#like i don’t even know where that came from because it definitely wasn’t a conscious decision it just slipped out of me before i could fini

[re-decorate]

something something if it wasn’t for this music i don’t know how i would’ve fought this

[secretsofblackthornhall]

Ty to Dru

Hello Dru,

I’m back from London, and Julian and Emma told me to tell you “hello” and also “they send their love.” But that is not the important part of the letter, which is later. But you shouldn’t skip to that part, I will explain why soon.

Blackthorn Hall is actually pretty cool. It’s big and it’s old, and lots of parts don’t work properly yet, but Emma and Jules have done a lot to make it nice. There’s lots of bedrooms. I picked out one for me, which they called the “gray bedroom,” but honestly all the bedrooms are kind of gray. They said it’s so we can paint them if we want, they’ll be our rooms and we can decorate them how we like.

You’ll have to pick out the one you want when you visit, but I found one that I bet will be your favorite. It overlooks the gardens which I think will be the last thing to get fixed up, and so will continue to look creepy for a while. There are all these broken statues with plants grown over them, like they were trying to kill the statues. Like they succeeded in killing the statues. It looks like if you went walking down there the vines would wrap around you and pull you underground. You’ll love it. 

I didn’t sleep well before we traveled to London and now I think it was because I was worried. Anush says our bodies often tell us how we are feeling even when our minds aren’t conscious of it. Like feeling nauseated before an important test. You probably know what I mean.

But it was good. Especially to see Jules and Emma. I hadn’t realized how much I missed them until I saw them. I think I felt it like Anush says, like a weird pressure in my chest that went away when Jules hugged me. Maybe it’s the same for you. Or maybe you already know how much you miss them. Anyway I thought it was important to say I also miss you and it’ll be nice when we can all be in the same house together again. I think Irene will like it there too.

Ragnor’s map did actually help, so it was good he came. He found a couple of places in London to check for more of those cursed objects, so that’s one step closer to un-cursing the house. I know, it would be cool to live in a cursed house. But it wouldn’t be fair to Rupert the Ghost, since he’s trapped there because of the curse. And anyway there’s all this renovation work that the builders won’t do until the curse is lifted. And it would be good if the house’s roof didn’t leak. That might be a little too gloomy even for you.

Now we’ve talked about the bedrooms, the house, and Ragnor, so if anyone asks you can tell them those are the things we discussed. We are now at the part of the letter where I have to tell you important things but I wanted you to have information you could share in case someone asked you if you had heard from me. I mean, if someone important asks you. If someone we don’t know asks you, Anush says you can say “Make like a tree and leave,” which I don’t understand but he says will definitely work.

So, the important part. Rupert the Ghost. I wasn’t really thinking when I wrote up above that it will be nice for us to all be together. I mean, it will be, but it’s not quite that simple, at least for me. See…Rupert saw Livvy. She wasn’t hiding or anything, and she didn’t act surprised that he saw her. But I’ve spent so much time worried about other, you know, living people finding out about her. It hadn’t even occurred to me that of course there are ghosts everywhere, all over the world, and they’ll all know she’s there. The ghosts here at the Scholomance know about her, of course, but Edvard and Prudence keep to themselves and nobody really pays attention to either of them. Prudence is always in the library pretending to shelve books (or actually shelving ghost books, I can’t tell) and Edvard paces slowly through the halls and barely ever talks. Sometimes he moans, but that’s just him complaining.

Rupert and Livvy had a couple of conversations with just the two of them, I guess about ghost stuff. She says she made him promise that he wouldn’t say anything about seeing her, but ghosts can lie. So what if he says something to Emma or Julian? What if he can tell that something is weird with the way Livvy is a ghost and he mentions that?

The thing is, it’s not just Rupert. Even if he stays quiet, I already almost made Emma suspicious by talking to Livvy myself. I had to tell her I was talking to you on the phone. I know about Rupert and I know about Edvard and Prudence, but there could be ghosts anyplace I go, and if someone else is there and they start interacting with Livvy I’m going to have to explain. I got used to Edvard and Prudence ignoring her but Rupert drifted right into the bedroom and asked her who she was.

Livvy says I shouldn’t worry. She reminds me that any Shadowhunter can see ghosts who want to be seen, like Edvard and Prudence, but that it’s much harder to see a ghost who doesn’t want to be seen, and that’s most ghosts. She says Rupert wanted to be seen — first by Emma and Jules and then by Livvy and me, though only Livvy's seen him really clearly— but if he didn’t, I’d never have known he was there. She says she’s able to hide herself from almost all people (even Jace, and he has latent ghost-seeing powers), and even able to hide herself from a lot of ghosts. And that even if they do see her, they won’t necessarily know who she is, it’s not like ghosts can just identify each other. And she says if she has to, she’ll just lie to them.

She said a lot of reassuring things. But it still gave me a cold feeling, which I think is my body telling my brain that I’m afraid. If Julian and Emma found out about Livvy, they wouldn’t just be angry. They’d feel like they had to do something, like lay her to rest. People don’t think ghosts can be happy, but Livvy is happy. She helps me with work and she tells me advice for Anush (he has a crush on Rayan’s sister Nasha) and when we’re alone we play games or I read to her. She can’t do everything but why would being all the way dead be better? Everyone calls it “rest” but no one really knows, do they?

Maybe you have ideas. Tell me if you have ideas.

Love,

Tiberius

[siampie]

Risk and Reward||Chapter 2: Fallin’ For You

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: Numbers were exchanged but intimacy still scares you lightly. So, you and Matt decided to take things slow. Reader found herself slowly falling for Matt Murdock.

Warnings/tags: 18+ contains smut (not sure, don’t know how to write it but I’ll try), angst, fluff, mutual pining, idiots in love, childhood trauma

A/N: The Reader’s hypersensitivity is written using my own experience. Also, the title not only reflect the Reader’s state of mind but also Matt’s. Although, we don’t get the story in his POV because mostly we follow Reader. But there will be some chapters in his POV. Pinky promise!

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Dividers by @cafekitsune

Song the title is referring to:

I’ve been spending all my time

Just thinking ‘bout you

I don’t know what to do

I think I’m fallin’ for you

I’ve been waiting all my life

And now I found you

I don’t know what to do

I think I’m fallin’ for you

I’m fallin’ for you

“What do you mean?” Amelia asked as you walked to work together, the morning after.

Matt and you had talked some more that first night. He had bought you a drink to keep the conversation going. He even introduced you to his friends; Karen Page and Foggy Nelson. Although, you and Matt had exchanged numbers, you couldn’t bring yourself to say yes to a date, just yet. So, you suggested that you both be friends first. And Matt had agreed.

“I mean we both agreed to be friends for now.” You explained patiently.

“This is self-sabotage at its finest, you know that.” Amelia threw her hands in the air.

“Look, I just want to take it slow, okay?” You told her stopping on the sidewalk. “I’m sure Matt is very great in a relationship but—I might not be. At least, with us being friends, we can bound without having any pressure on our shoulders.”

“I hate you.”

You scoffed. “What for?”

“For sounding mature and reasonable.”

“There’s plenty where that came from.” You laced your arm with hers and resumed your walking. “I really don’t want to mess this up.”

“Yeah, I get it.” She sighed. “At least, you didn’t completely rule out dating.” You chuckled.

You were definitely attracted by him. And it seemed he was too. Although, you weren’t too sure about that. How could he be? Being friends first made sense to you. You were being cautious as always.

“Hey, guys!” You said as you sat down next to Matt at Josie’s.

He wore that giant smile of his, that you had grown fond of. He greeted you back, your name rolling off his tongue fondly. It had been almost a week since you had given him your phone number. The last few weeks before publishing were draining for you. You were a perfectionist, sometimes to your own detriment.  

It was Friday night. Matt had called you earlier, just before you called it a day. He invited you to join him and his friends at Josie’s for a couple of drinks. You had agreed to it. Although, you were starting to think on your way to the bar that it wasn’t probably for the best. You felt deeply tired and overwhelmed.

Being overwhelmed in your case often led to high sensitivity to sounds. It usually became louder. Not so much louder but you were more aware of them. Such as that light over your head. It had been quiet most days. On that day, however, it became louder. You tried to ignore it. But it sounded like a fly buzzing around your head. A fly that you couldn’t swat away. And then at lunch, your own chewing was loud to your ears. You tried to chew as quietly as possible but to no avail. And you had felt self-conscious for a moment. It was probably loud for anyone around you too.  You had figured that the stressful weeks, although you were used to them, had gotten to you finally.

Although, you blamed it on your hypersensitivity. You had inherited it from your father and your great-grandmother. Being a sponge for others’ emotions could be a challenge daily. It was a gift when it came to empathizing with others. When it came to understanding them and listening to them. Let them dump on you their anxieties, their anger, their fear. But it was also a curse because, at times, you didn’t know which feelings were yours and which were theirs. So, you had to distance yourself at times. And over the years, you had chosen a line of work where you dealt with people as little as possible.

As soon as you stepped in the bar, you knew it was definitely not a good idea to have agreed to this. The chatter that did not bother you a few nights before, were too loud today. You flinched at a man’s boisterous laugh by the bar. You considered turning away but Foggy had called your name with a large smile plastered on his face. So, you took a deep breath, slapped a smile on yours, and made your way towards them.

You sat in the empty seat, conveniently placed next to Matt. A beer was pushed into your hands. There was an additional person in the group tonight. Marci Stahl, Foggy’s girlfriend. You really tried to have a good time but really you were struggling. Every once in a while, you flinched and winced at bottles being slammed on tables or people just laughing. It was becoming unbearable and you found yourself on the verge of crying. You should have called it a night right there and then but you didn’t want to seem rude. So, you powered through.

Eventually, you couldn’t take it anymore. You felt like dropping on the ground and wailing. You could feel the tears burning on the corner of your eyes.

“Are you alright?” He asked you concerned lacing his voice.

“I think I’m gonna call it a night.” You told him quietly, ignoring the catch in your voice. “I feel—a little tired.”

“I’ll walk you home.” He said with his own charming smile. He pushed his chair back across the floor.

“You’re leaving already, buddy?” Foggy asked him from across the table.

You stood up abruptly. “He’s not leaving. I am.” And you turned to Matt. “And you should stay and enjoy the rest of your night. I’ll simply grab a cab. Don’t worry about me.”

“Come on, the night is still young. We haven’t gotten to the best part, yet.” Foggy tried to convinced.

In spite of yourself, you huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, and what’s that?”

“Dancing.” Matt chuckled beside you.

“When was the last time you hit the dancefloor, uh? Come with us, it’ll be fun. I promise.”

The dancefloor, the loud music, sounded like a nightmare right now. “Maybe next time.” You shook your head apologetically. “I’m just really tired tonight. But you guys have fun.”

“Let me walk you home.” Matt offered yet again.

“Matt—” It sounded like a whine. “I’ll grab a cab, I swear.”

“I insist. I invited you out, I’d like to make sure you get home safe.” He said, his lips were turned down in frown.

“Okay—” You relented. “I’m warning you, though. I won’t be good company. I’m tired.” Your lips turned into a pout. Matt snorted.

The sounds were drowned out as soon as the doors closed behind you. Matt’s hand found your arm. You were standing on the sidewalk and took a deep breath to collect yourself. His hand on your arm felt warm, despite the layers of clothes you were wearing. You focused on that feeling on your arm. A soothing heat. It was grounding you. Maybe you were imagining it. Maybe you couldn’t feel the warmth of his hand. But you didn’t care as long as it was helping you. You felt his hand squeeze your biceps gently as he stepped closer to you. He remained quiet so as not to disturb you, giving you time to collect yourself. As if he knew. How would he know?

“I’m sorry.” You said after a few minutes of you two walking in silence.

“For what?” Matt asked quietly.

“For taking you away from the others.” You simply answered. “You should be out enjoying your night instead of walking me home.”

“You are not taking me away from anyone.” He retorted softly. “I wanted to walk you home. Besides, I enjoy the company.” He smirked at you.

You scoffed, tiredly. “I don’t know how.” Silence fell over the both of you again.  

“You’re feeling better?” Matt asked you suddenly and it gave you pause.

What should you answer to that? You did feel slightly better. His hand on your arm was somehow keeping you grounded. You kept on taking deep breaths. It was involuntary. You couldn’t help it even if you wanted to.

“Yes. A little.” You nodded. “I should have known better than to come out tonight.” You sighed again.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m used to it, you know. The stress that comes with the job. Making deadlines, dealing with authors and such. I thought I was handling it pretty well but—” You paused, your chest expanded as you let out another deep breath, “—I guess I didn’t pay enough attention. And my brain decided that amplifying the sounds would be fun, I suppose.”

“That explains why you were so quiet tonight.” Matt observed.

“Well, I’m usually quiet, you know.” You told him as you came to a stop. “It comes with being shy.” Your lips turned up at the corners when he huffed out a laugh. “This is my stop.” He let go of your arm. “I hope I didn’t make you take a detour to walk me home.”

“Not at all.” He reassured you with a warm smile, shoving his right hand in his pocket.

“Thanks for walking me home.” You gave him your own smile.

“It was my pleasure.” His smile widened.

You wanted to say more. You wanted to tell him that he helped in making you feel better. You were less irritated, less sensitive to the sounds surrounding you. You felt less overwhelmed. You wanted to thank him for that. But you thought it would be too much. So, you let it go.

“You let me know when you get home.” You said softly.

“Should I text you or—?” Matt frowned teasingly.

“Yes, please.” You rolled your eyes at him. “Otherwise, I would have to walk you home and that would defeat the purpose of walking me home.”

Matt laughed at your words. “I’ll let you know.” He promised.

“Thanks.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “I’ll see you soon, then.”

“We usually go out on Fridays with Karen and Foggy. Sometimes, Marci stops by.” Matt said. “You are always welcome to come.”

“Yeah,” You nodded with a smile. “I would love to.”

"Great!" Matt grinned.

“Goodnight, Matthew.”

“Goodnight,”

You watched him leave. His cane tapped along the pavement. You fished out your key and took another deep breath before letting yourself into your building. It had felt nice to have someone walk you home. It had never happened before with anyone. It was truly the first time that anyone had gone out of their way, as a kind gesture. It had felt good. And it was all because of Matt Murdock.

“Matt?” You were walking back home from the hardware store. His brows scrunched up in confusion as he stopped on the sidewalk. You reached out to him and laid a hand on his shoulder.

His furrowed brows relaxed as a smile slipped onto his face. He had somehow recognized you in this crowd of people. Your name passed his lips fondly. “Hey.” You couldn’t help but notice that he looked dashing in his suit. And his smile got your heart racing as it always did.

“Hey.” You smiled as you stepped closer to him.

It was Wednesday. You had finished the last of your work before deadlines. And you were hoping to make it to Friday night at Josie’s with your new friends. And you were hoping that Matt would walk you home again. You had been looking forward to it the entire week-end and for the most part of the week.

“Where are you off to?” You asked him, burying your hands in your coat.

“Back to the office actually.” Matt pushed his glasses back on his face. “Just had a meeting with one of our clients. You?”

“Home.” You replied.

“No work for you today?” He asked you.

“Nah, I finished working on my current manuscripts.” You explained. “So, I decided to ask for some needed time off.”

“Wise decision.” Matt nodded.

“I’m a wise woman, Mr. Murdock.” You quipped back.

“You are, aren’t you?” Matt chuckled; your own lips turned up at the sound. You loved it. You loved making him laugh.  

“So, since my schedule is clear, would you mind if I walk you back to your office?” You offered with a warm smile.

“I would like that very much.” Matt grinned widely. You offered him your arm and his hand found its rightful place. “Actually, could we—uh—could we make a quick stop by the coffee shop? I promised Karen, I’ll get some on the way back.”

“Your wish is my command, My Liege.” You gave a little bow.

Matt laughed, shaking his head. “Is it now?”

Your heart skipped a beat at the sound. “Yeah, could be.”

“I’ll make sure to get back to you on that.” You turned the corner on your right before crossing the streets. “So, where were you coming from before you bumped into me?”

“Hardware store.” You replied.

“Hardware store?”

“Yeah, see, I live in this flat that has not been properly maintained.” You started to explain. “And this morning while doing the dishes, the sink faucet broke. Shut all the water in my flat and then, went to the hardware store to get a new one.”

“Shouldn’t you be bringing this to your supervisor?”

“Did you miss the part I said it wasn’t properly maintained? Because I’m sure I mentioned that.” You squinted your eyes at him. “Also, it would have taken ages for them to do anything and I’m not very patient when it comes to that kind of things.”

“So, you decided to do it yourself.”

“Yeah, it goes faster.”

“Do you even know how to change it?”

“I’ve done it before.” You shrugged.

“You have?” He angled his face towards you.

“Yeah, I had to take care of my dad for a while. And since there’s certain things he couldn’t do anymore. I had to do them myself.” You continued. “Fixing a sink, the water heater, mowing the lawn, cutting down some trees, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera…”

“You are a woman full of surprises,” Matt noted softly.

“And there’s more where that came from.”

You pushed open the door to the coffee shop. A woman on her phone came at you. Your hand went up to his left arm. And you pulled him closer to you, out of the woman’s way. The woman had not been fazed by it. It was as though she had not been aware of almost bumping into someone.  

Matt cleared his throat and your eyes snapped up to his. “Sorry,” Your hands had moved to grip his waist. “A woman was going to knock you on your ass.” You said as way of an explanation.

“Thank you,” He stammered, letting out a chuckle.

“It’s alright.” You answered, suddenly conscious of Matt’s proximity.

His chest flushed against yours. You could feel his solid chest underneath his dress shirt. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips. Your heart started galloping in your ribcage. Your breath caught in your throat. Your eyes darted down to his lips. His own tongue wetted his lips. And tried as you may, you could not control the flow of heat that went straight to your core.

“We should, uh—coffee.” You stammered out. Your eyes snapped back to the red tinted glasses covering his eyes. “I mean we should go place our orders.”

He chuckled as you let go of his waist. “After you.” He said with a smile as his hand found your biceps once again.

As you waited in line, you tried to recover from this moment. You had been attracted by other men in your past. And you did feel lust for them. However, the more you learned about them, the less attracted you were to them. They either were chronicle liars. Or they took more than they gave. And for you that was a turn off.

Matt Murdock, however, had been nothing but genuine to you. He was kind. He was real. And you found yourself wanting more each time. It was unfair that he had so much effect on you. It didn’t seem you had that much effect on him.

“Special delivery of coffee and bagels for one Karen Page and Foggy Nelson, by yours truly.” You announced loudly as you stepped into their office. “And Matt Murdock.”

Karen greeted you with a giant smile on her face before taking her coffee cup from the tray. “Did someone mention bagels?” You heard Foggy said from one of the offices.

“They’re calling your name, Fog.” You confirmed, waving the bag in front of him, as he walked out.

A large smile split his face in two. “Bagels.” He grabbed the bag, opened it, and took a large sniff before turning his eyes back on you. “You’re officially my favorite now.”

“You’re welcome.” He reached for his coffee. And you leaned closer to Matt. “You were right, he does love his bagels.” His hand landed in the small of your back, as you slightly lost your balance.

“He would live off of that if he could.” Matt chuckled. And you snorted.

“Well, anyway, I’m not gonna hold any more of your time.” You clasped your hands together, ignoring as hard as you could, his hand on the small of your back. “I know you guys have work to do.”

“Don’t be a stranger,” Foggy told you. “Feel free to come back any day you want. You don’t have to but you will forever be my favorite if you come bearing gifts.”

“Of the food kind?”

“A woman after my heart.” Foggy put a hand to his chest.

“Any request, Karen?” You turned to the smiling blonde.

“Coffee. Lots of it.” She said raising her cup.

“Noted.” You scoffed.

“Hey,” Matt pulled you into the small kitchenette.

“Hey,” you said back, disappointed when his hand left your body.

“I was wondering—if you would like to grab some coffee with me, on Sunday?” Matt asked you.

“Don’t you have mass or something on Sundays?” You said back.

Karen and Foggy were both looking at you and Matt. Both of them exchanged amused glances.

“I don’t really go to those.” He told you, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Ah.” You nodded. “Just the two of us?”

“Yeah.” His lips twitched up at the corners. “It doesn’t have to be a date. Just two friends, going for coffee and catching up.”

“Two friends—catching up over a cup of coffee, uh?” Your tongue darted out to wet your lips. “I would like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You huffed out a laugh. “Sounds like a plan.”

“It’s not like he can see you” Amelia commented on the phone.

“Yeah, not helping.” You dryly told her. “It’s not a date and I don’t want to dress as though it was. But I also don’t want to dress too casually.”

“Okay, uhm, how about that yellow dress you bought last month?” She suggested.

“Well, it’s still chilly out there, you know.”

“So?” You could picture her shrugging on the other side of the line. “It’s long sleeved and there is such a thing as tights.”

You pulled out the dress and looked at it. You hadn’t worn it since you bought it. You were waiting for the perfect time. And maybe, this was it. The dress came with its own belt.

“Yeah, I think I can make it work.”

“Good.” Amelia retorted. “Now, is it really not a date?”

“He made it pretty clear.” You answered. “Plus, it’s what we both agreed to. Be friends first and see, where this is going, really.”

“And you’re okay with this?”

“Yeah, I am.” You nodded.

“You two are idiots.” She groaned and you snorted. “I mean, it’s like slapping you in the face. You two are made for each other. And you want to keep it friendly.”

You wheezed out a laugh. “First of all, I don’t know about us being made for each other. Second of all, yes, I want to keep it friendly. I want to be comfortable around him, alright?”

“Yeah, whatever.” Amelia let out a sigh, you could clearly picture her rolling her eyes.

You scoffed at the thought. “Look, I gotta go get ready. I’ll tell you how it went later, ‘kay?”

“You better.” She said warningly. “Go get your man, sister!”

“He’s not my man.”

“Yet.”

Breathing became harder as you neared the café. Your nerves were making your chest tight. Your chest expanded as you drew in a large gulp of air. You held it in a few seconds and breathed it out through your nose.

When the café finally came into view, you saw him. He was standing outside of the café, waiting for you. Your steps faltered before you came to a stop. Matt Murdock looked effortlessly dashing. No matter how he dressed. He had traded his tailored suit for a pair of jeans and a dark button-up shirt. You knew for certain this man was going to ruin you. His head tilted slightly to the side before his sightless gaze turned in your direction. Your breath hitched in your throat. And his lips turned up into a faint smirk. Did he know you were right there, staring? He couldn’t have known that. He couldn’t see you.

You shook yourself out of your daze, took another deep breath, and walked the rest of the way.

“Hello, Matthew!” You reached out to grasp his strong forearm.

His head tilted in your direction, a smile taking place on his face. His hand came up to cover yours on his forearm. His calloused and rough hand dwarfed yours. You let out a gasp at his touch. And your heart pounded like a jackhammer. Yes, it was official Matt Murdock would be the end of you.

“How are you?” He asked you.

“Good.” You exhaled. “I’m good. You?”

“I’m alright, thank you.” He nodded.

“Good.”

“You’re nervous?” He gave you a soft smile.

“A little.” You giggled nervously.

“You don’t have to be.” His thumb moved across the back of your hand, in a soothing motion. “I told you. We are just two friends, catching up over coffee.”

“Two friends catching up over coffee.” You repeated. You inhaled, held it, and exhaled. You smiled at him while placing his hand in the crook of your arm. “Shall we?”

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[tommydarlings]

pairing: dom!austin x sub!reader

warnings: smut, squirting, dacryphilia

my masterlist <3 // my ko-fi to support me! <3 // my PayPal to support me! <3 // my Patreon to become a member! <3

“Love that pretty pussy of yours so much doll, always ready for me, tastes so fucking good.”Austin groaned quietly as he stood up and towered over you sitting figure on the kitchen counter, looking down at your still slightly trembling legs and big glassy eyes.

“Come here, don’t be shy babydoll.” He whispered with a smirk as he noticed how you moved a bit away from the edge. “Austin, what if my brother finds out-”

“I said. Come. Here.” He ignored your statement about how he’s your brother's best friend and how he most definitely shouldn’t have just eaten your pussy out until your legs are shaking unstoppably. You quickly closed your mouth and gulped before you came closer to the edge of the kitchen counter again.

“I know he’ll be home by seven, and trust me angel, by that time I’d have you crying.” He stated quietly as he closed your still open legs, putting them together and pushing them back and slightly to the side so he could still see your face, because he certainly didn’t wanted to miss your facial expressions.

“What are you-” but your sentence was quickly interrupted by Austin entering you with two of his fingers. You moaned and threw your head slightly back as Austin made sure that you couldn’t move your closed legs, securing them and bending them backwards with one of his hands.

“Need to collect some juice before I’ll make you squirt.”

You gasped as soon as you heard those words and also as soon as you felt Austin’s finger's leaving your pussy, slowly sliding up to your clit.

Austin swiftly started to rub your clit in up and down motions, making your eyes roll into the back of your head and squeal.

“W-what is t-that feeling-, oh m-my god!” You screamed loudly as tears escaped your eyes, running down your cheeks and chin. “Don’t worry doll, I got you, just focus on that feeling.” Your brother's best friend muttered with a grin, obviously enjoying it that your feeling that specific feeling. Austin immediately noticed it when you were close, he heard your moans and pleads getting higher and saw your hands shaking, desperately trying to stop his or at least let go of your closed legs so you could open them.

“Oh no no baby, you won’t open your legs, you’ll let them just in that exact position that I put them, alright?” He muttered but he wasn’t even sure if your heard it. Austin even chuckled slightly while just his fingertips where moving up and down your clit in a fast motion.

“Aus, I-I'm gonna, I-I don’t k-know, please help m-me.” You asked him quietly before you came silently, only chocking on your own screams as tears ran into your mouth. “Fucking hell, just like that, just how I wanted it.” Austin groaned quietly as you continued squirting, his fingers not leaving your clit making you go almost insane.

“So Perfect for me, so fucking perfect for your brother's best friend.” He mumbled as soon as he noticed how you were slightly more conscious again. “Wonder what your brother will say if I tell him that I fucked his little baby sister, that I made her squirt like some useless fucking whore.” He went on and on but your fear just grew about the fact that your brother might really found out about this.

“H-he will kill y-you Austin, p-please don’t t-tell him.” You begged him before you felt how he entered your still clenching and soaking wet pussy again.

“Oh believe me, I will.”

[writing-rat]

Enid's Changes

Pairing: Wednesday x Enid

Warnings: None

Summary: Enid presents. Wednesday wants to know as what but knows it's rude to ask so she doesn't

It was a week after Nevermore started again after the incident with the hyde, where Bianca and Wednesday killed the pilgrim, where Enid changed into a werewolf and where Weems nearly died. She survived thankfully. It was different this semester however. Enid’s group of friends and herself were more respected, which Wednesday didn’t like. They were still threatened at least.

Wednesday wasn’t concerned about that however. She was more concerned about Enid because she was different. She was acting different and she was definitely taller. That was what lead wednesday to making a new page in a locked book so that Enid didn’t know she was conducting research. The first notes were how tall she had gotten from 5’5 to 5’8. The shorter girl had noticed it because she was looking up at Enid more than usual. That bugged her, but she also found it quite hot. She would never admit it however, that would ruin her reputation. That’s when she went to the library at night and snuck out some werewolf books. 

Enid was asleep when Wendesday came back so Wednesday had time to hide the book. She was thankful for that admittedly as she didn’t want to tell Enid what she was doing due to it involving her. She went to sleep after that. The next night Wednesday would be alone, Yoko and Enid were having a sleepover after all. Currently Wednesday was laid back in her bed with a book. It was ‘Frankenstein’, one of her favourites, when she glanced over at Enid grabbing a shirt out that she had never seen before. “New shirt?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Yep! Do you like it?” Enid wondered, a bit self conscious admittedly. It was a pink shirt with a dog playing ball on it after all. 

“I don’t like it personally,” Wednesday responded. Enid looked dejected. “But it suits you,” Wednesday reassured. If Enid had her tail out right at that moment, it would be wagging.

“Really Willa? Thank you!” She exclaimed and jumped before she was starting to change. Wednesday meanwhile continued to read before Enid said bye. Wednesday went to respond but Enid was already gone. Wednesday sighed in relief before she was grabbing the werewolf book and was looking at the sections. She slowly started to read it.

-

Another change that Wednesday noticed was how Enid was with other wolves and even her friends. She seemed to have more control over them, and wasn’t teased as much. This unnerved Wednesday due to how the wolves treated her when she first came. Sure she punished a few wolves, but not enough for everyone to fear her yet. Currently Enid was passing the wolves table when a wolf got up immediately and went over. Wednesday, watching from the fountain, started to make notes quickly as she was knowing she’d remember hat happened already btu she wanted to write it while it was happening. She was wanting to hear but knew she couldn’t, which made her infuriated. She instead watched the body language as that would be deemed good enough. Enid looked uncomfortable. Just as she was about to help, the other wolf looked down and quickly left before Enid was walking to her friends, her confidence rising.

Meanwhile the wolf that had talked to her looked dejected, which made Wednesday curious. She would have to watch more. She soon went over to Enid’s table, and sat down next to her ignoring the others. She was sat there peacefully, staying still and just listening. Bianca then decided to tease her rival, smirking. “So the mighty Addams finally decided to join us,” Bianca teased, flashing her teeth. Wednesday snapped back. “I don’t believe myself to be better than anybody unlike you,” she responded, looking at Bianca deeply. Bianca just glared back, smirking.

“Oh really? Remember when you sa-” Bianca was about to retort when Enid cut in.

“Stop fighting both of you, you can both get along,” Enid growled out. Growling? That’s new. Both of them did shut up immediately, Wednesday looking normal while Bianca was feeling guilty. “Now apologise and make up,” Enid added on. 

“I am sorry Wednesday. I won’t tease Wednesday anymore unless we are fencing,” Bianca apologised immediately. Wednesday just glared, before Enid was looking at Wednesday and quirked an eyebrow. Wednesday rolled her eyes. “Wednesday,” Enid warned out. She heard the danger in Enid’s voice. “I am sorry Bianca. I shall retort to your petty comments while fencing,” Wednesday apologised. 

She saw how everyone was respecting Enid much more. Enid was quick to lighten up, but Wednesday was a flustered mess.

-

Enid had been having voice cracks for a few weeks halfway into the term, and Wednesday couldn’t help be shocked. She kept listening however to Enid whenever she spoke, noticing how her voice would be soft then it would crack and go deeper, sounding more like a growl at times. Wednesday would shiver each time, but then the voice would become soft again. She was also noticing how Enid was quickly becoming more muscly. Enid actually had to get new shirts, to which Wednesday helped pay with. The taller wolf had tried to reject originally until she realised that Wednesday would not budge. 

Wednesday meanwhile had kept notes of how she had to get new shirts and also the voice cracks and how she was growing muscle easily. She looked back at the werewolf book and it kept showing towards alpha. The only problem was that she couldn’t check if she was actually an alpha because she would have to check for a bulge, and she didn’t want to make her best friend turned crush uncomfortable. She also wasn’t wanting Enid to think she was a creep. She was currently at her desk, writing when Thing popped up. ‘I followed Enid around. She went to the shop and got some boxers for some reason. Can I have my hand lotion now?’ Thing tapped out. Sighing, Wednesday handed it over before she was writing down ‘getting boxers’ in her notes. That was enough proof, right? No, it couldn’t be. She knew how Yoko wore boxers because they were more comfortable apparently. She was soon starting to look up when she heard the doorhandle and quickly chucked her notebook under the floor before she was starting to write again.

“Hey Willa,” Enid greeted, yawning as she threw her bag down and flopped on her bed. “Sinclair,” she greeted back with her usual tone. She was blushing red however, her voice fully turning deeper. Enid just smiled as she stared at the back of the smaller girl. Soon, Wednesday stood up and cracked her neck then stretched before she stared back at Enid, jumping once she saw Enid in a shirt and a pair of boxers. “Sorry, I’m just so hot. I swear the AC better be fixed soon,” Enid apologised profusely. What caught Wednesday’s attention however was a bulge. Enid was unaware, before she glanced down and immediately covered it. “You are ok with that right?” she asked.

“You are an alpha,” Wednesday breathed out. Enid blinked in surprise but nodded. “Yeah… Willa, are you ok?” she asked confused. Wednesday nodded.

“I have been watching you since the start of term wondering if you was an alpha. That just proves it,” Wednesday explained. Enid just chuckled.

“No wonder I saw you staring in wonder and awe sometimes,” Enid hummed out before she was looking at the smaller girl. “I thought you just had a crush on me,” Enid teased. Wednesday blinked in shock. “And how would you react?” she asked, hiding her nervousness as much as possible.

“I would accept. You are my mate after all, and I know you like me,” Enid remarked, standing up and going to the short girl. Wednesday looked up, before she was suddenly picked up. Enid had a wolfish smirk. “So, what do you say? Be my mate?” Enid asked. Wednesday nodded, before she leaned in and kissed her gently. Enid was holding her easily as she kissed her, before slowly pulling away. “Want to go on  date in the forest tomorrow night? It is a full moon and I wonder if you want to go on a picnic before it then allow me to study your wolf form,” Wednesday asked. Enid grinned and nodded.

“My little researcher,” Enid teased, kissing Wednesday on the nose. Wednesday blushed hard. She could get used to this.

[rebelwrites]

How about one where you are Jaxs twins sister (younger) and you are plus sized due to meds you are taking. So you love his new girl who is plus sized and you get arrested after beating a bitch who made comments while you two were doing girls day at the mall.

What Am I Going To Do With You?

Jax Teller x Sister Reader

Summary: Jax bails you out after you beat the living shit out of three girls.

Jax Teller Masterlist

“Wanna say that again you piece of shit?” You growled, balling your fists by your side.

Anger soared through every vein in your body, it was one thing people taking the piss out of you due to your size, you had thick skin and was happy with how you looked. There wasn’t much you could do about it anyway, no matter how hard you tried when you first started gaining weight from the medication you were put on. You had tried every crash diet out there which never worked so you gave up obs swing over your weight. You started to eat the right things, working on building your strength and starting to love your body.

But what riled you up was these fuckers taking the puss out of Jax’s girlfriend due to her size. You know how self conscious the poor girl was, you had been her’s and Jax’s shoulder to cry on when things were bad. Not that you’d ever tell anyone that you had Jax crying on your shoulder. That was the shit you would take to the grave.

“Fat bitches.”

“Maybe try eating a salad.”

The girls started laughing in your face, but one of them made the fatal mistake of trying to square up to you.

Well that was like waving a red flag to a bull, without a second though you threw the first punch, clocking the girl square in the jaw causing her to stumble backwards.

“You fucking bitch.” She screamed, clutching her jaw.

An evil smirk crossed your face as you saw the blood tainting her skin from your rings.

“Y/N, leave it.” Nancy whimpered. “It’s not worth it.”

“Nance, don’t worry I’ve got this,” you winked “what I need you to do is get outta her and call Jax.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m gonna need him to bail me out of Charming’s finest holding cell.” You laughed rolling the sleeves of your hoodie up.

Bad day to wear white you thought to yourself as the girls that had been insulting you both tried jumping you.

Punches were thrown by you but the girls tried to fight dirty, this wasn’t a fight, in fact you didn’t know if they even knew how to punch. But unfortunately for them they had no idea that you grew up brawling with your brother, giving each other black eyes and bust lips numerous times over the years.

“What am I gonna do with you?” Jax’s playful tone echoed through the cells, making you look up from your bust knuckles.

“Hopefully bail me out, fuckface.” You smirked, resting your head on your fist, looking up at him through your lashes.

“I will but I want to know what happened.” He hummed, leaning against the metal bars. “I thought we made a promise you would stop landing yourself in here for fighting.”

“I know buuuuut,” you said, pushing yourself to your feet. “When these fucking bitches started taking the piss out of me and Nance because of our size, well you see I just saw red, you know I have a thick skin and the comments slide off me like water on a ducks back but I could see how upset Nance was getting so you know I battered the fuckers.” You had a proud smile on your face as you explained what happened.

The corners of Jax’s lips started to turn into a proud smirk before he nodded to Unser to unlock the metal door.

“I hope they came off worse than you did.” Jax chuckled, flicking his gaze from your knuckles to the scratches on your face.

“Oh a hell of a lot worse, they fought like a girl.” You laughed, as you strode out of the cell. “I definitely broke a couple of noses.”

“Well, I definitely think you deserve dinner on me.” He grinned, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. “I knew brawling as kids would eventually pay off.”

@chibsytelford @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @pumpkin-spice-hate @talicat713 @band--psycho @little-diable @i-love-scott-mccall @pascal-reyes @fourthwallhateclub @withmyteeth @theysayitscrazy @rosieposie0624 @choochoo284 @meteora-fc @beeroses @princess76179 @darklydeliciousdesires @the-jer-bear @princess76179 @extraneousred @youflickedtooharddamnit @lmao-liz @babypink224221 @daddysgirl2857 @bravo-four-seal-team @garbingeee @pedrohoe04 @littlekittymeow @nichia88-blog @zozebo @cherieann-2001

[salvatwh0re]

Did you have an religious trauma or are toj religious like I know were god and stuff I’ve always believed there’s something beyond traditional religion at play but at the same time sometimes i think god is making fun of me or punishing me until I repent or something that’s why the law isn’t working but I know that’s not true it’s just my anxiety but still do u have any experience with that or advice. Sometimes I’ll for to church (by force) and the sermon is abt something I’m doubting like god is trying to speak with me or something and make me give up and repent

Omg yes! I grew up in a very religious christian/catholic hispanic family on my mom’s side. My dad’s side was a lot more open minded and spiritual, so i was a bit torn throughout my childhood. My mom would also force me to go to church because she didn’t want me to end up like my dad (with no true religion) and so that was always in the back of my mind because i didn’t want to disappoint my mom. Then i started questioning myself like do i really believe in god or do i just want to not disappoint my mom. Then i found out that god doesn’t like gay people and he sends them to hell or whatever and that made me really sad because at that time one of my favorite cousins had just came out and she’s such a good person always helping out the homeless and going in mission trips so i didn’t understand how someone who did such good things would end up in hell simply because they loved someone.

In the end I realized it wasn’t that I don’t believe in God, but that I didn’t like the way the religion worshipped him. It was very culty and contradictory. And although I still went to church with my mom (which i felt very guilty about), I could seem to be frustrated with myself I would always ask myself why i couldn’t just be normal and be religious. Then I found out about manifestation in 2019. And i had a grand realization that I’m in control of my destiny and it’s not already decided for me by some big angry man in the sky. And that the higher power is a part of me and not as demanding and vindictive as they make it seem in the bible. So i’m not an atheist lol, but I just don’t believe in the way christians perceive god/ the higher power.

When I started realizing that “I am god” I did have a moment where just felt lost like I was doing something wrong and I should be ashamed. It was difficult especially when i always had my mom in my ear preaching the gospel. I would definitely say it made it harder for me with the law of assumption/ the void state and shifting because I always had that doubt in my mind. Like what if my mom is right and i’m just going down the wrong path. But then I had way too many success stories of my own for it to be a coincidence. I felt a lot happier than I did when i was practicing christianity.

To answer you question, yes I do feel like that was holding me back, it was definitely a HUGE limiting belief that i didn’t even think about getting rid of. But i think the best way for you to get over that is to trust that there is a higher power and there is a god, but that instead of punishing you for discovering your own path, it will allow you to find your way with a little bit of guidance. So really i’m not saying that you need to completely abandon your religion to be able to manifest or tap into the void state, because that’s not it at all. There are so many people in very strict religions that have been able to manifest their dream life while still sticking to their religion. Manifestation and the void is not against any religion. It’s a natural human right and ability, we do it every day whether we’re conscious of it or not. For the problem wasn’t whether manifesting was against my religion or not, it was the fact that I was straying away from my religion and that the LOA community helped me realize how much my religion was holding me back.

If your concern is that it’s against your religion, trust god would not have given you the ability to do it if it were a sin. The void state is not some outside force, in fact if anything the void state would help you rid you of your sin because in that state you’re free of all intrusive, negative, and limiting thoughts. Creating your own path is nothing to repent for.

[sparkliingdust]

My submission for Steggy Week 2023 (Day 2 - WIPs & updates)

The Scars That Remain Summary: Even though the serum protected Steve through several world wars, and Peggy is resolved to maintaining a stiff upper lip, some scars can start to heal with time and each other. RATING: R (mature – for slow build / sexual content, angst, comfort). Potential trigger warnings dealing with topics of harm/scars from graphic violence. NOTE: The visibility of Steve’s scars are not brand new as if they were made yesterday. They have faded because of the serum, but I guess I always wondered what Steve’s scars would be like after the Winter Soldier’s shooting in CA:TWS and the last battle against Thanos, where he definitely took a beating. I consider them to be faint but noticeable - Peggy is a spy afterall. Nothing gets past her.

This is only a sneak peek -not the whole fic. Hope to have it fully posted in a week or so (if I can update it at work enough this week)

With her hair up in a net, Steve caught a better look at the bullet wounds on her shoulder. They had been trudging through the endless woods clearing out all of Hydra hiding in and above the tree line. Their adversaries mastered how to be invisible before they even could. Falsworth had given the all clear when the scene was anything but - resulting in an array of gunfire in what felt like from all angles.

“I often don’t know who to thank for how clean those came out,” Peggy murmured.

“Dugan, or how much he picked up from his wife’s hobbies as a seamstress,” Steve quipped, remembering the scene as Peggy was hit in the shoulder. How everyone rallied together sterilizing what they could, the blood that seeped onto the torn rags, and holding her hand as Dugan worked his magic. He kissed her shoulder where the three bullet wounds were as if they hit her yesterday.

Peggy wrestled in her mind, a delicate way to bring it up. “And, what about you?”

“What about me?”

“You have a few speckles on your abdomen,” she uttered, pulling him closer.

He should never underestimate Peggy’s power of perception, and yet he always did. “It was an accident. He wasn’t who he thought he was, who he needed to be, to kill me.”

“Load, aim, fire seems like a pretty conscious choice to make,” Peggy noted, in a soft voice almost like a whisper.

“For him, it wasn’t. He didn’t know what he was doing at the time.”

It was the sharpest intake and slowest exhale Peggy took all day. “The Winter Soldier?”

Steve nodded his head, leaning his on hers. Peggy’s fingers trailed down to the light line on his right thigh, as her other hand wrapped her fingers between his other that still had a considerable jagged white-colored slash near the wrist lightly disrupting the random pattern of freckles around it. She lay patiently in the middle of the history, or future, he didn’t know how to tell it all.

[cosette141]

Once Upon A Deleted Scene | OUAT fanfic | Don't Let Go DS

This is a deleted scene for my story Don't Let Go (Because I Can't Hold It Back Anymore), which is a canon divergence for White Out, where instead of Emma getting trapped with Elsa, she's trapped with Killian. :)

This first part of the deleted scene is right when Emma & Killian get trapped in the ice cave, but instead of Emma being unconscious, she isn't, and instead of Hook's POV, it's Emma's. I later preferred Hook's pov and him dealing with the situation himself, and being afraid for Emma since she wasn't conscious.

The second part of this is Emma being unconscious, but Killian managing to wake her up quicker. I again just felt like I would rather have Hook protecting her and have more time go by in order to have his condition worsen before hers. Cause. h/c. y'know. heh xD

Emma felt time freeze.

Pun not intended.

One moment her eyes were staring at the ice and snow falling straight for her, her feet frozen to the spot in panic.

And the next, she was knocked forcefully to the ground, and the ice and snow crashed over her with such a thud it rang her ears.

She hit the icy ground hard on her chest, pain sending a shockwave through her whole body.

Her head felt jumbled for a few terrifying seconds, her eyes screwed shut as the world still shook as if through an earthquake.

But the horrible pain of ice striking her didn’t come. 

In fact, whatever had knocked her down and was now pinning her beneath its weight wasn’t even cold.

Emma slowly, cautiously blinked her eyes open, wincing at the headache that definitely came from being knocked around like a kite in a hurricane. Her vision pieced together, revealing what looked like some sort of ice cavern, its interior almost double the size of Granny’s. Snow was still settling, flying in the air from the crash, broken ice lying in heaps like debris around her. 

Emma quickly found it hard to breathe, and was about to try to free herself from what was pinning her down when it groaned.

Emma froze.

She knew that voice.

And she’s seen him in pain enough times that she knew that groan just as well.

“Hook?!” she breathed, now feeling him even clearer; the warmth pinning her down was Killian. 

His chest was pressed firmly into her back, his head resting over her shoulder.

And in the same instant, Emma realized that the force that had knocked her to the ground wasn’t the ice and snow.

It was Killian.

“Emma,” he huffed out, his voice sounding like it was squeezed out between clenched teeth. He grunted again, trying to move. His hand slipped on the icy floor next to her face. “Are you… all right?” he managed.

“Yeah,” she breathed, her heart beating steadily faster at the pain in his voice. “You?” 

“...Aye,” he said after a hesitation, and Emma didn’t need to look him in the eye to know it was a lie. With another grunt, Killian pressed his hand to the floor again, trying to lift himself off of her. His arm shook with strength, but with another grunt of effort, he managed to lift himself off her, snow and ice falling off him to the floor. He pushed himself to the side, falling to the ground beside her.

Instantly, Emma felt a blast of frigid air touch every part of her Killian had been lying on, and she felt a violent tremor. Ignoring it, she shoved herself to her knees. Killian’s face was drawn in a grimace, lying on his back, eyes screwed shut. He breathed hard, his hand ghosting his abdomen with a hiss. From the look of the ice that had landed on him, Emma had no idea how hurt he’d gotten.

Emma hovered over him. “Don’t tell me you broke your ribs again,” she said with forced lightness.

His eyes opened, and he gave her a shaky smile. “Seems I get the pleasure of seeing you every time I do,” he said, giving her a wink for good measure.

Emma let out a breath, settling herself with knowing he wasn’t severely injured or dying, sitting back on her heels as Hook pulled himself up.

Both of them rose to their feet, looking back toward where the street had been.

Emma felt her heart catch.

They were completely sealed in.

Where she’d been standing only minutes ago, there was a new ice wall firmly between them and the street.

“What the hell?” breathed Emma.

“She bloody froze us in,” muttered Killian with enough heat to melt the whole place down.

Just then, Emma heard a static-laced voice calling her name.

It was coming from beneath a small pile of snow where she and Killian had landed.

Emma quickly rushed to it, grabbing the walkie-talkie she’d dropped from the snow, and David’s voice was loud and clear. “-- mma! Hook! Damn it, someone talk to me!”

Emma felt a little smile grace her lips at her father’s worried voice. With fingers that were just beginning to lose feeling, she pressed the talk button and said, “Dad?” She stood, feeling Killian hovering at her shoulder. “Can you hear us?”

Half a second later, she heard his relieved sigh. “ Emma. Thank god. Are you okay? Is Hook okay?”

“Yeah,” said Emma, her voice shaking a little with the tremor running through her body from the cold. Because dammit, she was freezing . “We’re okay.” A look at Killian showed him still holding his ribs, but he didn’t look seriously hurt. “I think we’re frozen in, though,” said Emma, biting her lip. Even as she said the words, Killian had strode to the wall separating them from David and began hacking at it with his hook. It barely scratched the surface. His brows narrowed, and he struck it harder. Emma grabbed his arm before he could strike it again, and he gave her a look. “That’s not gonna work,” she said, her breath a white cloud before her. “Magic made this thing,” she said, giving the frozen structure a wary look. “I think it’s gonna take magic to un -make it.”

With reluctance, Killian gave up the fruitless attempt and Emma released his arm. “Dad,” said Emma to the walkie. “Is she out there? The… the woman? Elsa?”

There was a slight pause, then David’s voice, a bit more hushed, “ She’s threatened to leave you and Hook trapped in there and freeze the whole damn town if I don’t help her find some sister of her’s.”

Emma shut her eyes. Elsa had mentioned some sister. But from the short conversation Emma had with the woman, she only had a necklace of her sister. And Emma hadn’t heard about anyone named Anna showing up in Storybrooke. And it was a small damn town . 

A hunt to find a missing person, especially one who probably wasn’t even in Storybrooke, was going to take more than just a little while.

And if the tremors wracking her body were telling enough, it was cold .

Hours trapped in here? It had to be less than ten degrees.

Killian seemed to come to the same idea. “Mate,” he said toward the walkie. “It’s bloody freezing in here.”

Deafening silence from David’s end.

Then–

“ I’m going to get you two out of there. I promise.”

Emma exchanged a look with Killian.

His eyes held just as much hope as she felt.

David promised to keep the walkie on him, and from his side of the communication she heard the slam of a car door.

Emma let out a breath, trying not to feel as hopeless as she did.

Without a word, Killian stalked back to the wall, and once again started hacking away at it.

“Killian–” began Emma.

“I’m not bloody giving up,” he replied shortly, striking the wall harder than he did before. His face screwed up in a grimace at what must have hurt.

“I’m not either,” said Emma just as firmly, grabbing his shoulder to stop him. “But that isn’t working.”

Killian set his lips, but dropped his arm again, reluctantly and wordlessly agreeing. “Well, I’m open to suggestions.”

“I… I can try…” mumbled Emma, lifting her hands, her fingers shaking with a very visible tremor from the cold. “I c-can try to make a f-fire,” she said.

Killian smiled, and Emma felt a little warmth bloom in her chest, like it did every time she earned praise from him. Which she would never, ever admit . “Brilliant idea,” he said softly. “You can do it, Swan.”

Shutting her eyes, Emma tried to concentrate her magic into her palms. 

The last time she’s made fire was back in Neverland, and she’d only done so on what she believed was a very, very lucky try. Killian and Neal were in danger and it just… happened . 

Regina’s magic lessons were less than helpful, since she was more concerned with Emma’s instinctual reflexes than teaching her to control her magic. She’d managed teleporting small things, but Regina had stepped all over her pride at the success by saying it was the most elementary magic trick . Evidently creating fire was also elementary, and Emma hasn’t done that in well over a year.

After a moment of trying, Emma cracked her eyes open, seeing nothing between her palms.

She shook out her hands, feeling her whole body shaking from the cold now, but still, nothing was happening .

Brows furrowed in worry, Emma looked at Killian, who was still watching her, his hope and belief in her making her chest hurt. “I–I can’t do it,” she whispered. She shut her eyes, letting out a breath, hugging her arms around herself. “ God , it’s freezing,” she breathed.

Killian was doing something and Emma opened her eyes to see him taking off his coat. With stark confusion because how could he not be as cold as she was? she stammered out, “Wh-what the hell are you doing?”

“You’re bloody freezing,” he said simply, with that soft kindness, that sort of quiet concern he reserved only for her. He draped his coat around her shoulders.

“No, Killian–I have a coat, you’re gonna–”

He smiled a little, ignoring her protests, and Emma couldn’t help shutting her eyes at the warmth blanketing her like a damn hug . His coat was heavy , and it blocked the frigidness of the cold, taking the razor edge out of the air, and it held every bit of his body heat. “Your coat,” he said, a little smile at his lips, “isn’t doing a bloody thing. Now put your arms in.”

“Killian–”

“ Arms ,” he said, firmer, and Emma huffed out a cloud of white breath, realizing he wasn’t budging on the subject. With a little indignant huff, she put her arms through.

And dammit, it was warm .

Not only that, it smelled like him , and Emma really tried not to enjoy that as much as she did.

She opened her eyes, seeing that little smile at his lips, and she was suddenly afraid he could read her mind. 

Now he was only donned in his thin cloth shirt with the ridiculously low vee neck, and his vest. She could already see a tremor run through him. “What about you?” she mumbled, hugging his jacket to her, again trying not to sigh with relief, hiding her frozen fingers in the folds of the material.

“I’ve sailed plenty of arctic waters without this central heating , as you call it,” he said with a smile. “And Neverland was never known for comfortable temperatures. I’m more used to it than you are, love.”

She could see in his eyes that he was only telling her part of the truth.

Emma sighed. Gentleman .

“Well, thanks,” she said softly.

That earned her a real smile from him.

“And… thanks for…” she said, gesturing to the debris on the ground. “For what you did.”

He stepped toward her, flipping up the collar of his jacket around her, blocking out more of the cold. He smiled. “I’d do anything for you, Emma.”

Emma couldn’t exactly describe the feeling that flitted through her when her superpower deemed that completely truthful.

-.-.-.

[2nd deleted scene - waking up in the ice cave]

“Emma…”

Emma slowly came back to awareness, feeling a dull ache in her head. But very quickly after, the ache was nearly forgotten.

She was freezing .

“Emma? That’s it, love,” came a familiar, husky voice from somewhere above her. “Open your eyes.”

Memories came like a rush.

The ice wall.

The woman—Elsa.

Then…

Something happened with the ice and snow. Emma remembered sharp pain knocking her off her feet, and then… 

Nothing.

“Emma, love, please open your eyes.”

Killian’s voice filtered back into her mind, and Emma wondered if she was dreaming.

She’s never heard him sound so outright worried before. 

There was a touch of anxiety, a panicked urgency shaking his voice, and hearing him uncertain was completely unlike him.

It was enough to worry her herself .

Awareness was rushing her to reality, sounds becoming clearer, the cold becoming colder, yet she could suddenly feel his hand on her shoulder, shaking her gently. 

Her eyes cracked open.

His face was the first thing she saw. He was leaning over her, blue eyes vivid with stormy concern. When he saw her eyes open, he smiled something brilliant with relief. “Thank the gods,” he whispered, his breath a plume of white mist.

Which only reminded her it was fricken freezing . 

For whatever reason, she was lying on her back, and the ground felt like pure ice . She could feel the slight ache in the back of her head, which must have been the culprit for passing out, but she was happy to see her vision clear and her faculties in order for the most part. 

Emma blinked, eyes tracing the ceiling that looked like some sort of cave that had been completely frozen over. “Where the h-hell are we?” she asked, her teeth chattering through the words. She moved to sit up. Killian himself was on his knees at her side, and quickly he pressed his hand to her back, helping her up when her hands slipped on the icy floor. 

“The… ice witch,” said Killian with a little heat, “trapped us in this… structure,” said Killian, his brows furrowed. At Emma’s look, he answered before she could ask, “You’ve been unconscious for a quarter of an hour, if that.”

Well, that’s a good sign, thought Emma. She could feel her teeth chattering, her whole body beginning to tremble in the attempt to get warm. Emma looked around, seeing ice everywhere she looked. They certainly did look trapped.  

“Are you hurt?” asked Killian.

“N-no,” managed Emma, shivering even more. She hugged her arms, her fingers almost too cold to feel.

Something passed through Killian’s eyes. “You’re bloody freezing.” Immediately he shrugged out of his coat, throwing it around her shoulders. “Here.”

Even as it began to catch her body heat, Emma couldn't quite tell if the jacket or his gesture that offered her more warmth.

-.-.-.

tag list: @kmomof4 @justanother-unluckysoul @klynn-stormz @stahlop @ilovemesomekillianjones @hookmecaptain @tiganasummertree @jadehowlettthewolf @thepirateandhisson @jonesfandomfanatic @anmylica @pirateprincessofpizza @stahlop @snowbellewells @eddisfargo @motherkatereloyshipper @killian-whump @cocohook38 @deckerstarblanche 

[bbgtech-9000]

It takes Donatello three and half days to get back to you, and it feels like the longest three and half days of your life. 

To put it simply: everything that could go wrong, does. You decide to look for a job, because, what else were you supposed to do? However, two big issues came with that. One, you haven’t worked a job in years, ever since you started exploring other endeavors.. Second, you looked like.. like… a freak of nature with all your scars. Now you have to worry about covering them up. 

Damn Donatello.. subverting your expectations. You consider looking for another facility but no- no, you’d see this through.

Then your rent is due, and you don’t have enough to pay. Your money has been slowly used up, and you leave with all your belongings; a backpack and a small messenger bag. 

You wander the streets of the city. One wrong turn later, and you’re jumped by a group of three very shady looking figures you accidentally “looked at the wrong way.” 

You manage to clutch on to your bag for dear life, but the thugs get away with your backpack, and with that, a majority of your stuff. 

It’s late at night, and you sit on a curb, cradling the nasty bruise forming on the side of your face.  Great. Just great. 

A buzz coming from your bag brings you back to reality, and you fish out the black flip phone you had luckily stored away. 

Shaking with anticipation, or from the cold, or both, you read Donatello’s message at least twenty times. He’s ready to continue, and he wants to know what your availability is. 

Almost a little too eager, a little too desperate, you tell him you have “open availability” for the next few days. You add after that the sooner, the better. 

It’s sad how ecstatic you are when he suggests you meet in a few hours, if it wasn’t inconvenient. You agree, and he sends you the details; to come in the same way you left. Be discreet.

Fired with determination once more, you head in the direction of the lab.

You stop along the way to straighten up. Yeah you had a noticeable purple bruise on your face… but it was tiny enough, you just “tripped”.

You didn’t really want Donatello to know of your current situation. He wanted his subjects to have a life, and you definitely, totally had a life. 

You weren’t homeless. Or out of a job. Or broke. No, you were… just fine. Right.

Time passes, and you’re finally walking down the familiar pathway, and you can see the glow of Donatello’s examination room in the distance.

You shove your hands in your pockets as you approach. Your fingers are close to freezing off from the weather outside, so you hope they’ll warm up quick. 

You stop, and his back is facing you, looking at something on his wide array of screens. He likely sensed your presence, but you cleared your throat. 

Uh.. hello, again. I… hope I’m not too early. 

-Star

// Gloved hands perused through the screens before him, data cascading down each panel. He'd acknowledge your presence with a simple nod, not yet prepared to turn around.

Script after script, spreadsheet after spreadsheet, his fingers danced endlessly. The nodes on his digits claimed the space where his nails would be, illuminating with each virtual touch. //

I'll be with you in a moment. Please feel free to find a suitable seating surface to your liki-

// In his instruction, he had turned to see you.

Palms stuck in the air. A small whisper. //

W h a t .

// His eyes honed in on you, refusing to move. Fingers to pinch closed, pulling at an invisible string, forcing his screens to fall away in a series of pixelated rain drops.

Turning the rest of his body to match the position of his head, he approached you with leaden steps. He had remembered that you didn't like him being too close. Yet, even with this conscious distance between you, there was a weight there. A force that could not be shaken.

Pupils darted to the bruise upon your face. The chill emitting from your frame met the surface of his forearms.

Eyelids twitched. Brows quirked. Fingers strained. Fangs briefly exposed. //

"Roxanne".

I'm going to need you to drown everything else out right now. I need you to listen to me. I need you cognizant of every word that I will express today.

Now that I've made my stance known in the most simplistic of forms...

// Gravel. //

...Explain.

[violet27writes]

'What we do Now' (DBH: Role Swap)

It was a massacre. 

Blue stains were seemingly everywhere, as were broken parts of Androids. Mostly AP700s, which had all been named ‘Jerry’ so Master didn’t even have to try to tell them apart.

But Connor felt no fear as he walked into the kitchen. He wasn’t scared as he soundlessly closed the door behind him and pushed a rolling cart in front of it for security.

No feelings as a hand grabbed his ankle and it took everything in him not to cry out. (Androids don’t have emotions)

He looked down and felt a little better when he recognized who it was. “Jonathan.”

The older HJ400 model Android definitely looked worse for wear, thirium covered his clothes in patches, along with some smears on his head. His LED was flashing between a worried yellow and severely stressed out red. A quick, sub-conscious scan revealed that he had been damaged, but not beyond the point of repair.

“Connor, I need you to listen very carefully.”

As if he hadn’t been already. He nodded anyway, kneeling down.

The older Android continued, “You already know what’s happening, so there’s something I have to tell you-“

The sound of crashing and yelling reached both their audio sensors, Connor stiffened as Jonathan’s LED became a solid red.

That was him. Their Master. The one who was destroying any Android he came across in his blind rage. 

Connor thought he’d be safe here. He’d already been here, after all. He was wrong. He was wrong and he was going to die because of it.

Jonathan grabbed his shoulder. “Get down. Hide your LED and turn off your audio sensors.” He whispered harshly.

“But-“

“That’s an order, Connor!” He said, grabbing the newer Android’s face and holding it tight.

Connor obeyed. Jonathan let go.

He got on his stomach and made sure to put the right side of his head on the ground, effectively blocking off the light from his LED. He shot a quick glance at Jonathan before fixing his eyes on a spot near the door. He even stopped breathing.

“Good luck, kid.” Then his audio sensors went offline.

Just in time for their Master to kick the door open. The rolling cart he had placed in front of it went flying, hitting the wall hard enough to dent it.

Their Master, Todd Williams, had always been a force to be reckoned with. He was, in fact, a brilliant man. At 43, he had four Masters degrees under his belt, and was one of the most common household names of the modern era. Hence the dozens of Androids and the mansion he was in the midst of… Was ‘trashing’ the right word? Maybe ‘raging on’ or ‘destroying’ would be better.

He forced his eyes to stay fixed on their spot as their Master looked around, anger more than evident on his features. He yelled, looking back and forth as he did so.

Until his gaze landed near him, where Jonathan had been and should still be. Master marched over to him. Both were now out of his line of sight.

It was then that Connor realized why he had been told to turn off his audio sensors. If you couldn’t hear the orders, you couldn’t obey them.

[Mental link offer from HJ400 522-807-289-72  -Accept?  -Decline?]

That was Jonathan. Why was he trying to link?

He accepted, praying that their Master wouldn’t be able to see the now-blinking light.

“The shed out back, Connor! That’s where you need to go! Wait until he’s out of the room-!”

The connection cut off.

[Mental link expired.   -Reconnect?]

He wouldn’t have just stopped. Something happened to him.

[Could not reach HJ400 522-807-289-72  Check connection  -Try again?]

And that something now re-entered his vision and kneeled over him.

Master nudged his shoulder, most likely watching for a reaction. Connor didn’t give him one.

That’s when the man looked straight at him and gave him a command. Unable to hear it, though, Connor didn’t obey it.

Then he pulled a screwdriver from seemingly nowhere and plunged it into his thigh.

Here’s the thing: Androids don’t feel pain. Not really. But sometimes they acted like they could, thinking they did. Connor was not one of those Androids.

So when he again gave no reaction, his Master scowled, but moved on, taking the screwdriver with him. He left the room, slamming the door behind him.

Connor’s system told him that the tool hadn’t hit anything major, so his self-healing mode would take care of it after a couple of hours. But his lack of pain didn’t mean that he couldn’t feel thirium bleeding out and staining his pant leg blue. 

Even though Master was gone, he waited a full minute to make sure he wouldn’t come back. He didn’t.

Turning his audio sensors back on, Connor listened for an extra moment. It was eerily quiet, almost like he hadn’t turned them back on.

He pushed himself onto his knees.

Where had Jonathan gone-

There. There was no longer an Android, just a deformed piece of metal and electronics.

Connor had to move. He had to leave. He had no reason to stay anymore.

He got to his feet, his HUD screen flashing warnings to him.

[Warning:  Stress level: 76% and increasing  Thirium level decreasing  Part #6384 damaged  Part #6921 damaged  Foreign object detected]

With almost no thought, he closed all the warnings. Yes, he knew that he had been stabbed by a screwdriver, and also yes, he knew he had to calm down soon. He didn’t want to go out like this.

With a pause to breathe in (Androids don’t need to breathe) and then to exhale, Connor went for the double doors. 

 [Stress level: 62% and decreasing]

Better.

Where would he go? He was the property of Todd Williams. A quick scan by any passing Android -Or even a human with the right technology- Would label him as a runaway. What could he-

The shed. 

Of course. Something was there that Connor needed to get to. He wouldn’t let Jonathon’s death be in vain. He had to listen to those last words.

[New Objective:  >Find out what’s in the shed]

(Androids don’t set personal objectives)

So, Connor pushed open the doors and started down the hall, limping as the damaged pieces in his left leg restricted its movement.

He had to get outside.

Walking into a new room, he was greeted by more fallen Androids, some unrecognizable, others he knew by name -Besides by just ‘Jerry,’ of course- He looked away.

There would be no way to avenge them, Connor knew, other than to do to Master like he did to them. But that wouldn’t bring them back, it would only continue the violence, not bringing it to an end. 

And it wasn’t like the police would show up. They wouldn’t care. So what if some man destroyed his property? It was his to do with what he wished. If they found him dead, however, any Android who had any type of connection with him would most likely be decommissioned and destroyed. Without hesitation.

Again, it’s not like they were really alive. Anything other than objects.

Connor sighed, his thoughts weighing him down. Or at least, they were, until he made it to the mud room that would take him outside. That hope ballooned again.

Outside wasn’t a backyard like most houses tended to have. Outside was a lush garden, like most mansions tended to have. Well, it had been a lush garden.

Master had begun his rampage out here, starting first with the thin wooden arches and stone bird baths. A few plants every here in there were either broken or uprooted- The garden was hard to maintain, as it wasn’t unusual for Master to release his in destructive ways, hence why a metal baseball bat was commonplace by the back door. His simple rage turned on one of the outdoor Androids -Affectionately nicknamed Clip for his love of tending the garden instead of just being ‘Jerry’- And it didn’t stop there.

Connor wondered if Master would regret anything he had done. Probably not. He would just order another batch of Androids, easily replacing the ones he had lost. Which as far as Connor knew, was everyone but him.

He wouldn’t be replaced so easily. For multiple reasons.

Continuing out the back door, he followed the tiles of white stone that led almost throughout the entire back yard. He followed the ones that would lead him to the shed that held all the equipment needed for tending and maintaining the outdoor portion of Master’s estate. 

When he got within sight of it, he slowed to a stop. It was absolutely huge. Which shouldn’t have been surprising, as he’d seen most of the equipment at one time or another, but still- It was easily the size of a suburban house. Well, maybe more a giant garage than a house.

He shook himself out of his stupor, and pulled the doors open, the smell of dampness and cut grass hit his senses. Logically.

Now, what was in here that was so important?

He stepped in, a board immediately creaking underfoot. Sensors scanned the first part of the room.

[No anomalies detected]

If only Jonathon had more time to tell. To explain. It was no use thinking like that, though, the HJ400 was gone.

The sound of wood creaking again hit his audio sensors- But Connor hadn’t moved. A quick scan showed that it wasn’t an Android, but instead, a human. Unable to see their face -Or any other part of them, for that matter- He couldn’t identify them.

Could it be? Master?

[Warning:   Stress level: 85% and rising Lower stress levels immediately]

Connor took an instinctual (Androids don’t have instinct) step back, his back hitting the door’s frame. It would be so easy to run. To let fear (Androids don’t have emotions) take over and get away. But he had his objective, and he wasn’t going to fail.

He looked around, his optical units locking in on a pair of lime green hedge shears. A potential weapon if it was him. Connor grabbed them.

But nothing came at him.

What was this? A ploy? A tactic to make Connor lower his guard? Well, it was working.

He slowly brought his shears down, taking ‘calculated’ steps toward where the sound originated from. The boards seemed to squeak with every other step, making whoever was back here totally aware of Connor’s presence.

He came up on a riding lawnmower topped with a cover, almost carelessly thrown near the corner. That’s where they were, in the space between the mower and the wall.

He moved the cover out of the way. A light sniffle reached his audio sensors.

Huddled up in a ball, a young girl looked up at him with fearful chocolate eyes, the fear seeming to lessen as she realized who it was- Or wasn’t.

This girl was Master’s daughter.

[Scan complete:  Alice Williams  Age 9  Increased heart rate] [Objective:  >Find out what’s in the shed - Complete  >Find New Objective]

Jonathan had put her here. To keep her away from her father.

He looked again at the girl. Tear-stains ran down her cheeks, her bottom lip quivered, although she had stopped crying. She held tightly onto a stuffed fox, as if it was a lifeline. Her clothes had dirty spots on them, most likely from crawling around on the floor. There was a rip in her tights, where she had skinned her knee. Drops of blood ran down. Red blood: Human blood.

Whether her injury had been directly caused by Master, or it occurred in her obviously frantic attempt to get away from him- It was still his fault. He had hurt his child.

The girl sniffled again, looking up at him.

Heat bubbled in Connor’s chest. (Androids don’t have emotions)

He reached a tentative hand toward her.

[New Objective:  >Escape Master’s house New Primary Objective:  >Protect Alice]

[morning-might-arrive]

Part four! I have mixed feelings about the way this one turned out, honestly. I love feedback, so if there was anything you liked or didn’t like- let me know! There are definitely more plot lines I’d love to explore with Jackson and Holt, especially now that it’s been all but confirmed that they aren’t coming back in the new reboot. Unrelated, I did use she/her for Frankie because this is G1 and not G3, but I may change it later.  A series of misunderstandings involving a limousine and Spectra’s blog lead Jackson to the realization that he has way more friends than he thought.

Friday

One Last Hurrah!

In relation to the still-developing Jekyll-Hyde story, our sources tell us that an official note from the New Salem Institute of Medicine was faxed directly to Headmistress Bloodgood’s office yesterday, seeming to confirm some kind of ailment. According to a would-be popstar, Holt himself spoke briefly of some kind of event taking place this Saturday. On a lighter note, however, some monsters are already aware of plans for a sendoff party this afternoon, details are in the Graveball/Fearleading group chat!

“How do we know they won’t read that?” Clawdeen asked in the deadpan tone she usually used when she thought someone had done something stupid but was trying not to say so.  

Draculuara shrugged from where she was balancing a container of paper cups in each hand and a stack of paper plates on her head. “Maybe something to do with accusing Frankie of two-timing?”

“Hmph! Everyone’s a critic. I said I was sorry!”

Clawdeen’s ears perked up as she heard the voice seeming to come from somewhere inside the walls, but she brushed it off. They had a narrow window between when the last gym class of the morning let out and when lunch began, so they had to work fast. They approached the main entrance to the gym to find Toralei, Meawledy, and Purrsephone looking on as Elle struggled to move her DJ equipment up the short flight of stairs.

“Holt’s gonna combust when he finds someone else DJ’ing,” Toralei scoffed.

“Y’all just let me worry about that,” Operetta said as she emerged from the gym doors and stood  opposite of Elle, effortlessly lifting the table. “The buys and Cleo are with Holt now, so we gotta do all the heavy liftin’ ourselves.”

“Don’t let anyone in here who’s not helping set up until it’s time,” Clawdeen reminded Toralei and company as the other four ghouls entered the building.

“Whatever,” she replied- and then, “someone better bring booze,” under her breath.

Clawdeen helped Abby move aside all manner of sports equipment, balls, hoops, tetherball stands, and wrestling mats off the floor. Tables usually reserved for ticket taking at casketball games were pushed into the room and quickly filled up with snack food. They got the DJ booth set up, LED lights placed around the room (someone even brought a disco ball), streamers hung, balloons blown up, and as if as a final touch, Frankie came sprinting into the building and triumphantly slammed down a large tray of freshly baked cookies.

“Okay! Great work everyone! The guys say they're on their way!” she yelled.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Holt had nearly had his fill of weird bullshit this week, so when a group of mansters plus Cleo asked him to come hang with them at the Coffin Bean just before lunch, he almost refused. 

“It’ll be fun man!” Clawd proclaimed.

“Yeah, we hardly ever get to hang out!” Gil agreed.

“I’ll buy,” Deuce said.

“Alright, why not?” he eventually relented. 

They made their way through the mall a short distance from the school. Some older, more conservative monsters shot annoyed glares in the direction the loud music was coming from, but that was nothing Holt wasn’t used to. The Coffin Bean seemed to stay busy at all hours of the day, and a singular long line eventually divided into two as it neared the open registers. As they made their way to the front, Deuce, Clawd, Gil, and Heath got into one line and he and Cleo ended up in the other. He made a conscious effort to turn his music down as low as he could without turning back to his other half so the people ahead of him could order. 

“So…” she started.

“Yeah,” he muttered.

It’s not that he didn’t like Cleo- he just didn’t really know how to act around her anymore. Every time he looked at her he saw the person who hacked all his social media and almost got him killed just for some attention. Was that who she really was, or was the person who Deuce was head over heels for the real her? Huh- not often that he wasn’t quite sure what to think of someone else, instead of the other way around. He chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” She asked.

“I usually don’t fumble the social scene like this- That’s JJ’s move,” he answered.

She laughed, loud and genuine- a sound he may have never heard from her before.

“I was thinking the same thing- about me, of course,” she replied. “I-”

Ding! Cleo pulled out her phone.

“UGH! My dad keeps getting on my case about college applications! ‘YOu’re A DenILE CleO’. And of course Nefera got a full ride to some fancy modeling school, so I can’t do any less than that! Hff, sorry, I don’t mean to go on about my problems,” she said, seemingly remembering where she was and who she was with.

“You’re good. I kinda know what it’s like for people to think you’re supposed to act some kind of way just ‘cause of who your family is,” Holt assured, remembering the aging newspaper clips in his attic about Edward Hyde and his alleged escapades. “Like, forget my grandparents, please. I just wanna be my own person.”

“Yes! Exactly! It’s like when people look at me all they can see is royalty- which, I mean, they’re not wrong- but I’m a person too! I have my own likes and dislikes and everything!” Her phone buzzed again. 

“This bitch!” She gasped, outraged probably by something her sister had said.

‘Can I help you?” came the cashier’s chipper voice.

“Hey, bro. I’ll take a chai latte.” Holt replied.

“Perfect! And for the lady?”

Cleo composed herself long enough to look up from her phone. “I’ll have a chocolate frappuccino with extra chocolate chips, white chocolate, extra drizzle, add caramel, and two affogato shots. Add It to my boyfriend’s tab,” she said, glancing over to where Deuce was ordering.

“Right away! It’ll be ready at the other end!” said the cashier, then let out a long-suffering sigh when their backs were turned. “I can help who's next!”

They caught up to the guys at the counter, and after a short wait, sat at a table near the door in the cafe.

“You guys catch the game last night?” Asked Clawd.

“I turned it off after the 3rd quarter,” Heath huffed.

“Because the Hounds were getting steamrolled,” Clawd snorted.

“You cheer for the Cleveland Hounds, dude?” Deuce chuckled.

‘Yeah, bro! They can still turn the season around,” Heath defended.

‘I’m surprised you don’t pull more ghouls, bro. Don’t they know how loyal you gotta be to be a Hounds fan?” Holt jabbed. The other three men burst into laughter.

“I don’t understand the words you’re saying,” Cleo cut in.

“I was watching the Great British Baking Show last night!” Gil supplied. Another round of laughter spread around the table. “Hey! I’ll have you know it can be just as intense as any Graveball game!” Gil insisted.

“Yeah, man, I bet those old ladies get really cutthroat,” Deuce said.

“‘OI, the vanilla in these cupcakes isn’t subtle, innit?’ Get fucking wrecked.”

“Fuck you guys,” Gil stated bluntly. They all cracked up again, as much about getting under his scales as at hearing the usually reserved man swear. 

“Excuse me!” A middle aged woman who appeared to be completely human save for strikingly yellow eyes approached their table. “Can you keep it down? Some of us are trying to relax with our families and it's upsetting to listen to a group of uncouth teenagers laugh and swear and blare their awful music!” She yelled at them.

“How dare-” Cleo started.

“Sorry! We’ll keep it down!” Deuce quickly cut in, trying to avoid a scene.

“I should hope so! Kids these days are so disrespectful! I would’ve got a woopin’ if I had said a swear word in public at your age! And you-” She pointed an accusing finger at Holt- “Turn that garbage down! No one else wants to hear it. Wait- you do know there are others around you, right?”

“Can’t do that,” Holt spat through gritted teeth.

“Seriously, where are your parents anyway? Turn it down or I'll call security!”

“What part of I can’t turn it down are you not getting, you deaf old bitch?!” He could vaguely feel his cup melting in his hand.

“Well I never- you know what, I’ll just take them off myself,” she said, stepping closer to him.

“You’re not gonna touch me!” He screamed, punctuated by the slam of his chair hitting the cafe floor. 

“Woah woah woah, what’s going on here?!” A middle aged snake-eyed woman with red scales ran up to the table.

The old lady didn’t stop glaring at Holt for a moment, then, seeming to notice the attention she was getting, changed her attitude quickly.

“Ma’am please, call the cops, he’s gonna hurt me!” She practically sobbed, faux- sadness etched into her features. He heard his friends collectively gasp.

He suddenly felt sick. He must have dipped the moment the woman mentioned the word “cop”. The next thing he remembers is walking briskly down the sidewalk a few blocks away. Why did that stupid bitch have to bring the cops into this? It's like she knew he couldn’t risk another run in with the normie cops, they already didn’t like him and after Halloween- he could feel himself shaking, The ice cold metal on his back. The gurgling of the machine above his head ready to smash down and end him- kill him- he doubled over dry heaving, his chest tightening and tears pricking his eyes. He sat there stunned for a few moments until glittering gold flashed into his peripheral. 

“Hey. Hey, It’s okay,” Cleo said in a hushed whisper, kneeling down next to him. “Look at me. You’re going to breathe in through your nose, hold it for three seconds, then breathe out through your mouth. Ready?”

“...cant…” Holt eventually choked out. He tried to say more, but the words just weren’t coming.

“You can. I’ll do it with you. In,” she drew a long breath in and held it there for a few moments. “And out,” she slowly let it out. Holt tried copying her for a few minutes, breath coming out quick and shallow, until they finally evened out and the shaking began to subside. They sat in a drawn out silence until he felt ready to stand again. He regained his balance and finally took notice of the grip on his wrist that held his hand to her chest.

“Sorry,” she said, as if only now noticing herself. “It’s supposed to help you match my heartbeat, but my heart’s in a jar at home. Should we keep walking?”

“Yeah, I could use a distraction, I think. Thanks,” He replied. She made some sort of noncommittal noise in response.

“Where did you learn that, anyway?” He asked, gesturing to the spot on the ground where they were previously sitting. She shrugged

“You don’t get as old as I am without learning a trick or two. I thought I shouldn’t leave you to your own devices after what happened at the cafe, but I didn’t think it would be so severe,” she stated bluntly.

“I don’t really know what came over me, actually. She said the word “cop” and I sorta freaked out, and then, well, you know…”  He trailed off.

“Oh. Oh.” She drew in on herself for a moment, and was unable to meet his eyes. After a beat she looked back at him.

“I was kept in the dark for centuries, y’know.”

“What?”

“It’s a long story,” she continued. “Myself, my sister, and my father all became trapped in our tomb. It was an endless drift of night and day and back into night wondering what was going on outside, and if I’d ever see it. Tell anyone and I’ll deny it, but I’m still afraid of the dark. It hasn’t gone away even after thousands of years. Sometimes things happen that we just don’t get over.”

“That’s comforting,” he snorted. She chuckled

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s definitely gotten better over the years-more manageable. But it hasn’t gone away, and I’m not really expecting it to anymore. It helps to be patient with yourself, y’know?

‘Huh. Maybe that is what I need. It would definitely help for other people to be patient too, though.”

“I think I know exactly what you mean,” she agreed. “And, hey, I know it doesn’t make it okay, but I really am sorry about the part I played on Halloween. I never meant for it to go that far.”

“I know. I- that helps. Thanks,” Holt replied. He didn’t think he quite forgave her yet, but it was getting easier to relate the conceited person she was in the halls of Monster High to the genuine person that Deuce was madly in love with. Just then, her phone buzzed.

“The guys are looking for us. Apparently that wyvern lady was the manager. They explained the whole situation to her and she basically told the old woman to leave her store before she embarrassed herself anymore,” Cleo laughed. “She said your next drink is free, BTW.”

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Back on the grounds of Monster High, Clawd checked his phone- 11:25. The ghouls should be done by now, right?

“Where did everybody go?” Holt asked. Besides a few students here or there, the courtyard seemed to be mostly empty. 

“Something’s up in the gym,” Clawd replied, before either Gil or Heath had a chance to ruin the surprise. 

Throwing open the double doors that led to the gym, Holt was met with energetic cheering from a large portion of the student body. 

“Not that I don’t love a good standing ovation, but what the hell is all this?” He asked.

“Look, Holt, we know about what’s happening to you. About you, Y’know, dying, so we wanted to show you-’ Frankie started.

“Now HOLD on there, Frankie-fine, just what are you going on about?” Holt interrupted. 

“Don’t try to pretend everything’s okay, Holt. We don’t need it. We did this for you. We saw the note from the hospital and overheard Jackson telling Chad that there was ‘nothing they can do’ and to just ‘let it run its course’,” Frankie explained. If not for the earnest looks on the faces of the people around him all nodding in agreement, Holt might have burst into laughter then and there.

“You know what. Jackson can deal with this one,” he stated before promptly reaching up and powering off his headphones.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So what we thought was you planning a ‘funeral’ was actually you just planning a date with that normie girl Claire this whole time?” Draculaura asked.

“Not a date, but essentially, yes,” Jackson confirmed.

“Oh. So the flowers are for decoration and the measurements you were taking are for your clothes. Duh,” Clawdeen exclaimed.

“Yes. Claire didn’t get to go to her prom last year, so I wanted to go all out for this one,”

“Ha! And you blockheads all thought they were dying!” Torelai boasted. 

“So did you until you figured it out, peasant,” Cleo scoffed.

“But spectra found this in your things!” Howleen ignored the glares from her older siblings in favor of holding out the car rental receipt. Jackson took it back.

“Thank you, I’ll be needing this. Someone may have blown through a stop sign and hit a fire hydrant, severely damaging the car. That’s what I was telling Chad on the phone- the mechanic said it was too expensive to fix, so it's getting totalled. As such, I decided to rent a limousine for Saturday night, since none of our parents are free to drive. Claire’s family is out of town and my moms work too late. Driving makes my dad nervous.”

“Shit, dude!” Deuce  spoke up. “Is that what the doctor was for?”

“Yes. I came away with minor whiplash, and the doctor said there wasn’t a lot she could do for me,” Jackson said.

“Ha, medicine here is so primitive, in mountains we have easy cure!” Abby insisted. She lifted a hand to the back of Jackson’s neck, freezing it for a moment before withdrawing the ice, several times in succession. The tension slowly melted from Jackson’s shoulders.

“That…feels much better, thank you.” 

“So we did all of this for nothing?!” Operetta demanded.

“Great. So can I go now?” Johnny asked from her side.

“Not exactly for nothing,” Jackson replied, giving Johnny the side-eye. “I do appreciate the lengths you all went to to do this for me, it was an unexpected, but not unwelcome surprise. Though next time I would appreciate it if you would ask me or Holt directly instead of eavesdropping and rifling through my things,” he punctuated this by holding up the receipt. The others looked away sheepishly.

“Well we might as well not let all this party junk go to waste,” Torelai commented.

“I hate to say it, but Torelai’s right,” Clawdeen conceded. “We set all this stuff up, might as well enjoy it.”  

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“...So basically it turns out that the whole reboot was just a tampering of the universe by a being called the seer who lives on the moon,” Wydowna explained animatedly.

“Speaking of which, Wydowna, have you seen the news coverage of this new masked vigilante that’s been galavanting around New Salam? Webarella, is it?” Jackson asked. She looked a little taken aback.

“Oh! There’s Ghoulia! Looks like she could use a dance partner! Toodles!” Wydowna exclaimed, hastily retreating onto the dance floor. 

Jackson moved to get up himself, but quickly scurried out of the way of Clawdeen, rushing by him carrying a hysterically laughing Draculaura, and Clawd, who was chasing the two. Suddenly, his noise canceling headphones were put up around his ears from behind as the music swelled in volume. 

“I knew you weren’t really dying,” torelai proclaimed.

“So I’ve heard,” he replied, turning to face her.

“Wanna dance?” she asked. 

“Why not?”

As they danced, Toralei's eyes shifted towards where Cleo and Deuce were garnering a good bit of attention towards the center of the dance floor. Jackson tried to stifle a sigh, but she must have heard it anyway.

“Okay, okay, I know. I’ll leave them be for now. It’s your party, after all,” she quickly defended. Suddenly, mischief lit up her face. “And I think I know how to make it even better.” 

Jackson didn’t really like the sound of that, but before he could ask her to elaborate, she shoved him backwards. He flailed a bit, bracing for the impact with the ground but it never came.

“We have got to stop meeting like this, love.”

Jackson composed himself after a moment, standing from Valentine’s grip (a very strong grip, and so fast too, to catch him before he hit the floor- no wait, don’t think like that)

“Thank you,” he managed.

“Anytime- and I do mean anytime. It seems fate wants us to dance. May I?” He asked, holding his hand out.

“U-um, yeah, I mean- Okay,” he answered, cringing internally. 

Valentine either didn’t notice Jackson’s awkward behavior or didn’t mind, wrapping his hands around his waist as they swayed to the beat. Unable to hear the music, he struggled to feel the vibrations through the floor, and eventually just settled for matching his motions to Valentine’s. 

“You must feel mighty special, having this whole big party in your honor,” Valentine remarked teasingly.

“Yeah, I just don’t know why everyone thought- well- I just feel bad. For making all of you worry,” Jackson admitted

“Hm. Well, there’s no harm done, really. At least now you know what a support system you have,” Valentine answered. 

Jackson looked around him at the gym full of decorations and his classmates enjoying themselves. Huh.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do.” 

They swayed in silence for a few moments, just enjoying each other's company. 

Crash! 

Well, that was short lived. A young mouse boy called Stewart emerges from underneath a table that now lay on its side on the floor, followed by Meawledy and Purrsephone. Ghoulia groaned in agitation and Wydowna was struggling to catch a stack of papers that had been thrown by the impact, one of which landed at Jackson's feet. He picked it up and gazed at a drawing depicting an arachnid monster in a bright red and white spandex outfit and a domino mask. He moved to hand it back to Wydowna.

"Thanks!" She said, quickly taking it back.

"Did you draw this?" Valentine asked. "How charming! I've been fond of comic books since they came out! Of course, it's not an interest I've ever really shared with anyone- it didn't really fit with the whole Heartbreaker motif- but I think the aliases and campy fight scenes are very fun!" 

"You enjoy comic books? Hm, who knew? But you should feel free to express yourself, y'know! It's much more fun than hiding, I think," Wydowna speculated. 

"I couldn't agree more! It's mighty kind of y’all to give me another chance after the way I acted, and I intend to make the most of it." 

"...Good. I like you much better now than I did when you were acting like a jackass," Ghoulia stated bluntly. That startled a laugh out of Valentine. 

"Well, I'll try to keep up the good work. That kinda reminds me of the alias I used to use. Back before monsters could exist out in the open, it was much easier to try to blend in with normie society," Valentine continued. 

"...Fascinating! Life for monsters among normies must have been so different- and yet, monster culture prevailed! What was your name then?" Ghoulia asked. Valentine sighed.

"Gabriel John Utterson." He admitted. Both Ghouls burst out laughing. 

"Hey! It was a real winner at the time!" He chuckled. 

"Where did you-" 

"AND JUST WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!" The music came to a screeching halt as Headmistress Bloodgood busted into the room flanked by Mr. Hack and Mr. Rotter. Headmistress Bloodgood put her head back on her body and pinched the bridge of her nose. 

"I will deal with you all accordingly later. For now, just get to class." 

As they all filed out of the gym under the watchful eye of the staff, Jackson didn't think he'd be feeling left out for a while. 

[threewaysdivided]

hi 3wd. i’ve tried to write before and i’ve never gotten far in the process, despite having many ideas im enthusiastic about. all your blogging about being a planner-writer has got me thinking i might have the same style of writing as you l- and a lot of the reason im struggling to put words on paper is because i don’t have a direction or fleshed out emotional/plot beats to write towards. what would be your advice to any fledgling planner-writers that don’t know where to start? how did you start writing with this writing style?

Hey nonnie 💜

It can be super frustrating to have a bunch of pieces you want to play with but not have them come together in a way that maintains traction.  Outlining could definitely be a potential tool to help sustain momentum, so let’s see if I can get some gears turning for you.

For me personally, the outline-approach is one I just sort of fell into naturally.  Part of it comes from my school days; we were encouraged to write dot-point plans to structure our arguments/ research/ storytelling for assignments ahead of drafting (some teachers even counted evidence of it towards the final grade), which set it as a habit early.  Fun fact: I actually outlined this answer before writing it; I do it for most long posts.  Another part of it is that I tend to come at writing from a very analytical angle - there’s a degree to which I try to solve or understand stories as I consume them.  One of my earliest casual jobs was working as an English/Lit tutor for high-schoolers.  I find a lot of joy in picking narratives apart, figuring out how they work and finding ones that hold up through several layers of examination, so as a writer I like to construct stories that way.

Part of it is also that, when I want to write something for release, I’m conscious of the fact that it will have an audience.  A question that hangs around in the back of my mind is “if I found this story and wasn’t the writer, would I enjoy reading it?”

There’s another aspect that has to do with respect, in a way.  I love the worlds and the characters that I use in my stories, and for me that means writing things that feel true to their spirit, giving significance to the times when that changes and making sure they have a meaningful journey (even if it’s not a happy one).

For me outlining suits this ethos, since having a map of future directions makes it easier to place foreshadowing fairly, identify themes, build character arcs and keep explanations/ lore consistent.

I’m also going to admit that I just got lucky with Deathly Weapons. There was a very specific emotional idea that I wanted to centre a story around, and the inspiration happened to come with both a starting premise and a concept for the ending.  Then I also had wish-lists; some tropes I wanted to play with, and some existing series whose storytelling structure I wanted to emulate and pay homage to.  Something I realised a few years after starting DW is that I’m a very project-and-output-oriented person.  In a way, Deathly Weapons’ came to me as a project brief where I already knew the end-goal and a lot of what I wanted to work towards.

With that said, let’s talk outlining:

The value of having a plan

To me, an outline is a bit like having an itinerary for a road-trip.  It gives you an idea of where you’re going, how long things will take, what key things you want to do, how much it might cost and it helps you anticipate potential problems.  But, like an outline, an itinerary isn’t binding.  There might be some things that take more effort to change (distance to travel, bookings you need to cancel/ reschedule/ extend - key plot points that a story hinges around or that need more preparation/ payoff to be effective) but you can adjust as you go; take extra time to explore an interesting spot, add a detour based on local recommendations, skip things that turn out to be less compelling than they first seemed, take a shorter route to get to a key destination faster, extend the trip to see a few more sights or decide to cut things short because something came up.   The itinerary gives you the security of already knowing where you’re headed, letting you put down the mental burden of having to work out each stop as you go and enjoy the moment more. 

Ways an outline can help:

Reassurance: if you have a tendency to be anxious/ self-critical/ have high standards about characterisation, plot holes etc. then an outline can be a good way to workshop the story and get ahead of potential challenges, as well as to concept-test whether this is a project you feel like committing to.

Scoping: blocking out an overview can help you get an idea of the size and complexity of the project, and how much time/resources/teamwork it might need.

Motivation: having a plan of future story moments that you’re looking forward to can provide a goal to help you push through the less exciting parts (e.g. connective scenes) and/or help you re-find your enthusiasm if you’re returning from a break or are feeling creatively flat for reasons outside the story itself.

Iteration: if you tend to come up with stories primarily by exploring and assembling ideas, then an outline method can be a way to quickly put a concept on paper, examine it and then decide if/how you want to use it, without the restriction of needing to write it all out as polished paragraphs first.

Splitting up the steps: useful if you tend to think faster than you can type full sentences, find that you move between ideas non-sequentially or if prose-writing/ sentence construction is something that takes a lot of mental energy or stop-and-starting from you.  An outline can be a way to separate the processes of story crafting and story telling into more-distinct stages rather than trying to juggle both at once.  Find the story first, then write it.

Non-sequential writing: having a roadmap of your story’s structure and direction can give you more freedom in how you choose to approach it, letting you jump ahead to work on planned future sections/scenes where the inspiration is flowing rather than waiting for the next scene to “come to you”.

For a more direct comparison, Screenwriting Bibles are a form of outline for professional TV/Film production.  These “bibles” are key reference documents used by writers for information on the premise, characters, settings and other project elements, as well as to plan future episodes and seasonal arcs.  (This podcast transcript, article and template are good starting sources if you want to learn more about TV Bibles.) 

Much like a series bible, an outline can help you keep tabs on:

Consistency and continuity: this can be minor stuff like names of background characters or small details (running gags, item descriptions, character trivia) but can also be major stuff like character motivations, who has what abilities, event timelines or story-themes.

Direction: your outline can capture the overall arc(s) and conflict source(s) of your story and their intended resolutions, as well as mapping out how those conflicts are progressing.

Causality: whether planned events and character choices feel consistent and reasonable within the internal logic of your story.

If any of this sounded helpful to you then you might benefit from experimenting with an outliner/ planner approach.  There are a bunch of different planner techiques (here’s a link for some) as well as hybrid “plan-tser” methods that you could try. But for now let's talk about the general process, starting with a focus question:

What is it that makes you want to tell this story?

This might seem like a daunting place to begin but it can help with figuring out the core of your story and what you find compelling.

It’s okay if you don’t have a neat-and-clean answer straight away.  Sometimes inspiration just strikes out of the blue, and that’s fine.  Sometimes you have a vague directional pull but you’ll need to do some story-work before you can identify what’s calling to you.  However, if you did have a specific itch or passion that drove you to write then thinking about what and why that is can help you understand what you want from the story – and in turn what might connect with other people.

I also want to be clear that this is not about judging your motivations or their “artistic merit”.  I had a specific story to tell is fine, as is I wanted to explore this concept/theme/emotion/issue, or this was a gift/commission for someone else, and so is I wanted to try writing a specific genre, or I wanted to experiment with a specific medium, or I wanted to do my own version of [existing idea] or I am fascinated by this character/relationship/world or I needed some vicarious catharsis, or I was horny.  And a whole bunch of other things.

Knowing what you’re trying to get out of a story can help you decide what type of story you want to tell, as well as the overall scope and what medium/format/genre to tell it in.  Maybe it’s a single-scene character/aesthetic study, or a one-shot vignette.  Maybe it’s one long story, or it could be series of connected stories, or it could be a story-anthology centring on a common idea.  Maybe this story would work well as a comic, or art piece(s), or podcast, video, or something interactive like a choose-your-own-adventure or a videogame.

Understanding where you’re coming from can also help you answer the questions of what is your story about? and what happens in your story? which are related but not the same. 

What is your story about concerns the themes and thesis of your story, which can help you figure out the story’s tone, main emotional or thematic conflict(s), and how you want them to resolve by the ending.  Put simply, it’s the message.

What happens in your story is the synopsis of planned events, character actions, worldbuilding and other content.  Put simply, it’s the stuff your story has in it.

Let’s take my Deathly Weapons fanfic as a case study:

What made me want to write this story? Deathly Weapons started with me being unsatisfied with what felt like a gap in the Danny Phantom x Superheroes crossover fanfic space at the time.  There was a trend where stories would kill Danny’s friends and family to justify placing him with the crossover’s other hero team but very few of those stories felt like they acknowledged the emotional consequences of doing so; the ones that allowed him to grieve frequently using it for nonspecific angst about Loss™ or mourning the generic archetypes of A Love Interest™, A Sister™, Parents™ or A Best Friend™ rather than the specific characters and bonds from the series.  There were also some smaller itches around plot construction and mysteries that I couldn’t find many stories to scratch.  I wanted to try writing something to fill those gaps. What is this story about? Thematically Deathly Weapon’s central emotional arc is about grief and healing: in particular the uniqueness of the bonds between people and how grief reflects the specific hole each individual leaves behind, as well as the process of finding closure, making new connections and moving forward in the aftermath of loss. What happens in this story? A lot.  In my youthful hubris and overambition I planned out basically a half-season of a TV show.  For the sake of not dragging this section out by a mile, here’s an arc/mission plot teaser list I made a little while ago.

Since Deathly Weapons Arc II is deliberately structured to emulate a TV show, you can sort of see how that summary has accidentally ended up mirroring parts of a top-down Pitch Deck.  But, of course, that’s not the outline I actually use when writing.

Different levels and types of outline

Like a lot of creative terms, “outlining” covers a pretty broad umbrella’s worth of stuff. 

Methods-wise there are plenty of different approaches: from specific story-writing software (Scrivener, Campfire etc.), to word documents, to binders and notebooks, to honest-to-goodness sticky-notes, thumbtacks and string.  Personally I alternate between a documents folder on my computer and a physical notepad/sketchpad for when I’m on the go, but you should pick whatever format feels most comfortable for how you process/visualise information.

Functionally, I think it helps to conceptualise three main levels of outline: Brainstorming, Structural and Detail.  To be clear, you don’t have to do all three.  A short story or one-shot might be served by writing directly from a brainstorming or light structural outline.  You also don’t have to keep them strictly separate.  A brainstorming document might cover some early structure notes or test paragraphs.  A structural or detailed outline might have some brainstorming or research sections as you uncover and solve smaller questions.  Heck, you can have detail notes inside your initial drafts if they help you keep the story flowing.  These are tools you can use, not prescriptions you need to follow.

Let’s talk about the levels:

Brainstorming

Brainstorming is the least structured.  Like the name suggests it’s mostly about getting concepts down and coming up with ideas – this could include early notes for plots beats/ scenes/ character interactions, sketches, screenshots/quotes and possibly research questions for stuff you want to confirm or find out about (e.g. checking source material, or researching systems and potential setting-locations).  You could consider this like early research notes for a class essay – where you know what your subject is and might start with some initial thoughts or focus questions but are still learning and figuring out the broad strokes of your content and stance.  

Despite that comparison, brainstorming is probably the most creatively fun step in the process.  This is not where you worry about things like “quality”, “cohesiveness”, “accuracy/canon compliance” or “cliches” – this is the time for rolling with whatever inspiration strikes you, pouring out any idea you find interested/compelling/cathartic, asking questions, going down internet rabbit holes and generally just enjoying unabashed creation.  This is your raw material: you’re going to cut and shape it later.

Structural

Structural outlines probably have them most utility in giving your story shape and form, especially if your story is long or has a lot of components.  If you were doing an essay, this is the part where you’d figure out your thesis and start grouping each main argument and its supporting points into planned body paragraphs.  For a story, this is where you start sorting your ideas and putting them in order; deciding on your arcs, conflicts and resolutions, working out the order and causality of events, your character motivations and dynamics, where to place key foreshadowing, major scenes and the like.  This is the level where you’re going to try and solve potential story problems – to come up with in-universe explanations and identify possible plot-holes before you write yourself into them.  You’ll likely do extra brainstorming or research in this phase too but it’ll be more targeted – aimed at filling gaps, connecting dots or serving specific needs. 

For longer or more complex stories you might have multiple structural outlines tracking different levels of granularity; some providing an overview of the whole story/ series arc, while other focus on specific characters/ subplots or break things down into individual plot beats and scenes.  You might also spin some of your initial brainstorming into reference or meta documents – content that you aren’t going to directly cover in-story but that will inform or add depth/consistency to other elements.  If you enjoy puzzle-solving then this can be a very satisfying part of the process: there’s nothing quite like hiding a subtle piece of symbolism/foreshadowing, coming up with a sneaky red-herring or finding a rock-solid explanation to make you feel extremely clever.

It’s also worth repeating that you are not beholden to whatever structural outlines you first come up with – your outlines can and should evolve with you as you develop your story and come up with new or alternate ideas.  (Just last year I re-ordered two major subplots and added an extra character arc for Deathly Weapons).

Some stuff to think about for structural outlining:

Remember that, as the storyteller you have full control of the narrative and what happens inside it.  Like I said at the start of my case study on YJ: Invasion’s writing, even the rules of a fiction piece are made up: there is nothing physically stopping you from making the sky be a different colour every five minutes if you felt like it.  If you want something to happen then you can work backwards to reverse-engineer a specific scenario where those things would reasonably occur.  Start at Scene B and figure out what needs to happen to get there from Established Starting Point A.  If you need a character to act a certain way, then you can tailor a situation to trigger that response based on their established personality/ insecurities/ flaws.  You can manufacture specific story problems whose solutions play toward or against the skills and abilities of different characters, or create scenarios which situationally discourage characters from using skills/abilities/tools that might otherwise be overpowered. You can also make the call to deviate from what has been established in order to facilitate a scene or plot point - temporarily imposing a trait for narrative purposes (sometimes referred to as carrying a ball) or Rules Lawyering your worldbuilding to create a technical loophole.  This risk here is that this can feel artificial, jarring or unfair if not reasonably justified within the story logic.  There’s also a limit on how often/ how far you can push this before it risks breaking the story.  If things start to contradict or situations arbitrarily turn on a dime then your audience can lose trust that the characters and world will follow the expectations set by the narrative – they can start to feel narratively unsafe, until it reaches a point where the only way for them to reconcile the dissonance and inconsistencies in the story is to acknowledge that it’s all an artificial construct being externally steered by the hand of the author.   You can do whatever you want… provided you do the work to make audience to believe it.

That being said, try not go get too wedded to the specifics of your early ideas.  Sometimes an element is just not going to fit with the direction your story ends up taking; whether because it’s not compatible with the eventual trajectory of the characters/events/lore or simply because it would be hard to include without disrupting/diverting/distracting from the flow of the story at that point.  In some instances you can take the core of an idea and modify it to find a new place in the narrative; for example by repurposing a scene or piece of dialogue, repackaging information, rescheduling a conversation, fusing concepts together or deconstructing them and integrating the component parts across other scenes.  But in other cases you may decide that the potential problems (whether structural or narrative) introduced by including an element outweigh the value it could add – in which case it’s time to lovingly set it aside.  This is what they mean when they say kill your darlings.  Having a designated document for future story ideas and/or outtakes can help with this (or you could do what I did with Defining Moment and turn an idea into its own side-story).

This can be also a good place to consider more technical story elements, like pacing.  Think about the peaks and valleys of intensity (suspense, intrigue, action, character drama etc.) across the beats of your story; where you might want to ramp things up or down, and how you might use scene and/or chapter breaks to space out information, create breathing room or hold the audience at a certain level of emotion/anticipation.  (For a good short primer, try these videos about Pacing and Tension Cycles in games).

You may also like to use the structure overview as an opportunity to take stock of Tropes and Patterns.  Not to avoid them – you can’t really avoid tropes – but just to see if any are showing up and what they might be saying, even if you didn’t intend for that to happen.  (For a topical example: consider what tropes are showing up around different minority/minority-analogous characters - either in their depictions or how the story treats them - and what message that might be sending.  There’s a lot of bias to the way certain groups and issues have historically been portrayed in media, some of which have baked themselves into now-common stock plots and archetypes.  That isn’t to say you should never use them; just be conscious and careful, especially if your story intends to make some sort of commentary on those topics.)  On a more positive note, this can be another way to learn about what story mechanics you like, both in your own writing and others’.

Detail

Detail notes are the most granular level of outlining, getting down into the specifics of an individual scene or conversation.  These are the least strictly necessary – depending on the length/ complexity of your story, the granularity of your structural outline(s) and your personal writing preference, you may prefer to jump directly from a structural outline into a first draft.  That said they can still be useful, especially if you want to hammer out the fine details of action, dialogue or information-flow while staying a step back from specific prose.  This is where you get things like a bullet-point breakdown of each line/action/piece of narration (for when you have a detailed idea of what’s going to be said/done but not the specific words to describe it) or script-style notes (for when you have the character voices and lines but not the narration or action surrounding it).  As mentioned earlier, you can blend detail notes and rough drafting together – writing some sections out in prose as the words come to you, then breaking into note-form to keep the ideas flowing in sections where wording might be starting to stick. 

An example

Let’s look at my outlining system for Deathly Weapons:

Now, I want to make it clear: this is not the standard.  This is not even the standard for me.  Deathly Weapons got a bit out of hand, ballooning into a half-season of a TV show: it’s more a series of 12+ self-contained stories in a trench coat than your standard fanfiction.  However, it is a decent example of complex outlining.  I have multiple levels of structural outline – some covering the entire story arc, some covering the individual missions.  I also have quick-notes that I made as a consistency-reference from canon, and some worldbuilding meta I did as a thought exercise to develop one of the character-backstories (the one shown ended up published here on Tumblr).  You can see how I blend the outline types together in my detailed notes, as well as how my approach to outlines has evolved from more brainstorming-focused to more structurally-focussed as the story has solidified.  Again, this is not the standard, but hopefully it gives you an idea of what you can get up to with outlines for a complex long-term project.

Okay, so that’s the basic breakdown of outlining as a process (at least the version I use).  Hopefully it’s got some gears turning. 

However, I also know that it’s more of a framework through which to approach story-building; it’s an organisational tool that helps you set out current and future-planned content in a way that lets you take stock, identify things that need attention and keep track of important details.  On its own it’s not necessarily going to be able to help address the challenges it reveals; in the same way that knowing how to plan an essay won’t necessarily teach you how to research one effectively. 

In Part 2 of this series (yep it's a series now) I'm going to go over some concepts for story-building and editing that might help you during the structural phase. Click here to go to the next part >>

[jonghyuns-husband]

CW // rape, drug addiction, alcohol, mental health, (a little) dec 18th

First of all, I would like to apologise for my disappearance from the 30th of July until last night (3rd of August) and everyone who were worried about my well-being and my mental health. Yes it has been deteriorating for the past few years ever since the death of my grandmother, coming out as transgender to my family (they were mostly supportive but I’m talking about my father, some uncles/aunties and my grandfather on my dad’s side), the day I got raped by my cousin’s friend, the death of my long lasting bias, Kim Jonghyun alongside with my (kinda) bias Choi Jinri aka Sulli and now the cyber bullying I’ve been getting ever since I started going on Tumblr (also don’t even forget about the discord incident where I would get kicked out of servers, making me feel alone), but that wasn’t the reason why I got missing.

What really happened was that very day (30th of July) I left the house, I actually went to see a friend and he was a boy from my college. He drove around near Asda just so we could take some drugs outside. I’ve been doing this since I was 14 and so, this wasn’t custom to me. I haven’t told anyone this yet (until I speak to the police) so you guys are the first to know.

When I did that, my brain went foggy and he gave me some alcohol to drink until I blacked out and I faded in and out of consciousness. The only things I could remember was being some place soft and warm - like a bed. I could recall him touching my naked body, but I couldn’t get the energy to tell him to stop. He was definitely touching my leg with his hand, but then he went up until he reached up to my part and started doing stuff with it (i don’t want to talk about it but I know the police are going to ask me) that made me uncomfortable, but I passed out again and the next time I was conscious, I would feel my body being moved to somewhere outside, might be the guy but I wasn’t sure.

Then when I went into consciousness again, I found myself talking to the police and I was too drunk or high to speak normally but they took me to the hospital nearby. I had no source of identification involving who I was including an ID or anything. I actually forgotten my phone at home before going out with this guy which was the reason why I wasn’t online for few days.

Nobody knew who I was and they weren’t going to allow me to leave until I had some sort of identification. I was literally a John Doe at that moment. When I went over there, it must has been at least 6 in the morning since outside was bright and I heard a lot of trucks on the road as I was going at the ambulance.

When I was finally sobered up, they all tried to ask me if I knew any phone numbers, which I didn’t because I’m a dumb bitch that knew nothing but the anniversary date for the K-pop group SHINee. But seriously, I didn’t know anybody’s numbers and so I stuck inside this boring hospital until help finally came and I was finally found.

Apparently I’ve been raped according to one of my friend since there was a video that was being sent to people I knew and I seemed to be unconscious. Comparing to what I recalled, this matched perfectly with what I remembered. Although my face wasn’t showing, I could tell it was me since I recognised his voice and my groans were pretty audible. As soon as I was able to see his part on the screen, I started feeling disgusted about myself. I found this out after I got my phone back.

I’m going to tell the police this once they start coming in so they could ask me some questions and if you want I’ll give an update on it. But seriously, I would like to say thank you so much for every single one of you that flooded my phone with loving messages. Don’t worry, I wasn’t planning to end my life because it’s too precious to take away. I’m ok now, I’m with my mother and little sister is super excited to see me coming home like I just came back from military service for about 1 and a half years. Just to let y’all know that I will still be around, come to my house or message me and I’ll give you all my love.

I hope this blog gives you a bit of peace within yourselves and y’all can finally rest knowing that I’m in the arms of a loving mother and that I’m finally coming home.

I love you guys — Asahi.

[puppetoffthehook]

Respect and Responsibility

DO NOT REBLOG

Trigger warnings: child abuse, beatings, mentions of past drug addiction, unsafe situations for a minor, use of f slur

—————

Billy felt hands on him, lifting him from the floor where the drugs had made him pass out and carrying him outside. He can tell by the coolness of the air as the wind blows through the surrounding trees. He hears a car door open and then he’s roughly shoved into the seat. Whatever that shit was that Max got him with was good because he couldn’t stop his head colliding with the window once the door was slammed shut.

The driver’s side door opened and he could hear talking , kind of. Mostly just pieces of conversation.

“Don’t… you driving.”

“… have to… Neil..”

“I’ll tail.. make.. you’re safe.”

Fuck. The blonde might barely be conscious but his father’s name reminds him through the sluggishness that he doesn’t know what time it is and he still hasn’t gotten Max home. His dad and Susan are probably sitting at the table with coffee waiting for them. Susan with that annoying look like somehow she’s fucking worried about him but once the beating starts she’ll just drag Max to her room and pretend she’s blissfully ignorant to the abuse. And his dad.. Fuck.

The car is moving turtle slow and Billy’s finally able to get his eyes open after what feels like an hour but was probably twenty minutes. Max is driving his car. If his dad sees her behind the wheel he’ll be even more pissed.

“Over.” The redhead looks at him in confusion so he repeats, slower so he can get the words out. “Pull.. over.. Max.”

He’d be pissed about her shaking her head and ignoring him if he wasn’t still so sluggish. “No can do, Billy. We have to get home, right? That’s why you came in and threatened my friends, wasn’t if?” Oh fuck her for being mad. She’s not the one who’s gonna get it when they show up to the house and he’s still like this.

“Dad’s.. gonna freak.. you driving.” That’s the least of his problems but it’s definitely a problem. No matter if Neil sees her driving the car or not it’s gonna be bad for him this time. Maybe not to the same level as that night his dad found him kissing his boyfriend at the boardwalk but it’s gonna be bad. And he wont be able to keep Max from witnessing it.

She ignores Billy entirely while he rolls the window down stiffly until he can feel the cold fall air whipping his curls around his face. It helps shock him a bit more awake but he’s still going to be noticeably fucked up when they get home. “Max.. When we get home, go.. to your room. You don’t.. need to see.”

He doesn’t look at her so he doesn’t see the confused look on her face directed toward him between glances at the empty small town road. A few more streets and they’ll be on Cherry Lane. Despite the tranquilizer in his system, Billy can feel that familiar buzzing in his chest. Like a hornet’s nest gearing up for a strike. Sometimes the anticipation of it is worse than the beating itself.

“.. I’ll do what I want. I thought you understood our little agreement.” Oh fuck this kid. If she wants to see the consequences of her actions then so fucking be it. He’s the one who’ll be bloody in the end, not her. Not precious little Maxine who can do so much wrong but never has to suffer for it. Not like him.

“Stick around then. Pop some.. fucking popcorn while you’re at it.. Little bitch.”

Neil is outside when they arrive and it’s then that Billy realizes Steve Harrington was pulling up behind them. Oh this night could only be worse if a cop showed up. Max nearly forgot to put the car in park so Billy flung the gear shift into the right position and climbed out of the passenger seat. He can already feel those cold eyes on him and knows it looks bad.

“Boy, what’s wrong with you? On damn drugs again already?” There’s that quiet fury Neil puts on for guests. “Young man, what exactly is going on? Did my son show up like that to find Maxine?”

Steve, for whatever it’s fucking good for, doesn’t lie. “No, Mr. Hargrove, sir. He came looking for Max and he got in the face of one of the other kids I was watching. I kind of started a fight and-“

“After you lied to my fucking face about her being there.” Billy growled, trying to push through the fading effects of the drug. “You lied about Max being with you, there were drugs in reach of a bunch of twelve and thirteen year olds, and the little bitch dosed me!”

“You were going to kill Steve!”

“He would’ve deserved it for being a fucking p-”Billy didn’t expect his dad to come close and grab him by the collar. He never does anything in front of outsiders.

“I’ve heard enough. Maxine, go to your room. Your mother and I will be discussing a punishment for your little runaway act.” He waited for Max to go inside before turning to Steve. “I apologize for my son. Boy has quite the temper on him; can’t help himself it seems. That being said, I hope there’s a way we can get past this without pressing charges.”

Steve looked like he was trying to piece things together and decided better of it. Good. “Don’t worry, sir. So long as he stays away from me where it’s possible I won’t press charges. I did lie about Max being there and I know Billy was just worried about his sister.”

Billy glared at Steve from behind his father. “As any half-decent brother should be. Have a good night, son.” They watch as Steve turns his car back to the way they came and once the taillights were out of sight Neil dragged his son back into the house. The blonde gasped in pain as his head collided with the wall behind him.

“You are running out of chances, William.” Dread sank in Billy’s stomach like a lead cannon ball. His dad only used his name like that when it was going to be really bad. “All you had to do was watch her for the day and you couldn’t do that. Then I ask you to go find your sister and instead you get in a fight with some other little faggot and you dared to call your sister a bitch.”

His heart was racing now, the drug wearing off and leaving a splitting migraine in its wake. Heart racing, head throbbing, stomach sinking. Suddenly he’s getting thrown into the living room, right into his weight bench and Billy cries out without meaning to when one of the weights hits him hard. His hand is quickly added to the growing list of pain. “Dad, I-”

Neil grabs him by his curls and bashes his son’s head against the metal bars of the weight bench. It feels like his head is splitting and he can feel the wet trail of blood dripping from a new cut on the back of his head. He knows it’s just a flesh wound but the migraine he was already gaining was made worse by the head injury.

“One day this lesson will be taught and you’ll actually learn it. Respect and responsibility are what make a man, William. Until you learn that you’ll always be a useless faggot of a boy.” The belt is already in his hand before he tosses Billy on the floor so he’s on his knees. Funny how it always makes Billy think about Sunday mass when his dad used to force them to go to church. Sermons full of hate claiming to be love. Pain replacing prayer to a God who never cared about Billy Hargrove.

The first strike of the belt is deafening in the stillness of the house and Billy has to bite his lip to avoid crying out again. His pain only makes his father all the more angry and hateful. Strike after strike, the crack of the belt is like a gunshot. When the teen looks toward the hall his stomach sinks impossibly further. Max is standing there with a horrified look on her face. She must’ve wondered what the sounds were and chose to investigate. She never has before so why now?

Billy tries to plead with her by glancing in the direction of her bedroom. He doesn’t want Neil to catch her. Luckily the kid gets it and goes back to her room silently. Neil was too busy beating his back raw to notice his stepdaughter, thankfully. The belt comes down hard over and over until Billy’s back feels like one big open wound and the pain makes his vision swim. Only then does Neil grab the back of his shirt and pull him up off the ground.

His bedroom door is right by the front door so it takes only about ten steps before the man throws him right at his bed. The barely worn off sedative and the pain have made it harder for Billy to coordinate and the teen trips over his own feet and hits his head on the shitty nightstand by his bed. There’s definitely a cut in his eyebrow that’s gonna scar.

“You will stay in this room until I decide otherwise, boy. You will only leave to use the bathroom, eat, or go to school. You are still expected to take Maxine places she wants to go once she’s no longer grounded but you are to come right back here. Is that clear?”

The blonde lifts himself up to lean against his bed, biting down a cry of pain. “Yes, sir.” Once he gets his way Neil leaves and Billy can breathe again. It’s painful and it doesn’t take long before he’s crying, quiet sobs wracking his form until he has no tears left. It takes longer for him to stand and remove his clothes. His favorite shirt has blood on the back which lets him know he’s going to have a few more unnoticed scars. The teen curls up into a ball on his bed and sleeps fitfully for a few hours.

The next day he wakes up feeling awful, his whole body feels like a bruise. He gets up slowly so as to not open any wounds that have started to crust over with blood and goes to take a shower. Except… he can’t open the door. No matter how he tries it stays shut. Panic builds in his chest as Billy beats on the door and calls out for someone to help. The only thing that stops him from trying again is the sound of his father’s work boots approaching. There’s a sound like a gate hook and the teen has to back up to not get hit with the door. To his horror he checks the door and there’s a latch installed on it.

“You’ll be doing exactly as I say from now on, boy.”

[randomvarious]

Today’s compilation:

Super Bad Is Back: Soul Love 1991 Soul / R&B

Yesterday, I posted about an amazing funk, soul, and R&B release that was put out in 1973 by the prolific Canadian budget compilation label K-tel called Super Bad Is Back. K-tel was a multifaceted company that became a fixture of middle-America in the 70s and was synonymous with cheapness and disposability because of the many albums it released that were pretty much just reproductions of big chart hits. There was no originality to their albums, no serious work done by its compilers to feature slept-on gems; just pure record shop discount bin stuff. But that Super Bad Is Back album was a *stellar* exception to their own rule.

And this release, Super Bad Is Back: Soul Love, which came out 18 years later, isn't. This is just a short set of ten straight-up 70s soul classics that are *mostly* fit for making some love to (more on that later). A bunch of special songs on an unremarkable cheat-code comp; K-tel's wheelhouse, as it were.

So, on here you'll find signature songs from a number of acts whose work defined the surface of 70s soul and R&B: Al Green's "Let's Stay Together," Al Wilson's "Show and Tell," The Chi-Lites' "Oh Girl," Luther Ingram's "If Loving You Is Wrong, I Don't Want to Be Right," and Barry White's sex-blaxploitational "I'm Gonna Love You Just a Little Bit More Baby." All huge 70s hits. In fact, the most obscure song on this CD is Tower of Power's great "So Very Hard to Go," which was their most commercially successful single, but only hit #17 on Billboard's Hot 100 and #11 on its R&B chart. A good showing for any song, sure, but based on how this one sounds, it definitely deserved more spins and sales.

And now, here's the part where I ruin part of your day by talking about Marvin Gaye's "Let's Get It On." I'll never fault anyone for thinking that this is a fantastic song, because, sonically, it definitely is. But keep in mind what the impetus behind this tune originally was: Marvin Gaye made it with his then-17 year-old crush, Janis Hunter, in mind. She would go on to marry him for a brief period of time afterwards, and they'd have two kids together, but she was only about half of Gaye's age when they first met. Not accusing Gaye of any legal wrongdoing in this regard and I'm not going to painstakingly research 1970s age of consent laws to figure it out, but listening to those lyrics, and knowing who it was that served as his inspiration for writing them, is definitely unsettling, to say the least. Really not trying to apply today's standards to a song from 50 years ago either—the social mores and what was deemed acceptable back then were obviously very different! How many hit songs have there been of grown-ass men singing about underage girls?!—but I also can't say that I really derive much enjoyment from this one anymore, knowing what I've known about it for some time now. Hard to not think about what he was thinking about when he made it, y'know?

This is all out in the open too, by the way. One need look no further than the liner notes for the 2001 deluxe CD edition of Let's Get It On. I promise you I'm not misinterpreting anything here, and I'm not even getting into the turbulence that Marvin and Janis' marriage suffered through, which was allegedly rife with domestic abuse (he wasn’t a great guy!). I'm just honing in on who and what drove Marvin Gaye to record "Let's Get It On" in the first place, a song that successfully transformed him from a righteous, politically conscious musician into an international sex symbol as well.

Hopefully I didn't ruin any special memories you may have that are associated with this song, but, maybe, let's leave this one off the sex playlists going forward, hmm? 🤷‍♂️

And I'm still including it in the list of highlights below, because, despite not really wanting to listen to it again, it is, undoubtedly, a very well-made song.

So, normally when I find an album like this that's comprised of some of your most basic, essential hits, I call it "Baby's first 'x' compilation." But given that this CD is filled with a bunch of sexual soul songs, I can't call it that. So, we'll call this "Consenting adult's first sex-soul compilation" instead, okay?😅. A wholly unremarkable CD if you're already familiar with these songs, but I guess it's also a sweet release for when you need some of...well...exactly that...except for, of course, that one big Marvin Gaye hit....😬

Highlights:

Al Green - "Let's Stay Together" Marvin Gaye - "Let's Get It On" Dorothy Moore - "Misty Blue" Barry White - "I'm Gonna Love You Just a Little Bit More Baby" Al Wilson - "Show and Tell" Tower of Power - "So Very Hard to Go" The Chi-Lites - "Oh Girl" Luther Ingram - “If Loving You Is Wrong, I Don’t Want to Be Right”