#i was losing motivation and contemplating what to do next

[str33t-c4t]

Snake | Taro Sugimoto Sleep-deprived little bastard who loves fish fries and alternative rock, and speaks in fluent sarcasm and self-deprecation. Has a bad habit of binge drinking, spending excess time in his room, and falling for anyone who so much as breathes in his direction (despite his lingering hesitation to get close with people). Lost his mother when he was only six and still struggles with letting go of his attachment to her. Not very strong or brave, but now and then he'll display plenty of wit, charm, and intelligence to compensate for it. Not afraid to speak his mind or get blunt sometimes, for better or worse.

[oharababe]

STRESS RELIEVER | MIGUEL O'HARA

⋆𐙚₊˚ premise: you're struggling to keep your focus with the stress and miguel offers to ease that worry off you.

⋆𐙚₊˚ cw: explicit content, finger f*cking, dirty talk. 18+

⋆𐙚₊˚ tags: modern + college au. afab reader + playboy miguel.

⋆𐙚₊˚ wc: 3,573

a/n. this is long overdue for @spikedhe4rt who requested miguel to finger fuck reader as a stress relief. i aged reader and miguel to between 22-23 in this oneshot since they're college students. this fic is longer than intended but hey, we like to take it slow burn here.

Sometimes you contemplate why you put yourself in this kind of situation. 

You were aware that you have exams coming up in the next few weeks. But you were focused on making sure that you got your assignments done before the deadline. So it was natural for you to prioritise those. You wish you had paid more attention to the dates because just when you thought that you would have more time to revise, you didn’t. Leaving you with only three weeks until your exam. And now you’re struggling to get information into your head. 

“Fuck,” you mumble. The machine makes a soft drilling noise as it pours coffee into your mug. You rub your forehead with your hand as you wait for your drink to finish. Thinking about what topics you need to revise for the exam. Mentally planning how you would organise and plan yourself for another long session of studying. It’s going to be another long night.

When your drink is ready, you stride your way to the dining table where all your notes and books are set. With not enough desk space you have in your room, the dining table has turned into your second desk to accommodate all the reading materials and your laptop to work on. You strap yourself in your seat, ready for another torturous session of studying for the finals. 

All the caffeine from the coffee, tea and sugary energy drinks didn’t last long in your system. At first, you feel the buzz of the caffeine that helps you go through two hours of reading and answering mock questions without a proper break. You feel yourself pushing through, feeling motivated that you can do this. But then, the effects wear off, and now you’re struggling through short video clips on your laptop after two hours into your study session. 

Your mind battles. Reminding you about the consequences of you losing more time. But you can’t be bothered at the moment. You are convincing yourself that you deserve a break from studying for fifteen minutes which turned into a two-hour rest and procrastination. 

At this rate, you know that you won't get any studying done. You’re going to have to face the consequences of that but you can’t be bothered about it for now. Staring mindlessly at your laptop with headphones on as you watch a reality television adaption to pass the time. 

“Dios, you’re still here this late?” 

Your eyes look up from your laptop to find your roommate in the dining area. Miguel stands at the entrance in his black leather jacket, red shirt underneath and dark-coloured jeans. His black helmet rests on his left lip and it looks like he’s returned from wherever he went or did. You didn’t realise that he wasn’t in the house you both shared all this time. “When was the last time you looked at yourself in the mirror? You look shit.” 

“Thanks, Captain Obvious.” You say. Your relationship with Miguel O’Hara is rather tricky, to say the least. Sometimes, the two of you get along and have a decent conversation with each other about careers, and personal experiences and share similar interests. Though other times, it’s not necessary. It’s mostly when he would bring people over to the house and then take one girl up to his room. Having to hear moans from the girls he fucked and Miguel’s growls and dirty talks. 

It annoys you to no end, especially the one incident when you walked into the bathroom with him getting a blow job in the shower. It’s still his fault for not locking the bathroom or even putting a sign on the door to say that he’s busy getting pleased.  

Even after that, your subtle attraction for Miguel still resonates with you. 

You realise your mug is empty, another drink that is supposed to keep you going has gone to waste in your system. You can’t be bothered but you know that you’ve wasted time not studying when you’re supposed to. So, you get up from your seat, walk into the kitchen and do the same routine that you’ve done the past few weeks when you’re cramming for finals. Either make your coffee, or tea or grab an energy drink. The caffeine from the coffee is too much for you to handle at the moment and tea isn’t strong enough for you. So you settle for an energy drink where it’s in between enough caffeine to maybe help you go through for another three hours for now. 

“Are you thinking of studying again?” Miguel sounds a bit disbelieving, but not surprised. He’s now in the kitchen with you as you take your energy drink of choice for the night—or early morning. You don’t want to look at the time “There’s no point. You’re not going to remember anything at this rate.”

“Can we just… not do this?” You warn, holding your hand up as a sign for him to stop talking. Stop creating conversations that would lead to an argument because you know it would happen. Especially with your emotions all over the place.  

Miguel stares at you, his eyes roaming up and down. Not long after, his lips curl into a smirk. Leaning his side against the frame of the long, rectangular entrance arch. “You’re stressed out. Miss Perfect finally breaks down for finals.”  

A tired sigh escapes out of your mouth. You focus to proceed on opening up the can, hearing its fizziness before pouring it into your mug. “You could say that.” 

The kitchen falls into silence. What he says is certainly true and you feel that you brought this on yourself. You were off-tracked with your assignments and didn’t check the right exam dates. It’s an error on your part but you are trying to do your best to make it through another year of college without failing. At this point, you’re willing to accept a passing grade just to make it to another year.  

“I’ll study and keep you company,” Miguel declares. “Only to make sure you stay focused and get on track. No more messing around. Got that?” 

You blink, unprepared for his words. You’re not sure why he’s doing this to you but what he said made a rush of warmth fill your chest. Despite his words, you guess that he thinks it’s better to have someone to study with rather than doing it alone. But you don’t ask Miguel if that’s his intention, in case he decides to rethink his offer.

“Thank you.” 

Miguel unfolds his arms and lets it drop to his sides. His hands are in his pockets as he’s about to leave, but then he looks over his shoulder to you. “And also; nadie bebe su bebida energética de una taza.” He says before disappearing elsewhere. 

You blink and look down at the mug in your hand, guessing that Miguel is talking about how energy drinks are meant to drink from their can, and not from a mug. 

* * * * * 

You did manage to push yourself for another two hours before you came crashing again. 

“I can’t focus on anything else right now. My mind has gone blank.” You sigh, slumping on your seat. That’s another study session that failed.

“Hm,” Miguel responds. Focusing on his study materials. “I think you’ve studied too much. That’s why you’re burned out.” 

There is some truth to his words. You have been pushing yourself to the bone for this exam and now your mind is haywired. Everything feels numbing in your head. The feelings of exhaustion, guilt and unbotheredness are jumbled in you. 

“I’m just really stressed out. I want to do well on this exam but my brain just… can’t grasp anything that I’ve studied.” You say, sounding a little disheartened. “I can’t focus, I can’t concentrate.” 

Miguel couldn’t help but glance at you. Taking in the way you’re slumped in your seat and how hollow your eyes are, filled with fatigue and emptiness. You look stressed out. He wonders when was the last time you had rest – a proper break. Not the stupid Pomodoro breaks where you take five to ten minutes of break time before getting back to studying. 

He wonders when was the last time you had taken care of yourself? 

Miguel turns his attention to you when he hears you close one of your heavy books. You let out a sigh, “I can’t even relax without being so much on edge. Fuck.” 

He thinks you’re right as he sees the way your body tenses in stress and anxiety. Miguel’s expression stays unfazed though he does feel sympathy seeing you in such a state. “Hey, you should get some rest. Go to bed early or something.” 

“I will after I attempt to get this lesson done. Then, I’ll go to bed.” 

Miguel gives you a solemn look. Your determination is one of the things he admires about you. Your willingness to do whatever it takes to get your points across. It made you endearing in his eyes. But at the moment, it’s making you look stubborn and somewhat prideful. The last thing you need is a bad experience of burnout before your exam, and he knows that you know this as well deep down.

“Let me help you to relax,” 

“Huh?” You shoot him a confused look. As if he’s said something unusual to you. “Help me… relax? How do you plan on doing that?” 

Miguel nods, “You are tensed up and you’re not getting anything remembered in your head. Your mind can’t focus.”  

You raise a brow at him, unsure where your roommate is coming from. Miguel is right, you do need to take a proper break since your productivity is rather counterproductive. But his words still puzzle you about how he can help you relax. “And how do you plan on doing that, exactly?” You ask curiously. “What do you do to relax when you’re stressed out?” 

“You know, go to the gym. Take a walk, drive around.” Miguel says it casually. “Sometimes masturbating helps to wire your brain to relax.”

You stare at your roommate before burying your face in your hands with a groan. Not only is the suggestion embarrassing but you have to imagine Miguel playing with himself. How his hands would stroke his cock, hot and pulsing in the palm of his hands. Envisioning the grunted breaths and deep groans he makes. It isn’t as if you haven’t done that to yourself either, pleasuring yourself. You’ve done that on the nights where you could hear the headboard of his bed from his room moving as the girl Miguel brought for the night kept moaning. 

You shake your head, dismissing the thoughts immediately. Or try to. “I’m not in the right mindset to do that.” 

Miguel raises an eyebrow. “I’m not saying you should do it. I’m offering to do it. It’s on the table for you.” 

“What?” You stare at him in shock and confusion. You think you heard him wrong but from the unfazed look on his face, you know that he is serious about this. Serious about giving you an orgasm, or maybe multiple orgasms. Because you know from the women and girls he brings over to fuck, Miguel has them moaning more than three times. 

When you open up your mouth, you can hear yourself stammering your words. The thought of it is disgusting but at the same time, arouses you. “Miguel, I–” 

“Do you trust me?” He asks, his red eyes piercing into yours. Captivating you to stop talking. To stop denying the offer of pleasure. You give Miguel a look of uncertainty, unsure how to respond to his offer.

“What’s it gonna be?” Miguel asks. The corner of his mouth curves up to a tiny smirk. “No pressure, chica. I want you to think about it and let me know if you’re up for it or not.” 

Miguel goes back to reading his study notes with a neutral expression as if the conversation didn’t happen. He doesn’t look at you and the silence in the room speaks volumes. Leaving you to think about the offer. You’re not sure why he is even offering himself to give you pleasure. Miguel is your friend, for goodness sake. The guy is out of your league and he has been with other people, you know this. Is he doing this out of pity or could there be more to it? 

The two of you have lived together for three years of schooling, and have known each other for that long. He doesn’t give you attention in a lustful way or lustful like he does with other girls; the kind of interest in starting a sexual relationship with you. It’s a blessing in disguise yet at the same time, you want a connection more than just being his friend. 

You have a crush on Miguel but he doesn’t seem the type of guy who isn’t ready to commit to one person just yet. Especially when you’re both still young and exploring life ahead.  

“Okay,” you closed your book with a thud. You catch his eyes when you fully turn to talk to him. This idea is already as insane as it is, but you’re desperate to stop feeling like a lost cause about your exam. You just want to forget about your test for a few minutes. Maybe a couple of hours at most. “I’ll take up on your offer. What I’ve been doing is not working, and I need some sort of break before I go insane.” 

Miguel grins and then puts his reading materials away. You always think that he looks so handsome when he smiles. “Well then. Move your books and laptop aside and sit on the table for me.” Miguel looks at you when you stare at him. “It will be a lot nicer like that, trust me.” He adds. 

“Okay, I’ll get my stuff out of the way.” You say and begin picking up your books and laptop. Miguel does the same, putting his things away, then turns his attention to look at you. 

You’re sitting on the edge of the table, waiting for his next words. The beating of your heart thumping is the only thing you can hear as you watch Miguel. He stands in front of you in between your thighs. Tall, built and handsome. His red eyes look down on you as they shine under the lights in the dining area. 

You feel his hands on the sides of your waistband shorts, his fingers brushing against your clothed skin and hips. “May I?” Miguel asks as he looks at you. 

“Sure,” you say. You’re not one to be nervous around easily but your roommate seems to have that effect on you. When you lift your hips slightly, Miguel curls his fingers on the waistband and pulls down your shorts. Discarding your clothed item you notice that he’s taken off your panties too. “Miguel–” 

His stare made you pause, his red piercing eyes keep you quiet. You’ve always known what Miguel’s eyes are like but in this moment of what you’re letting him do to you, it stirs feelings in you. The gaze in his eyes is fiery in desire; so focused and enraptured. He looks at you in silence – keeping his eyes on you – as he slowly pulls down everything and discards it somewhere in the room. 

“Open your legs a little for me, pretty,” Miguel tells you. “Yes, that’s it.” 

The heat on your cheeks burns you as your heart thumps in your chest at how intimate and vulnerable the situation looks. Never in your dreams you would be in this situation, much less doing it with Miguel O’Hara.

 “It’s not too late to change your mind and tell me no.” He says. Standing between your legs, his calloused fingers on your inner right thigh. “I won’t hate you for it.” 

Your breathing is soft and steady. “Shouldn’t you have asked me that before you took my panties off?” You chuckled with a small smile. You feel a little more relaxed about what you and he are starting. 

Miguel grins, “I probably should have.” His expression becomes serious. “I’ll start slow.” 

You watch as he puts two fingers in his mouth with a gentle suck. When he pulls them out, his digits are glistened wet under the lights. Lubricated and wet against his tan skin. Miguel catches you dazing at him, his intense expression stays on you, as he brings his fingers between your thighs. They find themselves between your flaps, tracing your inner folds with his fingertips. 

“You’re already wet before I touch you.” Miguel hums in approval. “That’s good.” 

His fingers move slowly like he promised. You feel him gather your sleek arousal with a gentle swipe of his thumb and move up to the hood of your cunt. You moan softly when you feel Miguel play with your clit, circling and putting just the right pressure that has you tingling in sensation. Your hands grip on the edge of the table as you brace yourself. 

“Gosh, that feels nice.” You sigh. Your eyes are closed, indulging in the pleasure, finding your body relaxed and mind in tranquillity. Focusing on feeling his fingers touch and tease your folds and clit. Maybe this is what you truly need for a break from intense studying. 

“I like the look on your face,” Miguel tells you. You can picture the smirk from the tone of his voice. “This is just the beginning of your stress relief.” 

You didn’t get to open your eyes and ask him what he meant when you felt something push inside your cunt. Your walls are wet and warm, feeling one of Miguel’s digits sliding into your pussy with ease. It has you gasping and moaning softly, your back arches and hands gripping tightly onto the table edge. Miguel has his index finger in you and he slips in his middle finger, stretching your pussy open. His thumb is still circling your clit as his fingers thrust in and out of you. 

“Stay still, bonita.” His voice deeps, almost growling. “And don’t think. Just focus on the feeling of my fingers. Relax for me.” 

You can’t help but tighten around his fingers from the command. Hoping that he didn’t feel the way your clit throbs from his command. You never heard him speak like that before – maybe not to you – but it sounds hot. All you could focus on is the way his fingers rub and massage your pussy. 

You can tell that Miguel is certainly experienced with the way he can tease your vulva and play with your clit, letting your breathless sighs and moans guide him. It’s completely easy to forget about anything else but being finger fuck by the guy you liked. 

“Oh, oh.” You softly moan, putting the heels of your feet on the edge of the table. Your hands clutch onto his forearms as Miguel fingers you. It has your head spinning with the way he alternates between fingering and rubbing your slick folds. The pace is not fast or slow-- just perfect, as it eases you off and you forget about what you're stressed about in the first place. 

And when he pushes his fingers into your pussy, it has you tilting your head back in ecstasy, moaning his name, as you feel him going deeper.

"So tight around my fingers. You definitely need this." Miguel smirks, his breath warms your neck. “Need a good stretch, don’t you, bonita?” 

You groan as you feel him continuously plunge his digits in and out of you. Miguel doesn’t stick to one way to pleasure you; he would rub your wet folds, flicker your clit up and down and sideways with his thumb, and circle your little pearl. At the corner of your eye, you see the corner of his mouth curve up in a smirk when clutching onto his forearms for dear life. 

“Miguel,” you mewl. The knot in your lower belly tightens when he plunges his whole fingers into your slick pussy, thrusting them in and out. Your body moves in a sudden, forward thrust when Miguel continues to come hither inside your pussy, having his fingers rubbing your G-spot. He doesn’t stop to flicker and circle your throbbing clit and a sultry gasp catches in your throat as your thighs begin to quiver. “Oh, fuck!” 

“That’s it, beautiful. Oh, you really do need this, don’t you?” Miguel asks almost mockingly. You arch your back in his embrace and let out another moan, feeling his two fingers flicking inside your pussy walls. He knows exactly what he’s doing, drawing out more noises from you as your lower body still trembles, and your cum spilling out of your folds and onto his fingers. 

It feels as if Miguel is toying with you and pussy for a long time, even after being overstimulated and sensitive. He slows down his ministrant but still has his fingers gently rubbing circles on your clit and wet folds. You relax in his arm, head on his shoulder as you regain your senses from orgasm. All thoughts cleared up in your head and you couldn’t even remember what you were thinking or doing earlier before being finger-fucked. 

Miguel’s voice sounds a little raspy and distinct, still toying with your cunt, as he whispers:  “Wanna continue this elsewhere?” 

feel free to support me further on my ko-fi page!

[rileyslibrary]

teaching ghost how to make paper cranes but he keeps messing up with his huge ass hands <3333 (gn reader please! love your work❣️❣️)

*taps microphone* one “Ghost struggling” with a side of “Japanese paper folding art” coming right up. (A/N at the end)

———————————————————————

“This is even more annoying than Soap.”

“It’s not Soap’s fault you have sausages for fingers.” You murmur as you finish your tenth paper crane and set it on the conference table.

He examines the back of his hand as if he had just received a manicure. He then flips it over, palm facing up, and curls his fingers into a fist before releasing them.

“My fingers are not the problem,” he argues, “it’s these sheets; they are way too small.”

“Did you say ‘shits’ or ‘sheets’?” You quip, and he huffs at your comment. Yet, he picks up another piece of paper from the stack to try again.

You observe him as he leans over the table. He is pretty crafty when it comes to surviving in difficult situations; he can light a fire by creating a bow drill, build a shelter out of branches, and navigate the woods with a needle as a compass. But when it comes to these types of crafts, he struggles.

He starts folding again, a little gentler than before. Every time he completes a step, he pauses to assess his progress. He occasionally lets out a self-motivational hum and nods to himself.

But then something happens, and he loses it—a misaligned fold caused by his large hands or a paper rip as a result of his inexperience with handling such delicate materials. Sometimes he just feels discouraged, anticipating another failed try, and gives everything up.

Looking at his current attempt, you know the paper crane will fall apart. He completes his final folds and, as you anticipated, it comes loose. He groans and crumbles the paper.

“You can do it,” you assert. “I’ve seen you train unruly recruits with much more patience.”

“For fucks sake, Y/N,” he shouts, throwing his head back, “recruits are easier to shape into soldiers than moulding a fucking Post-it note into a duck.”

“It’s a crane,” you correct him; “ducks have another technique.”

“What’s the difference?” he complains. “Why do they have different folds if they are both birds?”

“For the same reason, an AK47 and an MP5 need different types of ammo, I guess.”

Despite his disappointment, he picks up another piece of paper and folds it again.

“Patience, Lt.,” you encourage him, “treat it as a recruit.”

He pauses for a minute, contemplating your advice, before he begins. He does not treat the paper as a target this time. He carefully pinches it with his fingers and folds it with his nails. In his eyes, the paper has taken on the appearance of something far too fragile. Something that needs to be helped and taken care of. It’s not against him, but with him—they’re allies working towards a common goal.

He completes it and places it in the palm of his hand, stretching his creation towards you. It’s not perfect, but nothing is.

“Excellent work, Lieutenant!” You cheer, and he proudly places his paper crane next to yours.

“It’s relaxing and meditative,” he admits; “all this folding and aligning makes you forget about things.”

“Things?” You ask as he pulls another sheet from the stack.

“You know,” he replies, staring at the paper in his hands, “bad things.”

You can see his emotions shifting through his eyes—they’re half-lidded as if they want to forget the atrocities they witnessed. His hands are fiddling with that paper; they are shameful hands in his mind—hands that participated in the worst horrors imaginable. They’re not worthy of making paper cranes.

“Paper cranes symbolise hope,” you comfort him, “and there’s a Japanese legend that says whoever makes a thousand of them will be granted a wish.”

His eyes light up, and he opens his lips to say something, but Soap enters the room. “What are you doing here?” He yells and sits on the table, right next to your paper cranes.

Ghost rolls his eyes at the sight of Soap but continues with his little project. “I’m making a thousand paper cranes to fulfil my wish.” He replies.

“What are you going to wish for, Lieutenant?” He asks, and Ghost replies with a stern “for you to get off my fucking back.”

You make quiet shushing noises to calm him down, and he inhales deeply.

“What is it that you want, Sergeant?” He finally asks, and Soap begins to report every problem around the base that would require Ghost’s attention.

“And the fridge broke last night, and all the meat has gone bad,” he concludes, “so it looks like we might have to eat a plant-based diet until we fix it.”

“That’s alright,” Ghost shrugs, “as long as we get our nutrients, we’ll be fine.”

Soap looks at you, dumbfounded. “Wow, Lt.!” he shouts, turning to Ghost, “these paper cranes have turned you into a bloody monk, haven’t they?”

“Paper crane, paper crane,” Ghost begins to chant as he folds, “go away, or you’ll end up with a fucking cane.”

“Ghost!” you cry. “Where is the patience and meditative state we discussed earlier?”

“I’m sorry,” he apologises and turns to Soap. “Namaste, sergeant,” he says and waves his hand in dismissal, “now fuck off.”

And who are you to tell him what to say or how to behave? You, too, are a project yourself, just like these cranes lined up in front of you. You look at the trash bin with all the papers he crumbled before completing his first successful paper fold art. Today he learned something new and joyful. Something that makes him feel content and proud rather than something that wakes him up in the middle of the night or, worse, prevents him from sleeping. Making a thousand paper cranes is so much better than watching him with that thousand-yard stare he gets after every mission.

Soap grabs one of your paper cranes, places it in his pocket, and leaves you two be.

Ghost completes his second successful paper crane and grabs another sheet. “Nine hundred and ninety-eight more to go,” he states, “you know, for that wish.”

———————————————————————

A/N: I had no idea how to make a paper crane, so I wanted to teach myself first in order to write this. And yes, I did it on a Post-it note (but not a sticky one). Also, this piece is 1000 words.

[osleeplessflowero]

💜 Reader has They/Them pronouns and their appearance is entirely up to you! ❌ The skeletons will not be entirely canon accurate and will have a few of my headcanons attached. I hope they're still enjoyable! Sequel to this oneshot. ❣️ Sanses belong to their respective owners. All I own is the writing. WORDS: 1,589

🌨️❄️ SNOW DAY! ☃️🧊

Snow gently falls from the sky, hitting the ground and covering it with a pure white, cold blanket. It fogs up the windows, freezing them. Trees have icicles on their branches.

Nightmare's garden has been covered up for the season, the roses and other flowers being kept alive inside a magical greenhouse.

A fireplace crackles in the main living room, its warmth filling the castle.

You sit up in your bed, sliding off of it and walking over to the window, rubbing your eyes to wake up a bit better before looking outside. Upon seeing the snow, you comically press your face up against the glass before excitedly walking to the door, sliding on some slippers of choice and exiting your room.

It's SNOWING!

You rush to Killer's door, tapping on it rapidly until he slides it open.

"you have really gotta stop doing that so early." He yawns, stretching and cracking his bones a little.

"You know you love seeing me in the morning." You smile smugly.

"hmmm.. i guess so."

You gasp, mocking offense. "You guess? You wound me, Killer, such a heartbreaker.."

He snickers, putting his hand up to his mouth.

You put the back of your hand against your forehead, leaning back dramatically. "Whatever could I do?"

"you could tell me why you woke me up this early again, for starters."

"Oh yeah-" You stand up straight again. "It's SNOWING outside!" You grin, bouncing slightly in place.

"..okay and?"

"Killer, it's SNOW- we could do all kinds of things out there- we could have snowball fights, we could build snowpeople, we could do a LOTTA things-"

"ehh, when you grow up surrounded by snow it loses a lot of its appeal."

"C'monnn, don't you wanna hang out with me? Doesn't have to be for too long, but I think it could be fun. Why not give it a chance?" You smile pleadingly, pressing your hands together. He looks you over, seemingly contemplating, before sighing and giving in.

"fine, but don't expect me to stay for too long."

"I'll take it." You smile warmly.

"what's goin' on over here?" Dust walks over, taking a sip of coffee.

You make grabby hands, and he shakes his head. "no, get your own. answer me."

"well, they wanna go out and spend some time in the snow today."

"yeah? how come?"

"Because it could be fun- and it means group bonding time."

"what's gotten you all motivated for group bonding stuff?"

"I dunno. I just wanna spend time with my favorite people all together. Is that so bad?"

Dust and Killer look at each other, before sighing and smiling at you.

"i guess one day couldn't hurt, right killer?" "yeah. only doing this for them though."

You smile smugly, before Horror's door opens.

"why are you all so loud so early."

"Good morning, Horror." You smile at him, and he smiles a little in return. "..mornin'. what's goin' on?"

"We're gonna go out and have a snow day. Wanna join us?" "do i have to stand next to them?" "No, you can stand wherever you want." "then i'm in."

"you wound us, horror." Killer pretends to wipe away a tear. "literally could not give less of a shit." Horror deadpans, before you motion for everyone to follow you to the kitchen.

You get some more coffee started, chatting with everyone about old missions and other things like that, pouring cups for everyone. You hear a large set of doors open and close, peeking your head out of the kitchen to see Nightmare approaching.

"Morning, Night." You smile at him. "Morning. What's going on?" "We're all just having coffee right now, but we're gonna go have some fun in the snow later." "Why would you wanna go out there if it's freezing? Humans are vulnerable to frostbite, and snow's annoying to get off of your clothes. Just gets them all wet, too." He scrunches up his face. "C'monnn, there's lots of fun to be had out there. Why don't you join us? You might like itttt." "If I agree will you stop pestering me about it?" "Yes." You blink innocently. "Fine. But only for a little while." He puts his hand on your head, messing up your hair before going into the kitchen to get some coffee for himself.

You fist pump, going back as well.

After a few more minutes of conversation, you go back to your room to find much warmer clothes for yourself, knowing that since they're skeletons they don't feel the cold. You, however, are not immune to frostbite, and need protection.

Once you've properly bundled up, you walk out of your room and go into Killer's.

"Rate the fit-" "gimme a 360."

You spin around in a circle before striking a pose.

"9/10, should've went with a little more red." "You would say that." You snicker, walking out with him. He holds your hand as you walk, much less to keep up and more just because he wanted to.

You reach the living room where the other three are waiting by the fire for you, greeting them and heading out.

Snow crunches under your shoes as you walk, feeling it hit your head and making your cheeks a little flushed.

Killer walks casually beside Dust, who has his hands in his pockets. Horror lets some snow fall on his hand silently for a bit. Nightmare just walks next to you, a neutral look on his face.

You try to think of what to do first, then get an idea and smile deviously.

While the others are distracted, you reach down and pick up some snow, forming it into a ball and holding your hands behind your back.

"Oh Killerrrr.. I have a gift for you." "is it the gift of your undying love and affection for me?" He puts his hands on his cheeks, shooting you a wink. "Killer, you already know that I love you. But that's not it. THIS IS-"

You hit him right in the face with a snowball, then run for dear life.

"ohohoho, you are SO GONNA GET IT-" He runs after you, forming a snowball himself. You let out a scream, but in truth, you're not actually scared. It's one of excitement.

Nightmare shakes his head, watching in slight amusement.

"you gonna get in on that, boss?" Dust asks, standing beside him. "Absolutely not. I'd rather not have snow hurled at my face." "they seem to be having a lot of fun th-"

Dust gets hit in the face with a snowball. Followed by a "SORRY DUST-" in the distance.

"sorry to cut this short, boss, but this is a declaration of war-" "Go on."

He runs off, picking up snow in both hands and making two snowballs, chasing you both down. Horror looks at Nightmare, Nightmare sharing a look back, before Horror just leaves him to himself and joins the fight.

Walls are built, alliances made, betrayals were common.

You had a blast, aiming another snowball at Killer and throwing it before he ducks..and it hits Nightmare.

You feel yourself tense, the others stare at him. Killer looks like he's about to burst out laughing, Dust puts his hand to his teeth, and Horror..honestly doesn't care.

"Now look what you've done." "Nightmare, I-" "YOU DARE DECLARE WAR ON THE KING OF NEGATIVITY?"

He charges at you with a malicious grin, you playfully screaming and running as the others join in an all-out battle. You feel proud that you managed to get him to join in on the fun this time.

Once you all tire yourselves out, you focus your attention on snowpeople building. (After you take the time to go inside and get some extra parts to decorate them, that is.)

You make yours a silly fellow, a rather gentlemanly specimen indeed. You then make a much smaller gentleman to keep him company.

Killer makes sure to sculpt his properly, adding the classic carrot nose and a few pieces of clothing like a hat and scarf.

Dust..okay that's a pile of snow with his name written on it. Doesn't count.

Horror makes a bigger snowperson, carefully crafting details onto it, making small patterns in the snow with his sharp fingers. You give him some assistance, suggesting what to add to certain parts.

Nightmare adjusts yours when you aren't looking, sprucing it up a little and fixing its hat when it begins to slide off.

"Okay, I think it's time to go back inside. Their face is getting a bit too flushed. I wouldn't want to risk frostbite."

"Aww, okay. We should do this again if it snows tomorrow. Maybe we could go ice skating that time- I bet I could skate better than youu-" "Sure, we'll go with that." "You doubt my skills?" "I do doubt your skills."

You scoff, nudging Nightmare's shoulder as you all walk back. He simply grins at you.

You change out of your wet clothes, putting on some warm pajamas and going to sit in the living room with everyone. Nightmare sits to your right at the end of the couch, Killer on your left. Dust sits in a recliner, and Horror sits in front of you on the floor. You lean a bit on Nightmare as a movie starts, tracing lines on Horror's skull with your hand and taking an occasional sip of hot chocolate.

After a few jokes and discussions, you feel yourself getting tired, falling asleep right in the same spot. Feeling perfectly comfortable with your favorite skellies around.

[whatislovevavy]

Tia Maria and Whiskey on the Rocks

Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x OC (Cherry)

Masterlist

Author's Note: hey y'all, apologies for the extremely late posting, I've been going through some life transitions and finding time and motivation to write has been difficult, but here it is now :) This is part two of Most of Freedom and Of Pleasure, and is apart of @thedroneranger 's Pick Your Poison Writing Challenge with the prompt being Espresso Martinis I'm glad I got to include one of my favorite drinks with one of my favorite songs with a character I love writing for <3 I'm most likely going to do a third part with smut in it, so let me know if that would be something you lovely people would like to read :)

Warnings: Mentions of Smut, Fluff, Alcohol, Pilots catching feelings

WC: 5.2k

All of my writings will be added to my writing side blog @sophs-writing-nook 

This is an 18+ fanfic, so minors scoot pls. You are responsible for the media you consume. Do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate this fic without my explicit permission as it is my own creation. 

Goddamn it. 

You slid the end call button as Phoenix didn’t pick up, fighting with the raindrops that fell and streaked down your phone screen, and trying to keep your jacket secure around your frame that didn’t seem to be saving your red dress from being soaked by the rain. The overwhelming damp and cold feeling seeped into your scalp and made the floodgates that held your tears back crack and crumble all the more. 

You regretted this date, much more than all of the others. 

A shaky sigh left your lips, frustration, and anger forming its potent mix in your mind. 

You tried to keep your eyes on your phone and to stay calm; you didn’t need the people eyeing you on the sidewalk feeling sorry for you. They had nothing to feel sorry for anyway.  You were just a person that had a disaster of a date and was stuck out in the rain trying to get home. Absolutely nothing to feel sorry for. You huffed, tensing your jaw as you found cover under an awning of a bookstore. Trying not to look at anyone that gave you that characteristic look of pity as they walked by. Biting your lip, you contemplated calling the last number you wanted to be calling late on a Friday night. 

Just get it over with, you thought. 

You quickly tapped the call button next to the infuriating little contact icon. Biting into your lip harder, finding the puddle reflecting the San Diego city lights more appealing than attempting to meet any passerbyers gaze as each tone brought you closer to a ride home. Or the teasing of a lifetime. Maybe both. 

“Cherry.”

That familiar silk laced drawl made you shut your eyes and wish anyone else had picked up when you called. But alas, here you were.

“Wasn’t expectin’ to hear from you. I thought you were busy entertainin’ what’s his name, Dylan? Derrick?” 

The humor in his voice brought a hot surge of frustration to the tips of your fingers as you gripped your phone harder, jaw tensing. 

“Look, I’m not in the mood for this right now…” Your voice losing its bite, but only by a little, “I’ve had a really shitty night, and,” you took a shaky breath, the frustration of the evening coming in full force on your psyche, “I need a ride home.” Jake's teasing grin wilted. You never would have called him, unless it was serious. He licked his lower lip, turning to look back at his friends finishing up a game of pool from the corner near the bathrooms, the steadily growing chatter in the bar making it more difficult to hear you as the seconds passed. He rubbed the back of his neck, swallowing. “Ok, sit tight, sweets. I'll come get you, you're still at Benny’s?” 

Your eyebrows furrowed. That’s…odd. You never told him where you were going. The wind and rain made you pull your jacket tighter around yourself. The evening rain makes you shiver, jaw chittering. Taking a deep breath, “yeah, I'm outside,” eyes diverting from the passing traffic to the worn, gold tinged cursive on the window, “Clara’s bookstore.“Your eyes trained on the rain soaked overhead awning dripping to the sidewalk in front of your painted toes peeking from your heels as you waited for his response. 

Jake's eyebrows furrowed, eyes diverting from his phone screen to the rain streaked windows facing the beach. That's a decent walk from where you ate, he thought, eyebrows raising. Must've been quite a guy to make you leave early. And in the pouring rain, no less.

“I'll be there soon, Cher. Are you somewhere safe? Somewhere out of the rain?”

If you didn't know any better, you'd say the insufferable, look-out-for-number-one-only, selfish, arrogant  Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin, who spent each free moment he wasn't peacocking around base, making your nerves burn and fray, sounded concerned about your well being. 

As soon as Jake heard your dreary, evidently rain soaked confirmation, he opted out of the game, forcing Bob to take his place with little to no explanation besides that  a commitment came up,”  striding down the Hard Deck steps to his parked truck. 

He's not ditching you. He wouldn't do that. You repeated what felt like mantras as the minutes ticked by. Hot tears started to brew at the corners of your eyes. You clutched your now soaked jacket over your dress, your toes sinking into the soggy faux leather of your heels as you leaned back against the concrete column of the closed store. The amber overhead lights making warped reflections in the puddles of the buildings and cars passing by.

Your breathing was ragged as you felt the familiar flames of frustration lick at your brain, something that had only stopped when Jake said he was going to go come get you. 

You felt so stupid. Wearing this dress. These heels. Your smudged make-up that, at one point, looked presentable. You just wanted to go home and eat a pint of ice cream. 

God, why hadn't Phoenix picked up?

You clenched your eyes in frustration, a rigid breath leaving your throat as you leaned your head back against the column. 

The familiar hum of Jake's truck brought your teary gaze up to the almost barely visible silhouette in the driver's seat. 

Jake's door flew open, jogging with a jacket clutched in hand. Your eyes widened as he got closer to you, wrapping you up in his jacket. 

By the time he reached you, his hair was drenched, now a more dull golden hue. His charm remained, unfortunately, in the city’s downpour. 

“Come on sweets, let's get you inside.” Your mouth parted slightly. The sight of his shirt clinging to his biceps and broad shoulders, and the subtle scent of sweat, his natural musk, and rain almost made you miss his statement. 

His rich jade eyes traced the soft reflection of the street light off of your soaked hair, to your smudged make up, to the drenched portions of your dress and jacket to your slight shiver you were evidently trying to repress. 

His lips curved into a slight frown. You didn't deserve to be treated this way on a date. Especially not when you looked so-

His eyes returned to your deep brown ones, undertoned by your smudged mascara, finding them already on his; sharper than a moment ago, daring him to pity you. 

He carefully wrapped his jacket tighter around your shoulders, guiding you to the passenger door of his truck, headlights still blinding, and refracting with the incoming rain.

The car ride was silent except for the quiet sounds from the radio. Jake would take occasional glances your way at stop lights, but your gaze remained on the road ahead; head leaned against the side rest of his car, body still wrapped in his jacket. You had to stop yourself from unintentionally cocooning yourself deeper into it. 

“You want me to drop you off at your apartment?” 

You glanced at him, “yeah.” 

His frown curved deeper. Your tone lacked the usual spitfire attitude you always bared him, instead replaced by a sense of accepted defeat. A few beats of silence passed before Jake cleared his throat. “This Dylan guy must've been some date…you want to talk about it?” Your lip quirked up a bit. His name was Derrick, but you didn't have the heart to correct him. 

You adjusted closer to the side of the passenger seat, leaning your head on the window. 

“Not really.” 

There was that same defeated tone again, the one that made Jake's heartache in a way he had never felt before for you. Or for anyone for that matter. 

Jake brought his truck from a coast to a stop in front of your apartment building. His comforting gaze settled on your face, gaze still avoiding his. “Thanks for the ride home.” Your cherrywood eyes met his, giving him a tight smile before grabbing your purse, soaked coat, and leaving his jacket on the leather seat. His frown deepened, jaw tensing a bit as he watched you open his truck door. How dare this pathetic excuse of a man bring you to this state, a complete 180 to how he saw you every day since he met you. 

“Wait,” you looked back towards him, expecting some usual hangman-esque comment that would surely make you throw your soaked shoe at him. “Look, Hangman, I appreciate the ride home, but I'm not in the mood to sleep with you as a ‘thank you’.” His eyebrows pinched. Did you really think that low of him? And in that same defeated tone? “That,” he sighed, “that’s not what I was going to say,” he reassured, pushing his hair back with his hand. Opposing hand still on the steering wheel, watch gleaming in the glow of the radio. 

“Let me buy you some food and a drink, I know you like the Cajun fries at that bar downtown.” 

You were taken aback by the offer. Frankly, you weren't in the mood if this was a joke. “It'd be my treat,” he lightly pressed with a comforting tone. You bit the inside of your lip, examining his face for any sign of ill intent, but you found nothing in his warm sea glass eyes or the defined features of his nose and jaw. 

Cajun fries sounded nice. 

Really nice.

And a drink sounded even better. 

“Plus, I heard your stomach grumbling so you can't lie to me.”  A smile almost broke out across your lips. 

Almost. 

“I don't know, Hang,” you sighed.  The thought of snuggling up on your couch in a warm blanket, with a pint of ice cream and watching some trash reality show sounded appealing. But you were hungry and you had yet to go grocery shopping. And you had no booze.

“I promise, I'll make it worth your while…” 

You bit your lip, “a drink does sound really nice…”

His lips twitched into a smile, eyes twinkling. 

“Don't make me regret this, Hang…”the familiar spark in your voice slowly returned, making his heart skip a beat, “let me just change shoes first.” You grimaced as you remembered just how soaked your shoes were as the rain finally let up. 

“Wouldn't dream of it, Sweets,” he reassured as you left him towards your front door, a concealed smile on your face that cracked with each stride to your door. He let his eyes skim from your bare back to your concealed hips with an appreciative gaze as the red material of your dress flowed around your bare thighs. His view closed off as you shut your front door. 

You let your eyes drift across the interior of the bar at your booth, leaning your cheek on your hand. Jake had left you at the booth to get you a drink. You tried to give him a request, but he left before he could hear you. At least whatever concoction he brought you would be free. You let your eyes drift shut, listening to the sound of the bar top and the music player in the corner. 

“One Tia Maria Espresso Martini for the lovely lady, and the fries are on their way.” You opened your eyes to see the almost onyx colored elixir with a layer of frothy foam in the glass, a triage of espresso beans that looked almost weightless on the foam layer. 

How did he know this was your favorite? You had never ordered them at Penny’s since she didn't have Tia Maria. You looked at him, eyebrows raised, expecting some sort of explanation for how he knew about this. 

“I remember you tried to order one of these at Penny's and thought you'd like it,” he said with a subtle tone of shyness, like he was apprehensive that he had overstepped, making your eyebrows knit together.

“I don't fully understand why you like them,” he teased, stirring his whiskey on the rocks in his glass, an effortlessly charming smile beginning to form on his lips, “but it makes sense.” 

Your eyes narrowed at his playful ones, “what's that supposed to mean?” 

He leaned back against the booth, eyes tracing the pretty features of your face and caramel skin tone, the neon lights above your seat adding to the gleam of your wavy, soft, dark hair. 

Taking a sip from his glass, you tried to focus on his face and not the subtle bob of his adam’s apple as he took a warming sip of the amber liquid. 

“You're kind of an acquired taste,” he took another sip, “bitter, but have a sweet side deep down.” Your eyes narrowed, “I'm not an acquired taste, you're just annoying and insufferable 99% of the time, so you never see my sweet side,” you clipped, eyes slowly sharpening. His lip quirked. To anyone else it would seem like you hated his guts. But he knew better, knew you better. He playfully put his hand over his heart, “Oh, Sweets, annoying and insufferable? You wound me.”  You rolled your eyes, a smile slipping around the rim of your martini glass. The bittersweet elixir flowing down your throat. His grin widened, “there's that smile,” he teased. Before you could quip him back, the root of your culinary desire was placed on the table with a soft tap and a gentle "enjoy" from the waitress. The savory, warm smell of the spices and fries almost made you moan, only now realizing just how hungry you were. You had left your date just as you were barely through your starting salad. 

“Easy there, Sweets, don't want you to choke,” he teased, giving you a wink.

You rolled your eyes at the poorly disguised innuendo, “don't tell me how to eat my fries, Bagman.” 

He barely held back his laugh at what was essentially a growl. He contemplated telling you that technically they were his fries, but he opted to keep them to himself. If having three sisters had taught him anything, it's to never get between a woman and her food. 

A comfortable silence fell over the table as he glanced around the bar and back to you, still picking at your fries. Eyes tracing over the defined round edges of your sinful red colored nails that he tried to not think about how they would feel pressed into his shoulder blades, to your necklace that dipped teasingly between your breasts. The subtle rise of your chest. The sprinkle of freckles and gentle flutter of your eyelashes on your cheeks. The touched-up mascara on your eyelashes. The soft flush of your cheeks. The cute curve of your nose. The gentle slope of your lips. 

“You listening?”

His eyes shot to your own, his face a bit pink after having been caught. 

“Of course, Sweets,” 

Your eyes narrowed as you put your fry down in the basket, scoffing. 

“I asked,” you leaned forward, arms crossing on the table, his eyes doing their damnedest to not dart down to your cleavage, “why you brought me here, because I don't buy it was only because my stomach was making noises.”

Your tone wasn't sharp or accusatory, but it still put him a bit on edge. 

He took a deep breath through his nose, trying to get comfortable in his seat. You had a habit of putting him on edge, but in a way that made him crave more. It was almost adrenaline inducing. 

“Just wanted to treat you a little, that not allowed?” 

His collected, charismatic answer made you narrow your eyes. 

“You're not a very good liar.”

His lip quirked into a grin, diverting his gaze down to his empty glass before bringing his warm eyes up to your own again. His grin settling into a thin line. It wasn't exactly a lie.

“I didn't want you to wallow on your couch thinking about that Danny guy. You don't deserve to feel that way.” 

Your eyebrows rose, lip quirking. That definitely wasn't the answer you were expecting and it was still the wrong name, again. 

His eyes dart away from yours to the bar top. Clearing his throat, “you want another martini?”

You blink, breaking your thoughts, toying with the empty glass,  “yeah, I'll take another.”

Your eyes followed the way his body moved under his button up shirt that exposed a delicious amount of chest hair, and his worn, rich burnt sienna leather jacket. The way his stride exuded a rare sense of carefree confidence. The broadness of his shoulders under his jacket. The thickness of his fingers around the delicate glass of your martini. The way his golden locks of hair reflected the overhead lights of the bar and various neon signs on the wall you both were seated at. 

It made you almost forget that you knew what it felt like to have his bare skin against your own. It made you forget, for just a moment, that you’d been fucking this man with no strings attached. 

“Here you are, Sweets,”His smooth drawl derailed your train of thought that would have surely made you clench your thighs. 

He placed the martini on the table with an almost silent clank against the table, eyes bright and playful, the rich green color added by the neon cloverleaf above his head. 

Your lip quirked, “thank you…. You know I don't like it when you call me, Sweets, Hang.”

A smirk grew on his lips, “I think it suits you,” his gentle gaze on yours. 

You scowled, trying to repress the smile that threatened to break through. He didn't need more encouragement to call you these…you wanted to say demeaning titles, but that felt a bit cruel. It was more like a pet name, a source of teasing that wore your nerves down faster than any other trick he had in his well developed arsenal. He'd always been something akin to a wart. Once you caught him, he was hard to leave. 

“Fries any good?”

You looked down to the near-empty basket to his teasing features.  A small smile broke through as you gently pushed the basket to him. After all, he did pay for them.

You watched as he took a few and brought them between his perfect teeth, eyes darting between the sight of him dipping a few more in ketchup, to picking at your red manicured nails. A comfortable silence fell over the table and quiet conversation followed, from what plans were set for their work colleagues to hang out next, to whether Bob was going to ask Admiral Simpson’s new secretary out.

“I don’t think he’s gonna do it.” Jake said confidently as he leaned back against the booth, his arm over the back, his other hand holding his near empty glass of whiskey. Your eyebrows rose, feeling a bit more loose and warm since first sitting down, mostly attributed to the fact you were finishing up your third martini. You cracked a smile, eyes comfortably heavy, “you don’t know Floyd very well then.” His eyebrows rose, encouraging you to go on. You leaned forward, eyes bright and intense, just how Jake liked them, “you do know what Bob stands for don’t you?” His lip quirked, eyes bright and mirthful, “of course, baby on board.” You took a sip from your glass, rolling your eyes at his typical cocksure tone, “No, it stands for…” His brow quirked waiting for you to finish, his grin starting to form as he watched your eyes dance across the ceiling looking for the words in your impaired state. 

You leaned forward closer across the table, putting your pointer fingers up, biting at the inside of your cheek, losing your battle with the grin that wanted to gleam on your face, “it stands for Big Ol’ Balls.” His own laughter bubbled up in his throat as he watched you crumble into near hysterics at what had just left your mouth. 

His laughter settled while yours continued, failing to do anything else but just listen to the sweet noise. He had heard your laugh before, but he’d never had any significant part of bringing it out of you. He let a smile grace his lips at the sweet noise. As your laughter died down, he let his eyes wander to the jukebox in the corner and the thinning out crowd at the bar. He bit the inside of his cheek, the creases of his forehead showing as he listened to the song emulating from the speakers. 

“Do you wanna dance?” Jake asks, not fully thinking about the question. 

Your espresso martini almost did a full stop in your throat. Tonight had been a series of firsts with Hangman; sharing fries, him buying you drinks, and seeing you in your romantic element. Dancing together was an oddly intimate first. Sure, you’d both fucked each other’s brains out almost every other day, but dancing, well, dancing was something that seemed to be a step further than that. It didn’t involve a physical closeness attributed to taking your frustrations out on each other; it was two people flowing together, not trying to wrack each other’s physical resolve. It completely contradicted the original purpose of getting physically close to this insufferable, arrogant man; an outlet for pent up frustration through deeply satisfying, carnal escapades. 

Before you could stop yourself, you nodded. 

He rose up out of the booth first with a squeak, offering you his hand. Your deep brown eyes looking up at him, then darting to his outstretched hand, your lips parting. 

This was new, uncharted territory.

“I promise I won’t bite,” he reassured with a smile. He tried to not think about the way your red dress hugged your curves so deliciously, or how your cleavage almost spilled over the top of your garment. You had already had three martinis, and were definitely feeling the effects of them. He didn’t want to make you feel pressured into anything that you both typically took part in when you were this close physically. But he still wanted to be close to you. 

You bit the inside of your lip and, for reasons only God could tell you, you took his hand. 

He led you to the corner near the jukebox that was otherwise mostly emptied out. The beginning of England Dan and John Ford Coley’s I'd really love to see you tonight flowed from the speakers as Jake settled his hands on your waist, your own apprehensively around his neck, keeping your body upright as you let the initial beats flow through you in your relaxed state. His evergreen eyes traced over your melted brown ones, admiring the subtle flush of your cheeks to your low, lidded eyes. 

Hello, yeah, it's been a while

Not much, how about you?

Your eyes darted around his face, avoiding his eyes that seemed to solely focus on your own. His hands squeezed your hips. In attraction or comfort, you couldn’t quite tell. 

I'm not sure why I called

I guess I really just wanted to talk to you

You should have felt more alarmed by the close proximity and unorthodox reason behind it, but, and you didn’t want to admit it, the proximity felt nice. Maybe it was because of the drinks? It had to be  because of the drinks.

And I was thinking maybe later on

We could get together for a while

One of his hands left your hip to softly, ever so softly, to lift your chin up to meet his eyes. “What are you getting shy about?” The gentle smirk on his lips paired perfectly with his rich green eyes.

It's been such a long time

And I really do miss your smile

You swallowed, eyes trapped in a jade coated trance. “I think I just had too much to drink.” His lip quirked at your soft, almost whispered tone, holding you as you both swayed to the music. He knew you could hold more alcohol, but didn’t press. 

I'm not talking about moving in

And I don't want to change your life

He brought you closer to him, resting his head against the side of your own. Savoring the soft smell of citrus from your hair and the warm skin of your lower back against the palm of his hand, and the silk texture of your hand in his own. 

But there's a warm wind blowing, the stars are out

And I'd really love to see you tonight

This felt like the most alien and natural thing he had done with you. It almost made him forget that within only the last few hours, he was fucking you against the hunter green lockers, feeling you cum on his cock. 

We could go walking through a windy park

Or take a drive along the beach

He tried to not ruin the delicate moment he was having with you, and he figured his dick pressing into you might make you forget about all the good the night has brought between you two. A larger part of him than he cared to admit didn’t want to go back to the no-strings-attached arrangement he’d had with you for the past few months. 

Or stay at home and watch TV

You see it really doesn't matter much to me

He wanted more moments like this with you. But he could feel the apprehension that, as much as he didn’t want to admit, was mostly attributed to his reputation. In the months since first feeling you fall apart under him, he hadn’t slept with anyone else. Not even the desperate tag chasers in form-fitting maxi dresses at the Hard Deck. And that had to count for something. 

I'm not talking about moving in

And I don't want to change your life

He couldn’t help the pang in his chest; you were definitely open to dating other men. Could he really change your mind about him? 

But there's a warm wind blowing, the stars are out

And I'd really love to see you tonight

You had to admit, if someone had told you months ago that you would be slow dancing with Hangman in a nearly empty bar, and you wouldn't be trying to claw his throat out, you would have told them they’d been breathing in too much jet fuel. As much as you hated to admit it, it felt nice and, dare say, comforting being here with him. 

I won't ask for promises

So you don't have to lie

The soft texture of his jacket, warm hold, and soothing scent around his neck made you sigh. It was different from his usual mix of jet fuel, sweat, bergamot, and cedarwood. A part of you really hated how anything looked good on him and that he smelled amazing in whatever scent wafted off of him. 

We've both played that game before

Say I love you and say goodbye

“I’m sorry your date didn’t go well tonight,” You gently leaned back from his head, eyes meeting his own. Your eyes drooped comfortably as you looked over his face, trying to detect any sense of pity or ridicule. But all you found were warm, soulful, malachite eyes looking back into your burnt sienna ones under the neon lights. If your mind was clearer, you’d say it was romantic. But this was Hangman, and what he did best was no-commitment hookups in the dead of night. Not romance. It would take more than three martinis to make you forget that. 

I'm not talking about moving in

And I don't want to change your life

“Yeah, me too,” you muttered before leaning your head back on his shoulder. He swallowed gently, afraid that the movement would disturb you. 

But there's a warm wind blowing, the stars are out

And I'd really love to see you tonight

Jake continued to hold you close as slow songs continued to ebb and flow from the speaker, one after the other; trying to not let his mind drift to how this would play out tomorrow in your more sober mind, until he could feel your weight grow heavier against his body as you swayed gently. 

“Hey, Sweets,” he whispered against your hair. You hummed, eyes fluttered closed. “I should get you home.” You hummed in agreement, not having the strength to fight him on the pet name. Your sequoia-colored eyes peeking open, making him smile. 

He settled the tab, placing his leather jacket around your shoulders that wrapped you in warmth and the soothing smell of cedarwood and cinnamon. 

He walked you back to his truck, opening the door for you and making sure you were settled before closing the door. 

The car ride back was silent as you tried to stay awake, listening to the slow country song on the radio, your eyes drifting shut. The smooth stall of the truck made your eyes flutter open. Jake gently reached out to you, gingerly rubbing the knuckle of his forefinger against your exposed forearm to get your attention. You flinched at the unexpected, soft, almost non-existent contact, body tensing. “We’re here, Sweets,” his gentle tone letting your body ease back into the seat. 

Before your mind thought to open the door, he was already on the other side opening it for you, and offering you his hand to step down. It was truly unfair how good he looked under the streetlights outside your apartment, with his unbuttoned shirt, sunglasses hooked in the front, and slightly disheveled hair. It made you wonder how you came to hate this man in the first place. But then again, hate was a strong word and maybe he didn’t deserve to have it placed on him. Maybe it was only because of the three espresso martinis he bought you, tinting your vision of who he was tonight. 

Jake didn’t ask if you wanted him to walk you to your door. He held your hand gently in a way that seemed unusual for him as he walked with you up the stone steps to your front door. “Thanks for tonight. I really needed it.” His face broke out into a soft, sincere smile, “anytime, Cherry.” Your lips tugged into a smile, diverting your eyes to the house keys in your hand. His eyes couldn't stop drawing to the strand of dark hair that kept getting in your eyes. Your gaze shot to him as he let his forefinger sweep the hair behind your ear. 

“You deserve to have fun every once in a while.”He murmured, eyes tracing over the fine features of your face and the rich color of your hair under the porch light. His soft eyes brought a certain warmth that you'd never experienced with him. 

You gave him a smile, as you fiddled with your keys, fighting off the blush that threatened to break through. 

“Do you think,” you swallowed, “that you could not tell anyone about my really shitty date?” Jake, putting on a small smile, nodded, “yeah, of course, Sweets. I mean, I think I did a pretty good job at rectifying the experience.” 

His gentle, carefree smirk made your lip tip up into a small smile and shake your head. 

You let go of his hand, resisting to admit that you missed the contact already. 

“I’ll see you on Monday, Hang,” you bid farewell. 

He watched with a gentle smile and warm eyes as you closed the door behind you, giving him a soft wave. 

His lips pursed, morphing back into a smile as he walked back to his truck. The night seemed to fulfill him more than all of your trysts combined.

It had to count for something that you didn't ask him to never mention your... date? if he could even call it that...

You leaned back against your shut front door, a smile on your lips that he had never brought past your lips. 

Maybe it was only because of the three espresso martinis and this haze would lift in the morning, and he’d go back to being Hangman. 

Or maybe, just maybe, he truly wasn't as bad as you thought. 

People who may be interested <3

@roosterforme @sebsxphia @mamachasesmayhem @withahappyrefrain @entertainmentgirl80 @teacupsandtopgun @seresinhangmanjake @goldenseresinretriever @sailor-aviator @hello7442 @gigisimsonmars @yepyeahuhhuh @tess-lecter-blog@hookslove1592 @86laura11 @seresinsbrat @isabelstardis @shamelessghostwagonwobbler @emma8895eb @taytaylala12 @kmc1989 @h-ngm-ns @hangmans-wingman @marvel-hotchner @nemesis729 @a-lil-bit-nuts @justagirllivinginaghibliworld @mizzzpink @themusingofagothicsoul @potato-girl99981  @a-beaverhausen   @callmemana@joalslibrary @peachiicherries @whiskeyswriting @jkbindigo11 @princess76179 @clancycucumber230 @chaoticassidy @superskittles @cherrycola27 @cheekymcgrath @djs8891 @novastories@urmom-999 @zombicupcake3 @catsficrecs @abaker74 @kmc1989 @hangmanshoney @caidi-paris @i-wanna-be-your-muse @shara-ne @memeorydotcom @memoriesat30@shanimallina87 @whoeverineedtobe @slippinginto-theairwaves

[writingquestionsanswered]

Trouble with Act III and Villain Motivation

feelingthedisaster asked: I have some issues with my current WIP. The basics are: a guy wants to be a "soldier" (not exactly, but I won't get into worldbuilding), but because he's an outcast he's blamed for the theft of an object that goes missing. He learns about a witch who can help him find the object and they go on a mission to find it, but he learns it was the witch who stole it because she was bored and accepted the job to hang out with people. Here are my concerns:

[Ask edited for length]

Issue #1 - I feel the witch's motivation is not strong enough. There is backstory explaining her loneliness and wanting to have friends, but stealing an object to go on a bogus mission and hang out with someone doesn't feel realistic.

You could definitely go a little bit further to bolster this motivation. Since you mention using Save the Cat!, and since the witch sounds like she might be a redeemable villain, have you considered. her "shard of glass" (psychological wound) that's driving her? What happened in her past that makes her feel like she isn't worthy of making friends in the usual way? Fleshing that out and building upon it creates a little more logic to why she would go so far out of her way just to get some companionship.

Issue #2 - My plot sucks. Act I - the solider gets kicked out, Act II - he and the witch go on the bogus mission and he finds out she's the true thief, Act III - I have no idea. It feels shitty, boring, and I wouldn't want to read this. Honestly, I just want to write my characters and made up plot so it would make sense, but I don't like the plot.

Well, looking at Save the Cat!, in Act III you need to solve the problems created in Act II. In other words, we need to look back at your story's midpoint... what was the false victory or false defeat? How did things get progressively worse or progressively better for the hero after that? In what way was the hero pushed to rock bottom? Based on what you've laid out for me, I feel like a good route to go (if you haven't already) is for there to be a false victory toward the end of Act II, perhaps where the witch--sensing that the hero is losing faith in her ability to help him find the object--tells him they're really close. They've almost got it. Then, as the "bad guys close in" moment, maybe (because they've grown close), she admits that she was the one who stole the object in the first place and promises to take him to it. But... ALL IS LOST! They get to where she'd hidden the object and it's gone! Now neither one of them have the object! At the end of Act II is the hero's "dark night of the soul" where he has to contemplate everything that's happened so far... getting kicked out, finding the witch and trusting her to lead him to the object, growing close to the witch, being betrayed by the witch (she's the true thief). And maybe he even really hurts her feelings by ditching her because he's so mad. This guy has hit rock bottom...

So, your "Break into III" is the moment where your character realizes what he must do to fix everything... First, realizing he can sympathize with the witch and forgive her, he must find her and accept her apology and apologize to her, too. Next, he figures out what happened to the object and how they can get it back. And finally, he realizes how he can get accepted back into whatever he was kicked out of without causing problems for the witch. So, Act III will be him realizing all of this, finding the witch, convincing her to listen to his apology and accepting her apology, telling her what he figured out about who stole the object from her--and how they can get it back, strategizing that plan, executing that plan, facing off against whoever took the object from the witch and getting it back once and for all, then returning the object to its rightful owners and proving that he didn't steal the object. (And, maybe they can blame whoever stole it from the witch to keep the witch from getting into trouble?) And then maybe the hero gets reinstated, or maybe he chooses to go off with the witch on more adventures. It's up to you. And it doesn't have to be any of this exactly, but hopefully it gives you some ideas for what else you can do.

I want to change the entire plot but I don't know how. On top of everything else, my chapters are short.

Well, hopefully now that I've shown you how much more your second and third acts can be, you won't need to change your plot. I think you already have everything here for a great story. You just needed to flesh things out a little bit more. Hopefully this helps you get there.

As far as your short chapters, I just answered another ask about that. Chapters are either a single scene or a group of 2-3 related scenes. So, when your chapters are too short, it's usually because your scenes aren't accomplishing everything they need to. This post goes into detail about that, so hopefully that will help!

Happy writing!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[dangeroustimetraveldonut]

One thing that has been making me feel truly miserable is my lack of will to study/work. Working I kind of understand due to my discontent with my career paths, but when it comes to studying I don’t really have that many excuses. I hate my university, but I love my major. So, it makes me downhearted to see how unmotivated I am nowadays to read about economy and related contents. I decided to change this. Everyday for the next weeks, I’m going to be studying for 30 minutes, at least or at most. And the strategy is: no fun pomodoro. I used to think that “Animedoro” was the best study technique out there, but recently I noticed how it’s a tricky trail for me. Since I have been lacking motivation, what I do is work for 20/30 minutes then grab my phone and do infinite scrolling or get lost in a Sex and the City episode. And I cannot make me stop. Today I stumbled into a video that talked exactly about this problem. Instead of doing something fun when you end a focus cycle, do something boring, that makes studying or working seems fun next to it. Or, and here’s my perception, something that doesn’t stimulate your brain in the wrong way. Here are the things that I believe requires thinking, so I don’t lose my focus flow (they are not necessarily boring to me, but some of them tires me quickly which makes me give up on them even quicker):

Reading the news.

Watch someone that motivates me to study/work.

Watch/listen to a podcast about something useful.

Sudoku video.

Math problems videos.

Solve a sudoku problem.

Read a few pages of one of the dense books I’m probably reading at the moment (I'm a slow reader so I know it won't fully distract me heheh)

If working, read an econ paper or something related to.

Or just do nothing. Go for a walk. Make some pancakes. Grab water and contemplate it.

<3 and if doesn't work, that's okay. I'll try something new <3

Here's the video in question:

[makriiii]

Caught Ⅴ (Arthur Morgan × f!reader)

Word count: 3.5k

Author's notes: GUYS I GOT AO3 NOW! 🥳

Warnings: 18+, angst, gun violence, cursing.

Ao3! Or wattpad!

♡

Caught Ⅴ

There was no telling just how long you'd been out. Waking with a grunt, your cheek hard pressed to the filthy wood floor of a veranda.

When you regrettably rolled onto your back, your whole body tensed with pain, every inch, notably your punctured arm. A pained grimace paints your face as you pull your hands to shield your eyes from the sun.

Your head immediately started throbbing as soon as your body started kicking back into gear, though a very low gear at best.

The hustle bustle of the town around you rang through your head, slowly motivating you upright and adjusting to the environment you didn't know you had ended up in.

Arthur was a few feet away from you, just as conked out as you had been just a minute ago, seeing him made you realize you had even less recollection of the night before than you thought.

Carefully getting up, your whole head fought back with a hammering so sharp, it made you bare your teeth and suck a breath in through your them. If you were held upside down while sick, you reckoned this would be how it felt.

"Chrissakes..." You held your head in your palm, your feet stumbling under you as you found your balance.

Taking a moment to think on last night, you recalled arriving in town, immediately being drawn to Smithfield's, having heard it was a mighty fine saloon. And it was indeed mighty fine, considering how you ended up.

You remembered Arthur getting there, losing your hat, talking to some older men, dancing, but much beyond that, you couldn't recollect.

When you looked to Arthur, you saw a bowler's hat on the ground next to him, the one that man had been wearing.

Did you steal it? Stealing a hat didn't seem like something you'd do, but nevertheless you picked it up and put it back on, hoping you'd find your pal to return it back to him.

You looked over Arthur, contemplating on whether or not you should wake him or let him remain. But you didn't pick the latter, rather slapping two hands on his back and grabbing his garments in a tight fist before shaking him good.

He reacted faster than you thought a drunkard from the night before could, startling you when he yanked his pistol from his holster.

"Oh, put that away cupcake. I don't need another hole in me by the likes of you." You snide at his feeble attempt of self defense.

He relaxed back as soon as he saw it was just your nagging ass, leaning his head back with a groan, no doubt feeling the same effects of all the booze from the night before.

"Grab me like that again and it will be by the likes of me." He drawls angrily, rubbing his eyes. "Seeing your face as soon as I open my eyes is the most damning thing."

"Well clearly you didn't think that last night, otherwise you wouldn't have ended up right next to me here."

He jumps up at your words, his brow shooting up in perfect sync, a look that instantly prompts you to reiterate yourself. "Not like that you buffoon. Not even drunk would you catch me pulling your pants down."

Now he looked relieved again, as relieved as a man with an aching head and body from the night before could be. "Why are you wearing that stupid hat anyway?"

"Because I like it, why else?"

"Looks silly." He sits fixing himself to the best of his ability. "It suits you, I suppose."

You sighed, neither of your hangovers enough to calm your will to banter with each other.

"Cant you ever stop talking?" Typically, you'd like to wake up in a bed when you had drank yourself to high heaven. Far far away this man.

"What? I just love talkin' to you, y/n." The sarcasm so painfully evident with that man.

"Love talking to me, later." You plodded away from him, your head hurt too much for his bothersome words right now.

His spurs clicked from behind you, quickening in pace when he caught up to you.

You both traipse slowly down past three buildings before reaching Smithfield's again where your horses stood tied, half-asleep.

Giving your mare a few strokes before you drift past her and back up the stairs to the saloon doors.

A few men were sprawled on the floor and hung over tables, Their snores ignored by the bartender who placidly dried glasses and mugs.

You recognized two of them - the man with the overalls and the one who was missing his hat.

Returning his hat to him, you glanced around for yours, spotting it innocently lying on the piano. Happy to have your hat back on your head, you met back with Arthur outside.

"Y/n." His eyes dark and accusatory. "Did your drunken ass steal my shit?"

You gave him irked scoff, passing him as you sought out your horse. "Got enough of my own, though I suppose I can check if I did."

His presence behind you emanated pure anger, you felt your chest tighten with him looming over you as you begrudgingly checked your saddle bags.

You looked inside, none of his stuff was there. You started patting the insides desperately, your stomach sinking when you realized your belongings weren't there either.

Spinning around, you point your finger at him, poking his chest hard, his accusation now mirroring yours.

"You playing with me right now, Morgan?" You barked, stomping toward him as he took a step back.

"Are you still drunk? I would rather get shot than play games with you right now." He snapped back, you both had very little patience for each other, especially right now.

"Oh," you laugh menacingly, shaking your head up and down. "I can do that for you too, we can match, eh?"

"Jesus, 'least give me a day for you to start this up again." He rubs his forehead, not at all disturbed by your threat.

You patted yourself down, making sure you still retained the items you had on before this night. "We got robbed blind while we screwed off, clearly."

"Really? I didn't notice." He mounted his horse, half telling you to hurry with just his eyes. He was beyond infuriated, and you were happy for it.

"Shut the hell up, Arthur." You jeer, mounting up after him. Not even five minutes in to talking to him and you wanted him gone.

-

You were both as dehydrated as a dead frog on the side of the road. His eyes sunken in and his lips chapped, yours no doubt the same.

You held the horn of your saddle, slumped over and resting your head that pounded and throbbed viciously, parts of your body made their hurt known too. Every little noise overwhelmed you.

Damn near close to pulling off and just taking a fat nap, but town was still too close for comfort.

Arthur's horse clicked next to yours, his eyelids laid closed, both trusting enough to have your steeds walk you back with little direction.

This was damn near the most sober peace you had between the two of you, so inconceivable it was laughable and perhaps you would've snarked if you didn't feel so terrible.

The sun and heat beat against you, amplifying your massive headache. This made no better when a pair of men trotted up beside you, slowing Their horses enough to match your speed.

"Howdy y'all," Greets the man in the middle of you and Arthur. His voice orotund and uppity. "Y'all know where you're going?"

You shifted in your seat, your face twisted with dubiety. Making eye contact with Arthur, who mirrored your pessimism.

"I'm 'fraid not." Arthur calm as could be, his words misleading to an untrained ear.

Your hand locked on to your gun for comfort, your muscle memory already kicking in.

Your mare got hot underneath you, prancing as if she was a thoroughbred at a start gate with your sudden nervousness.

Holding your reins firm in one hand, you attempted to calm her more than you could yourself.

"Well..." he trails off. "Y'all are going through Lemoyne raider country."

"Y'all gotta pay a toll." His companion demands from the right of you.

Lemoyne raiders. Your gang had run into them before, your face fell in exasperation. They were more a nuisance than to be taken serious militia.

"A toll? Nah, don't feel like it." Arthur glimpsed at you, you would both have to agree on something silently if you wanted to avoid anything going haywire.

"You don't feel like it?" The man in the middle blurts angrily. He throws a look over to his partner, clearly signaling a reaction.

"That's too damn bad! Now y'all get off your horses." The man to the right of you yanked at your reins, your mare threw her head around wildly in response, instantly you snapped your gun's hammer back and sent off a loud pop at point blank.

Your reaction caused Arthur to do the same to the man left of you, blood spraying your side as he fell. You recoiled, a disgusted gasp in response.

"Careful, I reckon there's more." And more there were indeed, three coming from every which way.

He kicks his horse into a canter, your mare more than happy to do the same, she didn't want to be caught up in this just as much as you.

Your last bullet rang out, narrowly missing another flunky. Your eyes darted all over your gun belt, struggling to find more bullets.

Scrambling to reload another round as the man gained on you, you felt a lump in your throat as his bellowed obscenities made clearer with your narrowing distance.

Swinging around, you had only put a measly two bullets in. Positive you couldn't miss now, if you did, he wouldn't.

You aimed, shot and missed.

Cursing, you looked back to Arthur for a split second, he had his shotgun drawn, blasting the last one in front of you.

Your target shot at you again, he wasn't fast to reload his rifle to your delight. Hitting him square in the head with the last bullet you had loaded.

"Sons of bitches." Arthur scolds, spurring his horse further. "You fine?"

The adrenaline made you shaky, reholstering your revolver with a disappointed click of your tongue. You'd be sure to practice your aim when you were able to.

"Rather flirtatious asking me if I'm okay." Not even after narrowly getting looted for the second time today could you control yourself. Certainly did relieve your stress though.

Arthur swings his shotgun around and back onto his back aggressively, pursing his lips.

"Why do you make me regret being nice to you?"

"When else have you been nice to me, Morgan?"

He could ride away anytime he wanted, yet he chose to match your speed, perhaps he knew it was better to put up with you rather than deal with more raiders alone.

And you took advantage of it.

"See, I recall being shot by you, tied up for almost two weeks straight, and - oh!" You began, bringing it up as if it wasn't obvious. "Saved your life too."

"Goddamn O'Driscoll, just what do you want me to do for you?"

"An apology for starters." You look up, considering what else you could ask. "Maybe some money too."

"Save this for later, else I'll give you a worse headache once we stop."

All the bouncing in your saddle did anything but remedy your aching head and bones, and annoying Arthur didn't feel as good as normal. So you surrendered, for now.

"Alright, alright." You jest, huffing out the hot air that breezed past you with your quickened pace.

The rest of the ride remained silent, though tense with the possibility of more raiders. His presence wasn't one you often lobbied for, but right now Arthur kept you secure and no doubt you to him.

When you arrived, you were more relieved than you should've, the one place you thought of being free'd from all this time provided you with an odd sense of safety.

They didn't like you, not particularly yet, but they wouldn't hurt you.

That was enough for you to release your gun belt from your waist, fold up your jacket and find a near perfect place to rest your body that had endured much more than you should've allowed.

-

The empty glass bottles only lasted for so long, shattering with each and every trigger pull. Proud of yourself with your aim growing in accuracy faster than you'd thought.

Inhaling deeply, you fondled your guns, cleaning each one of them with much care. It wasn't all the time you had the time or the peace to do this.

The three days since you had gotten terribly drunk with Arthur passed slowly, and those three days you hardly saw him. You didn't linger around camp much, just visiting when you needed a nap or food. Sometimes bringing them measly amounts of money to gain favour.

You tried mingling with Arthurs group, and you felt you got somewhere, but three days wasn't profound by no means. It took time of course, as it did while you thought on what you were to do.

Run with them or find another gang of criminals like yourself, and so far the only thing that had the power to run you out of state was Arthur's nagging.

As you finished cleaning your guns, like the flick of a switch, you realized you hadn't even cleaned yourself for quite some time.

The sizable creek running not far from you, you hadn't paid much attention to, but now it seemed to call out to you.

The tree line empty, no very well ridden trails close to you, it all seemed fine for you to undress and that you did.

A small rock offered a fine surface to place your lazily folded clothes, your boots joining right next to it.

The muggy air felt instantly more bearable as the cool water trickled against your bare skin, the shadow of the trees keeping the scorching summer sun from beating down on you.

You waded all the way in, just enough to reach your shoulders. The water undoubtedly soothed your arms wound. Arguably, this was the most relaxing activity you'd partaken for some time.

Gently dunking your head under the surface of the water, you brushed your fingers through your wet hair, finding a sunken boulder to sit on whilst you did.

Chirping birds and the sound of rippling water resonated like music all around you in the would be silence. Your horse startled you every so often for the first few times she snorted or shuffled, but it passed.

Until you heard crunching leaves under hoof that weren't by her, her face jerking up to see what was coming behind you.

You whipped your head around, your heart jumping right out of your chest.

"Just what the hell?" Arthur clearly not too pleased by your presence, no doubt you mirrored his same disappointment. Your fear canceled out by anger when you realized it was just Arthur.

"Do you enjoy following me around like a dog, Morgan?" You sunk deeper away from him, just enough for only your head to peek out, the water not quite glassy enough to be see through - thankfully.

"Yeah, its not as if I nearly forgot you were still weaseling around after having all these days of peace." He played into your accusation irony, though it only peeved you off more.

A sneer split his cheeks when he noticed your discontent.

You stare at him, he never stopped or turned back, instead he found the nearest tree to tie his mount to and hopped off.

"I'm indecent, you know, at least turn around would you?" Your ask came out more sheepish than you had meant when you realized he was intending to join you.

"You didn't seem to mind when I was fixing up your arm before."

Clenching your jaw at his words, words that rang true- but the amount small.

"Hardly undressed and completely ass naked are very different." You narrowed your eyes at him, feeling like a caged animal in the water that barely provided you any cover.

"I aint stoppin' ya, you can leave whenever, O'Driscoll."

His fingers unclasped his belt and shirt buttons, his chest on full display as he worked his way down. His muscles were well defined, which lined up with what you had clung onto when you rode with him.

Your gaze lingered much too long, his pants not long before whatever was under them also became discovered by your eyes.

You turned 180, your cheeks burned. The memory of holding him so tightly chiseled its way into your immediate thoughts.

"Was wondering when you'd stop staring." Arthur chimed from behind you, cocky as ever.

More shy than you'd like to admit, you blew small bubbles in the water to prevent you from turning back around.

"Just slightly shocked you'd want to show any of that off." You did your utmost to sound put off by him, applauding yourself when it came out properly.

The sound of him joining you in the water sends a small jolt up your back, made no better by the feel of his eyes burning holes through you.

"I don't think you'd've stared so long if that much were the case." His voice sounded much too near to you.

"I remember when you said I was full of myself." Your brows furrow, you could see his shadow nearly covering you from behind. "You're no better than me."

"And I aint claiming to be."

"Why are you staying anyway? I thought you hated my company."

"Cuz this is my spot. How else would I randomly stumble upon a naked O'Driscoll? I don't actively search those out."

That was the kind of talk that would run you out of state. He was just as stubborn as you.

"Well, I was here first. Not my fault i found your secret little spot, or whatever it is." You turn around to give him a dirty look, preferably also leave, but as you did, you found yourself looking up at him from your mostly submerged position.

His entire upper body was out of the water, the rest of him barely graced by the cover of the safely murky water. Your face near perfect eye level to his manhood.

"Christ, why are you so close to me?" Keeping your eyes well away from anything below his face, as hard as it was.

He starts backing up, and to your horror, the water around his lower area was being parted.

"Okay, okay! Stay right there." You started splashing him as both a distraction for him and yourself. The loose sand beneath you only slowed your attempt at escape.

When you seized your efforts, you realized you'd have to run to the nearest tree before he caught a glimpse of you.

"Goddamnit, woman," he sputters out some water, wiping away the artificial tears in his eyes. "Sorry for my scarce injustice against you."

You crossed your arms to cover yourself better. "Good, now look away."

He grumbles something under his breath, reluctantly doing as you say.

Springing out of the water, you wasted no time to put on your shirt, that most delightfully covered the half of you.

Once you crouch down to grab your boots and gun belt, you heard a splash for only a second before water hit your back. Gasping out in shock, your whole body lurching up to face the threat.

You retreated up the bank when you saw he had no intention of stopping.

"Arthur!" You screech, a stray garment facing fierce downpour. "Stop splashing me! You'll get my shit wet, you overgrown rat!"

You tried maneuvering to collect your socks, but to no avail. He simply wouldn't let up. Which gave you an idea.

You look over to his horse who had his clothes laid out over the saddle. He saw where you were looking.

"Don't you dare." Now the man was still, complying with your demands. Unfortunately he was much too late.

You step over carefully to avoid small rocks that would slow your efforts.

"I swear-" A smirk oh-so-big met ear to ear on your face, you turned to face him as you stepped back and grabbed his clothes.

"I'd choose my next words very carefully, cowboy." Having such power over him never felt so good. "You gonna say 'please, y/n?' Give me a little pouty face too?"

His fists were clenched and his lip hard pressed between his teeth. He was under your mercy now, and you couldn't ask for anything more.

You traipsed down stream superciliously, far enough from his firing area. Eyeing him all the way, his face not carrying a trace of arrogance anymore.

"Say it." You hiss, holding out his clothes over the watery depths.

"Please." He forces, it took everything he had not to throw out insults and hold back his defiance.

"Well, since you asked so nicely," you feigned pulling his clothes back to safety, just for a moment before throwing his shirt off to the side. "Now, I want an apology for my arm."

You held his pants with just two fingers, waving them over their certain date with destiny. With your other hand you yanked up your pants.

"Put them down, y/n. Right now." He grimaces, he wasn't so pleased with himself now. But you sure as hell were.

"Ah, ah. That's not what should be coming out of your mouth."

He steps closer, every inch of his muscle tense with anger.

You snap out your finger, waving it in the air as to deny him further.

"Five... four... three-" You released them, he instantly started moving for them once they slowly started downstream.

As soon as he started splashing toward you, you jumped back and turned for your soggy socks. Never did you put on your boots so fast and run for your mare.

"Don't you dare run O'Driscoll!" He shouts from behind you, the water splashing like mad before it stopped. He was out of the water.

Refusing to look back, you jumped on your mare, and immediately clicked her into a lope. This all felt like the day of the train robbery, just this time you weren't running for your life.

[tabitha42]

The Wizard's Apprentice - Chapter 24

Saffron is just a lowly apprentice with barely a successful firebolt to her name. So what chance does she have with the arch mage she's slowly falling in love with?

Gale x Tav, slow burn, eventual smut

Chapter 1 Previous chapter Next chapter

CW: discussions of suicidal feelings

Saff sat in the broken corner of a building that overlooked the forest in the distance. She hugged her knees as she leant against the cracked wall, a hundred thoughts running through her mind. It was hard to believe Gale had kept so much from her. She’d trusted him so deeply, so completely… and now she felt the crushing realisation that she’d once again trusted too quickly, fallen in love too quickly. Would she ever learn? 

Her line of thought was broken by the sounds of footsteps behind her. She turned to see Gale approaching, a plate of food in his hand. She only now realised how long she’d been gone. 

Silently she turned back, facing forward towards the forest once more, trying to imagine she was there, hoping to bring the calmness to her mind the trees would give her that she knew she’d need for this conversation. Gale carefully approached and sat down next to her, leaving enough space between them to put the plate down on the floor for her. For a moment there was silence between them, til finally she picked up the plate and began eating. Anxiety roiled in her stomach, making each bite more difficult, but she knew she had to keep her strength up. As she slowly took each mouthful, Gale took a deep breath, and finally spoke.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I should have told you all this before, and I certainly should not have let things go as far as they have between us without you knowing the full truth about me. I can only offer my sincerest apologies… and my thanks, for defending me and not calling for my departure despite all this.” 

She looked down slightly, thinking about that moment as he’d said he would leave if the group demanded it. At the time her mind had been so full of doubt and questions, yet when he’d said he would leave, the words had come out before she even realised what she was doing. She consciously hadn’t known how she felt, yet her subconscious seemed to know she still couldn’t bear to lose him. 

“I could never ask you to leave,” she said quietly, looking down at the plate she held in her hands. “I… was surprised, but it doesn’t change everything you’ve done for me. Still, I… I don’t know what to think of it all…” 

“I understand… it is a lot to take in,” he empathised. “I’m sure you have more questions for me. Please, if you do, ask. I have nothing to hide from you anymore.” 

There was a long moment of quiet as she contemplated where to even start. 

“Why did you hide it in the first place?” she asked, looking over at him. 

“Hmm… I suppose there are two answers to that. The first is fear of the party’s reaction - if I told everyone the truth, would they demand I leave? Even now, after having known everyone a few days, Lae’zel and Astarion wanted me gone. Would the others have argued my side if I was a stranger they’d only just met? And I won’t deny there is a selfish motive there, I know that left on my own with my powers as diminished as they are I won’t last for long. But it is not just for my sake - if I die and no one is left to feed the orb, it will erupt. How long after my death it will happen I cannot say exactly, but I know it will. If I were to die here, before I can get far enough away, how many will die because of me? It was for their sake as much as my own that I took the safer choice,” he explained, looking down at his hands as he spoke. 

“And as for the second reason…” he looked away slightly and sighed sadly. “It is a difficult story to tell. I… wanted to tell you. Truly I did. But… it is painful to relive it.” 

She was quiet as she thought about what she’d felt earlier when their tadpoles connected. The sheer dread of the memory, fear and terror, overwhelming and suffocating. While telling the story he’d sounded mostly fine, but once they connected she could feel how difficult it really was for him. In a way it worried her that he was able to stay so calm on the surface while hiding all that pain. 

“Is this what you wanted to talk about tonight?” she asked, and he nodded. 

“I’ve spent the last few days gathering the courage to talk to you about it. Trying to decide how to tell you, where to even start with it all. I knew it would be easier to talk to you than the others, and I had hoped that once I told you it would be easier to tell them. Of course, things never seem to go as planned… though I wonder how much difference it would really have made, whether I’d told everyone first or it played out the way it did. But I assure you, I absolutely planned on telling you, I had no intention to keep it a secret any longer. You deserve to know the truth, about both the orb and my history with Mystra.” 

She was sure she would have preferred whatever Gale had in mind than the sudden revelation it ended up being. The whole conversation and the argument after it had been, somehow, even more stressful than most of the fights they’d been in. She sighed slightly as her thoughts went back to his mention of Mystra.

“How long has Mystra been coming to you?” she asked. 

“She first came when I was 9, studying at the Blackstaff Academy. She told me she’d been watching me, and that I had a great destiny, if I kept studying and growing my powers. After that she visited me regularly, mentoring me and guiding me in the arcane arts and, well, many aspects of life, really.” 

“But…” she started, frowning deeply. Gale had a feeling he knew where this was going. “Mystra didn’t return until 5 years ago…”

“That’s true, she didn’t fully return until 5 years ago. But she spent some years before that gathering her power. She kept it a secret, so her enemies wouldn’t be able to use her weakness to their advantage. It was during that time she came to me.” 

“Wait, so… you knew Mystra was returning before anyone else did??” she gasped in disbelief. 

“Not anyone else, no. Her Chosen knew. As, I’m sure, did any other promising wizards she decided to take an interest in. Still, I don’t think anyone else at the Academy knew. It was a hell of a secret to keep.” 

“That can’t have been easy… keeping something like that to yourself at such a young age…” 

“It wasn’t. But I certainly was not going to betray her trust,” he said seriously. 

Saff looked down slightly, taking a small mouthful as she thought about it all. It seemed terribly unfair to her, for Mystra to expect a child to hold such a huge secret and be able to talk to no one about it. It also didn’t feel right that Mystra would take someone as a lover after having mentored them since childhood… but who was she to question a goddess? The gods knew better than mortals, after all… right? 

“That didn’t actually answer your question, did it?” he said after a moment, realising he’d gone off on a bit of a tangent. “I met her at 9, so she’s been coming to me for 21 years.” 

“Wait, so… you’re 30??” she gasped. Never had she expected him to be so young. Though she couldn’t deny she was happy to find out he was only four years older than her after Malitas’s comments on the subject.

“Yes… why is that so unbelievable?” he questioned suspiciously. 

“Well, I… I mean… you’ve achieved so much! Archmages and Chosen… they’re usually much older.” 

Gale looked at her. She looked at Gale. 

“It’s the greys, isn’t it?” he said, deadpan. 

“No!” she insisted. There was a pause. “...Maybe a bit.” 

He sighed deeply. 

“Lots of people start to go grey in their 20s! Plus, I’ll have you know I’ve had a very stressful last year, and that ages a person.” 

She was almost starting to laugh at the conversation, but the mention of a stressful last year brought things back to reality. 

“You have?” she asked, her tone becoming more serious. 

“Ah… yes,” he said quietly, looking down slightly. “After Mystra cast me out, I locked myself in my tower. I was inconsolable, and refused to see anyone. I set up enough wards to stop a whole army, let alone the few colleagues who tried to enquire as to my condition. Tara was the only one I allowed to see me. She helped me through it all. She was the one who discovered my salvation lay in magical items, and once my stock in my tower began to run low, she started venturing out to find them for me. But even with her considerable help, it was stressful. There were only so many items she was able to find, and I often found myself feeling my strength draining to the orb, wondering if she’d return in time. It… was not easy.” 

Saff listened quietly, looking at him sadly. 

“Gods, that sounds… lonely,” she said eventually, her voice almost a whisper. 

“It was,” Gale murmured, looking down sadly. “Even for someone like me, who usually prefers spending his time in the company of books rather than people, it was suffocatingly lonely. I had Tara of course, but there’s only so much one tressym can do to make up for one’s entire social circle, and she was often out in search of artefacts.” 

There was a moment of quiet between them.

“I’m sorry,” Saff whispered sincerely. “That must have been awful.”  

“Well, I suppose I can’t complain too much. I was comfortable, surrounded by books, eating hearty home-made meals… far more comfortable than eating what scraps we can find cooked over a campfire, sleeping on the ground and bathing in rivers,” he said with a small chuckle. “Hmm… and yet, I’m far happier out here than I ever was back there,” he mused, looking out at the forest with a small smile on his lips. 

“Really?” she asked softly, a bit surprised to hear that.

“Yes. Heh, Tara always said I should get out there and make more mortal friends rather than hanging onto Mystra’s coattails. Seems she was right. You, and the others… you all mean a lot to me,” he said honestly, though there was a distinct undertone of hurt in there too. Perhaps from knowing that some of the people he’d thought of as friends would be so quick to send him to his death. 

“You… didn’t spend much time with many other people while you were with Mystra, then?” she asked after a moment. 

“Hardly anyone,” he admitted, shaking his head. “Those I did spend time with were mostly work colleagues, and our time together was spent focussing more on our research than socialising. I was Mystra’s Chosen, she had many expectations of me, and most of those didn’t leave me much time for friends. My work, my magic, became my life. And there was little room for anything else.” 

“That doesn’t seem fair,” she said, frowning as she looked at him. “Even as a Chosen you should still be allowed to have time to yourself.”

He went quiet for a moment as he looked forward, deep in thought as he contemplated her words. 

“She is a goddess… I was her Chosen. Who am I to say no to anything she asks of me?” 

“A person, with his own life!” she snapped, to his surprise. “You’re her follower, not her slave. You shouldn’t have to give up everything else just to serve her. Not even clerics go that far.” 

“I didn’t give up everything, I…” he stuttered and trailed off slightly, looking away. He went quiet for a long moment, and when he finally spoke his voice was soft, tinged with emotion. “You have to understand. My whole life had been leading up to being her Chosen. She was everything to me. I was in love with her…” 

She could hear the pain in his voice as he said that. She watched him sadly as he hung his head, squeezing his eyes shut. There was a question playing on her mind, one she was almost afraid to ask, but she had to know. 

“Are you still in love with her?”

To her surprise, his answer was instant and sure. 

“No. I have… many complicated feelings toward her, but love is certainly not one of them. Not anymore. And I can’t tell you how strange it is to hear myself say that. Less than a tenday ago I would have given anything to be back with her, to be standing in Elysium once more by her side, looking out on the infinite possibilities stretching out in front of me… but now, all the magic in the world couldn’t convince me to go back there. That isn’t to say I want nothing to do with her ever again, she is still my goddess… but I would be far more content simply as a follower than a lover.” 

She was relieved to hear that, both for her own sake and for Gale’s. Even if they didn’t get together, she wouldn’t want him going back to Mystra with the sort of expectations she had of him. But she was becoming all too painfully aware that even if he wasn’t interested in Mystra, that didn’t necessarily mean he was interested in her. Standing in Elysium, looking out on the infinite possibilities… Malitas’s words came back to her. He’s seen things and lived things you couldn’t even imagine. Do you think you can compare to that? She swallowed nervously, knowing what she must ask, but afraid to ask it. Eventually, she found her voice.

“So… what’s… it like? Being with a goddess?” As soon as she asked she began to regret it, fearing the answer would prove Malitas correct. But she had to know what it had meant to him. 

“Gosh, where do I start?” he wondered, leaning back on his hands. “It was… in some ways, indescribable. Just when you think you must have seen everything, there’s something more. Something incredible. She showed me things beyond my wildest dreams. The domains of the gods are… impossibly beautiful.” 

She looked down, hugging her knees. Malitas’s words were really starting to ring true now - how could she compare to that? What could she possibly offer that Mystra couldn’t do a thousand times better? 

“That sounds… amazing,” she murmured, though her voice showed far more of her actual feelings than she’d intended. “After all that… I guess the thought of a mortal relationship must be… pretty boring…” 

“Quite the opposite, actually.” 

His words took her by surprise and she looked over at him to see him looking out to the forest, a remorseful expression on his face. 

“Being with a goddess is incredible… at first. But… you don’t realise just how much you miss out on in a relationship like that. Finding something new with them and experiencing it together, for the first time. Showing them something completely everyday to you and watching their excitement, feeling that seep into you til you see it new through their eyes and feel as excited as they do. Sharing life together… the ups and the downs, the surprises and the mundanities, the mornings and the nights. Watching a sunset together. Reading a book together. Eating a meal together. Surprising your partner with a gift, making them food, feeling their body against yours as you fall asleep and as you wake. A god will show you the most incredible worlds, give you sensations beyond imagining… then dump you back on Toril and you must return to normal life, alone, until they deign to see you again. It becomes… addictive. You spend your life waiting to see them again, then when you’re with them, you spend every moment fearing going back. Back to the cold, lonely world they leave you behind in. And the whole time, you know deep down, they’ll never love you the way you love them. How can they? You’re a mere mortal, with nothing to offer them. The relationship can never mean what you want it to… but you still continue to love them, with all your heart, wishing there was some way for them to see you the way you see them…” 

He trailed off and looked down, holding his head in his hands. Saff stared at him in surprise - she’d thought a relationship with a god must be perfect. Perhaps the most surprising thing was the realisation that Gale felt with Mystra what she was starting to feel with Gale - inadequate, unable to give anything of value. She was a lowly apprentice in love with an archmage, and he was a lowly mortal in love with a god.

“Wow, I… never thought of it that way…” she said quietly. 

“Neither did I, til I started looking back at it recently and realised how I truly felt,” he replied, a lot of emotion hidden in his voice. They both went quiet for a long moment, each in their own thoughts, til he continued. 

“She has been in my life for so long it is difficult to accept she is no longer there. Sometimes I wonder what I am without her… it was always her presence, her interest, her belief in me that made me feel I had some… worth. What am I without that? Just some… recluse, powerless wizard, locked in his tower, lamenting over the life he’s lost…” 

“No!” she said suddenly, taking him by surprise. “Don’t be ridiculous. You have plenty of worth, regardless of Mystra and what she thinks of you. Without her you’re still Gale. You’re still funny and kind and smart and… everything. That’s all you. None of that was her,” she said firmly, folding her arms, almost annoyed at him for thinking so little of himself. It was a weird thing too, for him to be so self-deprecating. She was used to him being so confident, almost arrogant… but now she realised this was the real him, behind the mask and the bravado. Deep down, this was truly what he thought of himself. It was heartbreaking… but the smile that came to his lips now gave her hope. 

“Saff…” he started, surprised, almost flustered. For a moment he was nearly speechless, unable to find the words to express what that meant to him. “Thank you. That means… a lot. More than I can say.” 

Saff smiled as she met his gaze, and she could swear there were tears in his eyes. 

“Are you… alright?” she asked softly.

“Yes. Yes, I am,” he said with a nod, smiling. “Thanks to you. Before all this, locked in that tower, I… couldn’t see a way out. Couldn’t see how I could possibly move on from what had happened. But now, with our friends… with you… I have hope,” he said softly, sincerely, staring into her eyes. “Thank you.”  

She felt her heart flutter again, as she always did when he said something so heartfelt, so intimate. But Malitas’s words haunted her - a naive young girl who gets easily swept away by a few romantic words and gestures. Was that what was happening here? Was she letting him sweep her away? It couldn’t be, the look in his eyes was so genuine, so real… he was pouring his heart out to her, how could she possibly doubt him?

But there was still one last unanswered question that lingered in her mind.

“Guess we should be grateful to the mind flayers for plucking you out of your tower then?” she said in a playful tone, though she really said that to see his reaction. 

“Heh… being grateful to the mind flayers for something, a strange concept,” he commented, chuckling softly. But her smile faded. She’d never have noticed it if she wasn’t looking for it, but now that she looked, she could see it - the awkward way he shifted, how he didn’t look at her and kept his gaze away. Even the way he avoided the question, so as not to outright lie. But it angered her. He’d told her he had nothing more to hide from her, yet he was still being untruthful. 

“Except the mind flayers didn’t do that, did they?” she challenged, a low-level simmer of anger in her voice. He looked at her in surprise now, slowly realising what she knew. “The Nautiloid never went through Waterdeep. You weren’t in your tower when you were taken.” 

He looked away again and held his head in his hand. 

“How do you know that?” he asked quietly. His tone wasn’t one questioning if it was true, though - he just wanted to know the answer.

“Does it matter?” She challenged. 

“I want to know if I can stop worrying about my friends and family.” 

She paused, her anger dulled somewhat by the sincerity in his tone. 

“...Malitas told me,” she admitted after a moment. 

He nodded, the relief in his expression showing he found that to be a trustworthy enough source. 

“So… where were you?” she pressed, wanting to know the truth. There was a long moment before he spoke again. 

“Yartar,” he said quietly. 

“So you weren’t locked in your tower?” she said, folding her arms. 

“I had been until that point. And the day I finally decided to leave was the day a mind flayer ship came. I’ve never been one to believe in fate, but that does make for a very compelling argument.” 

“What were you doing in Yartar?” she asked bluntly, wanting to get straight to the point. He went quiet again, looking away slightly. 

“I…” he started, though the crack in his voice suddenly made her anger start to disappear. She leant forward to see his face, and now saw how pained his expression was. 

“Gale…?” she whispered, realising whatever this the answer was, it really was difficult for him to say. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He truly didn’t want any more secrets from her. 

“I… was there on my way to the Spine of the World,” he answered, trying to keep his voice steady. 

“Why were you going to the Spine of the World?” she asked, still not understanding what he was getting at. 

“It’s the largest uninhabited area near Waterdeep… nothing but frozen wasteland for miles…” 

He kept his gaze firmly on the forest ahead of him, unable to look at her, but not hiding from her anymore either. 

“But why-... wait, the orb?? But you said it was safe! You promised us, you said it isn’t a threat, you said it’s stable!” 

“It is,” he said quietly, his voice wavering. “As long as I don’t die.” 

Again she was about to ask what he was getting at, until suddenly the revelation hit her like a tonne of bricks. What he’d said earlier, about not being able to see a way out, about how he now had hope… the realisation made her sick. He was going to the Spine of the World to die… not because of the orb, but because of himself. 

He was going there to commit suicide. 

An involuntary sob escaped her lips as the weight of it fell down on her. 

“Oh… gods, Gale…” she whispered, and before she knew what she was doing she threw her arms round him and hugged him tightly. 

For a moment he didn’t respond - almost too surprised by her actions. Too used to the habit of hiding these emotions… but now, as she held him, he finally let his guard down as he leant into her. Tears fell down her cheeks as she held him close, til eventually, tears began to escape his eyes too. She held him like that for a long moment, feeling as he started to cry into her shoulder…

Suddenly he gasped in pain and flinched back out of her arms. She looked at him in surprise to see him clutching his chest as the mark glowed. 

“Shit, I’ll go get an artefact!” she said quickly, moving to stand up, til he grabbed her arm. 

“No, Saff… don’t,” he said breathlessly, still wincing from the pain as he held her there. “What? Why?” she asked, sitting back down with him. 

“Because… that won’t help,” he admitted, managing to open his eyes now as the pain started to die down. “This is actually something else I needed to talk to you about. You see… this orb isn’t just inside of me, it has become part of me. As such… it reacts to me. If I have a strong reaction to something, it also has a strong reaction. What I’m trying to say is… if ever I feel an intense or unusually strong emotion… the orb reacts. And, ahem, what we just did was… well… that was quite emotional for me,” he admitted, wiping his eyes. For a moment she couldn’t respond. 

“You… you feel pain when…” she stuttered, slowly letting it sink in. “Wait, so, the orb might detonate if you get too emotional about something??” 

“I don’t think we’re at risk of that,” he said quickly. “I have a fairly strong handle on my emotions, as such I’m sure it would never go that far. If emotions were capable of setting it off I think I probably would have taken out the Nautiloid myself before the githyanki had a chance. But… it does hurt. A lot.” 

When he finished speaking, Saff’s eyes moved down to his chest, looking at the marking once more. 

“So… what sort of things trigger it?” she asked. 

“Well, my fear on the Nautiloid certainly did. Followed by my fear when plummeting to the ground. Fighting the goblins certainly had its moments. I’m not even sure what name I’d give the emotion I felt just now, but that did it. And…” he trailed off a bit for a moment. She looked back up at him, wondering what was causing his hesitancy. “...well, as it turns out… positive emotions can do it too. Something I’ve discovered since…” he paused again, as if debating how much to say. Eventually, a smile came to his lips. “Since meeting you.” 

She was surprised by that at first, but also once again felt that familiar fluttering of her heart. 

“Really?” she asked, an excited smile coming to her lips.

“Really,” he confirmed. Gently he took her hands in his and stroked the backs of her hands with his thumbs as he looked into her eyes. “Like I said last night… you mean so much more to me than you realise. And you make me feel happier than I’ve felt in… well, in a very long time.” 

Tears welled in her eyes again, this time for very different reasons. 

“In fact,” he continued, “on the subject of last night… if I’m completely honest, it wasn’t the alcohol that made me stumble at the end of our dance.” “Oh!” she gasped in surprise, realising what he was getting at. While it did sadden her to hear that it was because the orb had hurt him, she couldn’t deny it was also romantic to hear the dance had meant that much to him. 

“At least, it wasn’t just the alcohol,” he added with a chuckle. She laughed too and gave his hands a small squeeze. 

“Well, if that’s what the orb does to you after just a dance, then all the more reason to find a way to get it out. Because…” she paused a moment, taking a deep breath to encourage herself to say the next bit. “...I’d like to do more than just dance with you.” 

Surprise crossed his face first, followed by a look of elation. 

“I would like that too. Very much so,” he said, smiling widely. There was a slight wince of pain on his face, forcing him to look down slightly and squeeze his eyes shut, but despite that, he didn’t stop smiling. 

“Is it…?” she started, and he nodded. 

“Yes, but only a bit. It’s fine,” he said, opening his eyes again to look at her. “It’s worth it,” he added softly, deep adoration in his eyes. She couldn’t help but look away slightly, smiling as she blushed. A moment later she looked back as he lifted her hand and gently pressed a kiss to her fingers. Her heart fluttered again just as it had done last time he’d done that in her tent. Her eyes met his and soon she was lost in them, just as he was lost in hers…

He winced again, more this time, pulling back and letting go of her hands. 

“Right, well, we can’t stay here all day. We’d better get back to the others, before they leave without us,” he said, and suddenly she realised that every time he’d done this before, every time he’d unexpectedly changed the subject or moved away, it was because of the orb. It saddened her that the moment had to end, but at least now she understood why. 

He stood up and offered her his hand, which she gladly took. She stood and he lingered for a moment, still holding her hand. 

“Saff, I just want to say… thank you, for hearing me out. And for understanding,” he said sincerely. “And… once again, I’m sorry for not telling you all of this sooner.” 

She saw the remorse in his eyes, and gently gave his hand a squeeze. 

“It’s ok,” she said softly, leaning in and giving him a hug. “I understand.” He hugged her back, closing his eyes as he leant her head against hers, realising how grateful he was to her. After a long moment they finally pulled back and looked at each other once more. He gave her a fond smile, before finally turning to head back to the others.

“Oh! One more thing,” Saff said quickly, grabbing his arm to pull him back. He stopped and turned back to her curiously. 

“Yes?” 

“Just… something you should know. Something important,” she said, looking quite serious, before a playful smile came to her lips. 

“I like the greys,” she said, lifting her hand to lightly brush a strand of his hair behind his ear, before finally turning and leading the way back. Gale was left quite surprised, but couldn’t help but smile to himself as he turned to follow her back.

[thatoneweirdo14]

i think the reason vbs surpassing rw already feels anticlimactic (to me) is because its been such a massive thing for them for so long and its just done like THAT

i know in bdtw they say how they actually want to go beyond rw but that was TWO EVENTS AGO. let it marinate, pleaseee. Give them some time to truly understand and contemplate what this extension of their dream means to them, like in on your feet. An especially, it doesn't feel right for her to accept this so fast given all that's happened

Also, storytelling-wise its just not a wise move to make? I'm no story-writing genius but usually when characters have a dream they want to achieve, the majority of the story is build-up to that dream as well as the characters growing in proportion to the story along the way. Before that dream is achieved, however, what happens in the story is that the characters almost reach the goal before crashing back down, going through their biggest low point.

This achieves two things: 1) It allows any plot holes or gaps in the characters' motivations/abilities to be filled in, leaving no room for doubt in the audience's mind and 2) ITS MORE SATISFYING.

Think of it this way, which feels more deserved: a character gets better and better at overcoming obstacles (with a couple outliers they actually can't do) and then crosses the finish line OR a characters gets better and better at overcoming obstacles, TRIPS, considers whether its worth getting back up bc they're likely to lose anyway, see how far they've run, decided that the only way to go is forward, continue running the race, see how much better they've gotten since the beginning then still manage to place top five, feeling more confident about next time.

Notice how the situation where the path to success isn't linear is the more compelling narrative? With the way colopale handled the story, they DONT DO THIS. and its annoying!! I WANT to see them surpass rw and I WANT to enjoy it but I can't do that when it feels like a "main character ends up winning first try!" situation.

It also kinda hurts that their story is more tell instead of show, which already makes it hard to celebrate their progress. Honestly, if they were gonna do this then in LUTF they should've at least made it seem like vbs were close to their goal, maybe make taiga step back a bit like "damn that was actually kinda good wth" or smth idk i need to catch up with the vbs events honestly but i have a good enough idea about them to be able to say this confuses me :"//

There's a reason this story structure has been used over and over and it's because it WORKS. It doesn't matter how much I like the mc and want them to succeed if it doesn't feel warranted I'm still not gonna be able to enjoy it. "vbs is popular the fans will love it no matter what we put out!" no. A bad story can ruin good characters, no matter how much fans love them, and vice versa.

I saw someone say that this event should've been them being told that they're ready to surpass rw, on they're closer than ever to surpassing rw which i feel like, if they didn't wanna go for the depression route, would've been a better direction! Their next arcs could've then been each of them overcoming their own greatest struggles regarding their dream, stuff that's been bothering them since/before main story and how they overcome it now that they're in a place to. THEN we can talk about getting to rw.

I just hope the next vbs event gives some devastating aftermath or side effects or smth to balance it out, and they should probably slow down the story a bit as well from here on out, but that's just my thoughts ://

[im-immortal]

2023 Writing Wrap-Up

I'm a little late this time around since it's already 2024, but I haven't done a writing wrap-up since 2021 and I thought it would be fun to bring back!

So this year, I was on quite a roll for the first half of the year. And then July rolled around and I started slowing down until it came to a screeching halt. Not sure what happened. Maybe it's my ADHD and constantly shifting hyper-fixations to blame. But I gradually managed to come back around just in time to post something for Christmas, which I'm still working on finishing. However, my hiatus doesn't take away the pride I still have for what I was able to write during the year. And I look forward to writing more in 2024! So here's all I managed to finish/get a good start on and post during 2023.

A Kiss For A Drink: 6,740 words; one-shot I actually started writing this back in 2020 or 2021, intended to be posted on Valentine's Day. And then I got a point where I couldn't finish it and let it sit for about 2 years. I finally came back with some inspiration and motivation and finished it just in time to post for Valentine's Day 2023! I'm really happy with how it came out. It was a fun idea that turned into a fun fic with a few laughs included, even if it is one of my least-viewed fics lol I had fun writing it too, which is all that really matters!

Lunacy Fringe: 62,690 words; 8/8 chapters To say this fic suddenly came out of nowhere would be an understatement. I literally got inspired out of the blue while listening to an episode of the Therapy Gecko podcast and the next thing I knew, I was balls deep in a psychological thriller. I actually managed to write it in just over a month or so!! Which is really incredible for me, especially considering I didn't step away from it at all or lose inspiration before it was finished. I'm really proud of how it turned out, and I haven't really told anyone, but I am working on converting it into an original story and possibly self-publishing. It could end up being my very first original novel :) the feedback I got was far more positive than I'd expected, especially considering how I portrayed Beth. I'm overall so so happy with how it turned out!!

Longer Than A Heartbeat: 157,289 words; 29/29 chapters Now this... this fic is one of my proudest pieces by far. I'll never get over how happy I am with how it turned out, and how I was actually able to finish it. For the last few years, every time I rewatched "28 Days Later," I couldn't stop thinking about how it would make such a good Bethyl fic, and how I wanted to convert it into a Bethyl fic that included Rick and Judith. I finally did it!! Technically, I wrote it in 2022, but I didn't completely finish it and post it until 2023. When I say I write for myself... this fic really proves it, because I go back and read chapters from it all the time just because it's so fun and I love how I wrote it. I was also pleasantly surprised by the reception and how people who hadn't ever watched "28 Days Later" enjoyed it! Not to mention, @boltthrutheheart made some incredible custom manips for me that I can never get over!!

hot girl summer (playing by the rules); 167k+ words, 16/30 chapters Ah yes, here she is... the companion piece to the first 3 fics of "in for a penny, in for a pound" that I've been planning/contemplating ever since I did that first fic from Beth's POV for the series. I always wanted to show Beth's POV for all the major moments in the series, and then once I got started, I figured why not go all in and just do her POV for the entirety of the series thus far? It gives a little more insight into how she's feeling, why she does the things she does and says the things she says, and we also get to see exactly what she was doing all those times that Daryl couldn't help wondering about her (because I already knew in my head, but I thought it might be fun to share with everyone else). I also thought it would make the set-up for the next fic a little better, so we could try and understand Beth's motivations better and where she's at in her head. Of course, I got pretty into it and then hit a speed bump and then suddenly, lost all ability to write. It'll come back soon, though. I can't wait to finish this fic and move on to the next in the series, and eventually conclude Beth and Daryl's tumultuous journey in this fun little AU.

Small Miracles; 39k+ words, 6/10 chapters This is the fic that finally pushed me back into being able to write. I had no plans of writing for BHF 2023, and then I suddenly had this strike of inspiration for a very weird idea and decided to go with it and try and finish it in time to post for Christmas. I did manage to finish about 1/3rd of the fic in time, but I'm still writing it and haven't lost motivation yet, so that's a good sign! It's also just really fun and kind of cathartic to do a new exploration of Beth's journey through the eyes of an older Beth who survived Grady, with that fun little supernatural twist added to it. I can't wait to finish this one, because I've had a lot of fun writing it and really look forward to seeing what people think of her entire journey and the way it will conclude.

To everyone who's read my fics, left feedback, kudos, bookmarks, or even helped me bounce ideas off and come up with plans for fics... thank you so much! I appreciate everyone in this little fandom so, so much. Y'all mean the world to me, and I am so grateful that we have this wonderful community in our own little corner of the internet. Happy New Year to you all, and I hope 2024 brings you nothing but blessings!

[larissa-the-scribe]

Terrarium Lights, pt. 3.10

Previously on Terrarium Lights: local ghost faces (something like) death? More at 10 (Next part >>here)

Gail let the word hang in the air as she carefully turned her bacon, piece by piece.

Jonathon broke the silence first. "I… I don't want to resent anyone. She seems like a lovely lady, and she's been taking care of my body so well. I just… it's a lot. I don't know her. I don't want to hurt her, but I don't want to think about her right now, and I'm afraid of going back and losing my sight and what feels like my mind with it. I want to pay her back, but I don't want her to tell me what I should do. Even if she might be right. I… I'm sorry."

Gail tilted her head at him. "Sometimes, our hearts and minds come up with many a feeling we'd rather not be having. But that doesn't mean any more than that we're human, in the end. And being human isn't wrong."

"What about acting on being human?"

"I’d say that rather depends on what those actions are."

Jonathon sighed. "I don't know that, either."

Gail chuckled. "If it helps, I doubt we’ll have to address the philosophical questions right this moment. For now, we can work on what we know. You feel upset by someone else, someone relatively unknown, being so present in your own personal problem. However, as far as I understand, the actions you're contemplating aren't being proposed with the idea of either hurting or helping her, so in some ways worrying over the motives aren’t going to be helpful here. She may be a factor, but it does seem that there are quite a few to consider overall."

"I… guess… maybe." Jonathon leaned back and put his elbows on the counter. "I don't know if I can say for certain. Mostly I'm too muddled and confused to know what I'm doing or not, or why or why not."

"Mmmm." Gail moved the bacon around in the pan, more to be doing something with her hands than because it needed it.

"What do you think?" Jonathon asked.

"About what?" Gail asked.

Jonathon waved his hand vaguely. "About… everything. I don't know. What's your perspective?"

"Hmmmm." Gail left the kitchen, grabbing a pen and paper from the dining room table. "Can't say as I rightly know, either. Let's puzzle it out."

"O-okay."

She flopped the paper down on the counter beside him. "First, we now know that you're still alive, and are a ghost that possibly can go back to its body. If you do go back to your body, you lose your sight, and possibly your memories. Right?"

Jonathon nodded glumly.

"What happens if you don't go back to your body?" Gail asked.

Jonathon opened his mouth, then shut it again. "I… I don't know. Maybe nothing. Maybe I'll die? Maybe I won't be able to find my way back to inside my body? I know I am starting to lose my sight, so maybe it's all inevitable. But… I don't know."

"Well, I'll just put down a question mark for now," Gail said. "So far, you're struggling with going back to your body because you're afraid of what will happen, and you don't want to simply accept it."

"Yes. I… it feels like consigning myself to losing my mind, in a way," Jonathon said before she could move on. "I… I don't know. Something about having got my memories partially back, and more awareness, and I know things, and then going back to… not that. To be entirely unaware of who I am, again. I might… I might even forget you."

Gail stopped her notes. "Well, that point can be left off. I know where you're staying, and it's not too long of a walk."

"But it won't be the same," Jonathon protested. "I won't remember your kindness, I won't understand how much I have to thank you for."

Gail tapped her pen. "If it makes you feel better, I don't intend to stop being kind to you."

Jonathon chuckled half-heartedly. "I suppose not.”

“And, if you were to forget, I would tell you the story again when you were ready.”

“That is good to know.” Jonathon smiled sadly. “Reassuring, in some way. But… it's… it's not the same. And… I would still be losing something."

Gail thought back over the past fortnight or so. What if they were erased from her mind?

To an extent, she'd be okay. In a way, she might not notice—a few weeks was a small part of fifty-some years. But that was just the crux of their difference—she had much more of a life to draw herself from, and she wouldn't want that time to be erased. Even these past few weeks, though they could be argued as small, Gail regarded them as something special, something that hadn't happened before, something that would be treasured. She wouldn’t want to choose to lose that small piece. And for the lad, it wouldn’t be just a small piece.

Gail finished her notes for that line of thought. "And what about the reasons you want to return to your body?"

Jonathon hesitated, before the words tumbled out of his mouth like he’d been holding them back. "I want to have the rest of me back, besides just my mind. I want to be able to feel things and know that I exist even when I'm not properly awake, and I want to live somewhere. I want to talk to people and be visible and audible, and be able to open a door normally. I want to taste the bacon that I can only so faintly smell."

Gail smiled. "Well, I'd be sure to cook you as much—oh! my bacon!"

She dropped her pen and scrambled to save her sizzling and smelling (and smoking) pan from the flames. Levering the bacon off onto the plate with the spatula, she reached for the eggs.

Previous

Next

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

Season 3 Rewatch Drabbles: 3x13 Witch Hunt

Summary:  A series of 100-500 word drabbles to accompany my    rewatch of season 3 of Once Upon a Time.  There will be a drabble–either a deleted scene, a “fix it” fic or a character musing for each episode of the season.  Focus will be on Emma, Henry, the Charmings and Killian–with an emphasis on Captain Swan’s epic love story.

Word Count: 844

Other Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (27) (28)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Regina was no stranger to grief–after all, she’d lost both of her parents as well as her first love–but nothing could have prepared her for the overwhelming, all consuming, oppressive grief of losing a child.  Granted, Henry wasn’t dead.  He was hopefully living a full and happy life with Emma in New York, and that was certainly some comfort, but still the grief of knowing there was no way of ever seeing him again was so crushing she felt like she could barely breathe.

It was the main reason she’d come back to her castle.  She just wanted it all to end, and she knew exactly how to do that.  Putting herself under a sleeping curse might be extreme, but hey.  It was better than living out the next forty or fifty years with this overwhelming sadness.

“Make yourself useful,” she tossed over her shoulder to the man who had followed her like a stray puppy, or perhaps a guard dog.

Regina’s broken heart swooped at the remembrance of discovering Robin Hood following her.  What was wrong with her?  Why did she have this strong, overwhelming reaction to him everytime he showed up?  Yes, he was handsome, but she’d had dealings with plenty of handsome men through the years.  What was it about this bandit that affected her so?  She didn’t need this distraction.

And so, she’d resorted to her default when she felt flat footed–sarcasm and snark.

She did her best to ignore him as she went about gathering the supplies she needed for the curse.

She should have known he would make that impossible.

“What is that?” he asked, suspiciously eyeing the bottles she’d amassed.

“Nothing that concerns you,” she said dismissively.

He pulled an arrow at her, actually pulled an arrow. “I won’t ask you again. What is that?”

Regina’s anger flared–anger at him, anger at herself, anger at Pan, anger at the witch who’d stolen her castle, anger at the whole damn world and everyone in it.  She raised her hand and choked him.  “How dare you threaten me in my own castle!”

He struggled against her hold, but the defiance never left his eyes.  “Even if you choke the life out of me,” he gasped, “this arrow will still leave my bow, and trust me, I never miss.  Now what manner of dark potion are you making?”

In an instant the anger drained from her, leaving nothing but the emptiness–and something feeling almost like shame.  Why did it bother her so much that this man jumped to the worst conclusions about her motives?

It was something that didn’t bear contemplation.  She was so tired, so heartsick, she just wanted it to be over.  She let him go.  “A sleeping curse.���

“The kind you used on Snow White?” he asked.

“That spell came from Maleficent,” she answered, mixing ingredients. “I finally learned how to make one of my own.”

“A spell?  This is why you wanted to come to the castle?” he asked.  “That was your plan? To use it on the witch?”

“The witch?” Regina asked in surprise.  Truthfully, the idea had never occurred to her.  “I don’t care about her.”

“Then who do you plan to use it on?”

Regina stopped for a second, letting the pain, the heartbreak, wash over her once again.  She closed her eyes for a moment, wishing things were different, wishing, in a rare moment of brutal self reflection, that she’d been different.  “Don’t worry.  No one you’ll miss.  No one anyone will miss.”

“This is about your son, isn’t it?” he asked, his voice tender, understanding.  “I can’t let you do this.”

And she couldn’t let him stop her.  With a lazy wave of her hand, she stuck his feet to the floor.  “Then it’s a good thing you don’t have a say in the matter.”

He tried to dissuade her, speaking of his own heartbreak, his own guilt at his wife’s death.  He spoke to her of second chances and new reasons to care about life.

For a moment, a single moment, she almost wavered.  Her traitorous heart leapt at the hope, the possibilities his words brought to her.  What if…what if he was right?  What if there was still a possibility of a…if not strictly happy, at least content…life for her?

But as soon as the hope sprung up, it dissipated.  It was too late for her.  Too late for hope.  Hope was for the heroes, for those who still had their loved ones at their side.  Her hope was gone, and she was never getting it back.

“This isn’t an end,” she said finally. “It’s an eternal middle.  This curse can be broken by the only true love in my life and the only reason I would even want to wake–my son.”

“Regina, listen to me!  This is a mistake!” He tried one last time.

“Don’t worry,” she said, resisting the allure of his voice, “I’ll keep my word.  I’ll lower the protection spell so that Snow and Charming can be victorious, but then, then I go to sleep.”

NEXT CHAPTER->

[hinatastinygiant]

19 | Viridiflora

Pairing: Ominis Gaunt x Fem!Reader

Serpents and Roses

Amit eyes the chessboard, contemplating his next move, before glancing up at you with a mischievous grin. "You know, Y/N, it wouldn't hurt to make Ominis a bit jealous. Sometimes, that's all it takes."

You chuckle, moving your piece strategically. "I don't know about that. I wouldn't want him to get the wrong idea."

Amit raises an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. "Jealousy can be a powerful motivator. It might just be the push he needs to make a move."

You smirk, considering his suggestion. "I think it might do the opposite. Besides, I wouldn't want him to think I'm not interested."

He shrugs nonchalantly. "Fair enough. Your call. If you change your mind, though, I'm just a chess move away." The playful glint in his eye suggests he's enjoying the strategic game both on and off the chessboard.

You shake your head at his comment, smiling despite yourself. You're tempted to accept his offer, if only for the sake of curiosity, but you resist the urge. Instead, you focus on the game that you end up losing after Amit's last move.

"Sorry," he apologizes, but he doesn't seem particularly remorseful.

"It's okay," you assure him. "It was a good game. What time is it?"

"Almost two," he replies after checking his watch. "Have you got class now?"

"Defense against the dark arts," you answer, your eyes widening at the realization. "Damn, I'm going to be late. I'll see you later."

"Later," he smiles, giving you a slight nod before you stand up and walk off.

You rush down the hallway towards the Defense against the Dark Arts classroom, hoping to make it on time, but when you open the door, it seems like the entire class is already present and the lecture is about to start.

"You're late," Professor Hecate says as she looks up and spots you entering.

"I'm sorry," you answer sheepishly as you slide into the row of seats in the back of the room where, coincidentally, Ominis and Sebastian are sitting.

As class begins, you catch Sebastian writing something down on a small piece of paper. Whatever he's doing, it looks quite important to him so you don't ask what he's working on. However, a minute later, he slides it over to you and glances at you expectantly.

You unfold the paper and read his words. "Are you going to the ball?"

"I haven't decided," you reply in a whisper.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not sure who I would go with," you admit.

"Miss Bennett!" Professor Hecat's voice suddenly interrupts your conversation.

"Yes?" you say, startled, and turn around in your seat.

"Can you tell me why, in your opinion, the Cruciatus Curse is considered an Unforgivable?"

"Um, because... it causes an unbearable amount of pain?" you suggest, not quite sure of yourself.

"Close," she answers. "It is an Unforgivable because it is only meant for torture. The Cruciatus Curse was not intended to kill the victim, but rather cause an unbearable amount of agony. While the curse can certainly kill someone if used in excess, that is not its intended use."

As Hecat continues to ramble on, you turn your attention back to the note and slide it back to Sebastian. "I'm not giving you any more attention," you mouth to him before focusing on the lesson.

"Fine," he mutters and returns to whatever the hell Sebastian does instead of listening.

However, not long after, you can hear him whispering something to Ominis this time. When you look over, giving him a disapproving look, Sebastian just winks.

"Are you sure about the ball, Y/N?" Ominis quietly asks.

"Don't worry, I'm looking to ask you," you scoff, turning back to Professor Hecat.

"Aw no," he feigns disappointment. "But I already have a date."

"Who's the lucky student?" you tease, knowing very well it's all a joke.

"You'll have to wait and see," he continues the lie.

"I can't wait," you roll your eyes, and the two of you are silent for the rest of the class.

After, you pack up your things and prepare to leave the room. But before you do, Ominis calls your name. "Hey, Y/N, I never really thanked you for the project. I mean, I wanted to do it yesterday but things got a little out of hand."

"You don't have to thank me," you smile, looking up at him. "It's no big deal."

"It was a huge deal," he answers, his eyes softening as he looks at you. "I wouldn't have done nearly as good without you."

"Oh, well..." you hum as you watch Sebastian walk out of the room without a word to either of you. "You're welcome, Ominis."

"I was wondering," he then says, his voice a bit more tentative than before, "if you were busy tonight."

"No," you shake your head. Paired with the way Sebastian was acting during class, your mind races with what he could possibly be asking. "Why do you ask?"

"Would you like to, maybe, go the rose garden before dinner?" he suggests, his hand resting on the back of his neck as his face reddens.

"Oh, uh, sure," you agree, a grin spreading across your face.

"Great. Meet me there at six?"

"Sounds good," you nod, and with that, you take your leave and walk down the hall with your heart beating out of your chest.

***

"Hey," Amit greets you when you walk back into the common room. "Are you okay?" he then questions, his expression turning worried as he looks at you. "You look like you just saw a ghost."

"It's nothing," you lie, shaking your head.

"Liar!" Luna's voice breaks out. You look around the room but don't see her. That is, until she slams the book right in front of her face shut closed and glares at you with a wicked grin.

"How long have you been sitting there?" Amit asks.

"Since the chess game," she sighs. "This book is quite captivating. Did you know that princesses have so much damn trauma? I mean, seriously, do any of them have parents?"

"Luna, Luna," Amit says, walking up to her and putting his hand on the book. "We don't need to read the book right now. Y/N can give you a brief rundown on all of the princesses, if you'd like."

"That would be fantastic," she beams.

"Anyway," he turns his attention back to you. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah, but Luna, there are some princesses that do have parents. Like Princess Merida."

"Merida, huh?" she smirks.

"Yeah," you nod, taking a seat beside her. "I'll tell you all about them one day. I just need to take care of something first."

"Something?" she repeats. "Or someone?"

"It's not what you think," you insist.

"Then tell me!"

"Not yet. Soon."

Serpents and Roses

[tkblythofficial]

tarot ghost again! here's my reading for t's career...

Purpose: The Tower (Reversed) – disaster avoided; delaying disaster; fear of suffering

My interpretation: a confusing start again lol. i'm wondering if this means he may use his job as a tool to avoid something. he might have some struggles (personal or mental is the vibe i'm getting) that he doesn't wanna think about so he uses acting as an escape. i'm not sure why but i physically feel anxious right now and i don't think it's me.

Motivation: Five of Cups – loss; grief; disappointment

My interpretation: i don't mean to be insensitive by what i'm about to say, let me be clear. but the first thing i thought of was his dad and the grief he feels over losing him. acting may help him feel connected to his dad in a way, or help him heal. he might feel a sense of wanting to accomplish what his dad couldn't, which motivates him.

Responsibilities: Four of Cups – apathy; contemplation; feeling disconnected

My interpretation: it looks like he might not feel much joy anymore in his career right now. there may be some things about it that he doesn't want (all the spotlight, the rumors, etc) which makes him feel apathetic to it now. he might also feel disconnected, whether that be from others or even himself.

Projects: Two of Wands – planning; making decisions; leaving home

My interpretation: looks like he's booked and busy. he might be planning more projects that we don't know about yet. there might be some projects that'll be filmed far away, so he'll have to leave for some time. "home" might not be literal, but a physical feeling as well. perhaps there will be roles that will take him out of his comfort zone.

Rewards: Ace of Cups – new feelings, spirituality; intuition

My interpretation: it sounds like good things are coming to him in his career. he might have gotten the right connections or the right people have seen his work and are impressed. he needs to trust himself and his abilities so he'll be able to move forward and receive his flowers.

Career potential: The Lovers – partnerships; union; duality

My interpretation: feeling a little romantical, are we? it's possible he might start doing things other than acting, like directing or producing (or singing! a girl can dream ok?) or there could be a partnership with someone else that's long-lasting. it could be just business related, but it could also be more. perhaps his soulmate is someone also in the business who he'll meet through his job, if he hasn't already met them.

also my chest still hearts and i feel lightheaded so i'm kind of concerned 😭

Hi Ghost!

Purpose: I can see that! Him taking jobs to distract himself from life. He gets to play different characters and challenge him :)

Motivation: I agree :(

Responsibilities: yeah I think it’s due to fame, not his actual job. He has a lot on his plate!

Projects: he doesn’t look busy, he is busy! :) he’s not going to be home a lot in the next year or so! I definitely think we have more project announcements soon which is crazy to think about

Rewards: he’s so great at networking! I believe it

Career potential: 🤭 interesting….

Your chest hurts? yeah, time to protect yourself when you do these readings. 😨

Be careful, Ghost! 👻 We need you

Thanks for the reading!

[inkonssstantgeissst]

I have been having such Shouyou brainrot and contemplating the nature of change, where Shouyou failed and how he could have succeeded, that I had to write a thing.

Because to be honest I don't think Shouyou pondered it for very long before leaving the Naraku with Oboro, but it's sort of hard to tell how much time passes in the anime, they make it kind of seem like he decides to leave the Naraku like the next day after Oboro suggests opening his own school or something. So I feel like he leapt at the first flicker of hope, but then lost it just as quickly once Oboro dies, and then sort of wanders around for a while empty and thinking before he finds Gintoki and his hope is reignited to a certain extent.

But hope is a painful thing, and I don't think Shouyou had ever had it before Oboro, so I think it was truly devastating to him when Oboro appears to die having sacrificed himself to kill the Naraku that were after them.

(And damn, Oboro was a child, like yeah he made mistakes but you can't expect a child that age to be able to make particularly wise decisions, his life experience is so little and his brain isn't anywhere near fully developed, and Shouyou despite his thousands of years of life experience knows very little about matters like love and care.)

And where I was going with that is that I think Shouyou never truly changed because he was never able to rid himself of the belief that he is a devil/oni/monster, like we see him telling Gintoki that he is, and so I conclude that Shouyou was sort of defeated by defeatism and so was never able to free himself of his suffering or change and become anything like the human he craves to be, and which he plays at being but never truly becomes.

Because it's not easy, letting go of the detrimental ideas that you have come to internalize about yourself because of the world and your interactions with others.

Shouyou was never not empty; Utsuro, the void, was always a part of him.

And I think Shouyou had the right idea, with what he was saying to Takasugi, that it's ok to be lost, to lose your way and find the person that you want to be.

But I think Shouyou was never able to let go of his conception that he is a monster and never loses his internal emptiness.

And then Shouyou gave up and couldn't fight the void of himself any longer, and Utsuro kind of went back to what he knew because that's easy, but with an added aspect of intentional self-destruction that Shouyou had started when he let the Naraku capture and execute him, which he must have been planning to do from the moment he and Gintoki opened Shoka Sonjuku, because if he did not know that Oboro was alive and keeping the Naraku away than he could never have not expected the Naraku to find him. He probably never expected the school to last even as long as it did, and he must have seen Oboro in the Naraku and realized what he'd done, which would only have made him want to die even more.

Hope is a fragile thing, if you do not have belief, and after he lost Oboro, he didn't have anyone to reassure him that he isn't a monster, and that it's okay for him to be what he is.

The thing is that you will never be able to change if you hate yourself, because you will never be able to struggle in the necessary ways, because you believe the worst of yourself. If you are trying to become something that you are not, you are doomed to fail.

I have been thinking extensively about the nature of change, and what are the requirements for change to succeed, and I have concluded three things: that one must 1) have the right desire to change, 2) the belief that one can change, and 3) an acceptance of oneself. Because if one does not have a reason to change which one can hold onto, one will never be able to muster the motivation necessary; and if one does not have the belief that one can change, then one will never be able to muster the effort necessary; and if one hates and does not accept oneself, then one will never be able to overcome the failures that are inevitable on any journey.

It is not possible to learn to walk without falling; it is not possible to learn to fly without falling; it is not possible to learn how to do anything without failing. If you cannot handle failure, you will not succeed. There's a Japanese proverb, "Fall down seven times, stand up eight," which says it very nicely: you have to expect that you will fail, but keep trying anyway.

And Shouyou did have the desire to change, but it was not the right desire - it was a selfish one. He wanted to be human because he hates what he is. Because he hates what he is (a being who cannot die and only brings death), he tried to be other than what he is (saying that he will not kill anymore), and because he tried to be other than what he is, and tried to place those values on Oboro as well, Oboro who saw that Shouyou could not escape the Naraku without killing, believed he had to protect Shouyou, and so took it upon himself to kill them, which ended up destroying Shouyou's hope.

Because Shouyou didn't have the right desire, his self-defeating desire to be other than what he is, he also could not sustain belief that he could change. He could not change because he could not accept himself.

Shouyou failed and caused Oboro to die, confirming his belief that he is a monster and in his hopelessness he came to desire nothing more than to die. When he picks up Gintoki, we see in several instances that he literally seems to be grooming Gintoki to kill him. He does not trust Gintoki with what he is, and hiding what you are for fear of being hated and feared will always cause isolation and internal emptiness. You will always be starving and always be scared. And where there is fear there will always be violence, and where there is hopelessness there will always be longing for death.

Utsuro was empty, but Utsuro was also hopeless; but he at least accepted and used what he was and took his fate into his own hands, unlike Shouyou who always put his fate into the hands of others (his students), which did allow Utsuro to accomplish more than Shouyou had, in regards to leveraging relationships and changing his fate, but Utsuro was created because of Shouyou and Shouyou's desire to die; he was all the feelings and desires within Shouyou that Shouyou had been suppressing with his desperate but ultimately impossible desire to be human. To be human means to be alive; but to be alive also means to die. Shouyou wanted to be alive because he wanted to die. Ultimately, he never changed from the being that hates, fears and longs to be human.

In order for Shouyou to have truly changed, it would have required for him to have the right desire to change - not a selfish desire which he would cast upon Oboro and which would cause Oboro to feel the need to be the one to protect him, but a selfless desire which would allow Oboro to trust and rely on him to help him as well. This would have required the Shouyou to accept himself for what he is, for his abilities and what he's good at and what he has to work with. This would have required letting go of humans' perceptions of him as a devil/oni/monster, and just accepting himself as being a being who is not defined by any ideas or labels, and as such is fully capable of being an actor in charge of his own fate rather than a victim of nature or circumstance.

If you can let go of thinking of yourself as a monster and just accept yourself as being as you are, you open up the doors for change, because if you have limited yourself with a sense of identity then you have limited what you believe you are capable of, and if you have limited what you believe you are capable of then you have limited what you are indeed capable of. Because again, you need the right desire in order to have the right motivation, and you need the right belief in order to put in the right effort and be able to overcome the inevitable failures.

Ultimately, Shouyou's sense of self was absolutely fucked, and when he lost Oboro, he lost any ability to fix it, because Oboro was the first and only one to accept him for what he is and as such the only person to open those doors for Shouyou, which without Oboro shut closed and were never to open again - hope is a fragile, fragile thing, without belief, and Oboro would have been necessary in order for Shouyou to gain that belief and confidence in himself.

But Oboro destroyed this chance unwittingly, because he was a child who didn't know any better and was just trying to help this being he felt indebted to but whom he couldn't trust to protect either him or himself because Shouyou had refused to protect Oboro when he refused to teach him what he knew. So Oboro, having been told that Shouyou would not teach him, came to understand that he could not rely on Shouyou and therefore had to do everything himself.

Shouyou failed when he failed Oboro. In order for Shouyou to have succeeded, he would have had to put his relationship with Oboro above his own selfish desires to be human, and to have come at the idea of change from a different angle entirely.

The key to change is not to try to become something you're not, because that will always end in failure - they key to change is to become more of what you truly are: to become who you are underneath all the false ideas the world has made you believe about yourself.

Shouyou would have had to become and accept himself, as an immortal and non-human being, without the conceptions of himself as a monster, a devil, an oni, capable of nothing but death. There is absolutely no reason why, as an immortal being who knows better than anyone how to kill others, he cannot also be kind and generous and love others and live fulfillingly and without emptiness, as he is. And Shouyou never even came close to realizing this.

And I had been trying to figure out a way for him to be influenced to realize this in a way that would work with his canon characterization, but I couldn't quite, so in my fic he ended up just kind of realizing it, far more easily than I think he realistically could have, because I at least want to explore a universe in which he does succeed in this way.

The fic now has two chapters, the first a canon character study on Shouyou's desire to change and his failure to do so, and the role that Oboro played for him and Utsuro; and a second chapter which is the start of an AU where Shouyou succeeds in changing, and the role that Oboro plays in this, and how this ends up, how this ends up changing Shouyou's path and affecting his students.

But just in case people don't want to read a fanfic but are willing enough to read a tumblr post, I wrote out these thoughts in this format as well haha. But now if you read the fic after reading this you'll basically just be seeing these thoughts again, but more poetically/metaphorically/emotionally in character POV, and more of the causes/results etc. explored as far as the characters and events are concerned.

Anyways, this was most of the brainrot thoughts that has been eating my mind, so I'm leaving this here.