!!!

The way you write some characters it's just Chiefs kiss🤌🤌🤌

Any way can you write 🐍 🐕 for Desmond Lockheart (fallout 3).

If it doesn't bother you much, both the first and last name?

Ahh, thank you lovely!! <3

But okay, I only ended up doing one, so I did his last name, BUT it's only because you'll be seeing this guy in another (bigger) post of mine in the not-too-distant future 👀

So I hope this'll help tide you over until then!

And just a heads up, nothing too explicit, but there's mention of NSFW stuff below!

L) Love. Who said “I love you” first? How often do they say it? When did they realize they were in love?

If Desmond said it first-- and it's likely he didn't-- but if he did, it would likely be without realizing it. Spouting out an amused "I love you," as he notices you doing something absurd, or maybe saying it to be cheeky when you did something a bit more depraved than usual in the bedroom. He doesn't really realize the weight the words carry anymore. The man's been around a long time, he's said that phrase loads of times, often without really meaning it, what do you want from him? What did you really expect?

The first person to say it for real, then, is you. And when he realizes you really do mean it, he's a little... well, it's just strange. He's not the most lovable of partners, he knows that, and while he used to be able to fall in bed with any bloke or dame he wanted, now things are different. When you show your capability of loving him, with all his gruffness and cussing, his bad moods and his cunning, backhanded compliments, all the lovely bits that come with his ghoulification... That's when he realizes that he does indeed have the capacity to really, genuinely care about someone.

He doesn't say it often, and usually tries to play it off casually, but when you hear those words, you know Desmond means them.

O) Open. How long does it take for them to open up to their s/o?

He used to be a spy. A damn good one. And he's a good bit over 200 years old. He's got more secrets than the CW has radroaches, so you'd have to dig a hell of a lot out of him to truly know this man. And it takes time.

Desmond seems upfront about a lot, but that's only another way of hiding the gory details of what he's actually been through. A coping mechanism of sorts, as he deals with a couple of lifetimes worth of violence, espionage, secrets and mistakes. You'll be lucky if you break even the surface of who he really is in the first year of you two being together, but... eventually it will come. In the small hours, where his wit and mood have become calm, when it's just you two and the pups... he'll start to show you the man beyond the surface. A man who's tired, who, despite what he says and what he thinks, truly craves peace.

C) Cuddle. Do they like to cuddle and show affection? How?

Desmond won't be the one to initiate it, but he also wouldn't be the one to stop you. If you scooch close to him and wrap your hand in his, he'll probably give you a look like you've done something wrong, but in the end, just shake his head and allow it. The ghoul's not much of a softie himself, but he can't help but stifle a grin when you want to be this close to him. He's not really used to it, especially anymore. It just... surprises him.

K) Kiss. What are their kisses like? Who kissed who first?

His kisses are firm, long-lasting, and sure of themselves. He'll wrap one hand around your waist tightly to pull you into him as he utterly captures you with his rough lips, occasionally nipping at you, almost possessively, in the midst of it, and he always holds you to him for a long few moments before allowing you to separate. Then, he usually likes to finish up with a quick peck to the cheek.

Despite not being much of a softie, Desmond is an avid cheek-kisser. In parting and reuniting with you, in the middle of a conversation, just distractedly as you both work separately on other things, he'll drop by to land a peck at your cheek without even really realizing it.

It's likely that he kissed you first, and it's even more likely that that was the first true indicator that you got that he was interested in you. He tends not to let on how exactly he feels about you, especially with words, so actions will just have to do, won't they?

H) Honesty. Are they honest with their s/o? How important is it to them in a relationship?

He's as honest as he feels he needs to be (sometimes brutally so). You don't need to know everything about him, and if you did, well... this thing between you two wouldn't last all that long. He's a man with secrets, a man who's used to being on his own, sharing his thoughts only with his dogs for years on end, so as long as you can respect his fucking privacy, he won't have a problem with you.

As for your honesty, you really should consider just telling Desmond the truth, given that he's a highly skilled ex-spy, who's life work was once centered around gathering intelligence. It's hard to keep anything from him, but secrets you specifically don't want him to know? He'll make a distinct effort to find out every single one.

E) Equal. Do they prefer to be more dominant or submissive in the relationship?

Desmond Lockheart is a dom, through and through. He has more experience than you. Full stop. So, he makes the decisions, he's in charge, and he tells you what is best for you. He does like it when his partner tests him a bit though, he finds it... entertaining. And endearing.

A) Attention. How much attention do they want in the relationship?

For someone who's job it once was to remain undetectable, he doesn't afford that option to you. He doesn't mind a bit of space and independence overall, but when Desmond yearns for your attentions, there's no denying him. He'll insert himself into every situation, every conversation, everything until you give him his time of day. Then, just as easily, that need for your immediate attention may vanish and he might want nothing more to recede into his room on his own. So it does depend on the day and time, and there's no real pattern to it. Just another way this old ghoul likes to keep things interesting between the two of you.

R) Reunion. How do they react after being apart from their s/o? How do they cope when they’re away?

Lockheart tries to act like it's never bothered him, he goes about his day as usual, but now it seems so awfully fucking dull for a reason he doesn't care to dwell on. So, he certainly acts as though he's hardly noticed you've gone, but that's not the case at all. He'll make that much clear when you return to him and he can haul you into his bed at night (if he can even wait that long). Then, he shows you how much he's missed you beside him, missed the feel of being close to you, missed having someone to boss around good-naturedly with that foul mouth of his, missed hearing that infuriatingly smooth voice of yours say shit he'd never think of, or hearing it in response to whatever devilish thing he's thought up to tease you with. It's really one of the only ways Desmond knows how to convey his affection for you, and in the end, you'll be able to tell the way he silently yearned for you when you were gone.

T) Thrill. Do they need to try out new things to spice up your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

Oh, he definitely likes to keep things interesting. When you've been doing the same thrilling shit for 200 years, you've got to do fucking something to keep life from becoming purely monotonous and boring. That's the bit where you come in. Desmond hasn't been in a proper relationship, in oh, a few decades or so, so this might be just what he needs to mix things up. As long as the two of you can keep things exciting with dates out (maybe with a bit of danger mixed in with them), spicy (and kinky?) bedroom times, perhaps some subterfuge tango with your enemies as a team, and long walks around the dangerous wasteland with his pups, you both might just be able to make this work.

#1.5k celebration #1.5k event #fallout #fallout companions #fallout npc #fallout 3 #fallout 3 companions #fallout 3 npcs #desmond lockheart #fo3 #fo3 desmond #fo3 desmond lockheart #fallout desmond lockheart #night stalker #relationship alphabet

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clockwork-reads · 1 year

Text

Brief Book Reviews #5 (+ 2022 TBR review)

#1 Shelby Mahurin, Blood & Honey (written in September 2022)

Looks like I’m saying “fuck you” to a lot of people in books this month huh. Once again, Ms Mahurin made me hurt a lot over Louise and Reid. The mutual pining, the wedge that gets driven between them because Louise keeps secrets so Reid won’t worry so much (sadly that made it worse), just. Thanks, Ms Mahurin, I’m in pain. Seeing them make up toward the big battle at the end helped ease the ache. And then they rail each other into next week. Damn I want what they have.

The ending was fucking horrifying. Fuck you La Voisin, and fuck you Morgane. Also it was cool to do a little work and find out that Beau’s mum is Maori- at least that’s what google translate tells me from what was said in that one scene. don’t come for me. Rest in Peace Ansel, you were the real hero here and you won’t be forgotten.

also the knife throwing scene with Lou and Reid got me very hot and bothered, damn. time to get Gods & Monsters and suffer some more lol

#2 Libba Bray, Diviners

As much as I enjoy the setting of prohibition era New York, I got to halfway through the book and nothing was happening. There’s a lot of supernatural shit going on, we have Naughty John killing people in really fucked up ways, and the main characters don’t seem to be going anywhere with it, save for Evie’s uncle, and we have no idea what he’s doing in the meantime. There’s some good writing and dialogue in it, it’s just not enough to tide me over, I’m afraid.

#3 Rick Riordan, Percy Jackson and the Titan’s Curse (Book 3)

I continued my foray into the Percy Jackson books in 2022, and finished Titan’s Curse. It felt good to see a book featuring my matron goddess, Artemis, being awesome, and Apollo being his delightful self- Riordan remembered that these two are thick as thieves, thankfully. And Nico, poor baby. This whole book was a lot of ouch, to be honest, though I’m sad to see Thalia leave so early, she’s pretty cool. The lady at the bookstore where I bought the box set assured me the third book was the best one, she wasn’t kidding lol. ALSO PERCY WOULD YOU JUST TELL ANNABETH YOU LOVE HER ALREADY.

#4 Rick Riordan, Percy Jackson and the Battle of the Labyrinth (Book 4)

Hoo boy, this one was a doozy. It’s a bit slow-going to begin with, with all the globe trotting that gets done while the gang’s exploring the labyrinth and trying to find Ariadne’s string, and then it gets heavy as the major plot points are exposed, and then I couldn’t pull my eyes off the book. The glimpses into Deadalus’s past through Percy’s dreams are heartbreaking to say the least, but I think they were very much needed to explain why he would build the Labyrinth. And fuck you, Minos, nobody plays my baby Nico like that. I don’t care if he’s a necromancer and can probably look after himself, I will defend this boy with my life. The final battle comes in the next book, and then I hear there’s other stuff I have to read? Idk if I’ll read it. Also I’ll probably get smote for this but also fuck you Hera. Don’t fuck with Annabeth like that.

TBR Wrap-up

Total books read: 7

I’m gonna just make a spreadsheet of the books I’m yet to read so I have a good idea of how far I am into this book-buying habit I seem to have. They’re pretty on my shelves, sure, but I don’t want to be one of those people who just have books for decoration.

On top of that, I should be making sure I’m either reading one entire series at a time, or just one book from a series per batch (?) before I do more Brief Book Reviews. It’s kinda holding up how soon I can get to other books I want to read. the PJ books have held up my progress getting through some very interesting non-fiction books that I intend to read.

Finally, I’m making it into a habit to have an hour a day of reading time, just so I’m off the computer and I’m not staring at a screen for ages. It’s in my bullet journal, so I won’t forget if I’m always checking.

So, let’s see what 2023 brings us.

#bookblr #brief book reviews #tbrbusterchallenge2022 #again hi i'm not dead #i'm lyz and i have a blog about books #now to make that spreadsheet #bookbanditchallenge #tbrbusterchallenge2023

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jonriptide · 11 months

Text

Writing schedule v2

So by previous writing schedule has been taking a bit long, I know that. Mostly it has been life happening and reduced amount of writing time this year, however, writer's block has been taken a toll as well.

For the first part, I can at least say that I have no intentions of abandoning writing at the moment. Though life is life you know. I'll try to keep a better pace than I have had this year, but in no way expect a chap every week. Busy dude.

For the second part, I have decided to restructure the way I schedule my writing. In the past I have written whatever I felt like, with some stories updated often (by my standards), while others were left in oblivion. That's the reason I changed to a fixed schedule, though braving through writer's block on a stuck story didn't help, especially when I could have made progress elsewhere instead of being stuck.

So, I've decided to make adjustments (an evolving process). Mostly, I'll try to keep my priority list, but whenever I am stuck I'll move to write the next story in my list and so on, while constantly getting back to the first story to see if I can get it unblocked. Here are the ground rules:

I am still not committing to any dates, as I am terribly slow, people still know that. The schedule is for fic writing order, not dates of publishing.

Still giving more priority to updating the fics that have stayed the longest without update, and to my Ron Weasley series.

I will still keep publishing new stories, because is fun and refreshing and already have stuff written about a bunch of them.

I have a very long schedule, I will put all of my active stories with progress so you can get an idea of how much work is pending on your favorite and how many stories I have to go through before I revisit it.

That being said, here it is:

Mighty Morphin Potter Rangers. Chapter 2 . (Part of the Team - Harry’s POV) I have a scene done for this one. But still deciding how to wrap it.

Hermione is an Owl. Chapter 5. (Aviatus) Finished. Sent to beta.

Harry Potter and the Halfblood Weasleys. Chapter 9. (A Lesson on Half-Truths - Rose’s POV). Oh this one is going to be a crowd pleaser, looking forward to it. No word written, but I even have dialogues in my head for it.

Harry Potter and the Gatekeeper’s Book. Chapter 5. (The Potters). A fully written chap that needs revisit. A crowd pleaser as well. I know some people would like me to write this one instead and find themselves disappointed of it being so down on the list, but it's the one I most recently updated and need to go over all of these first ^.

Ron Weasley and the Chamber of Secrets. Chapter 6. (Sequoia Locklear). Haven't started writing this one yet.

Harry Potter and the Ships of War. Chapter 5. (The Ship that Must Not be Named). Solid first scene completed, but haven't started with the rest.

(New Story)... I have a few stories to get around

Rainbow Hermione. Chapter 2. (Sunshine) Haven't written a single word about chap2

Uncrushed. Chapter 5. (L'Esperto Turistico - Hermione's POV) I have 0 words written of this one, but it is going to be a riot to work on.

Back In Time: The Lightning Thief. Chapter 7 (Grover IV). Passable draft which I need to work on.

Broken Conscience. Chap 2 (Afterwards) I have like 10-20% of the chap done.

Harry Potter and the Founders' Scroll. Chapter 4. (The Fresh Appeal of Ancient Runes). I have literally 0 words written about this one. It might take a while

Harry Potter and the Unity Cup. Chapter 2 (The Unity Trials). I have zero words of this.

The Marauders and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Chapter 3 (The Boy Who Lived - Lily's POV). I have an old draft to work for this one. Shouldn't take long to finish once I return to this story.

Potters, Weasleys and the Son of the Legend. Chapter 5 (Tidings of War - Ron's POV). Next chap is like 80% done. I still plan to get the previous ones checked by my beta.

(UPDATED IN 4/16/2024)

I'll update this when new progress is done.

#jon riptide #work in progress #harry potter fanfiction

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welcometogrouchland · 1 year

Note

sorry if I'm bothering you but I FINALLY FIND SOMEONE ELSE WHO PREFERS FTF BUT PURELY BECAUSE OF OUR LOVE FOR WILLOW (we're the only ones right about her) like yeah, it's DEFINITELY not a perfect episode but IT'S ABOUT THE CHARACTERS. and I LOVE TTT TOO BECAUSE OF LUZ but tbh I didn't like being in the fandom when TTT came out because THERE WAS SO MUCH STUFF ABOUT HUNTER, TO THE POINT WHERE PEOPLE THOUGHT HE SHOULD BE THE MC AND NOT LUZ??? I love my boy but I felt overwhelmed at all of this so him not getting too much in FTF was fine for me :)

Firstly, I'd like to say YES!! FOR THE FUTURE SOLOS!!! LITERALLY SOME OF THE BEST CHARACTER WORK, ART DIRECTION, SOUNDTRACK, BOARDING, HUMOUR AND HORROR IN THE WHOLE SHOW!!!

Secondly I'd like to say that this is SUCH a can of worms that I've held back on talking about for A While™. Tbh it kinda feels like u read my mind I was literally thinking about this this morning.

(BIG ASS RAMBLE UNDER THE CUT. I AM NOT JOKING THIS POST IS SO LONG IT'S NOT EVEN FUNNY)

Both episodes are really fucking good, both on their own merit and when you take into account the circumstances under which they were made. I do not want to labour this point. I hate pitting two bad bitches against each other.

I AM however interested in investigating why, when two episodes are of similar quality, but with different priorities and focuses and (for lack of a better word) Vibe™ does the fandom demonstrably prefer one over the other?

Thanks to Them is BIG on plot. It's big on "establish what the kids have been doing, introduce Lore and Mystery, do the possession, fight the bad guy, get back to the demon realm, bada bing bada boom!!". I don't think it's nearly as relentlessly paced as some people think, and I think there are definitely emotional moments to be gleaned out of characters who AREN'T Luz, Hunter or Camilla- but overall it's similar to the most plot focused episodes of season 2. Your knock knock knocking on hootys doors and your hollow minds.

But for the future is a lot more concerned with character. Everyone gets some small moment to shine, though you're correct in saying that the focus is mostly on Luz, Willow and then probably the collector. But Camilla, Gus, Amity, Hunter, King, Eda and Lilith all get more emotional depth in a few lines than like. Willow did in half of thanks to them. even Belos gets more screentime this ep than he did in thanks to them, screentime that's much more illuminating (do love the moments he had in thanks to them but they weren't huge character moments really, just him villain-ing it up).

Less plot stuff happens, if you count the main goal as "get into the titans skull" then that's only introduced about a quarter of the way through the episode, whereas "get back to the human realm" is established as the goal of thanks to them in like. Negative screentime lmao. You basically know it's the goal coming in because you've watched king's tide already. For the future isn't like this!

And I GET IT MAN! checking in on the YouTube progress bar at the 3/4 of the way through elicited pure fear in me! But I feel like the fandoms fear of plots going unresolved and questions going unanswered has created this. Like. Attitude that the episodes need to be completely spartan or they're wasting time.

Like, with bringing back Boscha and Kikimora. Some people consider that a waste of time because they weren't Big Bads in seasons prior, meaning they should be low priority and don't belong here. And ppl are entitled to feel that way!

But I don't think you can call them wasted! Or irrelevant! I think the writers put a lot of work into making their storyline fit with the themes of the show! I have an essay I may never finish in drafts about this but- one of the most popular aspects of seasons 1 and 2 was the whole corrupt government storyline, which reached it's climax in king's tide but still had no resolution, same way hexside had no resolution from what happened after labyrinth runners. The writers combined these storylines by showing how hexside wasn't going to become a mini dictatorship like the isles old system (hence the title of the episode, changing things for the better "for the future"). That's efficient storytelling! Combining two plots into one in order to resolve both at the same time!

But people don't take this as an example of efficiency because it's not Lore or Plot based. And I think that's a real shame.

Both episodes have pacing and balance issues but I don't think one is especially egregious compared to the other? Nor do they have more pacing and balance issues than say, Clouds on the Horizon, which I'd say is one of MY least favouritely paced episodes of the show. Maybe thanks to them just had more novelty factor because of the setting (not to mention it probably benefitted from having one less subplot to juggle, but eh)

And about the fandom response after each episode....yeah. yeah.

I love Hunter. He's my baby. My scrimblo bimblo. He is like my twin brother. Literally. For reasons I cannot begin to explain here, hunter the owl house is like my twin brother.

And in all fairness to the fandom, plenty of people are normal about him. I know this because I've curated my experience to entirely be the people who are normal about him.

But the people who are not normal about him...my god.

Tbh I think this issue of focus actually lands on why I prefer for the future to thanks to them (THOUGH AGAIN. THEY BOTH SLAY)

The ending of thanks to them was so abrupt and emotionally charged that it felt like a betrayal, almost. The show went so hard and so fast that afterwards there was no breathing room and I didn't fully trust the show to be able to pull back afterwards. I thought either Hunter is going to eat up more and more screentime next episode by having to deal with the implications of every that happened five minutes from the episodes end, or they are literally never going to touch on him again. The ending of thanks to them was SO MUCH in so little time that I literally could not fathom a middle road.

Whereas the ending of for the future was a lot more. Aha, eureka! Moment to me. Like "OHH so that's what we're dealing with next episode!!! Nice". There was excitement and yeah, fear that things wouldn't land, but overall there was more trust in me. And of course, they did find a lovely medium between it being the Hunter show and addressing his trauma adequately. His arc was very emotional and satisfying this ep, without the borderline hard-to-enjoy turmoil that the ending of thanks to them put me through lol.

But I think, to some people, the sheer angst of thanks to thems ending was more emotionally rewarding than the well paced stability and slight ominousness of for the future. They felt that episodes end was too "mid". Too soft. The end of the show needs to go all out all the time, so this episode that focused more on emotional arcs and early season callbacks and payoffs is weak.

And to be honest, maybe my analysis here isn't as in-depth or as in-touch with fandom complaints as it could be! I've generally avoided the people harshly criticizing for the future because I like it when fandom is fun. I don't like watching one of my favorite episodes to date get dunked on. But that in and of itself (combined with the leak situation) has led to an inability to really Go All Out with fandom engagement rn. It's a struggle!

I've seen people describe for the future as en episode where Everything happened, and yet nothing happened. I get why! I personally prefer it to thanks to them because I feel like too much happened during that episodes climax to the point where it didn't even feel like the episode had true resolution.

But also, I get that for a lot of people, it's not even about construction. It's just about expectation and preference. People weren't expecting hexside, and when they got it, they got upset. People weren't expecting Willow, and when they got it, they didn't like it. And I get that. Really I do.

But this show is so fuckin wild. It does so much and throws so many curve balls at you. Never the big twists either, always the shit u don't expect. And it's great. I've honestly grown really fond of the way this show pokes me in the ass with something I didn't really expect or consider.

Not everybody is though and like. That's fine. But I do wish sometimes people would just. Kinda. Let it go when something goes in a direction they didn't expect. Because I didn't expect the direction FTF went in at all and I loved it once I stopped to think about it. But that's just me.

I think this is only like. 25% a direct response to things you said in the ask, so to conclude by answering/engaging with your ask point by point:

Willow stans and For the Future stans unite. This is our nation. Also shout-out to the fellow willow understanders I am mutuals with/follow you guys were really keeping us going in the pre for the future times

It's not a perfect episode but circumstances considering, it never could've been, and I'm okay with most of the ways it falls short. I'm also fully willing to hold out and see whether or not watching and dreaming rectifies any of my complaints, considering several of the issues I took with thanks to them were solved this ep, lol

Luz and Camilla literally stole the show in thanks to them and while I understand that the ending of that ep was very hunter centric, hence the hunter centric fandom atmosphere afterwards, I do prefer the environment in fandom rn that's appreciating this mother daughter duo rn

Hunter is not a main character imo. Not because he couldn't be but because his story is rendered infinitely more interesting when he is a supporting character. It's one thing to tell us that Hunter lives for other people and is made to forever be a second- best underling. It's another thing to show us this with his narrative role as the ultimate foil. He Is Better Off This Way. Also this point is dumb but I fully believe Hunter would be miserable as a main character. He does not want this

Also Luz is genuinely one of my favorite main characters in television. Maybe ever. If I start talking about her we'll be here all day. Just look at literally anything sepublic has written about her it's all on point

For the future had the perfect amount of Hunter content tbh. No episode should have more or less. I'm banging my gavel like a judge decreeing this to be so

#ramblings of a lunatic #asks #toh #that is literally the only thing i will tag this with it's a barely coherent nightmare behemoth and i do not need it in tags #anyway. I'm still holding out that these specials are gonna fundamentally work better together than as separate eps #i got the feeling when thanks to theme ending was off and i felt the same when the subplots of ftf went unresolved #it's not for now. each episode is just about cleaning up problems from the previous ep and exploring how its impacted our guys-#-before establishing a new short term goal and then achieving it via emotional trials and tribulations #it makes the months between eps agonizing but also. I would not be able to handle these guys being just s few weeks apart #it simply would not have computed in my brain #ANYWAY. here's a whole lotta nothing! hope any of it's understandable #no art tonight but i am gonna chip away at the darius/camila ask #that one should be close to wrapping up we're like..a bit more than halfway through it #hope it's more understandable than whatever i went off on here!

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