#Writer wednesday

[hayatheauthor]

Creating Fear in Your Characters: A Writers Guide

Creating authentic emotions is vital for immersive storytelling, which is why I decided to make this series on how to write different emotions. After exploring rage, and sadness it's now time to delve into fear!

Fear is a powerful emotion that can manifest in various ways, from subtle apprehension to paralyzing terror. Here's a guide on how to write fear effectively, covering different aspects of your characters' behavior and reactions.

Facial Expressions

Fear often manifests first in facial expressions, conveying the initial shock or unease. Describe these expressions to immerse readers in your character's emotional state:

Widened Eyes and Dilated Pupils: Show the eyes widening in response to a sudden threat, with dilated pupils indicating heightened alertness.

Tense Jaw and Clenched Teeth: Mention the clenching of jaw muscles or teeth, signaling internalized stress or anxiety.

Furrowed Brow and Raised Eyebrows: Describe the furrowing of the forehead and raised eyebrows, revealing worry or confusion.

Quivering Lips or Lip Biting: Note subtle lip movements like quivering or biting, reflecting nervousness or fear.

Frozen or Stiff Facial Muscles: Highlight moments of fear-induced immobility, where facial muscles become tense and rigid.

Body Language and Gestures

Fear can also be expressed through body language and gestures, showcasing your character's instinctual responses to danger or threat:

Backing Away or Recoiling: Describe your character instinctively moving backward or recoiling from the source of fear, signaling a desire to retreat.

Raised Shoulders and Tensed Posture: Show how fear causes the shoulders to rise and the body to tense up, indicating readiness for fight or flight.

Trembling Hands or Shaking Limbs: Mention the trembling of hands or shaking of limbs, reflecting nervousness or anxiety.

Covering Vulnerable Areas: Describe your character instinctively covering vulnerable areas like their neck or torso, symbolizing a protective gesture.

Fidgeting or Restlessness: Note any fidgeting or restlessness, such as tapping feet or wringing hands, as signs of inner turmoil and fear.

Vocal Cues and Dialogue

Fear can alter vocal cues and dialogue, affecting how your character speaks and communicates their emotions:

Quavering Voice or Shaky Speech: Describe the voice quivering or becoming shaky, indicating nervousness or fear.

Rapid Breathing and Gasping: Mention rapid breathing or gasping for air, showcasing the physical impact of fear on the respiratory system.

Stammering or Hesitant Speech: Note any stammering or hesitant speech patterns, reflecting the character's struggle to articulate their thoughts coherently.

Sudden Silence or Lack of Verbal Response: Show moments of sudden silence or the inability to respond verbally, highlighting the overwhelming nature of fear.

Repetitive Phrases or Vocalizations: Describe repetitive phrases or vocalizations, such as muttering prayers or chanting reassurances, as coping mechanisms in fearful situations.

Reactions and Physical Responses

Fear triggers various physical responses in your characters, showcasing the body's instinctual reactions to perceived threats:

Increased Heart Rate and Sweating: Mention the character's heart rate increasing and sweating profusely, reflecting heightened physiological arousal.

Dilated Pupils and Heightened Senses: Describe dilated pupils and heightened sensory perception, as the character's senses become more attuned to potential dangers.

Muscle Tension and Rigidity: Note muscle tension and rigidity, as the body prepares for action or defense in response to fear.

Nausea or Stomach Churning: Show how fear can lead to feelings of nausea or stomach churning, as the body's stress response impacts digestive functions.

Fight, Flight, or Freeze Response: Highlight the character's instinctual response to fear, whether it's a readiness to fight, a desire to flee, or a state of frozen immobility.

Types of Fear and Emotional Depth

Different types of fear can evoke varying emotional responses in your characters, adding depth to their portrayal and the narrative:

Startle Fear: Describe the sudden, reflexive fear triggered by unexpected events or loud noises, leading to a quick, intense reaction.

Apprehensive Fear: Show the lingering sense of unease or dread that accompanies anticipated threats or impending danger, heightening tension over time.

Terror: Depict the overwhelming, paralyzing fear that arises from extreme danger or horrifying experiences, impacting the character's ability to think or act rationally.

Phobias: Explore specific phobias that trigger irrational and intense fear responses, shaping how your character navigates their environment and interactions.

Trauma-Induced Fear: Address fear resulting from past traumas or experiences, influencing the character's behavior and emotional resilience in present situations.

Verbs and Adjectives for Writing Fear

Here's a list of verbs and adjectives to help you convey fear effectively in your writing:

Verbs: tremble, cower, gasp, quiver, shrink, freeze, recoil, sweat, pant, gulp, shudder

Adjectives: terrified, anxious, alarmed, horrified, shaken, jittery, panicked, petrified

[absurdthirst]

Coming Home for Christmas {Agent Whiskey x F!Reader}

Rating: Mature

Warnings: None

Writer Wednesday Week 42: 12/14/22 @writer-wednesday

|| Writer Wednesday || MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

It’s late, almost too late to be outside. The shops have all closed, everyone rushing home to be with their families. Not wanting to miss a second of eggnog and Christmas carols. Dirty Santa gift exchanges and last minute cookie baking. Everyone wanted to celebrate the season or their holiday. Everyone but him. 

The snow crunches under his boots, hands shoved down into the pockets of his coat. He’d forgotten his gloves in the truck that had given him a ride to the edge of town. Venturing no further than the highway. It had been a small miracle when the truck had stopped by the beat up and broken down Bronco to begin with. 

Snow looks pretty but it’s bone-chilling when you are out in it, the brim of his hat the only thing keeping it from soaking into his hair or settling on his neck where the collar of his jacket is pulled up. 

Dark storefronts and street lamps are his companions. The sidewalks are covered in a fresh layer of powder despite the piled high banks from where it had been shoveled earlier. Guilt settles into his stomach, curling uncomfortably as he realizes it’s been years since he’s been in this little town. 

Leaving in a fit of glory and self confidence only to skulk back into town unnoticed and most definitely with his tail tucked between his legs. Bridges burned and prestige lost, he’s not the man who had sworn to once turn this town on its ear. 

He’s got nothing but the clothes on his back, the few bucks in his wallet wouldn’t buy anything suitable to bring even if a shop were open. The tantalizing scents of candy and baked goods coming out of the bakery long replaced with the scent of snow. 

Shuddering, he lifts his shoulders high, nearly to his ears as he walks. The path was never forgotten even though it’s been a long time since he’s traveled this road. Honestly he had never thought he would be here again if he were honest with himself. 

Down around the corner and up the stairs. It’s not too far away. Unless you’ve moved. How sorry would he feel for himself if he knocks on the door and you aren’t there. If some stranger opens the door and gives him a questioning look. Someone he’s never seen before and they don’t know who you are. What if you’ve blown this town’s dust off your boots like he had? What if there isn’t a refuge from the proverbial cold for him?

He should have called, should have kept in touch, but he hadn’t. Every day it became a little easier to forget, to get wrapped up in the importance of his job, the excitement. Telling himself that he would check in, check up on you when he had a free moment, that he would do it later - until he had just….stopped thinking about it altogether. 

Now he’s here, every step bringing him closer to his destination. If you aren’t there, maybe you’ve gone traveling for the holidays, getting away from the cold and snow. It would be unusual, but then again, how does he know if your habits haven’t changed?

Turning the corner of the row of buildings, he sees the small alleyway. The familiar staircase that leads up to the door above the old apothecary turned coffee shop. The apartment that you had lived in for as long as he could remember. The cheerful lights twisting around the bannister invite visitors up towards the wreath adorned door. 

At the stairs, he pauses. Looking up to see the lights shining through the windows, a shadow of someone (maybe you?) moving through the space with the ease of someone who is home. He takes a deep breath, swallowing down his nerves as he takes the first step of seventeen that will take him to your doorstep. 

He sighs as he stands in front of the door. The one that he would have just walked into without a thought. Now he stands here, almost a stranger as he contemplates turning around and leaving without ever alerting you that he is here. You will be disappointed in him, you probably already are. He’s aware of his faults and the grievances that he has committed against you. 

Still, he’s here and his hand comes out of his pocket, curls into a fist and he lifts it up. Ready to knock and bring you to the door. Pausing again because once he does it, he can’t unring the bell as the saying goes. 

Three sharp raps. That’s all he gives. Enough to make his presence known but not enough to startle you. Listening to the sounds of footsteps bringing you closer. Then the clicking and sliding of the locks as you throw the bolt of the door. Good girl, staying safe while you are home.

His stomach clenches even as his eyes narrow slightly against the brightness of the light behind you when the door is opened. Your eyes widen in shock and he doesn’t miss the surprised gasp, even as he is sliding on a practiced, easy going smile, like it has been ten minutes since he’s seen you rather than ten years. 

“Jack!” You whisper, like you’ve seen a ghost. Maybe that is true for you, he’s the ghost of husbands past. 

“Hello, sweetheart.” Jack’s tone is as smooth as Kentucky whiskey. “Merry Christmas.” 

[rayslittlekitten]

Not All Leaves Turn in Autumn

“You Got This” Masterlist

A/N: So this week's @writer-wednesday prompt inspired something. It's been a while since I've visited this universe. This would take place before "Carry Me Home" but a year after Jax and reader charcter breaks up and he's with Tara. I know I still haven't written what happened between them and I've just been filling in different parts of the story in pieces. One day, all the pieces will be there (hopefully!) Also, this isn't beta'd.

Rating: T

Word Count: ~1500

Pairing: Teenager!Jax Teller & Teenager F! Reader/OC; OC (Johnny) x Teenager F! Reader/OC (Opie's sister)

Plot: Things don't turn out as expected when you introduce your new boyfriend to your friends and family.

Contains: marijuana use, kissing, jealousy, assault, cursing, angst

Your junior year just started not too long ago and fall season approached quickly. The weather’s gotten cooler, the leaves are starting to turn and Halloween decorations are everywhere. What you enjoy the most about this season are all the fun activities that come with it: the hayrides, the haunted houses, pumpkin picking and so much more festivities. Aside from the MC being a big contributor, families gather together and people of all ages are just having a good wholesome time. Traditionally it’s been you, Jax, Opie and other friends smoking weed before going into the haunted house getting the crap scared out of yourselves to getting lost in corn mazes.

This year, things are a bit different. Jax and Opie just graduated high school in June and they both have their own girlfriends to take up all their time now. You have your own boyfriend too, but it’s the first time you’re bringing him around your family and friends. The two of you met and hit it off in a math class during a summer school program a few months back and haven’t stopped talking since. He’s a real sweet kid and you’re completely smittened. 

You’re nervously waiting by the entrance where a giant scarecrow greets people as they pass through. You glance at your watch and tap your booted toe.

“Is this guy ever gonna show up?” your brother asks.

“He’s only fifteen minutes late! Chill the fuck out,” you shoot back.

“This nerd is probably not even real,” Jax scoffs.

They’ve all heard about this guy but have never seen him. 

“Shut up! You’re a nerd!” You shove Jax and he stumbles back a bit, accidentally bumping into Tara.

“Come on, guys! Leave her alone. This is her first boyfriend. Be nice,” Tara jumps in to defend you.

If she only knew. 

“Screw this. I’m not waiting around for this imaginary guy. See you guys later,” Jax says, grabbing Tara’s hand before taking off. She throws a small wave to the group while being led away.

Despite Jax falling head over heels for Tara, you can’t really hate her. She’s always been nice to you and to be honest, it’s nice to have another female around, but you’re not sure how she’s stuck around for this long. Miss Community College doesn’t seem quite cut out for the MC life, but she’s committed to Jax and has a tattoo to prove it. You’ve also seen the way Gemma looks at her and talks about her. That’s one big obstacle no amount of tattoos is ever going to be enough to overcome.

“You okay waiting here by yourself?” Opie asks. “Katie wants a candy apple–”

“Don’t put this on me! You’re the one who wants one,” Kate cuts in and playfully slaps his arm.

“It’s fine. Go have fun. I’ll find you guys later,” you reply.

“You sure?” Opie asks again.

“Yes! Just go,” you chuckle and gently shove him. 

Opie reaches to ruffle the top of your hair before taking off. You swat his hand away and frantically fix your hair. You had spent a good amount of time this morning on it. After seemingly putting every strand back in place, you feel a tap on your shoulder. You instantly turn around to find your boyfriend flashing a smile at you.

“Johnny! You made it!” you squeal, but realize you sounded a bit too excited so you try to keep your cool.

“Yeah, sorry I’m late. I was helping my mom with the groceries,” Johnny apologizes as he rubs the back of his neck.

“It’s alright.” Your cheeks heat up as you tuck a loose chunk of hair behind your ear. “Anyways, come on. I want you to meet my brother and friends.”

Johnny is well aware of your association with the Sons. There is no hiding it when you live in a small town, but he doesn’t care. In fact, he looks forward to putting a face on some of the names you talk about all the time. With that, you grab his hand and the two of you go on your merry way.

***

It’s been maybe an hour or so since Jax and Tara had left the group and they haven’t circled back with anyone yet. They’ve lost track of time as they’ve been too busy getting lost in the corn maze and stopping every once in a while to makeout and grope each other while sharing a joint. As they try to find their way out, they hear some suspicious noises in the distance.

“Sounds like we’re not the only ones having a good time in here,” Jax whispers and chuckles quietly after taking a hit of the joint in his hand and passing it to Tara.

“All the teenagers are doing it,” she rolls her eyes, taking the joint from him.

As they continue to make their way through the maze, the noises get louder and more lewd, their path forcing them to listen to this hot and heavy private moment.

“No, stop! It tickles!”

Jax’s ears suddenly perk up. He recognizes that voice. 

“Just for a little bit?”

“I don’t know.”

“I won’t go all the way in.”

He hears soft moaning and his feet move quicker. His perked up ears are now bright red.

“Where are you going?” Tara asks as she tries to keep up.

When he rounds a corner, he finds you cornered against the tall wall of corn by Johnny with his hand under your skirt. Suddenly, Jax grabs the back of Johnny’s shirt and yanks him off of you. You flinch at the unexpected interruption.

“Jackson!” you shout as you pull your shirt and skirt down to cover yourself and rush over to where Jax flung Johnny on the ground. “Leave Johnny alone! What are you doing?!”

“Oh, so you’re Johnny. You are real. So I hear you’re good with math,” Jax says as he hovers over Johnny. “Maybe you can solve this for me: Johnny has a whole set of white pearly teeth. If I beat his face in with my two fists, how many teeth will Johnny have left?” he threatens.

“Jackson!” You grab onto Jax’s kutte and try to pull him off Johnny. 

“The lady said no!” With one hand grasping Johnny’s shirt, Jax’s other ringed fist is cocked back.

“What the hell?” Tara finally catches up and stumbles into the scene.

“Tara! Help me get him off!” You shout.

Tara ditches the joint and rushes over, grabbing Jax’s forearm to prevent him from slamming it into Johnny’s face. Finally with the combination of both of you and Tara, you’re able to drag Jax away. He’s a lot stronger than he appears for someone who looks 150 pounds when wet.

While still on the ground, Johnny scrambles away from Jax.

“Hey, I didn’t mean any harm.” He puts his hands up. “I was being respectful.”

“It sure as fuck didn’t sound like it to me!” Jax lunges at Johnny but you and Tara are holding him back. Johnny flinches and gets up on his feet.

“Johnny’s a nice guy! He wouldn’t force himself on me.” You step in between him and Johnny.

This certainly was not the way you had intended for them to meet, but you’re also not surprised by Jax’s behavior. Despite the fact he's the one who ended what the two of you had, his jealousy disguised as protectiveness ever since then did not go unnoticed by you.

“I’m sorry if we got off on the wrong foot, but I understand you’re just being protective of her and I appreciate–” Johnny starts off.

“Shut the fuck up! As far as I know, you were being a fucking creep. You don’t get to touch her,” Jax growls as he points his finger at him.

“Fuck off, Jackson! Johnny’s my boyfriend and we can makeout and fuck all we want. We don’t need your permission,” you shoot back, stepping up to him.

“I’m gonna tell Ope,” Jax threatens.

“Go ahead. Just don’t leave out the part where you assaulted Johnny because I was consensually making out with him.” You cross your arms over your chest. 

You notice Jax’s jaw ticking and his breathing getting deeper and heavier. 

“Are… are you sure you’re okay?” Tara asks you sincerely while trying to focus on you. “Do you want to come with me and Jax?”

“I’m fine! Just leave us alone,” you reply.

“Okay, come on Jax. She said she’s fine.” Tara tugs on his hoodie sleeve. “Let’s try to find our way out. The munchies are kicking in.”

Both you and Jax stare each other down with snarls until finally Jax lets up after Tara gives him another pull.

“It was nice to finally meet you, Johnny. See you around.” 

As Jax and Tara start walking away, Jax stares Johnny down. He glances at you for a moment and you see the green in his ice cold blue eyes right before he turns facing front. He shrugs Tara’s hand off his bicep as he continues to walk away.

[wildemaven]

New Year, New You

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F! Reader (established relationship)

Word Count: 1813

Warnings: M 18+; Mentions of food and alcohol; Poor attempt at smut; I changed reader to be read as F (the previous two installments are read as non-descriptive); If I missed anything let me know

A/N: I saw the prompt for this week’s @writer-wednesday and it sparked a little idea. Since New Year’s Eve falls on Saturday this year, this is set in the Weekends with Frankie universe, but can also be read as a stand alone fic. Also, this is my first attempt at writing any sort of smut. Im hoping it is ok for what it is, trying to slowly dip my toes into writing it— you all make it seem so easy! This isn’t beta’s, so all mistakes are my own doing. And I try really hard to not use specific descriptive words for Reader (unless other wise noted; this being a F!Reader), so it’s open to interpretation for anyone reading, but if I missed stepped and did, please let me know so I can fix it. xo

Series Masterlist / Main Masterlist

Your skin tingles, breath slowly returns to a normal rhythm.

Your brain not sure if it’s the effects of the bottle of champagne you indulged in or a post lust haze sweeping through your body.

The bed dips next to you, sheets rustling as a warm body slides up next to your worn out form.

“Looks like we started the New Year off with a bang!” Frankie jokes as he places a soft kiss to your shoulder— always looking for an opportunity break the silence with a ridiculous pun.

“You are the worst!” You say as you turn to face him. He’s pleased with himself, that grin he wears proudly when he’s pulled a genuine laugh from you. Your lips find his instinctively, soft drawn out kisses exchanged as the minutes of the new year tick by. “Happy New Year Babe.” You whisper against his plush lips.

“Happy New Year indeed!” He mumbles as he starts sprinkling kisses down your neck, shifting his body over you now— lifting his head just enough to catch your sleepy gaze. “What’s your wish for the new year Love??” He asks as he makes contact with your still dewy skin, planting peck after peck in a haphazard trail down your body. Each one sending an electric current through your veins, overriding your sleep like state.

The evening began celebrating the ending of a long drawn out year.

Santi hosting a New Year’s gathering of friends at his place— an abundance of food and drinks at your disposal, all of you dressed to the nines.

The music is blaring over the conversation you’re trying to hold with Will’s wife, catching up the recent happenings in their busy lives.

You’re trying your best to to stay present to stay completely present as she shares about her and Will’s recent vacation. But from across the room, your attention is pulled to your husband, dressed in your favorite suit of his that he only wears when the occasion calls for it. He seems to be in a deep discussion with Santi. You can’t help but stare at his serious demeanor— furrowed brow, pursed lips paired with the cute little jaw tick his does when he’s really thinking. He must sense you staring, as his gaze turns towards you and you’re suddenly on the receiving end of his dimpled smile.

You can’t help the warm feeling emanating through you. Your husband still makes you giddy after all these years together. Your eyes still locked as you sip from your champagne flute, he winks and it’s all over— knees beyond weak and ready to give at any moment in the already too high heels you’re wearing.

He checks his watch, you assume to make sure you’ve both spent an adequate amount of time socializing. He glances back up at you, and you already know he’s suggesting it’s time to go with out saying a single word.

You both excuse yourselves from your conversations, drinks abandoned on nearest open surface. You weave through the other party goers to make your way to the front door with one thing and one thing only on your mind— Frankie.

Your adrenaline pumps through you wickedly, arousal tiptoeing its way to the surface sparking want from deep with in.

How every party seems to end this very way isn’t lost on you. You both can’t seem to get enough of each other and you don’t plan on changing that anytime soon.

Frankie all but crashes into once your reached the door. Desire written blatantly all over his face. His hands instinctually grabbing your waist, sequin dress bunching as he pulls you into his lust filled orbit. A man on a quest— his wife in bed, a familiar mission he’s endured many times before.

“Do you think we were spotted?” His asks resting his warm forehead on yours. His eyes dark with a similar need to your own.

“I don’t think so.” Your heart racing as your try to steady yourself against him. “But I grabbed us a few parting gifts,” You say as you lift two chilled bottles of champagne in each hand. “so we better vacate the premise now before he notices they’re gone.”

“You little minx. I didn’t realize my wife had a bad side to her.” His grip on your hips tightening.

“Well, if you play your cards right…” Grabbing onto his jacket so he knows just how serious you are. “I’ll show you more of it before the night ends.” You say as your lips ghost his.

“Fuck! I love you!” He nearly growls into your mouth with a searing kiss delivering a hunger for more. He backs you into the door caging your body with his, his tight pants not doing much to hide his eagerness as he presses into you.

You can’t help the slight whimper that escapes and the slight roll of your equally eager hips. If you both don’t leave now, this will likely end with you both on the receiving end of a Santi Tantrum (it never ends well). “I love you too Francisco. Take me home soldier!”

Breathy soft sighs are all you can manage to produce right now. How does he expect you to hold a coherent discussion when he’s working you up like this. His mouth set out to rediscover every dip and curve, never the same path twice. For every sweet kiss, there’s a gentle nip as he makes way down your torso, his destination already craving his presence.

“This! I wish for more of this!” Stumbles out just as Frankie places a soft kiss to your already sensitive clit. “Fuck!” Your hands clenching the sheets, back arching off the bed, you’re already flying towards your impending orgasm— the third one of the night.

“I think we can make that happen.” He says before continuing his pursuit for your pleasure. Grabbing the tops of your thighs to shift you down closer to him, adding just enough pressure to make your toes curl.

*Ring* *Ring*

Frankie’s phone rings just as your waves just begin to crash. Your eyes flying open in annoyance and the warmth pooling in your belly quickly dissipates as the ringing continues— you already know who it is.

“Santi!” You huff in frustration.

“Babe, can you not say his name while my head is between your legs?!” He states looking up at you in confusion.

“He’s calling! The mother fucker is calling right as I was about to cum!”

*Ring*

Reaching over you grab the phone as it begins to ring for a second time. Santi tantrum has been activated and he will continue to call until someone answers.

You toss the phone down to Frankie who’s still camped out between your legs. He looks up at you apologetically as he answers, he knows he’s going to have to make it up to you.

“Hello?”

“What the fuck Fish?? I’ve been looking for you for the last hour and then I hear from Joelle that she saw the two of you sneaking out!! WITH TWO BOTTLES OF CHAMPAGNE?!”

Even in your state of annoyance, you can’t help but chuckle at his irritation.

“Uhh, well I got hungry so we decided to head home.” Frankie says as straight faced as he can. He’s the worst liar, stammering over his words trying to make his story credible.

You can’t help but smile down at him. His curls tousled but gorgeous and his handsome face covered in a mixture of sweat and you’re arousal. As annoyed as you are, you’re grateful he has friends like Santi who worry about him.

“You got hungry?! I had this fucking thing catered and you were hungry!?”

“What I was hungry for wasn’t on the menu…” You almost lose it at that remark.

“I should have known better than to expect you two to actually stay the entire time. So really I’m not that surprised you both bailed. But you couldn’t even wait until midnight to celebrate with us could you?”

As much as you’d love to listen to Santi carry on with his childlike whining, because you do find it quite hilarious, you have other plans and it doesn’t involve this drawn out interrogation.

You decide to take matters into your own hands. Never one to rock the boat, but there’s a fire in you that’s been stoked and a mighty need for your husband. You sit up and snatch the phone from Frankie. If he can’t put an end to this call, you’re more than happy to.

“Hey Santi!”

“Well if it isn’t the thief of the night!” He grumbles into the phone. Frankie has moved up to rest his forehead on your stomach. He can’t help but snicker as Santi goes on, he’s body nearly shaking from laughter.

“Santi, it was a beautiful party and we had so much fun,” You figured you’d try the sweet approach, kill him with kindness as they say.

“I’m failing to see why you left if you had so much fun.” He cuts you off and now you’re ready for this to be done.

“Oh for Christ sake Santi! I was just about ready to have another mind blowing orgasm courtesy of my sexy husband before you decided you needed to call us at 1 am!” Frankie looks up at you in disbelief. He’s not sure he’s ever heard you be so forward before— he’s into it.

“So, what’s going to happen next is I’m going to hang up on you, Frankie is going to reconvene back where he was so perfectly situated and continue that thing he does with his tongue that makes me…”

“Ok! I got it! Goodbye!” *click*

Satisfied with yourself you toss the phone back onto the nightstand and fall back on to the pillows. You’re not sure where this boldness came from, but you kind of like how it feels.

Frankie snakes his way back up to you, propping himself up on his forearms placed on each side of your adrenaline thrilled form. The grin on his face making you melt slowly in to the bed.

“Where did that come from?” He asked looking down at you with pure excitement.

“I don’t know.” You say as you bite your bottom lip, teetering on the verge of embarrassment. But the way Frankie is looking at you says there’s no reason for anything but to be satisfied with your new found gutsiness.

“This must be the side you said I’d get to see more of tonight.” He said before leaning down to press his plush lips to yours. Neurons already firing at top speed as you smile into the kiss. “I like it! You should bring her around more.” You can’t help but smile into his kiss, Frankie always “Here’s to a New Year and a new you!”

“Happy New Year to me!” You exclaim as Frankie begins his decent to finish what you so desperately wished for.

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Writer Wednesday, Week 1 (2023)

Tagging @writer-wednesday

Watch and Learn, City Boy

Summary: Your romantic getaway with Sergeant Hound hits a snag, but luckily, you're resourceful. Hound isn't so sure about this whole "camping" thing, but you know the best way to get him on board.

Pairings: Clone Sergeant Hound x Fem!Reader

Fandom: Star Wars/The Clone Wars

Rating: T (spicy version is on AO3! Link below!)

Word Count: 1.8K

Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff; mild language; implied/fade-to-black sensuality

“Remind me why we’re doing this, again?” Hound grumbles as the two of you wrangle a pile of tent poles and canvas.

“Because the hotel didn’t allow massiffs,” you say, grunting a bit as you struggle with the heavy tent.

Technically, the hotel doesn’t allow clones, either, but you leave that unsaid. You had booked the room, paid the pet deposit, and traveled from Coruscant to Alderaan, only to be abruptly turned away at check-in. Before you left, you told the hotel concierge your opinion of their corporate bigotry, and now you are also banned for life. And so here the three of you are, setting up an ancient, decrepit canvas tent that you dug out of your parents’ attic.

Well, technically the two of you are setting up the tent while Grizzer explores your campsite, sniffing the lush greenery of Alderaan with interest. The massiff is accustomed to the hard plastcrete and rancid smells of Coruscant, and you wonder if she’s ever been in nature before.

“Relax,” you say. “I did this all the time growing up. It’ll be fun!”

“Sleeping in the dirt and eating rations is your idea of fun?” Hound asks.

“The tent has a floor,” you point out, “and believe me, we can do better than rations.”

Eventually, you wrestle the tent into submission and get two bedrolls laid out inside. The scent of old canvas, saturated with woodsmoke and memories, pulls you right back to your childhood: camping under the stars, swimming in the lake, lying in the sand and exploring the world around you. You can almost hear the shrieks of laughter and your father’s deep baritone as he sings a lullaby to you and your siblings.

You hang up a few strings of twinkle lights, and then, satisfied with the cozy little retreat you’ve created, you go back outside to get a campfire started. Hound is standing with his arms crossed, looking decidedly unimpressed with the entire situation.

“Has it occurred to you that there are wild animals in these woods?” he asks. “Gree told me about the wolf-cats of Alderaan.”

“Grizzer will keep us safe,” you reassure him. “Won’t you, girl? Who’s my sweet baby?”

Grizzer wiggles happily over to you and nuzzles into your chest as you squat to scritch behind her ear holes.

“Grizzer, have some dignity, for kark’s sake,” Hound says. “You are a soldier of the Republic, not a pampered lap-tooka.”

Grizzer ignores him and flops onto her back to beg for belly rubs. Seeing the way you fawn over the massiff, Hound can’t help but smile, remembering the day he met you.

“Grizzer! NO!”

Hound chased after the bolting massiff as she charged an unsuspecting civilian in the middle of Monument Plaza. Grizzer had yanked the leash out of his hands and was running full-tilt through the scattering crowds. Too late, he saw her target: you.

You were standing in the sun, laughing with a street vendor, and Hound would have taken a moment to appreciate your beauty if you hadn’t been standing directly in the path of certain doom.

“Grizzer!” he shouted again. “Heel!”

You turned toward the commotion with only a few meters between you and the charging massiff. Hound fought the urge to close his eyes before Grizzer launched herself and savaged you, but then something completely unexpected happened.

You called out a word in a strange language, and the massiff skidded to a halt in front of you. You allowed her to sniff your hand, and then you pulled something out of your pocket and offered it to her. She took the treat and licked your hand as Hound finally caught up, heaving with exertion.

“Sorry, ma’am,” he panted. “She slipped her leash. I don’t know what got into her.”

You smiled up at him, and his heart thudded with more than just adrenaline when he saw the way your eyes sparkled.

“She just smelled the treats,” you said with a shrug. “We always had massiffs when I was growing up, and I never got out of the habit of carrying a few treats in my pockets. I hope it’s all right that I gave her one; I really didn’t want to lose a hand.”

In that moment, Hound knew he was utterly lost.

“Awww, is Daddy grumpy?” you coo at Grizzer as you rub her belly. “Is he a Cranky McGrumperson? Is he spreading his grumpy energy all over our campsite because he’s afraid to get his hands dirty?”

You shoot Hound a teasing look, and he stalks over to you, pulling you away from Grizzer and into his arms for a kiss. You sigh happily. You’ve been seeing Hound for a few weeks now, and you were hoping that a romantic trip to your home planet of Alderaan during his shore leave would give you an opportunity to take things to the next level. You had booked a room at a posh boutique hotel with a luxurious soaking tub and an incredible view of the mountains. Who knew the hoteliers would turn out to be gigantic dicks?

So you made a quick change of plans. You had been worried about Hound’s reaction to the idea of camping, but your other option was to take him to your parents’ home and sleep in your childhood bedroom, which… No thanks. Not the ideal setup for the intimate weekend you are planning.

You break away from Hound’s kiss feeling lightheaded. He’s an excellent kisser, and as you’ve discovered over the past weeks, a man who can kiss like that will bring a similar level of skill and enthusiasm to the bedroom (or the bedroll, as the case may be). Now all you have to do is coax him out of his sullen mood.

“Did I mention I happen to be an amazing cook?” you ask, fluttering your eyelashes.

His interest is immediately piqued. “How are you planning to cook out here?”

“Watch and learn, city boy,” you say with a grin.

One hour, two shaak steaks, and four bottles of ale later, Hound’s temper is remarkably improved. 

“Where did you learn to cook over an open fire like that?” he asks.

“My dad taught me,” you say as you pull out a deck of sabacc cards. “I told you we used to do this all the time when I was a kid. You in?”

He nods, so you shuffle and deal. 

“Your dad sounds like an interesting man,” he says. “Too bad he wasn’t home when we stopped by to get the camping gear. I’d like to meet him.”

You laugh, “Trust me, it’s better this way. You might be ready to take down the entire Separatist army, but you are not prepared for my parents’ boyfriend interrogation.”

“Boyfriend, is it?” Hound asks, his brown eyes twinkling.

“If you play your cards right,” you say with a smirk.

You play a few hands of sabacc, betting with pebbles since Hound doesn’t have any credits, and when it gets too dark to see the cards, you decide to change into pajamas. Grizzer goes into the tent with you and immediately flops down on a bedroll. When you’d packed for your trip, you were planning to be spending your nights in a luxury suite, and your choice of sleepwear was not exactly suited to the great outdoors, so you regretfully tuck away the lacy little chemise. You strip out of your clothes and pull on a pair of short shorts and an old Alderaan University hoodie—the best option you could find in your old bedroom at your parents’ house. 

When you leave the tent, Grizzer stays behind. Hound watches you with an unreadable expression, and you worry that he’s still not having a good time. It’s time to break out the big guns.

“Are you ready to have your mind blown, trooper?” you ask with a flirty look.

He sits forward immediately. “What did you have in mind?”

You bend over and rummage through the bags of groceries you’d bought on your way out of Aldera. When you straighten up, you notice his gaze lingering on your exposed legs. You toss him a packet of marshmallows.

“What are these for?” he asks.

You hand him a stick that you scavenged earlier in the day and teach him how to toast the marshmallows over the coals of the campfire. Hound’s immediately catches on fire, which you assure him is part of the experience. 

“It’s not a real s’more if the marshmallow isn’t at least thirty percent carbon,” you say.

You show him how to sandwich the resulting crispy, molten marshmallow in between layers of chocolate and sweet biscuits, and the bliss on his face when he tastes it for the first time makes the entire trip worthwhile. You haven’t eaten s’mores in years, and you’ve forgotten how rich they are. 

“I think I can only eat one,” you say.

“Not me,” he says. “I’ll eat the whole bag.”

You give him a delighted smile, pleased that he’s finally come around. Hound has such a sweet tooth. All the clones do, he tells you. Something to do with their enhanced metabolisms, and the fact that they rarely get to eat anything other than ration bars and bland mess hall food.

“These are incredible,” he mumbles around a bite. “Messy, though.”

“I can help with that,” you offer, licking the melted chocolate and marshmallow goo off his fingers. “After all, we both know you don’t like to get your hands dirty.”

His eyes widen, and for a moment, he forgets how to breathe. He swallows audibly. “You know, I take it back. Maybe camping isn’t so bad after all.”

You stand up and tug him to his feet, leading him to the tent. Inside, Grizzer has completely claimed one entire bedroll for herself.

“I guess we’ll have to share,” you say, already planning what kind of treat to give the massiff as a thank-you.

“Oh, no, anything but that,” Hound murmurs as he draws you close to him, running his hands down your back to squeeze your ass. “You know, with the lights on in the tent, I could see everything when you were changing.”

“Everything?” you ask, tipping your head back to gaze up into his beautiful amber eyes.

“Well, maybe not everything,” he admits. He slips a hand inside your hoodie to caress the bare skin of your back. 

“Maybe we should turn them off so we don’t scandalize all those wild animals you’re so worried about,” you tease.

“Let them watch,” he says.

***

The soft light of an early summer morning filters through the canvas of the tent. You awaken slowly, feeling deliciously warm and safe. As you drift towards consciousness, you feel weight pressing against you from both sides, and you realize that at some point during the night, Grizzer has joined you and Hound on your bedroll, sandwiching you between her and the trooper. You are wrapped securely in Hound's strong arms, your legs tangled between his, and his fingers are interlaced with yours. You hear the melodic chirpings of avian-song outside the tent, and you snuggle closer to Hound, feeling his warm, even breath against your shoulder. 

It may not be the romantic getaway you had planned, but this may be your favorite holiday ever.

Spicy version here:

[hayatheauthor]

The Writer's Guide to Authentic Wounds and Fatalities

Writing fatal injuries in a story requires a delicate balance between realism and narrative impact. The portrayal of these life-altering events can evoke strong emotions in readers and shape the trajectory of your characters' journeys. In this blog, I will explore the intricacies of depicting fatal injuries in a manner that feels authentic, engaging, and respectful to the gravity of such circumstances. By understanding the nuances of fatal injuries, you will be equipped to craft compelling narratives that resonate with your readers.

Writing Fatal Injuries

When it comes to writing fatal injuries, it is crucial to approach the subject with care and accuracy. Fatal injuries carry immense consequences for your characters and can shape the trajectory of your story. By delving into the intricacies of portraying fatal injuries authentically, you can ensure that the gravity and impact of such events are effectively conveyed to your readers.

Choosing the right injuries for your story

Selecting the appropriate fatal injuries for your narrative involves considering various factors. Ask yourself: What purpose does this injury serve within the story? How does it affect the characters and the overall plot? Conduct thorough research to identify injuries that align with your story's context and resonate with the emotional journey of your characters.

For example, in a historical drama, you may research common fatal injuries during a particular era, such as battlefield injuries, diseases, or accidents prevalent at the time. In a crime thriller, you might explore the portrayal of fatal gunshot wounds or traumatic injuries resulting from violent encounters. By aligning the injuries with the context and themes of your story, you create a more immersive and believable experience for your readers.

Researching the mechanics of fatal injuries

To portray fatal injuries convincingly, it is essential to delve into the mechanics behind them. Understand the specific anatomical structures and systems involved, as well as the forces or mechanisms that can lead to fatal outcomes. Explore medical resources, consult experts if possible, and gather insights into the physiological and psychological implications of such injuries.

For instance, if your character suffers a fatal stab wound, research the anatomy involved, the potential organs affected, and the potential consequences such as internal bleeding or organ failure. By understanding the specific details and implications of the injury, you can describe the physical and emotional toll it takes on the character with greater accuracy and depth.

Depicting the immediate aftermath

When writing about fatal injuries, vividly describe the immediate aftermath to capture the intense emotions and physical realities. Consider the sensory details, the shock and disbelief experienced by characters, and the chaotic environment that often surrounds such events. Balancing realism with the needs of your story, create a scene that immerses readers and evokes empathy.

For example, if a character experiences a fatal car accident, you can depict the chaos at the scene, the character's disorientation, and the reactions of witnesses. Emphasize the sensory details such as the sound of screeching tires or the smell of burning rubber, creating a visceral experience for your readers.

Emotional and dramatic impact on the narrative

The impact of fatal injuries extends beyond the immediate moment. Explore the ripple effects on other characters, relationships, and the overall plot. Delve into the emotional responses, grief, guilt, anger, or determination that arises in the aftermath of loss. Utilize these emotional arcs to deepen character development and drive the narrative forward.

For instance, the loss of a loved one due to a fatal illness might lead to grief and strained relationships among the remaining family members. The emotional journey of a character grappling with guilt and seeking redemption after causing a fatal accident can become a central theme in your story. By delving into these emotional arcs and their consequences, you add depth and resonance to your narrative.

Writing Minor Injuries

While fatal injuries may capture our attention with their dramatic impact, it is equally important to pay attention to the portrayal of minor injuries in your writing. Minor injuries, though less severe, can still significantly affect your characters and contribute to the authenticity of your story. In this section, we will explore the art of depicting minor injuries, ensuring that they are not overlooked or trivialized. By delving into the nuances of minor injuries, you can add depth and realism to your characters' experiences.

Types of minor injuries to consider

When crafting your story, it is essential to consider a range of minor injuries that can occur. These injuries can include cuts, bruises, sprains, minor burns, or even minor fractures. Each type of injury carries its own unique characteristics, associated pain levels, and recovery processes. By understanding these distinctions, you can create accurate and believable depictions that resonate with your readers.

For example, a character who sustains a cut on their hand may experience sharp pain, the sight of blood, and the need for immediate first aid. On the other hand, a character with a sprained ankle may struggle with mobility, experience swelling, and require rest and care for a few days. By paying attention to these specific details, you can enhance the realism of your storytelling.

Conveying pain and discomfort

When writing about minor injuries, it is important to effectively convey the pain and discomfort experienced by your characters. Consider describing the sensation of pain, the throbbing or stinging feeling, and how it affects their daily activities or interactions. Showcasing the emotional impact of pain, such as frustration, irritation, or vulnerability, can deepen the readers' connection to the character's experience.

For instance, if a character suffers from a sprained wrist, you can describe the dull ache that persists, making simple tasks like typing or holding objects challenging. By capturing these small but significant moments, you immerse readers in the character's struggle and create a more realistic portrayal.

Balancing realism with narrative pace

While it is important to depict minor injuries realistically, it is also crucial to strike a balance with the overall pace and momentum of your story. Consider the significance of the injury within the larger context of your narrative. Some injuries may require more detailed attention and impact the plot, while others may serve as background elements. Adjust the level of detail and focus accordingly, ensuring that the portrayal of minor injuries aligns with the narrative's flow.

For example, a small cut on a character's finger may not require an extensive description unless it becomes infected or triggers an unexpected consequence. By aligning the portrayal of minor injuries with their narrative relevance, you maintain a consistent pace while still acknowledging their impact on your characters' lives.

Writing Bloodshed And Realistic Blood Loss

When writing about wounds and injuries, it is essential to consider the amount of blood loss your characters may experience. Realistic portrayal of bloodshed can enhance the authenticity of your scenes and immerse readers in the gravity of the situation. In this section, we will explore the factors influencing blood loss and techniques for accurately depicting it in your writing.

Understanding blood loss and its impact on the body

To authentically portray blood loss, it's crucial to have a basic understanding of how the human body responds to injury. Research the circulatory system and the role of blood in transporting oxygen and nutrients throughout the body. Consider the different types of blood vessels and their potential for bleeding when injured. This knowledge will help you create realistic scenarios and determine the appropriate level of blood loss for specific injuries.

Factors influencing blood loss in different injury scenarios

The amount of blood loss can vary depending on the severity and location of the injury. Factors such as the size of blood vessels, the rate of bleeding, and the body's ability to clot play a significant role. For example, a deep laceration in an artery will result in more substantial blood loss compared to a superficial cut on the skin. Consider these factors when describing injuries and their resulting bloodshed.

Techniques for accurately portraying blood loss in writing

There are several techniques you can use to convey the realistic impact of blood loss in your writing. Describing the color, consistency, and flow of blood can provide vivid imagery. You can also include physical symptoms such as dizziness, weakness, or fainting that may accompany significant blood loss. Additionally, consider the emotional response of your characters and how they react to the sight of blood or their own injuries.

By incorporating these techniques, you can create scenes that evoke a visceral response in readers and enhance the authenticity of your writing.

Bruises: Colors, Progression, and Pain

Bruises are a common result of injuries, and understanding how they form, change in color, and cause discomfort can greatly enhance the realism of your writing. By accurately describing bruises, you can bring depth to your characters' injuries and portray their healing process convincingly.

Understanding the stages and colors of bruises

Bruises go through distinct stages of color as they heal. Initially, they may appear red or purple due to the broken blood vessels beneath the skin. Over time, the color changes to blue, green, yellow, and eventually fades to a brown or yellowish hue. Understanding this color progression can help you accurately describe the age of a bruise and the healing process.

For example, a fresh bruise might be vivid purple, indicating recent trauma, while a fading bruise may have a yellowish tinge, suggesting that healing has begun. By incorporating these color details, you can add realism to your characters' injuries and track the passage of time within your narrative.

Depicting the progression of bruises over time

As bruises heal, they often change in appearance and size. Initially, a bruise may be small and localized, but it can gradually spread and become more extensive. Describing this progression can provide a sense of the healing process and the passage of time within your story.

For instance, a character who sustains a significant blow to the face may develop a bruise that starts as a small spot near the eye but expands to cover a larger area over the next few days. By accurately portraying the progression of bruises, you enhance the authenticity of your characters' injuries and their recovery.

Conveying the pain and sensitivity associated with bruises

Bruises can be painful, sensitive to touch, and affect a character's movement and daily activities. Describing the pain and discomfort experienced by your characters can create empathy and immerse readers in their physical ordeals.

Consider conveying the tenderness of a bruise when pressure is applied, the throbbing sensation, or the limitation of movement due to the pain.

Remember The Side Effects

Injuries, whether minor or severe, often come with a range of side effects that can significantly impact your characters' lives. These side effects can extend beyond the physical realm and encompass emotional, psychological, and social aspects.

Physical side effects

Injuries can have profound physical side effects that go beyond the immediate pain and discomfort. Consider the potential consequences such as limited mobility, impaired coordination, chronic pain, or the need for assistive devices like crutches or braces. Describing these physical side effects can add depth to your characters' struggles and provide a realistic portrayal of their healing journey.

For example, a character who sustains a leg injury may experience difficulty walking, require physical therapy, or have long-term complications that affect their day-to-day activities. By addressing these physical side effects, you create a more nuanced depiction of the aftermath of injuries.

Emotional and psychological side effects

Injuries can have a profound emotional and psychological impact on characters. They may experience fear, anxiety, trauma, or a loss of confidence. Consider how the injury affects their self-image, relationships, or mental well-being. Explore the emotional journey your characters undergo as they navigate the aftermath of their injuries.

For instance, a character who survives a near-fatal accident may develop post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) and struggle with recurring nightmares or panic attacks. By incorporating these emotional and psychological side effects, you can deepen the complexity of your characters and their responses to traumatic experiences.

Social implications and changes

Injuries can also lead to significant social changes for your characters. They may face challenges in their personal relationships, encounter stigma or discrimination, or experience changes in their roles or identities. Explore how the injury affects their interactions with others and their sense of belonging in the world.

For example, a character who sustains a facial injury may encounter judgment or stares from others, leading to self-consciousness or isolation. By addressing the social implications and changes resulting from injuries, you can create multi-dimensional characters and explore the impact of their injuries on their social dynamics.

By incorporating these various side effects into your writing, you bring depth and authenticity to your characters' experiences and showcase the wide-ranging impact of injuries.

Conclusion

Writing authentic wounds and fatalities requires attention to detail and a deep understanding of the physical, emotional, and psychological aspects involved. By following the guidelines and exploring the subheadings discussed in this guide, you can create compelling and realistic portrayals of injuries in your writing.

Remember to conduct thorough research on the specific injuries you want to depict, understanding their mechanics, symptoms, and potential outcomes. Consider the immediate and long-term effects on your characters, both physically and emotionally. Incorporate sensory details to immerse readers in the experience, describing the pain, bloodshed, colors of bruises, and the progression of healing.

Additionally, don't forget to address the side effects that injuries can have on your characters' lives. Explore the physical limitations, emotional struggles, and social implications that arise from their injuries. By delving into these aspects, you can create well-rounded characters and compelling narratives that resonate with readers.

I hope this blog on forging epic battles will help you in your writing journey. Be sure to comment any tips of your own to help your fellow authors prosper, and follow my blog for new blog updates every Monday and Thursday.  

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Haya’s book blog where I post writing and publishing tips for authors every Monday and Thursday! And don’t forget to head over to my TikTok and Instagram profiles @hayatheauthor to learn more about my WIP and writing journey! 

[pintsizemama]

The Wedding Reception

The Marcus & Peanut ‘Verse

Summary: Marcus and Peanut attend John’s wedding and discuss their own future.

Pairings: Marcus Pike x Female Reader, Marcus Pike x You

Fandom: The Mentalist

Rating: Mature 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 1,078

Warnings: fluff, some tension from unconventional relationships, allusion to sexy times...let me know if I missed anything, and I’ll happily add it here!

@writer-wednesday

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You sat quietly at the table staring at your big brother in amazement. You never thought in a million years you’d be sitting at your brother’s wedding, but here you were. You smiled as you watched him dance with his new bride. John had always been a player, but ever since he met Alana, he was a changed man. You fiddled with the fall floral centerpiece while you got lost in your thoughts.

“There’s my gorgeous girls,” a warm, familiar voice said from behind you. You turned in your seat to see your gorgeous boyfriend, Marcus, approaching the table. “She’s out like a light, huh?” He nodded towards your daughter, Sarah, who was sound asleep in your arms.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I guess flower girl duties wiped her out.” You looked down at your little angel. She had her father’s dark hair and eyes, but her face was an exact replica of yours. Marcus sat down next to you and gently brushed a wayward curl off Sarah’s forehead.

“I’m surprised she’s sleeping through all this noise,” Marcus mused.

“Are you really, though?” You asked with a quiet laugh. “This child sleeps like a zombie.”

“True,” Marcus laughed. Sarah was almost a year and a half old. You smiled to yourself when you thought about how the last three years had gone. You had finished up with grad school before Sarah was born—thank god. You had been lucky enough to to find a job right away, and they were more than happy to allow you to work remotely so you could be home with the baby. Being a new mom and juggling a new career simultaneously had been stressful, but Marcus was there with you every step of the way. He was the best dad. Sarah was his whole world, and he loved her with an intensity you never imagined existed.

Things between you and Marcus were amazing. He was still just as doting and passionate as he was that first night in the hotel in Denver, almost three years ago. You glanced over at your parents. They were thrilled that John was finally settling down. He had met Alana about six months after your first Christmas with Marcus.

Marcus had told you about his encounter with Alana on Christmas Eve once John mentioned who he was dating. You both shared a laugh, and Marcus was genuinely happy the kind woman who helped him buy your favorite present had finally found a good man.

The only cloud on this joyous day was your parents’ lack of understanding on your own marital status. Despite being together three years, being madly in love, and sharing a daughter, you and Marcus were still not married. Not even engaged. Your families were completely baffled. Your brother—the serial heartbreaker—was now married to a woman that he had known less time than you and Marcus had been dating…and you and Marcus have known each other your whole lives. So…why no ring?

It was a simple answer. Neither of you felt the need to rush it. You both were enjoying your life, and the ring would come in time. You had wanted to finish school and work for a few years before getting married anyway. The unexpected arrival of your daughter had thrown a bit of a wrench in your plans, but neither of you wanted to get married before you were ready just because you had a baby. Marcus was fully on board. You did ask him about it just before Sarah was born though. Marcus was well known as a man who loved to commit…so why no official commitment with you?

He had smiled your favorite smile—the one that made his eyes crinkle on the sides—and tucked your hair behind your ear.

“The reason I was in such a hurry to make a commitment in the past,” he had explained, “was because I was always afraid of losing them. I never felt that they were truly mine. Never felt they wanted the relationship as much as I did, so I—stupidly—thought making a more profound commitment would ensure they stayed. I know better now. It didn’t work out with all my other relationships because I was never theirs. I was always yours. We were made for each other, Peanut. I never have to worry about you not being mine. You were always mine. It just took me too damn long to realize it. I’m in no rush to solidify this relationship in the eyes of the rest of the world. You’re the other half of my soul. I can wait as long as you need me to. We have forever. What’s a few more years?” That revelation had resulted in many tears (of love and admiration) and one of the hottest nights of sex of your life.

You were grateful that Marcus was giving you the time you needed. But it had been long enough. You had accomplished everything you wanted to before settling down…and you really wanted to be Mrs. Pike.

You looked back at your gorgeous boyfriend. He was smiling warmly at you.

“How about you let Grandma hold Sleepy Beauty for a bit so I can dance with the most gorgeous woman in the room?” He asked.

“Marcus,” you scolded gently, “you can’t say something like that at someone else’s wedding. The bride is the most gorgeous woman on her wedding day.”

“Alright, if you say so, Peanut,” Marcus said with a wink. You laughed and stood up to bring Sarah over to your mom. She gladly took her only grandchild from your arms so you could step into Marcus’s. He held you close as you swayed to the music.

“This is a beautiful wedding,” you remarked, looking around the room.

“Yes,” Marcus agreed. “And Alana does make a beautiful bride…but I know you’ll be an even more beautiful bride one day, sweetheart.”

“Soon,” you answered. Marcus froze.

“Soon?” He parroted. You nodded. “Are you telling me you’re ready for the next step, baby?”

“I’m telling you that, the ball is in your court, Agent Pike,” you answered mysteriously. “Do with it what you will.” You grinned at him devilishly.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he smiled, “I’ve had years to think about this. Get ready. You think I’m romantic? You haven’t seen nothing yet.”

“Do your worst,” you said with a grin.

“I intend to, Peanut,” he replied. “I intend to.”

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[trulybetty]

Closed Sets | Dieter Bravo x OFC!Bryony

A little one-shot for this week's @writer-wednesday - I thought of ideas for a couple of other characters, and I may return to them...

But for now, here's Dieter and Bryony...

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC!Bryony Warnings: closed movie sets, Dieter being his unrelentless self, barely read-over writing, tiny hint at smut if you squint Summary: Dieter convinces Bryony to visit him at 'work', however, he has other ideas. AO3: TBD

Closed Sets

Dieter was radiating mischievous energy. Bryony had suspected he was up to something the moment she’d realised the sound stage he’d lured her to was empty and not another soul was to be seen, anywhere. She had been working late into the night in the offices on the other side of the studios when her phone had sprung to life with a series of text messages, all from Dieter asking, no begging, her to come see him. 

Dieter: Bryonnnnnyyyyy 😏😏😏 Bryony: Dieter. Dieter: Mon chere 🥀🌙, I'm aching without you. Bryony: I miss you too. Dieter: 💔 Devastating. Why not wrap up your work and come see me? I'm only on lot 6 🎬 Bryony: I still have six more pages of this proposal, Dieter. Dieter: It feels like forever since I last saw you 😭 Bryony: We had breakfast together this morning. You interrupted my morning meetings and you've FaceTimed me three times this afternoon already. Dieter: Ahhh, but it's not the same...😓 Come on, Daff 🌼 Bryony: And Cricket told me there was a fourth attempt, said you FaceTimed her instead of me... Dieter: 🤦‍♂️ Not my finest moment, I admit. Bryony: She told me you were naked... Dieter: Just a minor wardrobe malfunction 🙊 Nothing scandalous, I assure you!

So he'd lured her here with the promise of a break from their demanding schedules, a playful diversion. Dieter, with his boyish charm and sparkling eyes, was in his element, a mischievous grin adorning his face. Standing before Bryony, he was practically buzzing as he guided her towards the mock suite nestled within the sprawling movie set. 

“Dieter,” Bryony hissed, casting a wary glance around the dimly lit set, “this is a closed set, we’re not supposed to be here.”

His grin widened, and he shrugged nonchalantly as he smoothly retorted, “Au contraire mon cherie, I’m an actor in this movie and you’re a producer who works on movies. This is a movie set is it not? Do we not meet the prerequisites to be here?”

Bryony rolled her eyes at his logic, but a smile tugged at the corners of her lips despite herself. His light-hearted banter was infectious, and she found herself unable to suppress her laughter. “That’s one hell of a way to bend the rules to your advantage, Bravo,” she said, her voice layered with a mix of exasperation and amusement.

Dieter merely shrugged, feigning the picture of innocence. “Come on Daff," he coaxed, his voice a silky drawl that was hard to resist. "I need to get in character for my scene tomorrow, help me run my scenes.”

Bryony narrowed her eyes at him, knowing all too well the underlying subtext of his words. She was after all too familiar with his tactics, and she knew precisely what scene he was supposed to be filming the next day. It involved a bed, a beautiful woman, and not a stitch of clothing. She couldn't help but laugh at his audacious attempt.

"Dieter," she admonished, fighting the smirk that tugged at her lips, "I’m not having sex with you here."

Undeterred by her refusal, Dieter's playful grin never wavered. His eyes twinkled with delight as he stepped closer, his fingers gently tracing the curve of her arm. The sudden proximity, the warmth radiating from him, and the lingering scent of his cologne set her senses on high alert. This was Dieter at his most persuasive, his most charming.

He turned, walking over to the bed in the middle of the set “Come on Bryony," he began, his tone feigning sincerity as he perched on the edge of the sumptuously dressed bed. The white linen and plush cushions perfectly positioned for the scene in question. "I need to get in character for my scene tomorrow. Help me run my scenes.”

“Dieter,” she replied, the single utterance of his name holding a world of warning. Despite herself, she felt the familiar stirrings of desire at the back of her mind.

Unfazed by her retort, he simply shrugged, his grin widening as he leaned back on his hands, feigning innocence. “Daff," he coaxed, his voice dropping to a persuasive whisper that tickled the edges of her resolve, "give me something to work with tomorrow.”

He knew just how to push her buttons, how to make her knees weak with a mere glance, a word, a touch. It was a push and pull that they had perfected over the course of their relationship. It was enticing, thrilling, and utterly frustrating.

“Maybe I can try out the whole method acting thing," he suggested with a twinkle in his eye, "see if it’s all what it’s cracked up to be.”

That elicited a laugh from her, a delightful sound that echoed through the spacious suite, bringing it to life. “Dieter Bravo,” she exclaimed, rolling her eyes at his theatrics.

Switching tactics, Dieter leaned in, his voice dropping to a sultry murmur, “Juste une petite démonstration, ma chérie?” The shift to French was deliberate. He knew the language was a turn-on for her, the way his lips curled around the words sending an unintentional shiver down her spine.

“Dieter,” she strung out his name, her resolve faltering as he stepped towards him, close enough that he could tug her to stand between his open legs by belt loops of her jeans.

"At least let's fool around,” he winked, hoping to set some middle ground to agree on, “give me something to work with tomorrow on set. Sex scenes really aren't as sexy to film as people think."

Bryony's gaze flickered from his hopeful eyes to his softly smirking lips, a decision forming in her mind. With a sigh, she moved closer, her hands landing on his chest. The fabric of his shirt was warm under her touch, his heartbeat steady beneath her fingers.

"Alright," she finally relented, her voice almost a whisper as she gave him her best attempt at a pointed look. "But remember, this is purely for research purposes."

Dieter's face lit up, his grin widening as she lifted her knees to straddle his. "Of course, purely research, Ms. Morgan."

He was leaning in close, the warmth of his breath fanning against her neck, his arms wrapped loosely around her waist. Despite her initial protests, Bryony found herself falling into the rhythm of his playful game. She rolled her eyes, a half-hearted attempt to appear exasperated. "Jesus, I must be losing my mind to let you convince me of this."

[safarigirlsp]

The Beast

The Beast

Vampire Kylo Ren x Reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: None! Shocking! Some light horror and sexy themes.

AO3 Link

For Halloween, please enjoy this wicked fairytale for Transfusion Tuesday and also writer wednesday based a request from this Edgar Allen Poe prompt list. Notes of Beauty and the Beast, Dracula, and The Raven in my best Poe-ish attempt 🍂🍁🍂 

This also continues my Wicked Fairytale Series where I give my own twisted twist to the classics, like Cinderella , A Midsummer Night’s Dream  and A Christmas Carol.

For as long as anyone could remember, the castle had loomed from its cliffside perch above the sleepy little town far below. Like a raven, always watching, always waiting, for its prey to wander close enough to be ensnared in its shadows that stretched forth like grasping talons when twilight grew dim. Every night, when the mists swirled like waltzing specters and the chill settled like death’s hand upon the stricken, mothers would tell their children the tale of the Beast that had always lived in the castle.

With windows like nefarious eyes, peaked rooftops like arched eyebrows, spires rising like devilish horns into the sky, and the spiked iron teeth of the courtyard gates, the castle was a being itself. A monstrosity more imposing than any gargoyle watching over a churchyard. If the Beast didn’t ravage any hapless passersby, the castle itself looked eager to devour them whole.

For as long as fairytales had roots, the quiet little village had by horror been haunted. The frigid darkness that swirled through the streets like a wayward horseman’s spirit, lost and forsaken, was as warm as the kiss of a summer breeze compared to the icy black terror the Beast wrought upon those foolish enough to venture forth in the witching hour.

Far wiser than their human masters, animals would never dare encroach upon the accursed castle. Venture too far into the castle woods and horses would buck and bolt and hounds would whine and turn tail. Deer and fox and cheerfully colored songbirds knew they were unwelcome inside the black woods, among the dead trees with branches like demons’ claws, twisting up from Hell. Only the other creatures of darkness and malice, wolves and ravens, kept company with the Beast in his woods and his lair of stone. Man alone, with his mind for reason and penchant for fumbling upon the worst conclusion, hazarded to trespass upon the castle and meet his death at the gruesome hands of the Beast within.

Or so it had always been said. For no man who had made the perilous journey into the darkness of the castle’s shadow had ever returned.

From the topmost window in the highest tower, the Beast watched the foolish mortals go about their trivial fleeting lives below him, nothing more than ants crawling before a god. The Beast watched with loathing untold and seething unmeasured at the trivial humans who lived their fleeting lives with a carefree happiness he would never know. A silent snarl curled his lips at the sight and his tongue would absently trace over the tips of his fangs, thinking, as he often did, of the sweet taste of blood when they tore through frail flesh.

The tower spire was a freedom for the Beast, a reminder of the benefit of the bargain he had made centuries before. A deal sealed in those ages deemed dark -- dark and befitting of the curse that had stricken the Beast. Down leagues of staircases that seemed to spiral down to the bowels of the underworld, past long hallways winding lonely through bleak walls and past portraits of the long-dead and forgotten, deep in the cold earthen sepulcher in the castle dungeons lay an ancient coffin, undisturbed but never at rest. Inscribed upon the coffin and tarnished by the passage of centuries was its intended occupant’s name and title. Sir Kylo Ren.

Far longer ago than anyone in the inconsequential little town remembered, a knight protected the land and the woods and the cliffs. The Black Knight built a castle on the highest mountain, a fortress of stone to keep the woman he loved safe within its walls. The Black Knight was as beloved by his vassals as he was feared by his enemies, for he protected his own with a fist gloved in steel armor as black as his rage. But memories are as short as the frivolous lives of the townspeople and now no one remembered the Black Knight and his valor. But all the townspeople remember the creature he became. The Beast.

Not even the mighty power of the Black Knight, his strength beyond all other men, could save his woman when the plague settled its pox over the land. She was swept away from him on a green tide of pestilence to a place he could never follow, for surely a man as fearsome as himself could never trail an angel’s wings through Heaven’s Gates. The winter that blew in after her death never again lifted from the knight’s castle grounds nor the gloom from his heart.

Offering solace to the distraught shell of a man the Black Knight had become, a witch emerged from the shadows. Never before nor since was the treacherous creature seen, save only that one harsh winter night when Sir Kylo Ren had naught for company but his thoughts that churned blacker than cauldron pitch and more poisonous than Cleopatra’s adder. Like a raft to a drowning man, the witch offered the Black Knight that which he wanted most in the Hell his world had become. To know happiness again. To feel warmth and pleasure. For his true love to be returned to him.

A deal was struck, unholy and perfidious, back in that forgotten age of knights and witchcraft. The bargain was not to be for the Black Knight, for bargains offer a benefit. It was a trick as vile and malicious as the fumes of the underworld. Wearing the tempting veil of a bargain, it was a curse wrought upon the Black Knight. And from the curse, from the coffin of the noble knight, a creature of the night emerged. More monstrous than a vampire, Sir Kylo Ren was transformed into an unholy beast.

A curse lifted by a lover’s kiss or a moment of understanding was too simple, for love can bloom in an instant in the darkest hours of the night and flutter away with the rising sun. Sir Kylo knew well how to elicit lust and desire, how to arouse the flames of passion and ecstasy that would quickly flare into a wildfire of love. The Beast’s curse could only be undone by the rarest of women; the woman who could look upon him, see the ferocious beast he was, and show no fear. It was one thing to love a monster, as some women did with their own vile husbands, but yet another to show no fear in the face of monstrosity. The boldest knights looked upon the Beast with fear hammering in their chest so fast that Sir Kylo could dance to the beat. What woman could show bravery and valor where even the finest knights could not? None who had the misfortune of crossing paths with the Beast in the long centuries since the curse was levied upon him.

A curse that only affected the accursed was too benevolent, for there must be consequences to those who would be so tenacious as to attempt to cure the Beast. The witch was cunning and her curse had teeth as sharp as the wolves of the forest. Sir Kylo would not have been known for centuries as the Beast without good cause, without earning that loathsome moniker. Fear was his most morbid aphrodisiac, the spiced scent of terror sent the Beast into a frothing bloodlust. And what remained of the man Kylo had been was lost in the turbulence of mayhem and drowned in the blood that flowed in torrents when the beast was summoned forth to bring the wrath of Hell down upon the fearful and unworthy.

Gentle and loving women, wanton and deceptive women, those pure of heart and those of unadulterated sinfulness alike, all met with equal savagery when their fear bloomed beneath their skin, coursed through their veins like the finest wine. At the faintest hint of fear, the Beast consumed what remained of the man and tore the women apart with razored fangs and supernatural strength. The body of a healthy young woman contains scantly little blood, barely enough for an aperitif, and would only whet the Beast’s appetite. Those were the nights, those nights the Beast hoped beyond hope that he had finally found a woman with the heart of a lion, when blood covered the streets of the town the next day and loved ones tried to piece missing relatives together from the limbs that had been torn off and scattered away from their bodies.

When the Beast tasted the blood of the fearful, he raged. Until the Eastern sky glowed as red as the blood on his lips, threatening him with the dreadful sunrise, he raged. And so, the Beast cloistered himself inside his castle, imprisoned himself in a fortress of his own doing. Venturing no longer from the walls of his castle and the prison of his curse, Sir Kylo waited for a death that would never come. Or so he tried. Some nights the hunger, the longing, to be free of his curse was stronger than his will.

On those nights, he would let others bleed for him. On those nights, he would watch the life drain away from a frightened woman as she found the sweet embrace of death for which he so longed. On those nights, he knew that his soul had deserted him some forgotten time centuries ago, and the terrible parts of him that remained would never again be lifted from darkness.

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For as long as you could remember, you had heard the legend of the Beast that lurked inside the castle on the cliffs. Fairytales for children, you reasoned every time you rode through the forest while the black bramble clawed at you as if to keep you trapped inside forever. Sometimes, it felt as though something more watched you than the vacant lonesome windows. But the windows were always black as arched abysses, no candle ever flickered inside the castle, no sound ever echoed through its cavernous halls. No living soul could endure in that perpetual darkness, as bleak as the harshest winter chill, devoid of light and cheer. No Beast lurked in the castle. Ghosts perhaps, lonely specters of those long-dead, but nothing with a heart that still beats.

For as long as you could remember, you had believed that.

The woods were gloaming, desolate, and dense, as you rode home from far away. Nevermore, your horse and most trusted friend, was as black as a raven in a midnight graveyard. Boldy, you rode him through the woods into which no man would venture during the hours no good woman should be awake. Howls from wolves and hoots from owls kept you company along with the nervous snorts of your horse, but there was no faster way home. There may have been tales of terror about the Beast, but even the most skittish person knew that wolves would never attack a mounted rider. Not even in the cursed depths of the black forest.

Spires, silhouetted against the stars and blacker than the midnight sky, captivated your attention when it should have been elsewhere. The frightened whiny and startled rearing of your horse altered you to the danger you had ridden into. A pack of yellow eyes and white teeth leered at you from the trees on all sides, and excited yips and growls greeted you as the wolves moved in for their kill. Nevermore bolted, you didn’t try to slow him. You could stay with your horse through rearing and bucking and running at breakneck speed through the roughest terrain. But even you were no match for the tree branch as thick as your waist that knocked you out of the saddle as your horse ran under it.

Breath refused to refill your lungs when you hit the cold hard ground. The world spun and bells tolled in your ears as you watched Nevermore gallop away, his black coat vanishing into the black woods like ink into oil. You felt the pack lunge for you even before you heard the rush of bodies running at you on padded feet, and you grabbed for the knife in your boot. Its blade would be little defense against an entire pack of wolves, but it was only your breath that had left you, not your fighting spirit.

Even as you drew your blade, a shadow blacker than the foulest witch descended upon you. Like a widow’s veil, the black cloak of your savior floated over you as the towering man who wore it charged between you and the ravening wolves. Growling more savagely than the animals, the man clad all in black hunched his broad shoulders as the wolves attacked. Faster than your eyes could follow, almost as though his enormous physique had blurred into smoke, the man tore the wolves apart like a lion tearing through lambs. When the ground was littered with grey furry carcasses, the man rolled his shoulders before turning to you.

A black scarf covered the lower half of the man’s face and a long veil of sable hair fell in chaos around his shoulders. His eyes were just as lupine as the wolves had been, gleaming gold in the pale moonlight and fixed upon you. Sweeping his cloak aside, he offered you his massive gloved hand and pulled you gently to your feet. He snugged the scarf more securely over his prominent nose before moving close enough to you to assure that you had no grievous injuries.

“Terrors fill these woods in the dead of night,” he told you in a voice that had the power to hypnotize you if you let him. “A beautiful woman should know better than to venture out alone.”

“I’m no longer alone.” You smiled and for reasons unknown to you, the man flinched at your smile as shocked as if you had struck him across the face.

“No, and your peril is now far greater for my company.” Smoothing his hand over his hair, the man looked up at the moon and shook his head almost morosely. “You cannot travel through this forest on foot and alone at night.” He again extended his hand to you. “Join me. Be my guest for the evening, but you must leave at daybreak.”

“Where will you host me?” You looked around the desolation of the forest to make your point. “There is nothing in these woods.”

“My home, naturally.” His eyes crinkled with a smirk that was concealed by his scarf as he gestured toward the dark towers in the distance.

“Ah, so you’re the infamous Beast who lives in the castle?” you teased pleasantly, but the man did not smile. Rather, his eyes grew serious at your words.

“I am Kylo Ren.” He squeezed your hand reassuringly. “I am the Beast.” His eyes burned into yours, the color of firelight. “And you must not fear me. Never fear me.”

“You’ll find I don’t frighten easily,” you assured him after you gave him your name, and then added playfully, “And you, Kylo Ren, are ill-suited to doing so.”

For the darkness and the scarf that veiled the lower half of his face, you couldn’t be sure, but you thought you saw him smile.

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Wrapped snuggly around his face, the scarf Kylo wore was the only preventive measure he could take to avoid the scent of delicious, maddening fear. Only that length of worn black wool stood between you and a death more vicious than that wolves would have given you, should he smell a hint of fear on your breath. Kylo’s senses were heightened. He saw in the darkness with mosaic vibrance, he heard the whispers of spiders spinning their webs high in his rafters, he could scent the sweet perfume of fresh blood on the breeze from the village miles below when an animal was butchered. The scarf did little to inhibit him but still, he smelled no fear. The scent of horse and of the ocean from which you had traveled lingered on your clothes and the clean floral scent of your hair delighted his senses while the honeyed scent of your skin filled his mind with possibility. He smelled enough to see the steps of your long journey into his forest, but he did not scent fear. And his heart jumped at that epiphany.

The darkened woods put fright into the bones of brave men, but you walked beside the Beast with confident ease. Even through the gates to his courtyard, gaping like the open mouth of leviathan with sharp iron spikes for teeth, and through his once beautiful garden that was now naught but dead bramble and roseless bushes of black thorns, you were not hampered by fear. As Kylo approached the arched double doors of his castle, they opened for their master and his guest, though no servants remained inside.

Torches in sconces and candles in gilded candelabras bloomed to life just ahead of you as you followed the towering man through his labyrinthian hallways. Your footsteps echoed off the stone floors while his remained deathly silent. Whether after centuries of living with the castle alone for company the stone had absorbed his own life force and knew his whims, or the ghosts who lingered and suffered within had deigned to do his bidding, Kylo never knew nor cared to question. The eyes of the dead watched from their portraits and tapestries. Perhaps it was not an illusion when those woven and painted eyes followed the movements of the living, curious to see the new guest their master had brought into the castle and fascinated to watch the horrific death that was surely soon to meet with the beautiful woman. Still, Kylo smelled no fear nor felt the prickle of trepidation on the air.

“You must be famished,” Kylo told you as he escorted you into a grand dining hall that erupted in golden light upon your entry. The sprawling table was long enough to host a battalion and slathered with enough food and wine to overfeed every vacant seat.

“Expecting guests?” You raised an eyebrow at the opulence before you.

“Only you,” he said as he pulled out a chair for you at one end of the table.

The aromas that filled the dining hall, scents of fresh meats and sauces, cheeses and sweets, and blood red wine, emboldened Kylo to remove his scarf as he took his seat at the opposite end of the long table. With the length of the table and the cornucopia of scents between you, he felt assured he could maintain his composure. Temporarily.

It was on instinct that he inhaled deeply, as he often did before meals. He smelled the full bouquet of you then, and it was not fear but excitement and arousal that perfumed you, so tempting as to threaten to send him into a frenzy. When you smiled beautifully at him as you sipped your wine, that boldness beguiled his grim scowl into smiling.

It was as if he had gifted you something precious with his smile, one that intuition told you had not been used in untold years. With his scarf removed, you could look upon the features of the Beast who struck fear into the hearts of men. He was dangerous, to be sure, but that quality added to his dark and devilish handsomeness. From his long glossy hair to his well-groomed Van Dyke, he was as sleek and dark as a panther. Even the harrowing scar that traced a painful pink welt down his right cheek added to his dashing. Only his smile revealed the outward indicia of his curse, the viciously pointed fangs of a vampire. One of those fangs drew over his plush lower lip as he admired your exquisite beauty and his eyes gleamed with golden light that danced with the flicker of candles.

“This is excessive.” You smiled as you speared a perfectly juicy filet with your fork and teased, “So much indulgence is practically sinful.”

“Vices are much more interesting than virtues, darling.” He inclined his head as he savored a piece of meat so rare as to be nearly bleeding raw. “Virtues bore me so.”

“Molière would agree with you,” you replied with a smirk, citing the source of his witticism.

“Smart woman.” He allowed admiration to wash over his features before quoting Moliere again, this time knowing you would catch the reference, “Beauty without intelligence is like a hook without bait.”

“So, you think you’ve caught me?” you retorted. “Lured me in with food and decadence?”

“No, lovely girl, it is you who has captured my attention and admiration.” He leaned toward you, resting his arms on the table. “I have taken your baited hook and swallowed it whole.”

“It does you a disservice that it is not part of the Beast’s legends what a seductive host he is,” you said coyly as you sipped your wine.

“Dinners and seductions often go well for myself and my guests.” Mirroring you, he took a drink of wine, leaving a berry stain on his lips. “It is what comes next that makes me a monster. It is after the seduction is over and minds are sobered when tragedy befalls my guests.”

“Do you think such a tragedy will befall me while in your care?” Your words were meant as an invitation, one he knew well.

“I will not allow it.” Kylo breathed deep, still scenting no fear in the air, only your uniquely erotic perfume. Nevertheless, he declined your offer for wont of trusting himself and a darkness passed behind his eyes. “But you must keep your distance from me. Do not let appearances deceive you or wine imbue you, I am every bit the monster of legend. I am the Beast.”

“You’ll find those bestial qualities of yours don’t frighten me.” You leaned forward, accepting his challenge. “They excite me.” You made a point of letting your eyes trail down his body, openly evaluating him. “You do not strike me as a monster, only a man who needs a woman’s touch.”

“You are tired and weary.” He pushed to his feet, dismissing you, forcing down the pained grimace that threatened to twist his lips. “I shall have a horse waiting for you in the morning. You will not see me again.”

“I cannot simply ride away on one of your horses and never see you again. That’s absurd,” you huffed, indignant from his rebuff. “I must at least return your horse and repay you.”

“Your pleasant company is compensation enough.” He raised his large hand in protest against further argument. “That a beautiful woman with wit and grace would stumble into the bleakness of my life for a night is more than I could have hoped for. You have brought an evening of sunlight to a man who has not seen such warmth in longer than I can recall.” He walked to you, tall and proud, and took your hand to lift you from your seat. “No, accept my kindness, for I am thankful for you to know only kindness from me. Remember me fondly. But never return.”

Inside his glimmering eyes, you saw restraint behind the passion, as if he were holding a part of himself prisoner. His hand was strong and warm, seeming to offer you all the safety in the world so long as you held it. Leading you from the dining room, he took you through his castle, up spirals of staircases, to show you to your room. Your bedchamber for the night was even more luxuriant than the bountiful dinner.

Longing demanded you pull him close, but you refrained. The turn to advance was now his. But he only lifted your hand and placed a kiss on it as searing as a flame and as soft as velvet. His lips were reluctant to leave your skin, so he growled against it, “It is the most valiant kindness I can give you to leave you now. Dream sweetly of me, darling. And when the sun rises, leave my castle and never return.”

Like a specter or a memory, he turned abruptly and his broad frame vanished into the shadows of his hallway. No candles or torches lit his way, the darkness his oldest companion.

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Icy spiderwebs of frost streaked across the glass of the arched windows gave the morning sunlight a crystalline brilliance when it streamed into your bedroom to wake you. The sun’s beautiful rudeness announced your stay at the Beast’s castle had ended. A fire that should have burned out during the night still roared in the fireplace and despite the cool stone walls, the room was filled with warmth. The castle and whatever spirits haunted its halls had welcomed you to stay forever, even if its Master would banish you for your own safety.

A note rested on the nightstand beside you, yellowed parchment folded and sealed with a blood red wax emblem depicting a mounted knight slaying a dragon. The letter came with the knowledge that Kylo had entered your room sometime during the night, had been close enough to touch your sleeping body when he left the letter. You wondered if he had. You hoped he had. A new breed of warmth flooded your body as you broke the letter’s seal. Penned in elegant calligraphy, Kylo spoke to you.

You have given me more than you shall ever know. The gift of your enchanting beauty, your brilliant smile, your sparkling eyes. You gave me the memory of the man I once was, a taste of a life long forgotten. To ask more of you would only serve to put you in the gravest possible danger. I shall not introduce you to the Beast of legend, but content myself in knowing you met only the man. Take my gifts and my thanks, and flee from this cursed place as fast as my horse can carry you.

Your servant, Kylo.

After the third read over his letter, you were resolved. You most certainly would not grant his entreat. You were not leaving his castle.

Despite your best efforts as a huntress, you could not find Kylo upon your morning search. Although, a concerted search of the fortress and grounds would take a fortnight. The castle was vacant, but it was not empty. Filled with memories, its walls held the faded echoes of laughing happiness and enraged screams, its floors stained with tears of joy and of hardship, with the blood and sweat of the generations who had lived and died inside throughout the centuries. Wonders lurked behind every door, dusty and forlorn, but wondrous beneath the neglect. Tarnished was the former majesty that had once graced the castle, but gone it was not. It would require no more than attention and a loving hand to restore its resplendence. You suspected the same of its master.

It was the cathedral-esque library that captured your interest and held it until the sun bid you farewell and twilight painted the sky crimson. Each of the thousands of leatherbound volumes was a gateway to a new world, another adventure, a life you’ve yet to live. Easily and happily lost inside an adventure captured by ink on paper, you did not notice the passage of hours until the words you read grew dim in the gloaming. Even as you thought it, the castle’s candles and torches sparked to dancing life.

With the setting of the sun the master of the castle awakened. And you felt it. The walls creaked and the tresses groaned, sharing the Beast’s pain. A growl filled with rage and despondence boomed through the long, lonely halls so that it was adopted by the walls in its reverberations. Next were crashes, the splintering of wood, the breaking of glass, the clang of metal, as furniture was destroyed by its wrathful master like a lamb at the slaughter. The sounds of frenzy and destruction led you easily to the Beast. To the dining hall that had been so grand the evening before but was now ravaged and torn through, as though a tornado had spun itself to death inside.

Silver strewn, furniture broken, table overturned, portraits slashed, and drapes hanging askew were all illuminated by dying candles that lay flickering and strewn across the floor like dying soldiers on a battlefield. In the twinkling golden light, you saw the Beast. And the Beast Kylo Ren had become was full of fury and sorrow and bloodlust, with no trace of the dashing man who had shown you a perfect evening. Shoulders hunched, long hair wild, muscles rippling beneath black fabric that was ill-suited to restrain them, Kylo snarled viciously as he grabbed another unfortunate chair and threw it against the wall with enough force to shatter it to splinters.

You could feel his rage and his pain as though they were your own. Rage at the monstrosity that lived inside him. Pain at sending away the woman who gave him a taste of salvation.

“You needn’t make such an ado over my departure,” you said calmly as you stepped fully into the broken dining hall. “You’ll find it has been delayed.”

Kylo whipped his head to look at you and you saw the face of the Beast. Razored fangs, two on each side of his upper teeth, were ready to tear you apart and his eyes were unnatural gleaming gold. A demon’s eyes met yours in place of a man’s. You saw in them shock that turned at once to shame and then bled into fear. Terror at the thought of harming you, because surely you would be overcome with fright, that deliciously irresistible fear, at the sight of him.

But the only fear was his, you had none. Stepping over rolling candles and broken glass, you walked to him with confidence until you stood close enough to feel the heat of his powerful body.

“You’re not the most dangerous thing in this castle tonight,” you told him in a sultry lift as you reached behind his neck. Without giving him the option to resist, you pulled him down to meet your lips and kissed him with a passion that set the soul within him burning as he crushed you to his body, wanting nevermore to release you from his embrace. There was no fear, only searing desire as you licked over the tips of his fangs and his tongue danced with yours. His golden eyes were molten when you finally drew apart and your lips were swollen with ripened pleasure when you said to him, “It took a witch to curse you. Only a witch can cure you.”

“A witch?” He cocked an eyebrow at you as a ferociously handsome smile curled his lips. “My darling, whether you offer a cure or another curse, I am yours for the taking.” He kissed you again, deep and lingering, then asked, “A lady as rare and radiant as you can only be a white witch?”

“Oh, I’m as wicked as they come.” You grinned wickedly indeed. “I came to the darkness long before you ever asked me to join you for an evening in your castle.” You stroked his chest, feeling his heart thunder beneath your hands, his love and passion rekindled. “We shall share in this darkness, and within it, find more light and happiness than mere mortals have ever dared to dream.”

“Darkness or light, I will not let you walk in either alone.” He held you tighter, his strong arms wrapped around your body. “Until mountains crumble to dust at our feet, I will hold you and love you with all the might of my heart. It now beats for you alone. For as long as there are stars to shine and a moon to light our way, I will never leave your side.”

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© safarigirlsp 2022  

Tagging some wicked witches! 

[absurdthirst]

Wedding Vows & Receptions {Marcus Pike x F!Reader}

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Fluff, wedding jitters, soft affection, hints of spiciness

Writer Wednesday Week 38: 11/16/22 @writer-wednesday

|| Writer Wednesday || MasterlIst ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

It's perfect.

The white linens on the table are gorgeously crisp, no stains, no wrinkles, not even a folding line in sight. As if they ironed the fabric on the table.

The center pieces turned out better than you had even expected when you picked them out. Colorful autumn colors that pair perfectly with the gold urns the leaves and flowers are held in. The white tapered candles that will be lit firmly nestled in the gold candle holders.

The strings of lights are already burning bright, making sure that not one bulb is dim or dark. The scene set even though the party will be tomorrow. Tonight there is no one but you in the room where you will be celebrating.

Reaching out, your fingertip grazes the edge of one gold fork, pushing it out of the perfectly straight setting with a small smile of rebellion on your face before you adjust it back.

Quiet footsteps behind you make you smile, knowing who it has to be. Only one man would seek you out right now and the weight of his hands on your hips confirms it before the spicy scent of the Valentino Uomo hits your nose.

Humming, you lean back against a broad chest, inhaling the scent of bergamot, cedar, leather, myrtle and whatever else they had used that made up a scent that just makes you think 'Marcus Pike'.

"Checking on everything?" There's a slight smile in his tone, as if he had expected nothing less. "Or just admiring?"

"Admiring." You admit, turning your head and pressing a kiss to the small spot on his jaw where you know hair won't grow. He hates it, his jaw smooth for tonight and tomorrow, but you're going to convince him to grow back that scruff you love to run your fingers through. "This is it." You breath out, turning back to look at the various tables and the large dance floor that is set up in the middle, the DJs booth discreetly off in the back corner and the empty bar opposite it.

"Not getting cold feet are you?" You know he's trying to tease, to play it off as a joke, but you hear the vulnerability in his voice. The small basket that had been put in your bridal suite when you arrived had made you laugh. He had sent you the fuzziest, warmest socks he could find and had a note pinned to them 'for tonight so those feet don't get cold'. It was both a joke about how you always slide your cold toes against his and pre-wedding jitters.

"Never." Twisting in his arms, you sigh happily when his arms slide to your back and your own wrap around the back of his neck. Looking at him and marveling that in just twenty hours you will be Mrs. Marcus Pike. "My toes are toasty warm."

His own eyes are full of love and excitement as those amber eyes shine back at you. Tugging you closer and leaning in to brush his nose against yours. "I love you." He whispers, lips brushing yours and your stomach clenches when you pray that he does just this right before he kisses you after you say 'I do'."

"I love you." It's the easiest promise in the world. The rehearsal dinner had gone off without a hitch, both of you emotional as you had gone through the steps you would be taking for real tomorrow. "I have to admit that my stomach is in knots."

Marcus frowns so quickly that you almost miss it. Those large fingers immediately starting to caress and massage the muscles that are wrapped around your spine, as if you had a backache. "Baby-"

"I'm excited." You quickly explain, never wanting him to think that you are having any doubts or rethinking anything. You had meant it when you said your toes are toasty warm. "I'm afraid I'll mess up. Trip on my way down the aisle. Or fart."

Your last comment has the reaction you were hoping for. Marcus tosses his head back and laughs, a gorgeous, full bodied thing that makes your heart clench happily. It's a sound you want to hear for the rest of your life. His grin matches yours when he looks at you again, still chuckling. "If you do, I'm laughing."

"I would expect nothing less." You hum, stealing another kiss and sighing. It's almost time to go. You back to your room and him to his. The night before the wedding spend apart. You aren't looking forward to it.

Marcus shifts from a grin to something more serious, his eyes flickering behind you, looking at the reception seating and he reaches up to cup your jaw, that large hand framing your face. "Next time we are here, you will be wearing my ring." You almost crack a joke because technically you are already wearing his ring. The engagement ring shining proudly on your finger. You don't, because you know what he means.

"And you'll be wearing mine." You hum, making him nod quickly in agreement, looking excited at the idea. Marcus has been married before, but it's not soured his idealistic enthusiasm for the institution of marriage.

"Do you-" You bite your lip and send him a purposefully innocent expression. One that tells him you mean trouble. "How about we forget about sleeping apart tonight and you come back to my room with me?" You pose breathlessly, imagining waking him up in far more interesting ways than with a text. Or more likely, he would wake you up. He was giving like that.

Marcus groans and his hands harden on your body, obviously loving the idea and you feel him want to give into the idea. "I shouldn't." He manages after a moment, sounding disappointed to be voicing that out loud. Speaking as if he is convincing himself. "It's going to be a long day." He huffs, leaning in and pressing his forehead against yours. "And you need to sleep."

Pouting at him, you know he's right but that doesn't mean you have to like it. "It's your fault." You complain. "Looking like that and smelling so good I want to lick you all over."

He inhales sharply and groans, closing his eyes and shaking his head against yours. "I- no, I'll make sure I smell like this tomorrow." He promises, the twitching against your hip not unnoticed but you don't comment on it.

"You better." You grumble playfully, tilting your head in so you can kiss him on the lips. The first of many kisses to be had in this room come tomorrow after your vows are exchanged. "I guess you're right. Besides, I have to write my wedding vows."

Marcus sputters and it's your turn to laugh. They've been done, but you have more to add, more you need to say and tweaking them is a must. Everything is going to be perfect tomorrow. Your fall wedding to the man of your dreams is going to be lovely and just what you need to start the rest of your lives off right.

[jcalexandrewrites]

I've been having this problem writing the next addition to Prelude to Destiny. News about that coming soon--ish!

Original meme by Writers Write.

Read my fantasy novel, The Light Prince: Grail, available on Amazon in paperback and e-book.

[writeforfandoms]

It is there to keep you warm

Find my masterlist and series masterlist

Okay I am now several days late for the Writer Wednesday prompt but oh well. Here it is anyway.

A sweet impromptu date night at a pumpkin patch with Jack.

This is technically part of the Perhaps Love ‘verse, but all you need to know is it’s an established relationship, f!reader.

Warnings: Excessive fluff and flirting.

Word count: 816

"Do you seriously never decorate?" You asked Jack, exasperated and amused, as you looked very pointedly at the plain front porch. "Never?"

Jack shrugged, looking slightly abashed. "I'll put out a pumpkin or two," he grumbled. "Sometimes a tree, 'round Christmas. But no, not much more'n that." 

You sighed. "We're fixing that this year," you decided, already patting your pockets and grabbing your purse. "Get in, I'm driving."

Jack blinked, looking briefly bewildered, but he obeyed without question, sliding into your car and buckling in. "Where are we going?" 

"I know a place." You kept your tone purposefully vague, grinning at his amused sigh of defeat. 

"Alright, alright," he grumbled. "Long as I get to take you to the place I know for ornaments." 

You raised one eyebrow at him, curious. "Sure, I'll agree to that." 

Easy silence settled between the two of you, and you turned up the Halloween music a little, humming along. 

Finally, you pulled into a dirt lot and parked. Jack was already out of the car and coming around to get your door, taking in the scenery. 

Strings of lights outlined the parking lot, all leading towards the actual pumpkin patch. A few families were already on their way, a little girl swinging between her parents as they all walked. Even from where you stood, you could hear the music and the chattering and the rumble of generators. 

"I didn't know this was here." Jack sounded surprised and pleased, one of his big hands engulfing yours to keep you close for the short walk. 

"It's been here forever," you told him, grinning, pleased for once to be the one with local knowledge. "A couple family farms pool their pumpkins for this place. It's a lot of fun, they've always got a few games and some food trucks here too." 

Jack chuckled. "Proper date night," he agreed, winking at you. 

"And getting pumpkins." You grinned, taking his hand as the two of you walked in. 

The main space was large and open, with fold trucks along one side, the scents wafting over to you. Pumpkins lined the space, with empty spaces where some had already been taken. A few smaller piles were scattered around, with a whole stand off to one side dedicated to the mini pumpkins and gourds. A vintage 50s pickup truck sat with the tailgate down, a selection of prime pumpkins in the bed on display. 

Jack whistled softly, looking around. "Wow," he murmured. "This is an absolute gem, darlin'." 

You positively beamed. "I know, right? It's great! I always pick up a couple pumpkins here." 

Jack nodded, gaze already on the vintage car, and the pumpkins inside. You could see he was thinking about something, but he was quick to distract you by asking you which food truck you wanted to try first. 

You sat shoulder to shoulder with him as the sky darkened and additional lights came on around the lot, helping to illuminate the pumpkins. 

"You wanna go pick out some little pumpkins, sugar?" Jack started gathering up the trash, a secretive smile playing across his lips. 

You eyed him for a moment before giving up. He'd get into whatever mischief he was planning regardless or where you were - might as well play along. "Sure," you agreed, standing. "You want a few for the dining room table?"

"Surprise me."

Grinning, you nodded and headed off towards the mini pumpkins. Definitely needed those. And some decorative gourds. 

Holding your armful carefully, you turned to look for Jack. And froze. 

Jack was somehow sauntering your way even while pushing a wheelbarrow with three of the biggest pumpkins in the lot. His grin was jaunty and just a little smug, eyes sparkling with ill-disguised mischievous glee. 

"Like 'em?" He asked, stopping in front of you to give you a good look. "Had to get the best for my sugar."

Laughing, you set your armful in the wheelbarrow. "If you hurt yourself running these around, I will laugh at you." 

Jack pouted. "Aw, darlin', have some faith in me! I know my limits." 

"If you say so." Shaking your head, still grinning, you looked around the lot. You just needed one more… And you spotted it kind of behind a couple other pumpkins. 

With a noise of triumph, you picked up the oddly-shaped pumpkin with the long stem. Perfect. 

"Darlin'?" Jack raised one eyebrow at you, though he didn't object with you held the pumpkin against your stomach. 

"I like the weird looking ones," you said with an easy shrug. "They have more character to them." 

Jack chuckled. "If you say so. C'mon, my treat. Then maybe we can stop for ice cream?" 

And he looked so hopeful you really couldn't say no. (Although, true to your word, you did laugh when he hurt his elbow, and then helped him get the pumpkins out of the car to the porch.) 

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

"As long as you wish"

Inspired from this prompt by @writer-wednesday, week 7 of 2023.

Paring: Aegnor x Andreth

Themes: Soft

Warnings: brief mention of war (blink and you might miss it)

Word count: 400 words

Summary: Aegnor has a surprise for Andreth

"My love, where are you taking me?"

Andreth could do nothing but hold onto Aegnor's hand. The elven lord had come to her that morning, his eyes twinkling like anything. He had found something, he declared, and he wanted to show it to her. However, she had to close her eyes and let him lead the way. Andreth smiled and indulged him. She was always ready to indulge him. Neither of them knew when he would have to leave for war.

They walked for some time. The sun was high in the sky now. Andreth felt a heady warmth against her skin. It was a bright summer morning, and she loved it still. Summer meant feasting and frolics and picnics and nights spent under the stars. Andreth loved the nights spent under the stars most of all. Aegnor would point out each one of them to her. He would talk about them and tell her their stories, and she would listen eagerly.

But not today. There will be no stargazing today. Aegnor had something else in mind for his lady. He had found it by sheer happenstance, and now he could not wait to show it to her, certain she would find great joy in his little discovery. The elf led her down one winding path and then another, and then walked on and on past bubbling streams and pretty meadows, little thickets of trees, and clumps of wild berry bushes, until he came upon what he was looking for.

"Here we are!" He cried, and let go of her hand. "Open your eyes, my starlight. Go on."

Andreth opened them and gasped, her eyes going wide at the sight before her.

There were dandelions as far as the eye could see. Beneath the gnarled oak tree and all around the abandoned cabin. By the shallow pond and over the little hill. A sea of milky white fluff was what it was, eagerly awaiting the first strong wind. Andreth plucked one and brought it to her lips. A simple puff of breath was all it took, and the tiny seeds took flight. She watched, mesmerized, while they floated away on a gentle breeze.

"Can we stay here a while?" Andreth did not want to leave. Not for a long while. She wanted to stay and drink in the magic of this place. Aegnor took her hand into his and gave it a gentle squeeze, his smile a reflection of hers.

"We can stay here for as long as you wish," he promised.

[hayatheauthor]

Everything You Need To Know About Writing Gunshot Wounds 

Welcome to the latest installment in my ongoing series on crafting realistic wounds in fiction! After covering stab wounds and burns, it's time to explore the next wound category frequently explored in fiction—gunshot wounds. 

Gunshot wounds are a recurring motif in the realm of storytelling. They're something you can easily come across in every genre, however, authors often poorly portray gunshot wounds due to lack of proper research. I understand finding the right resources to aid with your writing can be hard, so here's my comprehensive guide on how to write gunshot wounds. 

How To Categorise Gunshot Wounds

There are certain factors you need to consider before writing a gunshot wound. These details are instrumental in crafting a vivid and plausible narrative while avoiding plot holes. The first and most important one is identifying the type of firearm used to inflict the wound. 

Picking The Right Firearm 

Selecting the appropriate firearm to inflict a gunshot wound is a pivotal decision. It's not just about choosing any gun; it's about picking the right one to align with your desired outcome and the narrative's overall impact. Here's a quick guide on how to pick the right firearm.  

The Impact of Firearm Selection

The firearm you choose can significantly influence the severity and appearance of the gunshot wound. Whether your goal is a graphic, gory injury or a precise, long-range shot, the choice of firearm plays a crucial role. Here are some guns you to consider:

Handguns: These are versatile and commonly used in close-quarters combat. They can result in gruesome, close-contact wounds with a higher potential for damage due to their stopping power.

Shotguns: Shotguns disperse shot pellets upon firing, making them suitable for creating a broader pattern of injuries. If you aim to depict a devastating, close-range gunshot wound, shotguns can be a fitting choice.

Rifles: Rifles are known for their accuracy at longer distances. When you need a precise, long-range shot, rifles are the go-to option. They tend to produce a cleaner wound channel, especially when used for a targeted, well-planned injury.

Choosing the Right Firearm for Your Narrative

The type of firearm you select should align with your story's objectives. If you intend to evoke visceral, gory reactions, opt for handguns or shotguns used in close proximity. On the other hand, if precision and long-range engagement are key, rifles can achieve your desired outcome.

Keep in mind that firearm selection can affect the wound's damage, trajectory, and overall portrayal in your narrative. 

Categorising The Wound 

Once you've identified the type of firearm, you need to establish what type of wound your character will incur. 

In order to bring your character's injuries to life, it's important to first identify what you're dealing with. You can do this by categorising the injury based on several factors. For gunshot wounds, this includes the type of firearm used, the bullet's trajectory, and the specific areas of the body affected.

You can categorise your character's gunshot would into seven main categories, here's a quick breakdown of what these categories look like and the level of severity associated with them: 

Penetrating Gunshot Wounds: These wounds occur when a bullet enters the body but doesn't exit. The bullet remains inside the body, causing damage along its path.

Perforating Gunshot Wounds: In this case, the bullet enters the body and exits on the opposite side. This type of wound can have a different set of implications due to the bullet's trajectory.

Ricochet Gunshot Wounds: Ricochet wounds happen when the bullet bounces off a surface before hitting the character. The nature of the surface can influence the severity of the wound.

Through-and-Through Gunshot Wounds: As the name suggests, these wounds occur when the bullet enters one side of the body and exits through the other. The trajectory can greatly affect the injury's severity.

Close-Contact Gunshot Wounds: These wounds result from the firearm being fired at extremely close range. The proximity of the gun to the body can lead to unique wound patterns and burn injuries.

Shotgun Wounds: Shotgun wounds differ from those caused by handguns or rifles. The shot pellets disperse upon firing, leading to a broader pattern of injury.

Long-Range Gunshot Wounds: When a character is shot from a considerable distance, the wound might appear different due to factors like bullet tumbling and loss of velocity.

The Anatomy of a Gunshot Wound

To create a vivid portrayal of a gunshot wound, writers need to grasp not only the external appearance but also the internal effects it has on the body. A well-executed description captures both the physical trauma and the emotional turmoil experienced by the character. Here are some symptoms you should take into consideration.

1. External Appearance and Bleeding:

Wound Size: The size of a gunshot wound can vary significantly based on the type of firearm and bullet used. Smaller calibers may leave entry and exit wounds that are relatively small, while larger bullets or high-velocity rounds can create much larger wounds. Be specific about the size, which can help readers visualize the injury.

Blood Loss: Gunshot wounds typically result in bleeding. The severity of bleeding depends on factors like the wound's location, the size of the blood vessels damaged, and the bullet's trajectory. Mention the amount of blood, but avoid excessive gore unless it serves a specific purpose in your narrative.

Coughing Up Blood: If the gunshot wound affects the chest or lung area, characters may cough up blood. This symptom often signifies a more critical injury and can add drama to your story.

2. Internal Damage and Symptoms:

Pain: Gunshot wounds are painful, and the character should express this pain through their actions, dialogue, and internal thoughts. Describe the sharp, burning, or throbbing sensations as they resonate through the character's body.

Shock: Depending on the severity of the wound, shock can set in. The character may appear pale, sweaty, and disoriented. This state of shock can impact their actions and decisions.

Loss of Function: A gunshot wound may impair the use of the injured body part. Describe any loss of function, such as the inability to move a limb or use it effectively.

Fainting: In extreme cases, characters may faint due to the pain, blood loss, or shock. Be sure to contextualize this within the narrative, as fainting can have significant consequences for the character.

By diving into the details of a gunshot wound's anatomy, you can craft a compelling and realistic portrayal that draws readers into the character's harrowing experience. I haven't exactly covered every symptom out there, but these are the major ones you should take into account when writing. 

Medical Assessment and Treatment

Once you've established your gunshot wound, it's now time to focus on the aftermath. One of the main factors to consider is the medical process that follows. If your character is supposed to die from the gunshot then you could probably skip this section, but if they're alive here are things you need to consider. 

1. Initial Assessment:

Scene Safety: In a real-life scenario, safety is paramount. First responders will ensure the scene is secure before approaching the injured person. Consider factors like the presence of firearms, potential threats, and the safety of medical personnel.

ABCs of Assessment: Medical professionals follow the ABCs—Airway, Breathing, and Circulation. Writers can reflect this in their storytelling by highlighting the character's ability to breathe, cough, or speak after being shot.

Vital Signs: Mentioning vital signs like heart rate, blood pressure, and oxygen saturation can help convey the character's condition and the urgency of their medical treatment.

2. Trauma Assessment:

Focused Assessment: Medical personnel perform a thorough examination to identify the gunshot wound's location, entry and exit points, and any associated injuries. This assessment informs their treatment plan.

Imaging: Depending on the complexity of the injury, X-rays or other imaging may be required to visualize the bullet's trajectory and any potential damage to internal organs or bones.

3. Treatment:

Bleeding Control: Stopping the bleeding is a top priority. This may involve applying pressure, packing the wound, or even tourniquet application in extreme cases.

Wound Care: Depending on the wound's severity, cleaning and suturing may be required. The character's response to this procedure can add an element of realism to your narrative.

Pain Management: Gunshot wounds are excruciatingly painful, and medical personnel will often administer pain relief or anesthesia during treatment.

Monitoring and Observation: Patients with gunshot wounds require careful observation and monitoring for signs of infection, complications, or changes in their condition.

By accurately portraying the medical assessment and treatment of gunshot wounds, you not only enhance the authenticity of your writing but also depict the physical and emotional toll such injuries can take on your characters. This attention to detail helps your readers connect more deeply with the story.

The Psychological Impact

Gunshot wounds don't just inflict physical harm; they also leave lasting emotional and psychological scars. It is important to note that the extent of the psychological impact on your characters will heavily rely on various factors. 

For example, you need to consider whether or not this injury is something normal for them. Do they work as a spy, assassin, or other such roles that would mandate such dangerous injuries? You also need to consider who shot them. Does this wound come with emotional damage as well? Think of Aaron Warner’s reaction to Juliet shooting him. 

If you’re sure your character will have some extent of a psychological impact, here are some factors you should consider. 

1. Shock and Denial:

Immediate Response: Characters who have been shot may initially experience shock and denial. This can manifest as disbelief, emotional numbness, or a surreal sense of detachment from the situation.

Physical Symptoms: Shock can lead to physical symptoms like trembling, chills, or even fainting. Incorporating these details can make the character's reaction more genuine.

2. Fear and Anxiety:

Survivor's Guilt: Characters may grapple with survivor's guilt if they are the only ones to emerge unscathed in a violent encounter.

Anxiety: The threat of recurrence or the fear of returning to the location where the shooting occurred can trigger anxiety and panic attacks.

3. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD):

Flashbacks and Nightmares: Characters who have survived a gunshot wound may experience recurring flashbacks and nightmares, vividly reliving the traumatic event.

Hypervigilance: PTSD can lead to hypervigilance, where characters are constantly on edge, expecting danger at every turn.

4. Depression and Isolation:

Emotional Withdrawal: Characters may withdraw from social interactions, experiencing feelings of isolation and sadness.

Emotional Numbness: Some may describe feeling emotionally numb, unable to experience joy or pleasure.

5. Recovery and Resilience:

Therapeutic Support: In your storytelling, consider how characters seek therapy or counseling to cope with their emotional scars. Therapy can be a path toward recovery and resilience.

By addressing the psychological impact of gunshot wounds on your characters, you create more layered and relatable individuals within your narrative. This depth allows readers to connect with the characters on a profound emotional level.

I hope this blog on Everything You Need To Know About Writing Gunshot Wounds will help you in your writing journey. Be sure to comment any tips of your own to help your fellow authors prosper, and follow my blog for new blog updates every Monday and Thursday.  

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Haya’s book blog where I post writing and publishing tips for authors every Monday and Thursday! And don’t forget to head over to my TikTok and Instagram profiles @hayatheauthor to learn more about my WIP and writing journey! 

[imtryingmybeskar]

Inspired by this week's @writer-wednesday

I've been writing quite a lot of angst and hurt recently so here is a piece of tooth rotting fluff to get you in a Christmassy mood. And oh yes, they're back.

Ezra x OFC. Word count: 1,495

🌟 This is set between Chapters 15 and 17 of Starman 🌟

Starman

Earthlings

The sky outside was steely purple grey, heavy with the promise of snow. If she had been brave enough to open the windows she knew that she would be able to smell the tang of the same in the air. She sighed happily, closed the curtain against the rapidly approaching night. But only halfway. She left one side open to be able to see when Ezra would return.

He had expressed a desire to be more independent recently, and she felt today to be the right day for that to begin in earnest. He was unable to drive a car as yet - those lessons would come during longer days and better weather. He did however love the coastal road that her little cottage was on, so when she had suggested he walk the mile-and-a-bit to the nearest town he was only too pleased to go.

Before he left they had discussed the parameters of his trip – what to do if he couldn’t work out how something worked, or ran out of money, or lost his way. He had his own phone and most foreseen problems could be easily solved with a call to her. She would come and get him if he really wanted her to. But she knew that call would never come. Ezra was far too stubborn not to see an adventure through, no matter how small it seemed. So she had encouraged him to take his time, to explore a little without her, to visit the beach if he so desired.

"Ah, you want rid of me already, my love?" he had asked in a dramatic tone as he swept her into his arm. His hand was at the small of her back while he nosed softly at her cheek, a pleasant tingling warmth spreading from where their skin met. "Tell me what I might do to win your favour once more."

His eyes were sparkling, his grin lopsided and roguish as her hands came around his neck to tangle in his curls and bring his lips to hers in a feverish kiss.

"Never," she had said, her murmured reply fervent and sincere against his mouth despite the fact she could hear the joking tone of his words. "I never want rid of you Ezra." Another kiss, deeper and more explorative before she added with a smile, ��I’m sure I can think of some things for you to do though!”

When she had presented him with the shopping list shortly after, he had laughed heartily and faintly protested that he had had other pursuits in mind before kissing her gently on the nose and then on the forehead, his soft lips tender and full of promise.

"Anything for you my Vive," he said simply. "I love you."

She smiled at the memory. This was perfect. Not only would the little excursion give him a chance to practice his English, but it would allow her to prepare the house in the way that she wanted in order to surprise him. She couldn't wait to see what he made of her handiwork. Christmas had been explained to him - the meaning behind it, the traditions – but learning about it and experiencing it were very different things. And she hoped his first one would be a joy. Turning away from the window, she surveyed the room.

Soft lights twinkled warmly in the corner of the living room, reflecting off the glittery golden ornaments that adorned the rest of the tree, while the comforting sweet smell of cinnamon was emanating from homemade garlands. A pile of beautifully wrapped gifts surrounded its base, their red ribbon bows enticingly perfect, wrapping paper gleaming. The fire was dispersing its crackling warmth throughout the room and Ben had forsaken his bed to stretch out in front of it for a snooze, the luxury of his experience writ plain upon his little furry face.

He suddenly stirred, opened his eyes and raised his head toward the door expectantly. Sure enough, a moment later she heard Ezra’s footsteps coming up the path. She flung open the door and met him with a tight embrace on the porch.

“I missed you,” she whispered as she nuzzled affectionately into the scruffy patches at his cheeks.

“Though I was gone only for a matter of hours, it felt like a lifetime without you my love,” he replied, kissing the top of her head.

She drew back, unable to hide the excitement in her smile. “I have a surprise for you,” she announced.

He smiled gently down at her. “Well, I must admit I did get the notion that you were up to something."

She took the bag of shopping from him and placed it carefully inside the house before turning back to him. “Close your eyes.”

She could see the moment when his smile turned from pure sweetness to amused indulgence and he did as she said, covering them over with his hand so she knew he couldn't see anything. She took him by the elbow and led him into the welcome warmth of the living room, settling him gently on the couch and sitting next to him so she could observe his reaction.

“Okay,” she said. “Open them.”

His mouth fell open, and his full lips quirked a little to the side in an amazed half-smile as he exhaled sharply. The blazing fire mixed with the off-white of the fairy lights turned his skin golden, and were reflected in the inky depths of his beautiful dark eyes. Her attention was captured so completely that she forgot to breathe for a moment, so lost was she in the soft rapture of his expression. He muttered something under his breath - something in his own language - the only word of which she definitely understood was ‘beautiful’. He had called her that enough in his own tongue and hers for her to recognise it. Before she could even reach for the translator where it was propped up on the bookcase, he turned to her and his eyes were lit with a fervent flame.

“This…you did all this?” he asked.

She nodded. “I want you to share in my experience of Christmas. It’s always been such a happy time for me. I adore it, and I hope that you will too.”

He took both of her hands into his larger one. “My life, my only love…I adore any time that I am with you. All of the time that I am with you. And this…thank you. This is so beautiful! I feel so lucky to share in your celebration." He smiled warmly before his eyes flickered, his attention caught by something. He shot a questioning look over her shoulder. “What’s the matter with Dog?” he asked.

She turned to look. Ben had scuffled over to his bed underneath the window, but not to sleep. He was standing up in it on his little hind legs, his head and upper body obscured behind the curtain she had closed earlier. She went to him, peeking behind the curtain to check what he was looking at.

“Ohhh Ezra,” she said happily as she stroked Ben’s ears. “Come and see!”

She drew back the curtain again so that the window showed a complete view of her front garden. Fat white flakes were beginning to descend from the heavens, falling starkly against the blackness of the evening winter sky. She felt Ezra’s approach behind her - in her heart and in her mind she felt him, before he slipped his arm around her waist and held her against the broadness of his chest.

He exhaled an excited little breath from behind her. “This is…don’t tell me. I’ll remember the word. This is…snew?”

“Very nearly. Its snow,” she corrected him. “I’m glad you got back before it started. You didn’t have snow where you were from did you?”

“Not on my homeworld. I did encounter places where the precipitation fell frozen, but it was usually less…pretty than this. I’ve never seen it white before.”

“Tomorrow we can go out in it. Take Ben for a walk. He loves to roll around in the snow and chase snowballs. We can make a snowman too.” She tipped her head back to meet his upside-down gaze, his adoring grin spreading her own smile upon her face. “And then we can come back and I’ll make us hot chocolate and we can get under the blankets to warm up-“

He stopped her words with a gentle kiss, his hand slipping underneath her jumper and t-shirt to rest against the bare skin of her stomach. “And what about now?” he asked meaningfully. “Can we get under the blankets now?”

How could she ever refuse an offer like that?

The snow continued to fall outside – silent, soft, glittering and abundant. And inside the little house all was warm and cosy and beautiful, the fated lovers entwined, entangled, enmeshed eternally in their joyful love.

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