#so the first draft that I drew was actually a first person pov

[kaisollisto]

AND YOU KEEP ON FALLING BABY FIGURE IT OUT

[chibishortdeath]

I love making Simon my personal dress up doll <3

These are a bit old now, it’s been in drafts for a while cause I forgot about it, but eh.

Random explanations under a cut for funsies—

First one is pretty standard Simon fit stuff, belts armor, a tank top, boots with the fur, etc. Inspo mostly came from just looking at random pictures of belts on Pinterest and finding one with a cool like flail head on it! Which is just neat in general, I’d imagine Simon would probably find it convenient to have the different end attachments for the whip to be easily switched out, so yeahg sure he’s got it on his belt now lol. I tried looking through my boards to find the belt image but I think it may have gotten deleted :(

This one is an outfit I ran into that said “draw ” thing, also saw it on Pinterest, but it took a bit to track down the original artist of it: the artist is “ HEAVEN . “ on Pinterest, also @/luffydguzzler on Twitter. Hopefully drawing Simon and not one of my OCs in this outfit was alright, unfortunately when I ran into the post it was from someone on Pinterest who straight up stole the artwork (;_; ). That being said, if I find out that this is against any boundaries at all, I will take this drawing down. But related to the art itself, I drew him in it because the outfit ratio fit him perfectly. Tight shirt, something on the lower arms, midriff showing, tiny skirt, belts, furry chunky boots— these are all combinations he’s had in his designs before. :3

This one I also just saw a little caplet thingy on Pinterest and went “wow he’d look cute in that” and yeahg. I actually have a Pinterest board that’s entirely for random clothing I think he’d wear! Which is such a uh very normal about a character thing to have 💀.

He’s working out— POV you are Simon’s sparring partner (he’s very happy about it) (also you’re about to get kicked you might wanna block tha— oh no eee— on your left— ooo aaa oof yowch yikes—). Anyway I feel like I made his head a little awkwardly small in this hmmm. Either that or I took the photo of it at a weird angle. But yeah now you have seen Simon with leg warmers, you’re welcome!!!

[a-bitch-made-fullmetal]

GOOD morning. keen observers of Me as a person on the internet might know that I've published a couple of fma fanfics, one of which is titled "chance encounter". that fic, of course, is about Hohenheim being a transphobic piece of shit because I love making fictional fathers evil for no reason.

another fun fact, that fic was originally meant to be from Ed's pov before I changed my mind and made it from Roy's instead because in my head certain elements worked better that way. but I recently came across the original draft, and I quite like it actually, so I'm posting it here!

trigger warning for transphobia and misgendering and also Ray's Customary Hohenheim Character Slander™

At first, Edward thought he wouldn't recognise him.

Hoped he wouldn't recognise him.

It had been over ten years, and he doubted the man had spared them more than a handful of thoughts in the decade he had left them to fend for themselves.

He couldn't possibly recognise him.

Ed shook his head, didn't brush his bangs back when they fell into his face. His gaze landed on the debris littering the street, the torn up cobblestones, the loose wires sparking away from the base of a toppled streetlight.

“Fullmetal.” Edward turned and watched the Colonel step up beside him, surveying the damage they had done as he tugged his ignition gloves off. He waited for him to say something else, rubbing at his faintly aching wrist–sprained, probably–but Mustang stayed silent.

He turned his attention to his little brother, clunking around awkwardly in the background like he didn't know what to do with himself.

At least he didn't have to worry about being recognised.

Ed swallowed against the sour taste on his tongue.

Havoc approached the man idling on the other side of the street, undoubtedly staring at Ed from behind reflective glasses, and he angled himself further away.

“Well, we got our guy–let’s go,” he said and didn't acknowledge the strange look Mustang shot him.

“...sure. The team can handle the rest.” Edward trudged past him, only to screech to a halt two steps later. “Alphonse! C’mon, let's pack it up.”

There was a brief silence before heavy clanking footsteps drew nearer, and Ed closed his eyes, praying for the first time in a long time.

“Alright, boys-” the Colonel began as he fell into step next to them, Hawkeye the ever dutiful shadow at his back.

A heavy hand clapped down on Ed's flesh shoulder, whirling him around with enough force his braid whipped behind his back. He knocked the unwelcome appendage off without thinking about it, moving a quick step backwards to get out of reach.

Golden eyes stared down at him from behind wired frames, and Ed's mouth pulled into a sneer. He was dimly aware of Alphonse's quiet brother somewhere next to him, followed by a metallic click he immediately recognised as the sound of a gun being cocked.

“Rebecca,” Hohenheim said, and Edward reared backwards as if struck-

God, he wished he had just struck him.

That would have hurt less.

“Dad,” Alphonse said quietly, and Hohenheim’s cold eyes flitted from Ed to Al and back, not paying any mind to Hawkeye and her gun, or the fact that Mustang pulled his ignition gloves back on and readied himself to snap.

“I could have sworn you were a girl the last time I saw you,” he said, and Ed balled his fists so tightly the metallic screech of automail filled the otherwise silent street.

“You must be mistaking me for someone else,” he pressed past gritted teeth, eyes narrowed in a vicious glare, his chest so tight he could barely breathe.

“Let's go, Fullmetal,” the Colonel said, voice calm but fingers still poised to snap, and all of a sudden he experienced an appreciation for Mustang's presence he had never known before.

“Yeah.” He turned on his heel, ready to get as far away from this as fast as possible, when a hand closed around his flesh–injured–wrist and yanked him back.

He yelped and attempted to free himself, but Hohenheim didn't budge, and his wrist hurt.

“Unhand him!” Mustang demanded at once, and Hawkeye narrowed her eyes, clicking off the safety.

“She's my daughter,” was all Hohenheim said, and yet all the air rushed from Ed's lungs as if he had taken a good punch to the solar plexus. “Rebecca- you're with the military?”

Ed stared up at the man in pressing silence. It was like he was watching the scene unfold as a third party, standing next to his frozen body, unaffected.

“Dad-” Al began next to him, taking a hulking step forward, his usually soft tinny voice stern.

“My name is Edward,” he cut in, toneless and blank faced, and Hohenheim’s brows knotted in a frown.

“Let go of my subordinate, I will not be asking again-” Mustang hissed from somewhere behind his shoulder, Alphonse audibly nodding his agreement.

“I'm her father,” Hohenheim said as if that was all reasoning required and yanked Ed off balance with a firm tug on his trapped wrist, making him stumble another step forward. “What's going on, Rebecca? What happened to you brother? What did you do?”

Edward's breath caught in his tight throat. His wrist throbbed. He bit back a wince.

“It's Edward,” he breathed again, but his voice was weak and small and barely audible, and he hated himself for it.

“You think I don't recognise my own daughter? I was there for your birth, I gave you your name–what is this, some kind of charade for the sake of your military career?” the last words dripped from his lips like poison, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses, and his fingers tightened around his wrist. This time, Edward couldn't suppress his pained whimper.

“You're hurting him!” Alphonse called, one armoured hand shooting out, but Hohenheim yanked his hand back as if burned before he could make contact. Ed ripped his arm away, cradling it to his chest, and took two quick steps backwards. The added distance wasn't nearly enough.

Something in the man's eyes changed, then, softened, and he let his hand drop to his side, fingers flexing.

“I didn't mean-” he said to Ed, who just glared and sneered, but paused before something akin to an apology could actually leave his mouth–Edward couldn't say he was surprised.

Hohenheim turned to Alphonse. Hawkeye moved from her place beside the Colonel to Edward's other side on silent soles, so that he was flanked by both adults. Inexplicably, something tight inside him uncoiled ever so slightly.

“Him?” Hohenheim said as if he hadn't heard every single time someone had referred to Edward before this instance.

Al nodded. “He's my brother,” he said softly, and Edward swallowed hard, still so affected by the way his little brother spoke those words, effortless and earnest.

The man's mouth tightened into a hard line, and he lowered his head, the reflection of his glasses hiding his eyes from view.

“Your mother would be heartbroken if she could see you like this,” he said quietly, and the numbness encompassing Ed was devoured by an inferno of rage as though with a snap of the Colonel's fingers.

“You do not get to talk about our mother,” he snarled, storming out from the protective cocoon of Mustang and Hawkeye to crowd into Hohenheim's space, his face twisted with fury.

“You-” He jabbed his automail finger into the man's chest, hard. “keep her name out of your mouth, do you understand me? You have no fucking right-”

“Edward.” Somehow, his real name from that man's mouth felt more like a slap to the face than the other one had. “Understand- you took her daughter from her. You took my daughter from me.”

His arm dropped. Spots danced across his vision as though he had taken a blow to the nose, and Ed stumbled backwards-

Right into a pair of strong arms.

“Alright, that's enough. Boys, we're leaving,” Mustang said, low and controlled, and took Ed by his automail arm with a gentleness that was by no means necessary–but still appreciated, even though he wouldn't admit to that out loud–, turning him around, breaking his gaze away from Hohenheim.

Hawkeye lowered her gun, but didn't put it away yet. Alphonse let out a muffled sigh, and then he fell into step behind them.

“Wait- Flame Alchemist,” Hohenheim called, and Mustang let out a long breath, his brow creased with annoyance.

“What?” he snapped, only halfway turned around, his arm a protective barrier between Ed and that man.

“They're my children. I have a right to them.”

A burst of hysterical laughter tore from Ed's throat, but neither man acknowledged him. Al lowered his head with a soft creak, mumbling a tiny brother that tugged on something deep inside his ribcage.

Mustang scoffed. “They're orphans on paper. I'm their legal guardian. You have the right to fuck right off.”

With that, he wrapped his arm tighter around Ed and firmly led him away, Alphonse following without another word.

His chest hurt, and his wrist throbbed, but the tight knot in his stomach loosened with every step he took.

[kohakhearts]

for fic writer meme: 7, 18, 26, and 40, and feel free to answer for both fic and original work if you want :D

thank you!! :D

7: how do you choose which pov to write from?

in terms of 3rd/2nd/1st, usually i default to 3rd but some stories just...are meant to be 1st person, if that makes sense lol. like i have one original project where the mc gets possessed by a demon at some point and it's told in 1st person to like...really solidify the idea that they've become one person in a sense. in terms of which character the pov follows, that's just a result of blorboism LOL. in original works it's just...who the first character i conceived of was, usually. i'd say the protagonist but lets be real - nerissa is NOT the protagonist of osa. she's his older sister :p (she gets protag status by oes on account of getting herself killed so he doesn't have to put himself in harm's way anymore ofc)

18: do you title your fics before, during, or after the writing process? how do you come up with titles?

it really depends on the fic. sometimes i have a title before anything else. sometimes it comes midway through after i've written a particular line and been like "oh that's good, let's make that the title!" and sometimes it's well after the fact when i'm staring at the ao3 draft like what the fuck do i call you. i'd say usually it's the first scenario though, and then i try to work the title into the text somehow. i've taken inspiration from a lot of things for titles, but in general i like my titles to reference specific lines or motifs in the fic itself!

26: which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?

...pretty much any multichapter i've ever written LOL. i'll give a special shoutout to ratc and entanglement for being ideas that i was like "oh this will be like 10k words probably lol" and then turning into novels. entanglement in particular, for getting so long i had no choice but to divide it into chapters lmao

40: if someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

ok there are actually a lot HAHA. i was going to commission a piece of nerissa and poseidon from the scene in oes where they're sitting on the back step at emerson's house after poseidon accidentally possessed her. that's definitely one i'd love to see an artistic rendition of. and probably the final scene in oes, too, or the scene in osa where nerissa carries him out of the sea at namthi!

as for fic...i have a lot of fic, so i'll try to keep this short hjsdfhjdkf but in terms of recent ones...there's this scene from this year's christmas fic where goh kissed gary for the first time:

or tbh...i'd love to see an artistic rendition of my palletshipping hanahaki au. y'know, for the flower imagery

or like ANY scene from sound sleepless, honestly. i love those quiet, late-night conversations (relatedly...a friend drew a scene out of common ground a few years ago, which i ADORE). the scene near the end with ash and lucario is also a fave of mine that i think would make a really sweet drawing.

there's also a scene in entanglement that i won't share bc it's big plot spoilers but it's one of those sappy "character a is crying and character b wipes the tears off their face" scenes we all know and love haha

ok i'll stop here but genuinely....there are so many. and i have received a few fanarts for scenes or character in osa that i love so, so much. and i would love any kind of art someone drew for something i wrote. i love that spirit of collaboration that comes out of things like that!!!

get to know your fic writer!

[skylermadness]

Something To Be Proud Of (Ragh Barkrock TF/PMC)

(Original Date of Upload: May 4, 2022)

Original Description:

A work written in collaboration with two friends of mine. This TF also comes with a sequence drawn by ArticulatedArtisan. He also drew the art that is used as the picture in the cover. The sequence can be viewed here: DeviantArt / FurAffinity Another Dimension 20 TF, and one that has been a few months in the making. Ragh is a really great guy and honestly needed TF into him- so we're here to provide! Admittedly I dealt more with the drafting, so all of this is written by my friend as they handled editing. I've never really done a second-person POV TF before, but I feel like I could go all in and try writing one myself some day. It'll just take some work- I'm also really happy as to how Artisan's sequence came out. It is so good! Just about everything about it feels perfect. Overall, I'm glad that he was a part of this!

   You drew in a deep breath, steeling yourself, and pushed open the door.

   It didn’t stop the wave of high school sport odor from assaulting your nose with enough force to make the tacklers jealous, but you managed to keep from gagging. You really wished you were used to this already, being the team’s waterboy and all.

   Waterboy, Coach’s assistant, whatever- all it meant was that you had to suffer all the drawbacks, like staying after school for practice and having to deal with the gunk and smell of the football team locker room, and none of the benefits- such as, well, being on the team. The coach just put you to work, setting up the equipment for practice, getting fresh towels and water to be ready on hand, and just about anything else Coach or the players needed, but were apparently too wrapped up to handle themselves.

   To Coach’s credit, you didn’t think it was necessarily intentional on his part to put you through all this suffering with no perceived payoff. Back when you first approached him in his office near the beginning of the year, you had wanted to ask about joining the football team yourself. You’d long looked upon these cool, hot jocks around school, joking and jostling each other around, and wanted to play with them, or have an excuse to hang out with them at the very least- maybe you could even be one of the Boys someday, if you did. 

   But Coach had taken one look at you, with your scrawny, somewhat shorter than average form, and completely misinterpreted your approach as you volunteering for the assistant duties. And here you were now, having never moved from the position, because you never had the gut to correct him.

   It wasn’t great- but it could have been worse, surely. You probably wouldn’t have been actually good on the team, anyway.

   You did try your best to make the most of it, though. Being often in relatively close proximity with the jocks and players on the team, and using it as an excuse to talk to them or hang out, was sort of what you had been after the whole time- so you took the opportunities to say hi, and talk to them on occasion longer than a question or two relating to what mess you had to take care of next. Your assistant work more often than not actually cut you off from being able to stay talking for long and kept you busy, regrettably. Even when you did find the time to hang out for a little while, your heart sank, as the Boys were certainly friendly to you- but you never felt it reached the point where you felt you could call it you being friends.

   The raucous sounds of laughter and football practice and buddies and bros being bros in the distance cut quiet in an instant as the door leading back outside swung closed behind you, and you stepped further in.

   You were out on a mission, once again: one of the players, a tall, dark haired one that you wanted to talk with for longer, had forgotten his playing gloves somewhere, presumably left back in the locker room. Coach wouldn’t allow him to let up his reps to go grab them, so he needed to    ask you- and did sound apologetic, very clearly aware that it was something he could go do himself. It didn’t force down the light disappointment of being cut off from talking to and getting to know one of the Boys better for longer, but you did appreciate the sentiment.

   You made to breathe in and retched a little, very quickly wishing you had not let out that breath of fresh-ish outside air so carelessly. Sure, the Boys were generally nice to you and plenty of fun to hang around when you got the chance to, but you couldn’t say you were a fan of their… low-standard sanitary practices. Loose football gear left strewn about the room, over the benches and on the floor. Shoes and socks that anyone could recognize came from an extremely active high school athlete left out on the floor as well, their ripe odors wafting throughout the stale locker room air. Empty bottles of awful 3-in-1 shampoo littered around the showers, collecting near the shower drains, having long since been used or touched.

   Your stomach roiled again at the smell. At least you had somehow convinced them to put their dirty laundry away in the communal bin on their own.

   You hurried around the locker room, eager to find the gloves and escape back into fresh air as soon as you could. It was taking longer than you were hoping for, there was so much gear left sitting around to sift through- where were all the gloves? Half the players out there weren’t even in full gear, surely there’d be at least a few unused pairs that the Boy in need could at least borrow for the day…

   Frustration was beginning to set in. The smell was probably starting to get to you. You were considering calling it quits and apologizing to the Boy back outside for it, when you spotted them- a pair of gloves, haphazardly tossed onto the end of one of the benches. You hastily snatched them up and turned to hurry back out, having had enough of the locker room stink for now.

   Your eyes fell on your prize as you walked quickly, relief suddenly giving way to curiosity as you peered a little more closely at them. These gloves were a hardy brown, made of tough, thick cloth with the sleeves extending past where the wrists would usually end, instead running further up along the forearm than typically. The gloves were HUGE, too- you usually weren’t paying attention to the size of most players’ hands, but you could swear it felt like these gloves in particular could fit three of your own hands inside just one of them, and have space left over to spare. Over the palms and where the knuckleheads would be, were layers upon thick layers of wrappings- having likely once been white, but by now have long since faded and worn out to gray from frequent, rough use.

   Were these… really the gloves that player was talking about? You really couldn’t find any other gloves in the entire locker room, so they had to have been if the Boy was sure he left them in there. But then again- these didn’t look like football gloves in the slightest, and didn’t even have the team’s colors. They almost looked like they were instead gloves for shoving, pummeling, or crushing opponents in melee combat.

   Your vision swam as you blinked away from the sudden thought, feeling a bit dizzy. You were close to further questioning where the thought came from, before you toppled into something and tripped, landing embarrassingly splayed on the ground. Gathering yourself up and looking around to survey the damages, you groaned. Your worst fears had come back to haunt you- you had knocked into the community laundry bin hard enough to leave dirty, smelly athletic clothes strewn all over the floor in front of you. 

   And it was your job to pick it all up.

   You were reminded of the great pains you had taken to avoid having to handle the laundry by the intense, pungent odor wafting up from the scattered pile. You quickly swallowed the bile in your throat before it could rise any further, and grimaced.

   There was no way in hell you were touching any of it with your bare hands.

   Scooting backward, you clenched a hand and felt rough fabric brush against it. You almost ripped your hand away in the fear that you had already touched something from this awful mess, before you realized it was just the pair of huge gloves you had come in for.

   Glancing down at the gloves, an idea came to mind- one that you immediately felt guilty for thinking of. You could use the Boy’s gloves to pick up all the laundry, that was an option… but then again, you wouldn’t wish this smell on anyone- especially something the player would be wearing as soon as it was returned. The odor would be sure to linger on the gloves, and you weren’t keen on giving him a reason to dislike you.

   Although, since the smell came from the laundry bin, which in turn came from the players themselves, maybe they wouldn’t notice if you used these gloves for this, just for a little while…? Nodding slowly, having successfully convinced yourself, you stood up and reached for the gloves.

   This act of handling player gear wasn’t anything too out of the ordinary for you- but something about holding them with the intent to wear them had you shivering a little. Not to be weird about it- but just before you put them on, you felt a sudden sense of… proximity? Like wearing these gloves brought you and the football players closer together, somehow. 

   And in a sense, it was, you laughed to yourself as you slipped the gloves on. This really was the first and probably only chance you’d ever get of seeing what being a jock would feel like.

   You felt a bit silly for being surprised when the gloves didn’t fit, once you had them on. Your hands were pretty average in size, while the tough-fabric gloves were big enough to completely dwarf your hands when you wore them. Your fingers weren’t long enough for the tips to reach the end of the gloves, and the palms were too broad for your hands to really fit your fingers into each respective holes- you ended up constantly bunching up the palms of the gloves in your hands to really get a real grip in order to hold anything with them. 

You withheld a sigh. The huge gloves were a bit annoying and uncomfortable to use, but they’d get the job done.

   You crouched down to get to work picking up the dirty laundry- and were almost immediately assaulted by that disgusting odor again. Athlete sweat and untreated B.O. mixed together in one atrocious concoction of stench, having left to fester in the laundry bin all week. You swore under your breath at the unrelenting attacks on your nose- but you steeled your resolve, and proceeded with picking up the clothing and putting them back in the bin.

   As you’d anticipated, the gloves felt awkward and cumbersome, the most efficient method of picking up the laundry really just consisting of you smashing your gloved hands together around a clump of clothes like the world’s worst sandwich, and depositing it into the now upright bin. You found your frustration dissipating, however, after a moment or two of picking up the mess- the need to constantly hold onto the gloves felt less and less, and you found yourself letting go of the bunches you had been gripping and letting them hang on your hands loosely. It only clicked when you tried smashing another clump of clothes between two gloved closed fists, and paused for an embarrasing three seconds, dumbfounded by the sensation of the motion, and why exactly it felt weird. You had the hang of these gloves now. Your face heated up a little, feeling a bit silly that you’d been picking up the clothes so strangely when you could have just picked them up and grabbed them with your gloved hands normally. The gloves didn’t feel like masses of rough cloth covering your hands, they just felt like gloves- why had you been so weird about it?

   Despite the worn gloves starting to feel a bit tight on your hands, you shook yourself a little to focus and pick up the pace. Now that that weird mental block keeping you from acting normal had cleared, you started picking up larger piles of laundry to put away, some so big your arms burned and threatened to buckle under the weight. You really weren’t expecting a workout when you came in looking for the gloves, but damn if you weren’t getting one right then and there. 

   You made to reach for a jockstrap that you thought for a moment was too far away- your arms burned- and you picked it up, without any trouble. You dropped it on top of the newest colossal load you had gathered, carrying and depositing it all into the bin without any noticeable strain on your arms. You stretched your arms high above your head as a quick rest, finding the feeling of stretching your muscles particularly pleasurable in that moment for a reason you could not pin down, and took a sniff. It was getting easier to breathe, the smell feeling less noticeable than before.

   But it wasn’t gone, and it was still BAD- you could swear it was actually clouding your vision, what with the tint of green your skin had taken when you looked down at your arms. Yeugh, better get this over with quick.

   The short sleeves of your t-shirt were already feeling tight, but that sensation had spread to your neck- and, hell, now that you were thinking of it it was everywhere else, too. It was probably the fatigue setting in, but with every breath you drew in the shirt felt smaller, like you’d put on a size medium you thought you could fit it that day but after the barest physical strain showed exactly how constricting it actually was and how dumb you were for thinking it could fit you. 

   A surge of power erupted from your solid, heavy core and rushed up to your burgeoning pecs pressing so desperately against your shirt, and you fought the sudden urge to wrestle it off of your body. This was the players’ locker room, not yours, and you didn’t have an extra change of clothes here to fall back on if you tore this shirt. 

   Another embarrassing five seconds passed before you realized something was wrong with that thought. Since when had you ever been worried about tearing your shirt? You wiped your sweating forehead with a gloved hand, and the sense of rough fabric dragging along your skin gave you pause. You brought your hands to your face to look closely, and saw two gloves fitting perfectly, if a bit tightly, on two massive, powerful, meaty mitts in the shape of hands.

   It took you a moment to realize, but these were not the hands you had walked into this locker room with.

   You looked down at your body, your brain working overtime trying its best to grasp the situation. You felt around your neck with your huge hands, and felt a short, thick, solid trunk of muscle there, which matched your deeper sounding breathing, you realized. Your scrawny chest and torso were expanding as you watched, the pecs and musculature growing and filling out first, before fat filled in after, greatly softening your pecs and pushing your stomach out into a solid, firm gut. You gave it the smallest of pokes, just to tell if it was real, and your shirt jumped at the chance to survive a moment longer by riding it up, letting your gut touch the open air. The sensations were there, of course, it was there and real and huge- and the skin was the same green as your thick, powerful arms, and deepening in hue by the second. You almost fell over, when your new gut shifted your center of gravity, but you managed to catch yourself and widen your stance accordingly. The things that felt right for your new body felt… really different from what you were used to. But… it was still your body, right?

   You bent down over the remaining laundry, getting back to work- something that you didn’t have to think too hard about, and that was something you needed. Your poor brain felt sluggish, too tired to really understand the changes as they continued. You picked up more dirty clothes, now almost completely oblivious to the lingering smell that you vaguely remembered was still there. You distantly registered the sound of your shirt finally tearing from the strain, and the itch of chest hair pushing out in a smattering across your chest and down your gut. Just a few more rounds, you were sure you’d be finished… with the laundry. Finished with the laundry.

   The lump in your throat grew larger, and your ragged breaths sounded even deeper- even gutteral, a little. Something about your face was tingling, changing, as the changes rose even further up your body. Your head split into a headache from how fast you wanted it to go, you didn’t want to be left behind with everything happening so much. You realized all of a sudden that your face was wrong and out of place it was hurting your brain because of it- then your skull shifted, the bone thickening and squaring off into something tough and not really human, but your lower jaw pushed forward and locked into place and everything felt right again. It felt good, and it really felt good too when two of your lower teeth grew longer and sharper, into the proud tusks of a young adult half-orc poking out of your mouth. 

   The ground grew further away from you as your brain struggled to work things out. Some things were starting to make more sense, and some things were making less and less sense to you- so much so that it hurt to try to think of them now with everything else happening. Instead of trying to think about why it was all happening and why it was- or wasn’t- possible, you focused instead on your legs, as they were up next. They grew longer and thicker, powerful logs of mass you’d forged yourself from pouring countless hours on the Bloodrush field, to be able to carry the mountain of mass and meat you were wherever you needed to go. Even despite the splitting pain cracking your head, you couldn’t help the surge of pride or keep yourself from grinning like an idiot at the thought. 

   Your shorts were barely holding together, looking so small and much shorter on your legs than before, but why? Gears chugged along in your brain and it made the connection- right, your legs were growing, weren’t they? A bit dizzliy, your brain kept flip-flopping between watching the changes in excitement and accepting your new normal. You felt a thrill heave in your throat at feeling your now-tiny shorts ride up your legs and the seat of your pants filling out and pushing up against the shorts, like a bike tire you’d pumped too quickly and was about to pop. Everything was different, but you weren’t scared.

   Why would you be scared? These changes were amazing.

   Why would you be scared? This was just your body, nothing new- but still fuckin’ great.

   You heaved another mountain of dirty clothes into the bin, and clapped your huge gloved hands together once, eyeing the remaining stragglers. One more round.

   Each step you take feels like pounding, stomping on the floor without meaning to. Your footsteps sound heavy, and your feet feel way too tight to feel good. Like you put on the wrong size shoes, these ones way too small… which would be something your dumb fuckin’ ass would mix up, wouldn’t it? Putting on the wrong shoes and not realizing through the whole school day… your powerful lungs let out a gusty disappointed sigh. Typical.

   Your tiny, wrong shoes seemed to think so, too- and with a shrrrrp of cloth, your heavy green feet finally had space to breathe. You tried to kick as much of it off your feet as you can, and turn back to the laundry- y’know, channeling your shit into something productive instead of wasting time being fucking useless.

   Your stomach turned as you bent down to scoop the rest up. It’s… hard not to feel like that, like an idiot who could never get your act together. Struggling in school, making all these dumb decisions, always blowing your top and letting your rage get the better of you… it’s no wonder you could never make the… make the team…

   You stood back up, and the surge of something throughout your body followed by the loud SHRRRRPing of shirt and shorts got you out of your head. You tripped backwards into the line of lockers behind you in surprise, distantly feeling the dented metal under your arms. Your brain registered the tight pressure disappear and what was left of your clothes hanging off your powerful frame, and finally began to catch up with your body. 

   You started to realize and finally understand, just so much has changed about you- and while it’s hard to put them together, all the pieces were there.

   The reason you were wobbling and feeling so unsteady on your feet was because your center of gravity was different from what you were used to. The reason you dented the lockers this badly from punching and elbowing them when you tripped was because you didn’t know your own strength- literally. The reason why your clothes fucking hurt so much and were too fucking small wasn’t because you wore small clothes and put on tiny shoes this morning like a dumbass- because you’re not dumb, yeah you know you’re not smart like the wizards or artificers or whatever, but you’re not dumb- it’s because your body is different! You put on smaller clothes that morning because you were smaller!

   Your thick brow furrowed and your face scrunched up as you mulled it over, as you became more and more sure in yourself. You rubbed your chin with a gloved hand, feeling the coarse stubble smattered across your chin, while you were lost in thought- unflinching despite the rank odor clinging to the gloves after handling dirty sports laundry for like, gotta be more than ten rounds by now. Honestly, you were losing track.

   "Wait- shit, I need to get changed." You blurted out the thought as it bubbled up in your mind, without bothering to think about it first- like the gap between your thoughts and your tusked mouth was getting smaller.

   As soon as that clicked, you felt fabric rustling and moving as it stretched to wrap around your much larger body, covering everything up. The bulging and straining shorts grew down your legs and darkened to blue and hardened into weathered denim, not without its scuffs and tears but still a good, solid pair of jeans. Finally the right size and not feeling like your legs were being choked out, a belt slithered around your waist to complete the look. 

   Your socks and shoes repaired themselves too- the fabric of your socks worn and holey, standing no chance against your massive orc feet, and your shoes concealing the rest of it from view, cutting off the stench suddenly wafting up from them, too. 

   You involuntarily wrinkled your nose, but it honestly didn't smell that bad. Not really any of this did, anymore.

   Your shoes finished off with a splash of red that quickly weathered and darkened from wear- whatever Mending spell was fixing your clothes didn't seem to be able to fix that part of it, turned out. But you didn’t mind, you began to smirk a little as you waggled your now warm feet in a good 17 and a half size pair of sneakers. A perfect fit, for the pair of stompers you’re packin’.

   But the main event was just getting started- you rolled your broad shoulders and thick, muscled neck in anticipation. You could feel it, your brain following the patterns as it sensed the scraps that used to be your shirt shiftin' around, and making the connections. Your shirt was next.

   The cloth rushed around your body, turning stiff and thick as it repaired itself into a shirt sized much, much larger than the size medium tee you had on that morning. The sleeves stretched long and smoothed out into soft white that felt good on your bare arms underneath, topping off with striped cuffs hugging your wrists and sneaking inside the sleeves of your gloves. You couldn't help the smirk of satisfaction cross your face as you flexed, feeling even these large sleeves strain to contain the solid blocks of jockish muscle and mass your arms had pumped out.

   Your eyes followed the middle of your shirt split as buttons popped out into view, suddenly becoming the things holding your shirt together over your bulky chest and gut. The shirt neck pushed up further over your skin- well, more jacket neck than shirt, really. And that meant it made sense that the soft, striped thing around your neck was probably a collar, jackets had those.

   A rich red color washed over the rest of your jacket, over your torso, filling out between the white stripes on your wrists and collar. A bright red that your heart leapt in pride for, even though you didn't recognize it yet- or at least, your head didn't. Your body processing things and acting on them faster than your brain could was becoming a habit, at this point.

   But even at its snail's pace, it was still chugging along- and the pieces were coming together into something that had you excited. With a duly stretched out tank top appearing just underneath, you were wearing a letterman jacket- just like the kind the jocks wore. Laying a hand on your letterman and feeling the hard, solid mass bulging underneath, it wasn't hard to put two and two… er, maybe one and one together, and realize- you'd fit right in with the team, and maybe Coach would finally take you seriously about wanting to make the Bloodrush team. A brown letter "A" stitched itself onto your letterman's breast, like the jacket itself was in full support.

   You didn't think that the team you wanted to join started with an A- or your school, either- but you brain managed to squeeze out the name "Aguefort", and your body relaxed, as if that explained everything. Your chest swelled up again, almost overwhelmed with the pride and team spirit just thinking that name filled you with.

   You squeezed your eyes shut and shook your head. Augh, gods, you really needed to let your brain catch up again. The idea that your tiny fit had just changed into something larger and tougher and more comfortable, was fucking with your mind. Like, you never had the smarts to really get into casting classes, but this wasn't even something you had thought someone could do with magic. Man, maybe you should try taking a spellcasting class or something, see if you could pick anything up before the school year ended- that is, if magic was… real… wait, that didn't sound right…

   You let out a deep, involuntary grunt as a headache pounded through your skull, just behind your eyes, and threatened to knock you off balance. You managed to steady yourself in time, quickly grabbing onto things for support, and your gaze fell onto your gloved hand.

   Once stable, you brought a massive mitt of a hand in front of your face. You snapped it shut into a huge, meaty fist, feeling the powerful grip in your long, thick fingers, and the tough material wrapped around it tight, and then relaxed your hand. The gloves fit perfectly. Everything fit perfectly.

   Everything fit perfectly on your body- holy shit, this was your body now, wasn't it? Your head jerked around, trying to get the best view of the huge orcish form you had found yourself in as you could. No way the Boys on the team wouldn't be jealous as FUCK of your sick gains. And damn, didn't you agree. There was this Pride pushing up in your chest, too- like you deserved a bod with this power and magnitude. Like after all the hard work you put into getting here, training and working out and putting on mass like crazy, there was no way you were going to get a body different from the one you wanted- this one.

   But even as proud of yourself you were, and how pumped and ready to RUMBLE you knew this body was, it…

   Your spirits fell. It still didn't feel like you were one of them. One of the Boys, the Jocks, even with your new varsity jacket, or your huge, jockish body. You weren't part of the team, you were just the… the, uh… well, you just worked there. Picking up nasty laundry. And there was a sinking feeling, that a part of you knew to be true, that told you that's the way it'd always be, wouldn't it.

   You looked over to the stuffed laundry bin, having finished picking everything up, but you couldn't bring yourself to feel happy about it. You sat down on the bench with a gusty sigh, and looked down at your open hands again, huge and strong enough to crush rocks. 

   All that potential, gone to waste from not being put to use on the team, just felt so crushing. 

   You'd be fuckin' great at it, too, you were sure.

   Your fists tighten, open palms snapped shut into that powerful grip. YEAH you'd be fuckin' great at it, you could probably take every game home by yourself if you had to, even without the rest of the team you'd be playing with backing you up! What was Coach thinking, not letting what had the potential be a star Bloodrush player onto the team? Was he out of his MIND?

   You were onto something, it hit you. You stood up from the bench, creaking in relief as your weight lifted off of it, and you began to pace back and forth to give your brain the time it needed to catch up, almost knocking over the laundry bin again. Why wouldn't Coach just let you join? Your face twisted as frustration and borderline rage bubbled up, trying to push past the ache in your head and think a complete sentence for once. Fuck, this train of thought hurt so much it was almost worse than biting glass on accident again.

   In an instant, your head snapped to attention and your eyes darted around the room, suddenly remembering the danger at hand. Glass could be anywhere, and you wouldn't even know if you were about to bite some- it was literally invisible! Your gloved mitt of a hand clapped over your mouth just to be safe, your orcish nose having almost fully tuned out the musky laundry smell the gloves still carried. 

   Your eyes landed on the locker room mirror. That had glass in it- at least, uh, you were pretty sure it did- but it was stuck to the wall, so it was probably fine. Mirror glass was probably different from regular glass, anyway, since it wasn't invisible. 

  You nodded to yourself, relaxing and feeling safer, when your eyes caught on your own reflection next.

   You slowly stepped over to the mirror, the tension of danger all but forgotten as you took in the half-orc standing there, facing you. Now that it was allowed to work on its own time, your brain was finally starting to catch up with your earlier thoughts- just in time for the final changes to make their way up your face.

   You wanted more than anything to join the team, and were probably one of the students at the Adventuring Academy most equipped to be really, REALLY good at it.

   You lowered your gloved hand away from your mouth to reveal it growing, bulking even further, squaring off into a strong, masculine jaw, skin as green as the field turf, with two thick, orcish tusks jutting up proudly from your lower jaw.

   Coach would be crazy to not let someone join the team if he thought they could help them win and play better, and Coach wasn't that crazy. Evil alignment didn't mean crazy, obviously.

   Your eyes clouded over and the colors went inverse as your vision adjusted to naturally see in darkness better, white piercing pupils in pits of black sclera. Your nose and ears grew in turn, ears a bit longer and tapering off into points, and nose wider to fit your orcish face better.

   But even though Coach was Evil- better than the last coach, anyway, Pit Fiend evil didn't turn your stomach as much as abusive homophobic evil did- he wouldn't force someone into playing for the team if they didn't want to. He was nice like that, you knew.

   And then your hair, from the roots up was darkening to a deep, dark green, so dark it was almost black. It swept back into a wilder, slightly unkempt hairstyle over thicker looking side fades, like you'd let it grow out a little after a while without a haircut.

   That meant Coach must not have known how much you wanted to play, even though it was obvious how good you'd be for the team. But why, then? How the hell could he not know? Something wasn't adding up, you realized.

   You took in the tough, proud face of the half orc reflecting back at you in the mirror. It was solid and imposing, but there was a softness to your expression, too- like it was getting more comfortable in wearing things that weren't a scowl or a snarl contorted in rage. The muscles and fat set in your massive jaw rolled at the even the smallest movement, and the whole jaw was sent shifting from the tiny clenches you made with your mouth as you thought. It was still hard to believe that this all only just happened, and you were so different a few rounds ago. The thought of a scrawnier human figure with a much thinner frame floated past behind your now dark orcish eyes, and all at once it hit you.

   Coach didn't know you wanted to play because you never told him you did!

   You clapped a gloved hand to your forehead in understanding as your brain finally made the connection. You remembered first visiting Coach back when you looked like a human, and you hadn't had the nuts to tell him you wanted to join the team- and THAT'S why you'd been stuck as the waterboy ever since!

   Sizing up the massive, half-orc jock reflecting back at you, already wearing the team's varsity jacket, you couldn't help your face splitting into a grinning smirk. That version of yourself felt so far away from you now, as the confidence of a half-orc AND a jock- who was not only centered and assured of who he was, but deeply and unwaveringly PROUD of who he was as a whole person- surged through you, your heart thrumming and shocking your back upright into better posture, only adding to your height even more. Looking how you did, with the huge new body and all, you wouldn't have trouble getting Coach to let you join the team now, that's for fuckin' sure. You even got a letterman of your own already, too! You turn around with your head craned to get a good look at the back of your letterman in the mirror. It'd be easier to just take it off and look at it there- but nah, no way you're taking this thing off anytime soon.

   Even with the added effort of having to read words backwards like that in the mirror, your heart leapt in pride and already knew what the big block letters spelled over the piercing gaze of a snarling owlbear.

   "BARKROCK."

   Your heart already knew, deep down, but now your brain clicked, too. That was- that was your last name. Your last name, Barkrock! Well- it wasn't before, but like- it felt good to hear it. And it definitely fit the kind of person you were now, and maybe it'd be good to sort of start over again with the Coach anyway, too? You weren't sure how you'd explain it all anyway, so just pretending you were a totally different person would be easier, even though you were still the same but you'd just changed a little. Well, a lot. 

   So yeah, you'll keep the name, no sweat. You could probably pass as a foreign exchange student, probably.

   You turned away from the reflection, and headed out the locker room door back outside to the field. You were PUMPED again and ready to go, feeling it in every part of your body- first steps into the new life laid out ahead of you.

   It was a beautiful, clear day with a few clouds about, and you almost didn't realize how different the field and bleachers looked from how they used to, with how familiar everything felt to you at the same time. It was a bit hard to remember what colors the uniforms of the teams on the field had been before, but the red and white they sported now- just like your letterman- felt right, y'know?

   You spotted the team on the field, and were about to call them over and ask them where Coach was- you had a lot to talk about- when one of them spotted you first and waved you over.

   "RAGH, my guy! Where you been, dude?"

   The gap between your thoughts and your mouth was too small to realize the jock had just called you by a name you were pretty sure wasn't yours before you were already hustling over, grinning like an idiot, huge tusks out and proud for all to see.

   "I'm comin', dude, I'm comin'!"

   And you hustled down the field to meet him and all the others, the fat and muscle of your beefy body bouncing up and down in a way that felt so real, so right, so familiar as muscle memory of your favorite sport seared its way into your body. You were a Bloodrush player, through and through- your heart knew that, your head knew that, and now your body knew that, too, which sealed the deal. 

   FUCK that felt good.

   The other players had headed to the benches, taking a quick water break before heading back out to practice. You saw the other players already had their waters and everything, and THAT got you grinning to yourself. You'd never be stuck as Coach's assistant again- at least, not in the way you used to. The faces of the other jocks lighting up when you arrived, and the growing familiarity you had with each of their faces and then names and then who they were and what they liked, told you that. 

   You were also pretty sure that some of the Boys here had changed too, like you did, with pointed ears or flaming hair or fuller beards where you didn't expect, but you didn't care about that, didn't you. This was the team you knew, and that was what mattered.

   The player who called you over clapped you on the back, getting your head in the game with a jump.

   "Jeez, Ragh, you took your time," he laughed, elbowing you in the ribs, sending something fluttering in your chest- something that you knew what it was but you decided you were fine with not following- for now, at least. You were at practice, not prom. "Your gloves that hard to find? Dude, we need you for practice!"

   You glanced down at your rough, worn gloves that’d been with you for ages. You could barely remember what that player who sent you in to grab them in the first place looked like, and looking around at your team and best friends at the Academy, you didn’t recognize anyone that might have used to be him among the humanoids there… almost like he was never there at all. Your head was starting to hurt again- feeling sluggish like it was running on empty when you tried to think about it further, and you made a decision. 

   You held the memory close for a moment, of that nameless player who gave you this chance thanks to his gloves- your gloves- thanked it, and then let it go. Your head felt clearer in an instant, and you shook away the headache, feeling yourself settle back into being comfortable with your friends.

   “Sorry dude, knocked over the laundry bin in there and had to clean up. And fuck, dude, I swear- it took me like, what, 15 rounds to pick it all up. There was so. much. shit in there.” 

   Everything fell into place so easily, the rhythm you had with your friends felt so natural, it really did feel like you’d known these guys and played on the same Bloodrush team for years at this point- which, as far as everyone else was aware, you had. And damn, when you weren’t thinking too hard about how different everything was, it just about had you convinced, too.

   “And honestly? Dude-dude-dude-dude, dudes, can I be real with you?” You directed it to the rest of the team, this time. “Y’all fuckin’ smell, dude.”

   A firbolg teammate in the back called out, “It’s just the musk, dude-”

   “Dude, no, I know the musk. I know the musk, dude, and that laundry bin was like- BAD, dude, even for me. Holy shit. Like, take a fuckin’ shower, guys!”

   Sitting back, laughing and joking with your team for the rest of the water break- you were one of the Boys, one of the jocks. 

   Just like you’d always wanted. 

   Just like you’d always been. 

   Your head wanted to pick one of those over the other to be right so bad, but your heart knew they were both true.

   You stood up, stretching. “Alright, back to practice. I got the scrimmage drills.”

   That confidence, that pride you exuded that kicked your teammates into gear stirred in you something fierce- and hot damn if you weren't fierce- but it also felt like the most natural thing in the world. That sort of authority came with you being the most senior member on the team- even though you weren't the team captain or QB, you knew all the drills, all the exercises, probably even better than Coach did, so you could pretty much run practice on your own when Coach Gorthalax got stuck in a ruby again or something. Getting held back a year or two was crushing back then, but did have its good side, you guessed. You were so familiar with the Bloodrush training stuff from playing year after year, you could probably become a Coach yourself eventually, if you didn't land a job as a star Bloodrush player or bodyguard or something.

   It took for when your teammates lined up for the scrimmage play for it to really hit you- you realized the future you had ahead of you. Before, you'd just been a scrawny human without real friends who could never speak your mind, and now you were a huge half-orc jock who had a team of friends and was proud of who you were. That went to the Aguefort Adventuring Academy, too- training teens and high schoolers in magical or fighting stuff to become adventurers and heroes, or at least learn whatever the fuck Principal Aguefort wanted them to take out of all this- a far cry from the boring ass school you used to go to. You had career options you'd never even heard of lined up ahead of you since you're close to graduating. 

   Fuck, you're close to graduating, too, huh… yeah, that was right, ever since that adventuring party of bad kids you became friends with invited you on a quest and finished it with them, you were on your way to graduation. Fuck, dude, that was something you hadn't though about for a long while, afraid you'd just get pulled back again. Getting through all your identity junk thanks to the school's guidance counselor Jawbone probably helped with that, too, being honest.

   More and more memories of being Ragh Barkrock, the half-orc jock who got your whole life turned around after getting your ass handed to you by the Bad Kids and then meeting with Jawbone to work your personal shit out kept filling your head in that moment- and honestly, you couldn't think of anything you wanted more in that moment. You felt solid, grounded. You knew for sure in your big, thumping, orc heart, of who you wanted to- no, who you were PROUD to be.

   The Bloodrush captain called the play, clear and sharp that cut through your mind like a greataxe through warm cheese, and your body instinctively sprang into action alongside your friends, your teammates. You grit your tusks and teeth, and called up that white hot feeling- in an instant your head, heart, and body finally all in sync. Not so much thinking of anything, or even really being able to think anything other than being laser focused on the play at hand that you knew by heart. 

   You thundered forward, letting loose a snarl and calling up that white-hot rage as you charged the poor humanoid player opposite to you, squeezing the last few thoughts through your head before going blank.

   Your name is Ragh Barkrock, and you're damn proud of that.

[shellyscribbles]

Weekly Update (3/23/25)

Writing is going fantastic. I could not be happier with how the 4th draft is flowing at the moment. This draft now sits over 13k, 37 pages.

I am very happy with adding 8k in a week.

One thing I am noticing as I write this draft is how much more effective I have gotten with my POVs. I realize how to use them now to convey not only setting and plot, but character work. You get a view of Vale through the lens of the character for their POV, which can get a little confusing in the beginning while Aaron is still coming to grips with his new identity, but I think I can make it work.

Aila is getting a lot more POVs this time, so after all these years she is finally getting proper main character treatment.

There are a few early scenes I think benefit greatly from being written from a different character's view point. A lot of it in the previous draft was from Aaron's pov and the poor man just doesn't know what is going on this early in the story so adding in Halvar and Aila I think has made things a lot clearer for the reader.

Two snippets in celebration of a good week:

              The familiar sights and smells of the California trail fell away, and the strangely exotic trees and disconcerting sky took their place, settling in his gut like a stone.

              “It’s real.”

              As he stared into the strangely glowing trees, absently noting the traces of purple in the veins of the leaves, he felt more than saw Ray stand beside him.

              “Are you Halvar?” He asked.

              “Yeah.”

              Aaron nodded and blinked as he noticed the nymph. He looked at her, really seeing her for the first time, understanding that she was an actual person and not something his mind had invented. She was beautiful with kind grey eyes and an oval face framed by light blonde hair, just a shade darker than her flawless, pale skin. She was small, several inches shorter than him, but she stood with a sort of confidence that lay claim to the space around her.

              “This is Aila.”

--

              Another roar drew all eyes just off to their left as the sound was accompanied by the noise of splintering wood and soon after, crashing trees.

              “What’s Pyre?” Aaron whispered.

              “A dragon.” Cyrus answered.

              “A dragon?” Aaron repeated in shock. “Like, fire-breathing giant lizard?”

              “He can do fire, ice, and lightning.” Cyrus answered as if it were a minor point, his eyes still scanning the trees. “Move!” He called and the group started forward as the sounds drew closer.

[avocado-frog]

Happy STS! Today I have a riddle: what comes first? The title or the story? 🤭 To expand, I'd love to hear the creation order of one (or several) of your stories. Did you think of characters first? Plot? World? What was the final piece?

Hello happy STS

So I've been using the same group of characters (give or take a few, some were cut and some were added) since I was. like. thirteen years old. So I've had the same characters in my head for nearly four years now. I think I've posted about the different versions before but I'll do it again since it's been a while.

If we're thinkin about the FIRST first version I ever wrote, I'm pretty sure I made the characters first, then the plot, and then the world, but all I really remember was writing a character sheet on rapidtables notepad and then making the characters on the sims 4. I don't have anything for this version saved anywhere. It was like I wrote 8 chapters, did nothing with it, and then deleted it forever. From what I remember though: -Draft 1 was just referred to as "untitled writing" because I couldn't be bothered to find a title -Leo was created first, then Cass, then Kai, then Marcy, then a secret fifth character (i think her name was addison or something) -Addison was the twins' sister, as was Marcy. Kai was just their neighbor that Leo didn't really like -It was written in 1st person POV -The twins were 14, Kai was 13, Marcy was 12, and Addison was 11 -No last names for anyone -Leo gets in a fight with Marcy over a board game, runs off, gets stolen right out of the woods for Plot Purposes, goes missing for like six months, the other kids get exactly one chapter of looking for her, and then there's three chapters of Mind Control Leo. This is also the longest we ever canonically see Leo's real parents in any version ever -It was DUMB. I did not like it -So I stopped writing it -Leo did get this sick wolverine claw flamethrower (exactly what it sounds like) -No magic

Draft two was written a few months after draft one, when I decided I wanted to write a different version. It still didn't have a title and it was still first person pov. It didn't last very long because the only character it involved was Leo (there was a few chapters of sideplot for the other kids) but it was a little hard to write a whole novel with only one character

So for draft three, I decided to throw Kai in with her. I'm fairly sure I drew his name out of a hat when I decided. I remember writing the last chapter during online history class with the Worst Teacher Ever in seventh grade so I had to have been like 13-14/mid 2021 because I started going half online half offline sometime in April -Kai follows Leo before she gets kidnapped, somehow they end up in Canada -First establishes the setting in Maine since I figured it was close enough to Canada -Leo burns down the cabin with a match (the kids don't have magic yet) -Kai and Leo spend way too much time trying to get from Canada to Maine -Like they go to Mexico for some reason

I actually finished that one though!! That is the most screen time Kai will ever get. rip. Draft four was when I made the triplets, who were in fact seven years old. I cannot stress how SEVEN they were. what the hell why were they actually babies. This one was so that Kai and Leo had more stakes but it was done at the cost of me immediately losing motivation

I kept the triplets though. Here are my notes for draft five: -It changed to third person POV -Leo's full name is Leonidas for fucking no reason (this ends up being a joke in the final version, in a scene where Jaxon is trying to guess her full name and Leo goes "no one has ever been named that" thought i'd mention it) -Kai is no longer part of the main plot and no longer a love interest because I didn't like writing it -The triplet's backstory is that they're the kids of the people that have stolen Leo, but that their mother died when they were like two -So now they're locked in a basement and so is Leo -Elliot's completely blind -Leo once again saves the kids but has a villain arc in the process -Proceeds to kidnap Cass with a stolen car, builds a robot army, gets blown up (?) -Brief redemption arc follows after Leo goes to jail for a bit

Draft six is the longest one I had before the final one, with an entire sequel and three whole chapters of a third one. This one gives us Logan (here he is !!) except evil Logan. Leo needed some friends in jail or something I don't remember -Logan's name wasn't Logan but the real name was so embarrassing that I'm choosing not to disclose it -First draft with magic. But only for the twins. Leo had fire magic and some thing where she could like. disintegrate people or something. Cass's was still healing + plant magic -Logan goes back to jail 💥💥 he had ice magic + able to control metal. which now that i think about it why did they put him in a jail full of metal then. what

Draft six's sequel was when I went full worldbuilding mode and made up an entire ass prophecy that I don't remember and don't want to have to think about. Not many notes on this. Logan was still the oldest (still only like sixteen though) and he drives a school bus. I gave up because I couldn't figure out what to do. Something with portals?

Draft six book three only lasted a few chapters, BUT we finally get Jaxon, Dylan, and Lily. Jaxon was twelve or thirteen (and his name was supposed to be a placeholder), Lily was fourteen or fifteen, and Dylan was eleven and is the only character whose age has never been adjusted. Their name was supposed to be a placeholder too. I can't remember if they were always written as deaf or not. I was writing this one while I tried to figure out what to do with the sequel. Lily was Leo's new love interest (why Leo is canonically bisexual in the final version)

Draft seven was a rewrite of draft six that featured Jaxon, Dylan, and Lily. They overthrow the government with Leo

Draft eight was another rewrite. Leo meets them instead of going to Actual Prison at age fourteen. I do a bit of worldbuilding with the magic again and give the other kids something to do. Lily could control time for a while, Jaxon had electricity, and I didn't know what to do with Dylan yet. The triplets are the twins' cousins + are adopted by Kai's family

Draft nine was funny (another rewrite of draft six) because I got to make Logan a BIT closer to his final version, but he still has beef with actual seven year old children. I got the concept ideas for the lab here which I know for a fact because Jaxon and Leo broke into it in one chapter to find files or something. Jaxon got to have explosives

The sequel for draft nine was when I finally got the idea for the sequel for draft six. I actually didn't delete this version and I still have it somewhere. Characters who get a villain arc in draft nine/draft nine the sequel: Leo, Jaxon, Lily, Dylan, Logan, Elliot, Cass, Ryan Characters who DON'T get a villain arc in draft nine/draft nine the sequel: Kai, Marcy, Sam, Addison -The earliest version of forget-me-not chapter 17 (Ryan gets pushed into a lake and nearly drowns) here it's he falls into a lake while the kids are trying to learn to water raft (in both versions, he's alone with Jaxon) -Elliot, the blind seven-year-old child, gets a villain arc -I remember this specifically because Leo has a line like "can't we just pick him up and put him somewhere else??" -For some reason, Sam has a snake -Leo's afraid of snakes and Marcy is afraid of ducks -or something?? -anyways that's canon because I think it's fucking hysterical

Draft ten I completely scrapped everything forever and started over. Nothing was saved in the fire except for the draft nine sequel and a couple of extra small things I had in my misc writing pile. I still have the outline for this one but tldr Logan gets aged up to eighteen, and the triplets are ten now. Ryan's name is briefly changed to Adrian, Sam's is briefly Emile, and Elliot's is briefly Ethan (but it was also changed to Cecil and Lucas for a bit as well) Logan's sister Jasmine is introduced and is killed off immediately Leo runs away after learning the truth about her parents (they're really her parents here) (whatever the truth is is not expanded on because I never got farther than an outline) and meets Jaxon, because they're both in the middle of robbing a gas station Cass does not join Leo in meeting them The first time I allowed myself to use swears Elliot actually literally dies The closest to canon final draft

Draft ten had a sequel but the sequel was one 8k chapter long + was the early plot of dahlia. -Elliot's dead but some weird infection bullshit happens -Like a zombie apocalypse -Leo has a Frankenstein motif the whole time -All I remember is that Leo became some weird demon thing and tried to kill Jaxon over it -The other thing I remember is that it was genuinely REALLY funny

So then draft eleven is the final final version which I outlined after watching over the garden wall in the Spring and wanted to see if I could start and finish writing a book before the end of summer. I in fact couldn't, and it didn't finish until sometime that winter -I cut Addison out because I didn't like her -Logan was aged to 22, the twins to 16, Kai and Lily to 15, Jaxon to 14, Dylan remained 11, and the triplets remained 10 -Instead of coming up with names for titles, I attached dates so that I could stress myself out with a timeline The title is finally made!!! I don't remember what made me go with a flower theme, I think I had read a book that had something similar. I gave each of the characters a flower as well

SO. sorry for always writing essays for sts asks lol. The story definitely came before the title to answer your riddle

[teriwrites]

Below: 2011 Wrap-Up

I truly don't believe there could've been a better project to start off this series with. Aside from the simple fact that it's the first of these WIPs, aside from it being my first-ever completed novel draft, there's something charmingly unhinged about this story that sets us off on the right foot for my history with this chaotic annual tradition.

There were some really interesting things to gleam from this read-through! I think one of the most interesting - and jarring - things that I picked up on was watching how my 13-year-old self was interacting with the developing understanding of the world around her. Things like the brutality of prison systems and discrimination fall front and center in Below, even if they're handled with less grace than you'd hope to see being like actually put out into the world. Where a lot of stories I wrote as a kid could still handle problems (stories kinda rely on that yk), a lot of them were either tied up in my own life - handling bullies, moving around a lot, etc. - or were like Chosen One plots with insane stakes that drew mostly on what I was reading.

Anyways, enough loosey-goosey rambling. Time to ramble some more, but with Structure!

Strengths:

Voicing: the narrative voice in this story had so much personality. Sure, maybe that personality largely revolves around 'sassy and angry' for Kristen, or 'angsty' for Raevin, but it was present through every single sentence. Plus, the different characters had distinct voices and personalities shining through their POVs.

Logic: Okay, follow with me here. While so many of the details in this story are absolutely nonsensical, there is a certain logic to the bare bones of plot and character motivations that actually makes sense when it's stripped down. Institution imprisons 'mutants' because it finds them dangerous and enacts cruelty to prevent them from fighting back. Man looking to recruit mutants into his lil superpowered army goes to break people out of said institution, believing anyone he saves will feel indebted enough to follow him. The teens he finds don't actually need his help, manage to escape his secondary plan of trapping them, and now find themselves on the run from both this man and the institution they've just escaped from.

Set-up: The end of the story does offer a built-in premise for a sequel. They're still being hunted by the Institute. Mr. J has only temporarily been stopped. They haven't reached their goal of making it to Auburn. Goals are in place to be worked towards in the next (only ever partially written) installment.

Weaknesses:

Internalized Biases: This is definitely going to be a first and foremost unfortunate weakness to find in probably a number of these drafts. In this story in particular, there was quite a bit of misogyny both directly in comments aimed at characters like Trinity (who presents as 'stereotypically feminine') and less directly through an insistence on the main female cast being 'not like other girls'. Maybe some of this can be blamed on YA's tropes as a whole, but I definitely dragged some of my own ideas at the time into it.

Grammar/Spelling: Also probably going to pop up for awhile. Some parts of this story were borderline incomprehensible simply from the way I wasn't fully clued-in to when to start new paragraphs/mixing up definitions of words or not using spellcheck. Given I was literally 13, I'm gonna give myself some grace for that lmao

Disorganization: Most of this probably comes from the absolute 0 planning or prepping that went into this story. But so many details are incorrect, or make no sense, or get contradicted. Characters' powers and motivations and names shift around at times. Time and space don't always apply to our story. How much time occurs between the start and end? Weeks? Months? Was Kristen 13 or 14 when she entered the Institute? How old is Nick? So many unanswered (or answered multiple times with varying answers) questions.

Final Line

'We were ready.'

Live Reactions

Chp. 1 | Chp. 2 | Chp. 3 | Chp. 4 | Chp. 5 | Chp. 6 | Chp. 7

November 2011: Below

Wordcount | 50,019 Genre | YA/Sci-Fi POV | 1st Person Setting | Rural Alabama Status | Complete Draft, Retired

The Synopsis As I Remember It

Kristen has been trapped in an underground prison for over a year, forced into submission for mutated superpowers she never wanted. As an opportunity arises for the chance to escape, she teams up with three of the other inmates to break free from the compound. But on their way out, they run into another group of mutants in the process of breaking in, hoping to extract one of their own. When the leader of this new party takes an interest in the growing powers of Lea, the youngest of their troupe, Kristen rejects the man's offer to join forces. But he won't be deterred so easily. Though Kristen and her friends escape, it's only to find themselves stranded in the rural countryside of Alabama, unsure of where to go and aware that their every move brings them closer to discovery by their captors and the center of the mysterious man's tangled spiderweb.

First Line

'Don't listen to anything they say, it's all a lie.'

Characters

Kristen - 15, ginger, leader of the gang, powers include telepathy and ???, I cannot remember her personality lol Lea - 9(?), classic 'innocent little blonde girl except actually probably the most dangerous kid you've ever met', powers include perception manipulation and ??? Ben - 16, faceclaim was Josh Hutcherson bc naturally, quiet and kind, powers include gravity manipulation and ???, second-in-command Raevin - 14, her name was spelled that way for a literal irl friend I had at the time bc I thought it was so cool, black hair with purple streaks(?), powers include shapeshifting and ???, angsty, probably the closest I got to a self-insert despite looking and acting nothing like me Nick - 13, ??? (I literally don't remember anything about this kid except that I think he was supposed to offer some comic relief. Don't know his powers, don't know what he looks like, barely remember that he exists) Mr. J - an Adult, Evil, superpower so mysterious even I don't know what it is, the J probably stands for something but idr what and now all I can think of when I see it is Harley Quinn referencing the Joker

Pre-Reading Thoughts

This book was meant to be the first of a trilogy, and it made up a passion project of mine for a couple of years between middle and high school. It was extremely important to me then, and this first draft was actually the very first I ever finished. Looking back, I think Below's trilogy was sort of the death toll in my relationship with YA at the time. I expect to find plenty of those tropes in these 50Kish words - coming of age, a teenage found family, stakes that were meant to build up through the trilogy to international levels, a teenager-led rebellion, a love triangle. But I think as my reading preferences began to shift, so did my writing, and the entire trilogy idea quickly morphed into something to cringe over rather than take pride in. I spent a lot of time hating on this series as I went through the rest of high school, and only as an adult have I been able to think back on it with more fondness than ridicule. That said, I haven't read this draft in probably a decade or more, so I'm excited (and terrified) to see the project that allowed delighted little 13-year-old Teri to write 'The End' for the first time (although technically, since there were going to be more books, I don't think I was supposed to do that lol)

[kookaburra1701]

6 questions

I was tagged by @thana-topsy thank you friend<3<3<3

RULES: answer the questions then tag some folx you want to get to know better/catch up with.

Last Song: Because I am a cliche I pretty much exclusively listen to Synthwave while working (coding.) I was in the middle of listening to Casio Love by Paul Collider. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pQcX6ih9tFk

Last Show : Cells at Work! Code Black - let me tell you I have NEVER been invested in a dude getting a boner as I was by the climax (HEH) of episode 3 and I write and read a lot of M/M fics.

Currently Watching: I'm working my way through all of Max Miller's Tasting History videos. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vlQZ3NPnoLk&list=PLIkaZtzr9JDkNXTsFck0w9CFVF0U-zPlV

Currently Reading: I have ADHD, so I'm almost always reading more than one thing. Non-Fanfic: I'm reading a fan translation of the BL LN "The Otherworld's Books Depend on the Corporate Slave." It's kind of a send-up of the isekai genre (which I usually avoid like the plague) where the main protagonist is a boring accountant who accidentally got dragged along when the Beautiful Magical Teenage Girl was sucked into a portal to the other universe. He's very genre aware and is very exasperated at the teenage girl who keeps falling for all the tropes of the isekai genre. He ends up saving the otherworld with his awesome accounting skills, and must have a lot of sex with the other love interest who in a normal isekai would be the one romancing the Beautiful Magical Teen Girl. It's absolutely bananacrackers and I'm having lots of fun reading through it. Fanfic: Hollow Men by @thana-topsy Tells the story of a Thalmor POW's escape from the clutches of the LDB, and his road to recovery. Like Lightning by JottingProsaist - this fic is single-handedly changing my mind about second-person POV. It's incredibly well-done, and gives the reader a fantastic, intimate insight into different characters' thoughts and motivations. The Prodigal Dragonborn by @ms-katonic-of-tamriel A delightful Lucien Flavius/Miraak romp around Solstheim and Skyrim. If anyone can make Miraak Be Better it's Our Dear Cinnamon Roll Lucien Flavius. Stumbled across this one while desperately searching for M/M fic featuring Lucien. The Bonds of Civility by @nientedenada - Just started this one, but super-enjoying the hasty decision-making by the LDB having massive political fallout, and all of the intrigue that goes along with it.

Current Obsession: The Elder Scrolls. Uh, if we're getting more specific I'm deep into plotting and outlining a massive Lucien Flavius/Kaidan Chivalric Romance trilogy. I'm also polishing up the first draft of a prequel focusing on Lucien and his first few days in Skyrim, so I guess Lucien is my current TES obsession?

Unrelated Obsession: Fiber arts - but this ends up being related to my TES obsession, lol, since I'm currently working on charting out some Elder Scrolls designs for knitting and Tunisian crochet, and also traditional embroidery samplers that might have been done by various cultures in TES. I also love history, especially Roman Empire history, but not in the weird "Julius Caesar did nothing wrong" crypto-fash way but in the "ha ha Diocletian's big naturals (are cabbages)" way. (shoutout to @dwellerinroots for that joke) Also in the "I need to figure out if subligaculae can be untied with one's teeth for historical smut purposes" way. I also have an entire subdirectory on my computer of all the dicks Ancient Romans drew everywhere they went.

Uh, I'm actually writing this while waiting for a pipeline script to finish troubleshooting so no time to sort through and see who's already been tagged, but if you want to do it please do! I love learning more about people. :)

[okaywitheverything]

hi! can i request minato fall for naruto kindergarten teacher please? thank you 😁

Ma'am: A Possible New Mom? Minato x KindergartenTeacher!Reader

My actual first request! Hope I did it justice! Thank you honey for the request. I wrote some sort of mixed AU so I hope you don't mind.

 A/N: This took a lot of time because I have a lot of tests every month. Also i threw up a week ago and was somewhat sick. Then I lost the two drafts and was so irritated with ms word but somehow I managed to write again. So a lot of blood, sweat and tears went into this. Please shower it with love if you even read this awful Author’s note.

Positive A/N: I did like how it turned out tho, the ending is too cute and you won't know what to expect as I didn't either. I genuinely hope you have fun reading this piece.

Word count: 3K

 Your POV

 “It must be fun to play with the kids all day."

People who think that are the biggest fools on the planet in the universe.

You were picking up the various toys scattered throughout the main classroom, sorting them category wise while the kids took a nap. Most of them anyways.

A few babies had insane amount of energies that they refused to sleep whatsoever. But it wasn't as big a problem as people think it is. All kids have different strengths, a variety of ways to function and unique physiology. You knew if a kid was not tired, forcing him or her to doze off isn't healthy.

Just let the kids be.

So that explains why Naruto was alongside you helping you to collect the sponge shurikens scattered around while you put away the stuffed ninkens on the high shelf. Usually Kiba and Rock Lee would be awake as well, and this trio would play in the hall until their limbs gave out but today even they slept after tiring poor Akamaru out for weird challenges.

“Ma’am, I almost forgot! I want to show you something! Come with me!” Naruto suddenly grabbed your hand leaving his task in the midst and urging you to leave yours too. You looked at him puzzled but giggled at his enthusiasm nonetheless, sometimes kids were too darn cute. You loved the ways kids’ eyes lit up, so optimistic and happy and hopeful until the world snatched it all away. You wanted to preserve this for as long as could.

He took you to the room where the kids kept their small backpacks filled with their favourite articles that they thought were absolutely necessary to take everywhere.

No Neji, you don’t need to have three combs for the care of your luscious hair every possible instant.

Naruto generally brought a lot of snacks which you had to retain sometimes so that he would eat healthy but it became even harder to do so when all he wanted was for Sasuke to taste the tomatoey flavour ‘these’ chips had and gift Rock Lee the curry flavour. That boy had a heart of gold.

 He pulled the zipper of his orange backpack open, and took out a stuffed fox.

“Ma’am meet Kurama! I told him all about you and he wanted to meet you!” He held Kurama up while you were gently petting the plushie’s head, he was so excited to see your happiness to meet his esteemed companion.

These kids and their imaginations! You loved every ounce of it!

“Hello Mr. Kurama!” You didn’t feign excitement, you actually were. You loved kids and their creativity and wouldn’t trade it for anything.

“He’s my best friend! Don’t tell anyone else though! Others might get sad.”

You did an action of zipping your lips, “Your secret is safe with me, sweetie.”

“Look! I also drew something!” He hastily handed you Kurama and proceeded to take out his yellow sketchbook. He kept turning pages filled with rainbows of colours morphing into one another that made some sense in his cute, little head and finally reached his desired page. He pulled your dress with his little chubby hands, an action he often did when he wanted you to sit beside him. You kneeled down, his plushie settled in your lap now as you waited for him to go ahead.

He handed you his open sketchbook where there were three figures, two adults and one kid judging by the height, all wearing triangular outfits. One kid and an adult had striking yellow hair and blue eyes while the other adult wore an orange dress with a large circle in their hands. On closer inspection, you saw your own hair colour and eye colour being illustrated to the best of the toddler’s ability, as far as the crayons allowed him to portray it. You had a circle in your hands, almost the size of your drawn head with black spots in between while the child in the photo held an orange squishy ball. To save you from your confusion, Naruto came to the rescue and started explaining.

“That’s me and Dada over here. And I’m playing with Kurama! And that’s you Ma’am! Bringing me and dada cookies for being good boys like you do in class!”

Your heart melted right there and then. For some reason, your face heated up too.

“Oh my God, honey, that’s amazing!” You pecked his cheek as Naruto blushed slightly and rubbed his head, “You liked it?”

“I Loved it! What did Dada say about it?”

“He got so red like Sasuke’s tomatoes haha. But he put it on our fridge like my other drawings and he said it was the best one yet.”

Before you could reply, crying was heard from the nap room and you sighed. Looks like someone woke up.

“Yay, someone is up! We can now play!” Naruto began running but you stopped him.

“Let’s be sure to pack this all up before, Ma’am Anko will see to your friend okay?”

Minato was waiting alongside other parents, it was 10 minutes till the kindergarten was over. His mind wandered afar, thinking about his journey to this town.

Minato was very afraid when he moved to Konoha, about Naruto settling in and making friends. Of course, back in his previous town he had already got Naruto a place in the best Kindergarten there, pulling all the needed strings but his promotion caught him off guard. Being a single parent was hard enough as it is, and with the worry of adjusting to new surroundings for his growing son, he was almost going to decline the offer. Only after much conviction from his friends that he deserved this, he took the offer, albeit hesitantly.

He was happy with his new workspace and colleagues as well, and was over the moon when he one of his erudite associates had a son the same age as his own, and recommended the city’s best kindergarten where his son was set to go. He went blindly on his associate’s word, because he knew him to be a wise dad.

For the first two months, he had to work relentlessly to prove his position as the new leader in the branch, and so he had his assistant pick Naruto up while he prepared lunch at home for his precious boy, barely making it home fifteen minutes before they did. But when the company celebrated their first real accomplishment, only then did Minato feel he could take a step back and indulge with his son more as he used to do.

When he began picking him up himself, he realised what he had been missing on: small quirky tales, new words his toddler learned, new friends’ names, his favourite teacher’s cookies apparently. Minato quickly noticed, being the perceptive man he was, that Naruto could go hours and hours talking about his Ma’am. He would have thought of it as a crush, had Naruto been older.

But when he first saw you, he could relate to his son if Naruto did have a crush. He knew he was being superficial, being attracted to your appearance at first sight but he couldn’t help himself that you were almost ethereal, too gorgeous to be true. It seemed as if you were glowing when you laughed alongside the kids or held one of them on your shoulders while searching for the parents.

However, your personality was even more so captivating when he finally talked to you at the parents-teachers conference. You were such a quality teacher, he deduced when he noticed how apt you were at describing each kid individually and how dedicated to their growth you were. He loved the bond you had with Naruto, the boy couldn’t stop grinning upon meeting you on his day off.

The bell rung, breaking him out of his reverie, and he waited as the kids ran to the parents, waving goodbyes here and there, ready for their weekend. He could hear your faint shouting over the buzz, “Make sure you have taken all your belongings, kiddos! Have a good weekend!”    

He knew if you had a special place in his son’s heart, he could let you stay in his heart as well.

It was 8 PM, one hour past the Uzumaki kid’s bedtime, but the blatantly crying kid was nowhere near sleeping. A distressed Minato held him on his hip, as he searched the entire house for his favourite plushie, Kurama, without whom Naruto had never slept.

“We’ll find him, Naru. Do you remember where you last saw it?” Minato asked, pausing and sitting in the comfy sofa, looking at Naruto, hoping he’d have an answer.

Naruto’s wails quietened down, fortunately there were no tears, as he pondered and spoke, “I last showed it to Ma’am!”

Minato sighed, he grasped that Naruto would have left it at the playschool because no inch of his house was unsearched. He settled Naruto down on the couch as he deliberated calling you over a toy. He had your number for emergencies, but was this one? The real objection, the actual reluctance he had for calling was totally different though. He hated to admit it, but talking to Naruto’s daydream of a teacher always left him stuttering like a teenager. He could barely listen and respond when he met her at the kindergarten, but talking to that Goddess one on one was more terrifying and nerve-wracking than moving to a new town.

But he knew there was no way Naruto would sleep without Kurama and it was only Friday, nights to wait if he doesn’t ask you about the plushie today. He couldn’t imagine how disheveled will Naruto be without Kurama by then. He would surely award himself with wine if he managed to finish the call without fainting.

With clammy hands and a vigorously pounding heart, he dialed the number.

You were finishing up the last batch of forms and cleaning up, when you saw something abruptly put in the otherwise shipshape playroom. Before you could further inspect, your phone rang, Mr. Uzumaki flashing on top of the screen. Your heart hammered as you wondered what he could be calling about.

You were not going to lie, Mr. Uzumaki was easy on the eyes, always in class A condition with his well-tailored suits as he came to pick Naruto up. Even the married housewives ogled him not-so-subtly. He was such an excellent father, really devoted in his son’s life while simultaneously conquering the business world. An eye candy, with all the best qualities that existed, an immensely put together God’s creation. He was dream partner to have, yet somehow he was single.

Your phone’s ring broke you out of your musing, as your sweaty palms grabbed the phone and received the cal.

“Good Evening, Mr. Uzumaki.” You managed out, your neck suddenly heating up.

“Good Evening, Miss. I hope I didn’t disturb you.”

“Not at all, I was about to head home. How may I help you?”

“If you are still there at the playschool, could you please…… If you don’t mind….. I’m sorry again I called-”

“I assure you, it’s fine. You don’t need to worry about it. Although you do need to tell me the problem if you want me to help.” You giggled lightly, amused at that man stuttering.

“Thank you. Umm Naruto left his night time plushie there I suppose and he doesn’t sleep without it. Could you please, please check if it’s there?”

“Of course.” You held the phone and as you hummed and went to the Kid’s playroom you found Naruto’s sketchbook with the drawing laying on it, and the Kurama toy beside it. You swore you promised Naruto pack it earlier in the day.

“Looks like he did leave it here.”

“Can you keep the school open a bit late, I’ll come and collect it right aw-”

“Its pretty windy right now outside, and you’ll have to bring Naruto too at this hour. I’ll drop it at your home on my way back, I was planning in leaving in five anyways.” Your mouth spoke before you could process what you said, offering to go to his house? Nice going there, you desperate weirdo.

His choked out “Okay” almost surprised you as you ended the call.

This will be a nice, little detour.

About twenty minutes later, the doorbell to the Uzumaki household rang and Minato sprinted to the door, opening it immediately.

There you stood, with tousled hair from the wind, in your long red pea coat and black heels. Your cheeks lightly tinted, no doubt because of the unruly weather outside. Somehow you still looked absolutely perfect in Minato’s eyes as he traced your form, unable to initiate the conversation.

You, on the other hand, had halted completely when the door opened revealing a ripped Minato, his muscles bulging underneath his black shirt while grey sweatpants hung loosely on his hips. His biceps were so thick, you wondered how he managed to exercise on top of all the responsibilities he had.

You handed it over to Minato whose eyes widened at the piece of paper and stood there awkwardly, processing what to say.

Somehow stopping yourself from all the gawking, you cleared your throat as you dug in your black purse and took out Naruto’s best friend and his masterpiece.

“Guess he left this as well.” He gave a forced laugh, trying to make things less uncomfortable after he stood silent for two minutes.

You chuckled lightly in agreement when suddenly thunder boomed behind you, causing you to shriek and slip, only to be caught by Minato, his hands holding you around your middle tightly in a protective manner. You coughed as you stepped back again and he cleared his throat this time when suddenly it started pouring like hell’s rage on Earth.

“You should stay for a while, at least until the rain lightens.”

You were going to decline, but when you saw how bad it was raining, you knew you would have to accept. “Looks, like I’ll have to. Sorry to impose.”

“It’s no imposition at all. I’m inviting you, don’t fret.”

You stepped inside, shrugging your pea-coat off, revealing your black dress underneath. Minato reddened visibly, taking your pea-coat from you and hanging it. He cursed himself as he thought of conversation starters, wanting to say something, anything to not stand like a fool.

“Would you like wine? I have this blush flavoured bottle reading to drink.”

“I would love that, Thank you. What are you celebrating though, if I may ask?” You agreed, maybe the alcohol would calm your buzzing nerves. Besides you were a sucker for wine.

“Nothing much, a simple personal achievement of sorts.” He said with a grin as he led you inside, hopeful of where the night might lead. Maybe the liquid courage would help him finally ask you out.

Behind the wall, Naruto grinned with a pacifier in his mouth. Mission successful.

So that was that. Until next time, cookies.

[iselsis]

Hello! I absolutely adore all of your batman fics and am so happy you write and share them with us!!!

If you feel like sharing, I’d love to know what your wip list looks like right now/what fics you’re currently working on!

Thank you so much <3

Sooooo, that's....that's a long list. It is a very long list, so I'll give the ones I've been working on the most in no particular order:

1. Damian's POV of Home Run

2. A continuation of Magpie

3. Unholy Matrimony's next chapter. I recently had a break through so I can hopefully get through that transition that has been paralyzing me for months T^T

4. WHITE ELEPHANT. So, funny story, It's been nearly eight months since I've updated my New Year's special because even though I had an ending and a beginning, I kind of...forgot? that I needed a middle too. I have made some progress though

5. Tim's chapter of the fluffy fic where tie kids play with Bruce's tie when they are very Smol

6. A mermaid au of the batmobile tires scene. Another funny story, but I recently went to California to meet an internet friend from the whump server in person! And I survived! Well, anyway, we came up with a mer au for that scene; she drew it, and I need to write it

7. Chapter four of Coat and Cowl, though reading through the first chapter of that kind of hurt because I can tell that I really didn't have my Bruce voice down since that was the first time I'd ever written his POV, so I might go in and edit that (not substantially, just for voice)

8. A farm au where Bruce is a farmer and Jason tries to steal his vegetables. He is then attacked by Bruce's weird chicken, Geraldine, in the dark, which leads to Jason shrieking in utter terror, convinced he's being attacked by some kind of monster, until Bruce wakes up and goes to rescue the thief from his guard chicken.

9. The Puppy Love universe meeting of Dick and Jason

10. An original piece where a young blind boy is raped and left to die in the wilderness of a land based loosely on ancient Persia, Israel, and Babylon. He's discovered by a young woman (the MC of an original novel I'm currently in the process of plotting and who I'm trying to get practice writing) who is completely deaf. She wants to help him, but he thinks she's another person here to hurt him.

11. I'm currently calling this "Lost Boys" because I hate titling things and that was easy (Birds of a Feather might be better, now that I think about it) but it's basically an au where Dick was never adopted and was sold into prostitution. He now lives (at age 15) in an abandoned building with his young "adopted" brother Jason (age 12). The two of them save a kid from near rape, and they take the kid (Tim, age nine) back to their place for a few days until the kid feels safe enough to leave. Tim comes back, and they continue to build a relationship, and...well, I guess you'll have to find out ;) I'm trying a new method of writing that combines drafting and outlining into hopefully a single step, so we'll see how that goes. I'm nearly done with the draft-outline thing I have so far, and then I'm going to try to expand it into actual chapters. This story will probably be at least 5-10 chapters, but I won't publish them until all of them are done because I can't be trusted around chapter fics

That about sums up what's on my plate right now! I'm sure there are things I'm forgetting, but those are what I've been working on the most. Thanks again for reading! I hope this wasn't too long of an answer, lol

[djmarinizelablog]

hi! read your last ask and you said that you took up creative writing classes so you might have a wider knowledge about this but i was wondering when u mentioned different writing styles (like minimalistic, hightened imagery, linear vilennete and all of that) could you maybe explain the difference and what they really mean and maybe examples in our own levihan nation and writers? this might be asking for too much but i was pretty lost and i'd like to know more about all that. however you are def free to ignore this too!

Did you just ask me to write a comprehensive poetics essay, Anon? (I love writing about writing lmao)

Super long post ahead, and I’ll be citing certain fanfics that I’ve read so far and those that I think somehow exemplifies all the different writing styles I mentioned in the previous post. 

First off, the ones I listed beforehand (minimalistic prose, heightened imagery, poetic language, linear narrative, non-linear vignettes) aren’t the only types of writing styles. There are more if you consider the variations of tone (humor/comedy, sentimental, macabre, noir etc), narration/perspective (first person, second person, third person omniscient/limited), and language (dialogue-heavy or action/scene-driven). And the nice thing is that you can actually use of one or two of them in your work---or all of them, if you’re feeling bold. 

As Hange always loves to do: “Let’s experiment!”

--------

I’ll start with minimalistic prose. It is what it is: short, clear, and concise. Think less is more. You have an economy with words where you disregard most adverbs and focus more on the context to make way for meaning, thus allowing the readers to create their own interpretations of your writing. I think the method here is to write your intended draft first, and then cut the unnecessary words to flesh out the scene even more.

Notice how @stereobone wrote this paragraph of Black Dog (an Eruri fic):

Isabel's voice wakes him, brother, brother, has him sitting upright in bed and grabbing for the knife under his mattress. He braces himself for the attack before he realizes there isn't one. There is nothing in the darkness but him and his heavy, panicked breathing. Levi's heart feels like it's trying to beat its way out of his chest. He drops the knife on the mattress and shuts his eyes and tries not to think about Farlan's bloody resigned face before he was eaten. He tries not to think about how he left them. How it's his fault.

It’s very simplistic in language; the paragraph lets you focus on Levi’s innermost thoughts while he deals with an external action (ie, having nightmares). The author hasn’t unraveled the rest of the plot yet, but you already know where the tension is coming from.

Next is heightened imagery. If you’re familiar with the different figures of speech (metaphor, simile, personification, hyperbole, etc), then this is where they all come into play. I think the challenge here is being able to balance it well with the text itself and make sure that the imagery actually clarifies the context of the paragraph instead of convoluting the intended meaning. 

Here’s an excerpt from A Dangerous Game by just_quintessentially_me:

Hanji watched Levi, standing there, head bent and bloodied handkerchief pressed against his arm, and was reminded, irrationally, of a night years ago. When her parents had taken her to the circus. [. . . .] Holding her parent’s hands, she’d gaped, head craned back as she watched the spectacle, a cacophonous mixture of sound and color. At the center of it all, she’d spied a boy. Among the twisting colors and tricks, he alone, was still. [. . . .] The boy was high above, balancing on a platform atop a long pole. In front of him, stretched an audaciously thin rope. Below, no net waited to catch him.

[. . . .]

When Levi looked up, his expression was set - like the boy before the tightrope. And she knew, with sinking certainty, he was going to take the step. Into thin air.

Gray eyes met her gaze and held it.

“Yeah. I’ll go.”

At the door, Kenny smiled.

See how the powerful imagery of the boy on the tightrope was able to fuel the tension in that moment among Levi, Hange, and Kenny? 

I think poetic language is akin to heightened imagery, except that the former is more focused on the actual language. It’s very lyrical, wherein you can actually hear the lulling song of the sentences in a rhythm. One of my favorite works that does this is Deep sea baby by @smallblip. Here she makes use of various setting and scenery to create this entire atmosphere of Levi and Hange’s relationship:

Hanji knows whatever life they've led, this is her favourite.

The one in which her and Levi see the sea for the first time together.

The one in which she’s the Commander, and him, her Captain. And between them, a river of words left unsaid threatening to break the banks.

One day they must cross the ocean, but today they visit the shores again, without the kids this time. And Levi learns why when he watches her peel at her clothes. Her harness comes off first, then her blouse, then everything else, like a little dance for an audience of one. Levi tries not to stare, but he’s already seen her by candlelight in the dead of the night. And yet she never fails to take his breath away.

She makes her way to where the white foams dredge the past up the shores of the present.

"Come on Levi! The water is warm!" she says, and he hears it like a call to come home- where the heavens collide with the sea.

He takes off his clothes and folds them in a neat pile beside Hanji's mess. He swims out to join her.

It’s hauntingly poetic, the way the author is able to connect the metaphor in “a river of words” to the actual body of water right in front of Levi and Hange. Good poetic language is able to tighten up the texts together while keeping the sentence structure flowing with apt figures of speech.

When it comes to narratives, it only comes down to linear or non-linear. See how @lostcauses-noregrets does her opening statement in Trains (also an Eruri fic):

Levi hates trains. To be fair, Levi hates all forms of public transport, but he reserves a particular loathing for trains. They’re dirty, noisy, smelly and worse, filled with people. People who, heaven forbid, might attempt to speak to Levi, engage him in conversation. Levi’s worst nightmare is being stuck on a train with some friendly fuck who wants to pass the time making small talk. Admittedly it’s not a problem he has to deal with too often, his general fuck off demeanour deters all but the most aggressively friendly and hopelessly inebriated. But that doesn’t stop Levi from hating trains.

It’s a short fic and it’s very dependent on the linearity of events happening. But with that banger of a first sentence, the beginning already gives you enough of an idea of Levi’s pet peeve in the story, which in this case, is trains.

Here’s another hot and steamy fic called keep him waiting by keobuns that shows a linear narrative: 

He’s sitting with them in the back of the lab, nursing a cup of tea — it’s still pretty full, and even cold now, for he was far too distracted listening to Hanji talk to properly drink — when he sees it. Hanji’s too preoccupied with overexplaining the same Titan experiment they’ve gone over a hundred times to notice his stare. They just continue on and on and on, gesturing with their hands, pointing with their fingers, flexing their wrists…

Ah. Levi has to bring his teacup to his lips to hide the way his lips tremble. Hanji has incredibly nice hands.

The entire story just revolves around Levi simping for Hange’s hands and how it all goes down from there. But you as a reader are kept wanting more with every paragraph and every sentence that the author constructs (and trust me, it’s not just the sexual tension between Levi and Hange that keeps us going).

Now, as much as I love the straightforwardness of linear prose, non-linear writing brings a different round of ideas onto the table. It can create recollections from flashbacks, heighten the perspective or interior turmoil of a character due to trauma or grief, or even just re-invent what-if scenes that the characters have imagined themselves. 

Gnossiene by @thatalmondgirl​ is one of my all-time favorite Rivetra fics. In this excerpt, you will see how she switches between the past and the present, and how it affects Petra’s POV as a conflicted character:

Contrary to popular belief (fuck Auruo) Petra actually didn’t cry easily.

Alright, she could admit that at some times, she was...emotional. It was far from a weakness, but even she could admit that they sometimes got in the way and walled off all rational thought. Anger, frustration, sadness, hell, even happiness. The only one she could easily compartmentalise away was fear, which probably stemmed from her military career. Even so. It was never easy to separate all the others from her actions, think from a clean slate like the Commander could do, like the captain. [. . . ] Petra groaned, splayed out across her bed. She drew her arm across her eyes, willing the tears to go away. She’d already blown through her tissue box.

“Petra, a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.” Mama sat on the end of her bed, with Petra on the floor between her legs. Even though Petra argued firmly that she was old enough to brush her own hair, Mama had insisted. Unfortunately, Petra wasn’t old enough - and probably never would be - to disagree with her mother.

“I know, Mama.” Petra grumbled.

“I don’t think you do. Else you wouldn’t be crying, would you?”

[. . . .]

“But a man shouldn’t complete you when you complete yourself. Maybe he’s an extension to your house. So you’ll be sad if the extension is compromised or burns down. But you still have the main house. And if it’s strong, the main house can still be standing even after the worst storm.”

Aside from Mama’s crazy metaphors that sometimes didn’t make sense, her message hit home. Even if it hit home years later.

See how it switched in between the before and after? 

An off-shoot of non-linear writing are vignettes (a layering of scenes separated by section breaks) wherein this writing style allows writers to curate scenes in terms of fragments, creating some kind of mosaic for the readers once they finally see the big picture. Nakimochiku’s I’m leaving, are you coming with me? stacks up scenes of interactions between Levi and Hange, enough to depict the kind of relationship that they have as young lovers in a school setting. You can string these fragments together, rearrange them in a different order, but in the end, you will still get the author's clear goal of highlighting how Levi and Hange’s relationship develops over time.

Those are the styles that I mentioned in my previous posts, but as I’ve told you, there’s more to writing than those, so I’ll give a short run-through of other methods in writing. 

Whether it’s dialogue-heavy works such as from my window to yours, or action-driven scenes like Carnivores (a Levi x Reader fic by CaptainDegenerate) that propel the story forward, we as readers should be able to follow through the actual storyline that the authors intend to take us. 

A third-person limited (we listen to Hange’s thoughts in Clockwork by @tundrainafrica) vis-à-vis an all-knowing/omniscient narration (the moon is dark by @sayonarasanity alternates the perspective of Levi and Hange) should be able to make us understand why the author chose this particular kind of point-of-view in order to tell the story. 

And lastly, having a solid and consistent tone throughout the work (the macabre of Even Humanity’s Strongest could make mistakes by Rimeko versus the sweet sentimentality of Flowers for You by @fanmoose12) should be able to set the atmosphere that the authors want us to imbibe as we read through their works. 

So there’s your crash course on writing and reading. Enjoy? :) 

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

Fig & When the Flood Comes | Short Story Update

Hi folks!

It has been some time since I’ve updated you on my writing on this blog and that’s because I’m back in university! Adjusting to Zoom university life has been really interesting and also a bit tiring, so for those of you who are also doing online school, I’m thinking about you! <3

Today I’m back with updates for two flash fiction stories I wrote for class. First we’ll chat about Fig! TW: this story deals with heavy topics such as kidnapping and murder so tread carefully if these are sensitive topics for you.

Plot:

Two young women held in captivity prepare a celebratory breakfast after murdering their captor.

Genre: Literary fiction, flash fiction

POV: First person present tense

Word count: ~947

Characters:

Unnamed narrator (unknown age)

Trying to “preserve the peace” but is actually chaotic

Dominant of the duo

Zip (unknown age)

Subservient, nervous, docile, unsure

Conception:

I honestly don’t know where this idea came from tbh! I’ve been on a steady roll with short fiction and wanted to upkeep that momentum throughout the school year (usually I write one short story every 6 months!) and I believe this idea came from an image of these two girls alone in an apartment. The story itself is not very plot oriented which worked in my favour because I was mostly interested in this intricate, undefined relationship between these two characters.

The writing bit:

Writing this story was very fast initially because it’s so short! I needed to keep the word count pretty low (under 1k) and so I wrote the draft in one or two sittings. HOWEVER, I was admittedly not very happy with the finished draft because it seemed a bit rushed and missing something. As my deadline for workshop drew nearer, I began some revisions to get the story ready which essentially boiled down to me writing out “the crux” of the short story.

Writing out “the crux” has become a necessary part of my short fiction process, and I’ve done this for the last few stories I’ve written: essentially writing out the “heart” of the story. This usually has something to do with character motivation/goals and how that interlaces with theme. I find understanding this very necessary to writing a successful short story.

I pants my stories, so most of the time, I don’t know what the story is even AFTER I’ve written it. So my process currently looks like: get an idea > write the idea > be confused about what I just wrote > write out “the crux” > revise, and this has been working quite well for me! Getting a handle on the crux allows me to have a clearer perspective on the events of the story/how that interacts with character, setting, etc, and so I find writing out a few sentences at the bottom of my document in this vein is crucial!

Aesthetic:

Now let’s chat about WHEN THE FLOOD COMES! TW: natural disasters

Plot:

A portrait of a community before and after a flood ravages their town.

Genre: Literary fiction, flash fiction

POV: The first half is told in first person collective (present tense), and the second half is told in first person present tense.

Word count: 593 words

Characters:

The community

There’s no autonomy in the narrative, the entire first half is told in this conjoined voice.

Unnamed woman

After the flood, we switch into a single first person POV of a woman who lives a reclusive life in the wake of the devastating flood.

Conception:

We do weekly writing prompts in my fiction class and this was one of them. We had to write a dual flash fiction description of two very different places and it had to be 500 words long (one half was one place, the other was a very different place)! If you’ve ever done a description exercise where all you write is description you know how hard :) this :) is :) I thought contextualizing this description as an actual story would make this task a little easier to complete and I’d gotten an image of a flood a few days earlier I wanted to explore so this was the perfect opportunity!

The writing bit:

Like I said, writing this was hard! It’s difficult to write a 500 word description that has poignant, relevant details and so I definitely ran into that, but centering this description around “characters” was really helpful. While the narration shifts to first person I think it’s quite seamless to the point where it isn’t all that noticeable. I decided there’d be a POV shift for ~thematic reasons, as the community is so tight-knit (hence the collective POV) and that sense of collectiveness is shattered (hence the shift to a singular first person).

Last night I added a section between the before and after to talk a little about the flood since that wouldn’t have been relevant for the prompt and I actually ADORE how this story turned out. I don’t often write flash fiction because I am ~bad at it, but this was really fun to write despite being so difficult to hit word count initially. The vibes are so eclectic and fun but then move to somber so quickly! For the details, I drew on a lot of my personal experience living in Ontario and would canon this story as being set in a Toronto suburb and the rural bits of Ontario not too far away.

Aesthetic:

And that’s it for this update! Hope to be back soon with an update for Feeding Habits! :)

--Rachel

[chaoticneutralwriter]

Deleted Scene; Off-Chance Meeting

What if Jimin met....Jimin?

guardian demon!Jimin x reader

genre: fluff, romance, angst, comedy, supernatural

word count: 4.2k

Related works: See masterlist under guardian demon!Jimin

A/n: So this was like....a half developed scene that I was going to put in for Interlude: Second Best buuuuut I didn’t want to make the chapter too long because the main focus was guardian demon!Jimin’s POV from the events in the previous chapter. However! It’s been mentioned as a ‘what-if’ so I completed it as a fun deleted scene. Hope you like it and hope yall are doing okay! take care, be safe and I’ll hopefully see you soon again for another update, this time with story progression LOL

BTW! Thanks for the 1,026 follows!! 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺💖💖💖💖💖💖

Tag List: @cherryjiminiee @kokobaekkie @breathebangtan @itsadoozie @thatshylatinagirl @chiminieboi @azulamakesmeblank @sectumsemptae @awkwardwookie @aduky @poisonseashell @shortannoyingginger @caramelmac-chiato @sana-b @jiminstinct

Jimin’s game plan to blend in is quite simple because it really only consists of one step; grab a staff member so that he can duplicate the lanyard ID they have. Even though he promised to not use his powers to you for the most part, it doesn’t mean he hasn’t found ways to work around it. He easily locks onto a target — a male staff exiting the artist room to step out into the hallway Jimin’s in, presumably on a short break as he strides down to stop by a vending machine. The male staff has his head down, eyes glued to his phone for a while until finally, he takes a quick glance up to view the selection of snacks before ducking his head again, clearly in no rush at all.

Jimin’s lips quirk and he makes quick work at slipping closer, steps light and so undetectable that he may as well be a ghost rather than a demon. At the last minute, Jimin cloaks himself, sneaking up on the unsuspecting male just as he reaches into his back pocket to grab some change. The demon’s touch feels nothing more than a draft, fingers barely caressing the back of the colourful lanyard hanging around his neck but it’s all he needs. The male staff carries on, punching in the numbers and watches as the bag of chips falls into the slot below. Taking it, he walks away, none the wiser.

Jimin pays no mind to him anymore, focused on slipping the thin silver chain necklace out from under his shirt and with a soft blow of his breath, the silver chain morphs into the lanyard, a perfect copy. Normally, he would do without a need for something tangible to cast the illusion but this way, he wouldn’t have to use too much magic to keep it up — a weight to the illusion is more believable than simply thin air.

Satisfied, he lets the cloaking spell disperse, rolling his neck a little at the relief that he can finally walk around more freely without the worry of hiding or arousing suspicions.

“Now… where to go?” He mumbles quietly to himself, eyes darting before deciding that he should scope out the way to the area under the stage. Just as he rounds the corner though—

“Woah!”

Jimin’s fast reflexes has him jerking back in time before he collides into the other body. With a step back, his eyes immediately catch sight of the sparkly jacket and they widen almost simultaneously in realization.

Face to face with him was none other than his own mirror, Park Jimin of BTS, only he has honey blond hair and a glowing complexion.

“Ah, I’m really sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.” His eyes are a little wide, stormy grey contacts shining as he apologizes.

For a moment, he’s frozen, stuck rigid in place with shock and split second panic before realizing that he has the safety of his mouth mask and drawn up hood to protect his identity of being the idol’s face stealer. Also the fact that the idol has yet to pass out from shock at seeing his own clone or give any sort of huge reaction was a good indicator.

“A-Ah….” The demon’s voice catches in his throat, and he awkwardly coughs, embarrassed as he ducks his head and mutters gruffly in Korean, “No, it’s my mistake.”

The singer smiles amicably, teeth showing and gaze so warm and so friendly that the demon almost has trouble meeting it.

“Hey now, don’t worry! It’s nothing serious.” There’s a pause, a slight tilt of his honey blond head before those artificial stormy grey irises blink, brows furrowing. The demon starts to actually sweat, eyes refusing to meet as he unconsciously begins to lean back to put space in between. But there’s no escaping the curious gaze of the twenty-four year old singer. “Ah, I— I don’t mean to sound rude or offensive but…. I don’t believe I’ve seen you before?”

Oh shit, shit, shit, shit…

He swears his plan would’ve been completely foolproof if he hadn’t ran into the very person he’s going around parading as. The chances of the demon running into said idol was 1 in 200 and yet it’s as if fate had cursed him with the unwanted luck a fan could only dream of having. But there’s no time to curse heaven and fuck all because his mind begins to race with possibilities of escaping this situation. Maybe he could get away with enthralling the idol for a quick second, trick him into thinking this is all some sort of hallucination from being overworked and then when he’s all good and spaced out, the demon can make his escape. His fingers just about twitches when the singer’s eyes widen and his mouth opens, face alight with an epiphany.

“Are you perhaps new?”

….What?

A beat unknowingly passes between them, with the demon blinking owlishly at the young man, completely gripped in disbelief and the singer staring back expectantly.


“Am I mistaken…?”

The hesitancy creeping into that question snaps the demon from his stupor and he finally blurts out, “No, I’m new.”

Relief washes over the idol’s handsome face (he’s never gonna get over how fucking trippy this is to watch), shoulders visibly losing some tension and the singer even places a hand over his chest.

“Ah, that would’ve been really bad — I usually am able to recognize everyone on the team.” His eyes creases again from the smile forming on his face. “Why haven’t we met yet, um….?”

“Ju—“ The demon stumbles on his words, thinking at the last second that your impromptu Korean name you had given him when he met Jaehee sounded too similar to the idol’s so his mind jumps to the next one he remembers off the top of his head. “— yeon….Kang Juyeon. This is my first day.”

Jimin the idol makes a noise of understanding, presumably taking his sloppy introduction as nerves in good strides. He inclines his head graciously in an almost small bow that catches the demon off-guard. “It’s nice to officially meet you Juyeon-ssi. I look forward to working with you.”

He bows robotically in return.

“Are you on break right now?” The young singer asks innocently.

“…Yes…” The answer comes out unsure, like he’s testing the waters and seeing where this could possibly lead — hopefully with the idol leaving him be and carrying on back to the artist room, surely much too busy to entertain a seemingly nervous new recruit. To his surprise though, the demon is proven wrong.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, I must be taking up your time. Have you gotten anything to drink or eat yet?”

“Well, no but—“

The idol’s mouth gapes open almost immediately, “Would you like to head over to the catering room now? We can grab something.”

The demon is baffled, to say the least; so taken aback by Jimin’s friendly disposition to someone who he only just met that even though he really shouldn’t be overstaying his welcome like this, a part of him would actually feel guilty for turning down the offer. He’s so glad he’s wearing a mask right now because then the idol wouldn’t have to see the borderline crazed smile slowly stretching over the demon’s lips, the disbelief too strong.

But looking at the original owner of the face he wore, seeing it completely reflect a drastically different personality than his own invokes something in him; a morbid curiosity taking hold and stoking the fire to a long buried question —

Who is Park Jimin?

Beyond the worldwide renown Korean idol and a pretty face with killer vocals and dancing, the demon knows very little about who this person is, this person whom you adore so much. What is it that drew you to him specifically amongst the other members. He highly doubts its looks alone (you’re definitely not the shallow type), or maybe even the amount of talent because from what he gathered, all the members were pretty much on par with each other in all departments.

So what made Jimin special?

He really shouldn’t follow this rabbit down the hole, but he’s a demon by nature and impulsivity is practically his middle name. Without another second thought, he agrees with a nod of his head, “Okay.”

Curiosity really should be a sin.

He gets a blinding smile in response, eyes disappearing and pearly teeth on display (he spies the slight crooked front tooth that somehow only seems to add to the singer’s charm rather than a flaw). They walk off towards the room that acts as a communal dining area for the staff and artists themselves, the large selection of hot foods lined up like a buffet self-serve while there are tables available for anyone who wants to sit down for their meal. There’s only a few staff members gathered there, each preoccupied with their phones or simply grabbing a quick bite to eat before rushing back to where they’re needed.

The singer walks in and of the few people that are hanging around, he inclines his head in greeting to them. The demon has no choice but to follow in order to not draw suspicions (even though he gets a few raised eyebrows from wearing a full hood and mask but is ultimately brushed off).

“There’s a lot of choices here so please help yourself. Don’t be shy.” Jimin gestures, grabbing a plate and going for one of the rolls of kimbap. Though the demon has no intention of eating anything — for obvious reasons, he still makes the effort to thoughtlessly pick out random food items to place on his plate for the sake of keeping up the facade. He gets as far as two scoops of sweet and sour pork before the young idol turns to him and his eyes dart to his modest portion.

“Is that all you’re going to eat?”

“Uh…Yes?”

That immediately draws out a noise of disapproval, handsome face pinching along to match the tone. “Ah, Juyeon-ssi; you need to eat to keep up your strength. You can’t hold back on something as important as that.” Before any words of protest can be formed, a kimbap roll is placed on the empty space of the demon’s plate.

And then another.

And then a spring roll.

And then a hefty scoop of black bean noodles and some rice.

It goes on until his plate is adequately full, the idol satisfied as they migrate over to an empty table. The demon takes a seat and he feels his lips quirk as he observes the fact that Jimin’s own plate only consisted of two kimbap rolls and a few pieces of fruit he’s currently nibbling on. The stark contrast and adamancy is already so telling of his character, sans personal dietary considerations.

“Has the job been hard so far?” The singer asks casually.

“Not particularly….”

“Ah, that’s good to hear. Have people been nice to you?”

“Uh…Yeah, I guess.”

He gets a nod of approval, and the demon vaguely likens the feeling of a mother asking their child if their first day of school went well (or if he’s being generous, an older brother). It’s strange experiencing something so familial yet coming from the idol, it all seems so natural as if they’ve known each other for years and not just in the span of less than an hour.

It’s quite the culture shock — something he admittedly doesn’t have a good grasp on and it’s that curiosity to know that has him daringly (or perhaps, no doubt to his colleagues, foolishly) diving deeper. The wooden chopsticks in his hand push around the food on his plate meaninglessly, a gesture meant to disguise the hidden agenda he has; dissecting the idol and seeing what makes him tick.

His lips instinctively quirk under his mask but he makes sure that it doesn’t translate in his gaze as his eyes focus on the idol.

“I’m sure your job is much more tiring.” He says, taking on a tentative tone, implicating for an open ended discussion.

The singer takes a pause, eyes wandering in thought before he sucks in a breath after some serious considerations, “I don’t really think my job is any harder than some of the other staff here…” He stops, as if collecting his thoughts again and then continues, “I think it’s thanks to everyone’s efforts that the members and I are able to do these show successfully and safely. If I were to really break things down…. I really only do a small part.”

“But there’s no point to a show if there’s no performers.”

There’s a hum in reply to his statement but after the idol swallows the strawberry he’s popped into his mouth, he says, “I can see how you would say that, but I think more importantly, there’s no point to a show without the fans.”

The demon doesn’t miss the gentle affection that slips through — that quiet, soft whisper that carries the words near the end, giving way to something much deeper. It’s something he’s seen before, reflected in himself, and it’s whenever his thoughts wander to you.

Fondness.

His chest gives a twinge at the memory, jaw clenching a little as if to physically repress the feelings that begin to stir.

“You don’t even know the fans….” It comes out more as a low murmur to himself, but the contempt underlying his tone seeps through all the same. It’s just…. How could the idol possibly share the same sentiment he has with you, someone who he’s actually spent time with and come to know all the little quirks to — what makes you happy, sad, laugh, the way you laugh, the little noises you make when you eat something you love, see you at your highest and lowest points, with a group of people (not even a single person) who he’s had less than ten seconds worth of interactions?

It’s far too superficial, too scripted and said too many times with no real meaning. He wants to scoff at how impractical it is.

“Maybe so, but it goes beyond that.” The familiar sound of the idol’s lilt halts the demon’s thoughts quite suddenly, still in that soft spoken way but there’s something else with it. A sureness — steady and unwavering, and just the barest hints of….passive-aggressiveness?

That gets a quirk in the eyebrow; so this kitten does have claws after all.

“There are times where I wonder why there are so many people who like us and support us the way they do.” The singer continues seriously, already getting lost in deep thought. “Probably because we work hard, but who doesn’t work hard? Others make good music and do their best too so why us? We try our best to communicate to our fans but everyone does too…..These sorts of things are something I often think about.”

A pause, as if to find the right words, “But whenever I read the fan’s letters or things they post on SNS to us, saying how much we’ve helped them with our songs when they’re going through a hard time, it makes me realize that we’re not so different. We all have flaws and maybe it’s because we’re not perfect that they like us. Starting off with nothing and then little by little, seeing more people coming to support us…. They’re the ones who put us on the stage, so I— We cherish them a lot. They give us energy and comfort us, and we do the same back, like a deep connection, an understanding.”

The young singer stops in pushing around the remaining strawberry on his plate, a ghost of a smile tugging on his lips, like he’s recalling a particularly pleasant memory. “So we want to give back by making good music and showing them our best. Ah, reminds of something really cool Namjoon-hyung said.” He takes the time to tilt his head, “He said how even if it’s just one person he could help, he’ll continue to keep trying. That really touched me, so even if we might not know them personally, they’re the ones who motivate us and makes all of this worth it.”

Once he finishes, the demon is left a little more than bewildered, overwhelmed in fact that all he could do was blink. Granted, it was a lot to take in, never having expected such an arduous confession but what’s even more baffling to him is the conviction the singer had saying all of it, so earnest in his words. Now, he’s no lie detector per se, but as a demon, he does have a more innate ability to pick up on cues and inflections that would give a person away, revealing their true nature. He’s used to it after all.

And then along comes Park Jimin.

This twenty-four some odd year old idol, thrusted into the cut-throat world that is the entertainment industry, young and bright-eyed, armed with nothing but potential, a good work ethic and a dream, yet comes out on the other side, a little bruised and scathed but otherwise, un-jaded; that young and bright-eyed innocence not diminished, instead it matured into something more resilient.

He can probably count on his finger how many people he can actually say that about. Hell, the only closest people that would qualify would be saints, and even that is debatable.

It’s....irritating because he’s faced with the fact that as much as he had wanted to dislike this person, he’s proven that he can’t.

A rush of air leaves his nose and he has to contain a rueful smile. “You’re a very admirable person Park Jimin-ssi. Not that many people keep to their beliefs so strongly like that.”

He gets a bashful giggle in return, light and melodic.

“Aish, what are you saying? I’m not all that impressive….I think I still have a lot to learn.” The singer almost whines from behind the back of his hand covering the open mouth smile he has. Once he calms, it softens. “All I really want is for the fans to remember BTS for our sincerity. I just hope that I’ve been able to help convey that so far.”

The demon lets out a breathy chuckle, finally getting up from his seat. He gazes down at this young man who’s face reflects his own yet wears it in such an entirely different way — glowing with a passion and radiance that is warm, sincere, kind, compassionate and loving.

Perhaps the way it’s meant to be worn.

And it’s with a bittersweet reluctance that the demon places a hand on the singer’s shoulder, giving it a gentle reassuring squeeze. “Keep doing what you’re doing and never lose sight of yourself. As long as you remember what you’re doing this for, the sincerity of your members and you will be conveyed.”

Stormy grey eyes widen a fraction, a little confused as they blink up at him, clearly not expecting such encouragements (honestly, he didn’t expect this either yet here he is).

“Wh— Um, I—…” The idol reaches a hand up to comb through his meticulously styled hair, tousling a few loose strands as slowly, the apples of his cheeks begin to dust in a pink hue and dark eyes can’t help but watch on in amusement. As if sensing the focus shifting to his quickly reddening face however, the young man lets out a sputter and lightly smacks the demon’s forearm, refusing to meet his gaze. “Ahh Juyeon-ssi! What’s with you saying that all of a sudden to me? You sound as if you’re way older than me when we’re probably friends in age!”

Friends…

“What makes you think that?”

“W-Well… I don’t know how to explain it but…. I feel a sense of familiarity with you when we met. Like, a vibe….” The sentence pewters out into a shy mumble, the tips of his ears matching his cheeks now before comically, grey orbs whip up, suddenly concerned. “Unless you’re not….?”

The snort that leaves the demon’s mouth is quickly covered by clearing his throat but he’s sure the restrained mirth still reaches his eyes as he assures, “No, we’re friends.”

He’s met with a brilliant grin, full of teeth and a twinkle in his gaze. “Oh thank goodness. I would’ve died on the spot out of embarrassment.”

He refrains from rolling his eyes if only to dismiss the overly-dramatic relief that overcame the poor young man. But regardless, it’s his cue to go — he's starting to feel a little too perturbed being near someone so good-natured. With a final pat to his shoulder, the demon begins to depart.

“It was nice talking to you Park Jimin-ssi but you’ll have to excuse me, I have to get going now.”

“O-Oh? Is it really that time? If that’s the case— Ya! Kang Juyeon-ssi! Did you even touch your food? You—!”

“Jimin-hyung!”

“Oh?” Jimin’s attention whips to the new voice that called him from the still full plate of food left on the table. His eyes immediately meet doe-eyed ones, usually dark as coal but are currently a more lighter coffee colour, bringing out more of the brown that’s hidden in its depths thanks to the contacts. The youngest member approaches him with long strides, the sequins on his own stage outfit glitter with each step.

“This is where you were? Should’ve told me you were hungry, we could’ve gone to snack together.”

“Ah, no I was just talking with Juyeon-ssi.”

“Juyeon? Who’s that?”

“Kang Juyeon; that person who was just leaving, you must’ve seen him on your way in.”

But that only gets a head tilt from Jungkook, who swivels his head back towards the entrance, “He doesn’t sound familiar and I didn’t see anyone leaving.”

“….Huh?” Equally confused, Jimin swerves around the tall form of Jungkook to get a look however, to his surprise, he doesn’t see anyone. Glancing around lets him know that at most, there was only three other people in the room, excluding him and Jungkook but they were all immersed on the couch in the far corner, away from the entryway. Does Juyeon walk that fast?  “Aye, quit messing with me. He had on a face mask, around my height? With his hoodie pulled up; probably the only one here who does too.”

Jungkook shakes his head, genuinely clueless on who Jimin could possibly be referring to. “No, I swear I haven’t seen anyone around like that.”

The furrow in Jimin’s brows deepen, mouth falling open in disbelief. The scrunched up, troubled expression the older member makes was too good to pass up on teasing so Jungkook can’t help but to lean close, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“What? Were you speaking to a ghost this entire time hyung?”

“Aish! Don’t say that! That actually gave me chills!” Jimin scowls, smacking the youngest repeatedly on the arm and causing Jungkook to cackle and skip away from the assault.

“Anyways, Namjoon-hyung wants to go over the script again so I went to go find you.”

“Oh, okay. Let’s go then.”

Brushing down his jacket, Jimin gets up, taking both plates with him, discarding his own empty one while Jungkook gleefully takes the one Juyeon hadn’t touched. The two head out and begin to make their way back to the artist dressing room, with Jungkook talking around mouthfuls of food about what Jimin had apparently missed while he was away but all Jimin could think about was his meeting with Juyeon.

There’s no way he could’ve imagined it all in his head — he’s too young to be going senile. Plus, it felt too real for it to be some overworked hallucination (besides, he doesn’t feel that jet lagged). So there’s a perfectly, logical explanation for it. Yeah, he just…walks really fast.

“Jimin-hyung is here!” Jungkook calls out to the rest of the members. He gets a myriad of boisterous responses and greetings. The sound makes him inadvertently grin.

“Yeah, yeah I’m coming. I didn’t think you would miss me that badly; I was gone for ten minutes.”

Thoughts of his mysterious friend are pushed away for some other time but the wise words he’s been given remain at the forefront of Jimin’s mind. Perhaps the next time he runs into Juyeon, he’ll treat him to a drink or two during the celebratory dinners — get to know him better.

He’s not sure what it is about Juyeon that makes him want to befriend him so intently, like there’s something about him….

Something that’s a little melancholy….and maybe, he dare say, a little lonely.

But to the singer’s dismay, he never really did see him again.

[ljandersen]

Hi! I was wondering if you’d be willing to share a little (or a lot! I’m not picky) about your process for writing Burning Barriers? Things you researched, things that gave you inspiration, any of it. I’m having a blast reading it and I’m so curious about what all went into writing it! (And it’s totally okay if you don’t want to! I just had to let you know how much I’m enjoying it!)

Wow!  I’m incredibly flattered by this ask.  I think it’s the first time I’ve gotten an ask about my writing that wasn’t part of a game.  I was ecstatic to see it in my inbox.  Thank you for taking the time and interest to send it.  “Burning Barriers” is my favorite posted story.  I love talking about it.  I’m humbled when anyone actually wants to know something about it.  Anyway, seriously, I appreciate getting this ask.  It made my day!

On to the actual question though:  The inspiration for writing the book had a lot to do with what lead into me writing fanfiction. “Burning Barriers” was the first piece of fanfiction I wrote and the first novel-length story I finished.  In a lot of ways, it was a turning point in my writing.  I’d written my whole life, but for the most part, I’d gradually given it up during grad school and internship rotations.  It turns out, though, corporate healthcare can be quite dehumanizing and impersonal.  My career wasn’t what I thought.  I decided I needed to return to what I loved doing, which was writing.  

Initially, I decided it was time to write that masterpiece of literary fiction I’d always planned on writing.  I made detailed outlines and character sheets.  I had each beat perfectly aligned for a four-act story structure.  I had the character arcs.  Subplots were variations on the theme and parallel to the main story, just like the writing books recommended.  Everything was set to finally write The Masterpiece.  And . . .

I stalled out.

I was too overwhelmed to write this overblown piece of art.  I knew I couldn’t live up to my own expectations.  I’d decided to return to writing, but nothing as happening.

I loved writing, but I also always loved video games.  I’d played all the Dragon Age games as each came out.  I had no idea Mass Effect existed.  In 2018, my sister came across it.  After playing the ME trilogy, she recommended it to me.  I loved it.  With the three games tying together and having the same protagonist, who spoke and had a name, I became enthralled.  Then came the ending with Shepard dying on the Crucible.

The credits rolled.  Moon boy had just asked about “The Shepard,” and this was it.  Was Shepard alive or dead?  What about her love interest, in this case, Kaidan?  What about their story?  What about Shepard’s story as a person?  It just ended.  Cut off.  

While I appreciate the bittersweet nature of the ending, I didn’t have any closure.  I kept thinking, “How would I have ended it?”  There were a few elements in particular that I thought would be interesting to explore more: fraternization and biotics.  It’s always interested me when a super hero loses her power.  What if Shepard couldn’t use her biotics?  As for fraternization, I understood it being dismissed in ME-3, but what about after?  They want to be together but rules are falling back into place.  It’s always interesting when two people are forbidden to be together by external forces.  There were so many interesting way to play out these different ideas.

I kept thinking about this hypothetical ending for my game.  Finally, I decided I should just write it.  It was going to be a short story for myself.  I just needed it out of my system.  Maybe it would be a good warm up to finally writing The Masterpiece.  I started writing my ending for ME.

I had a very vague plot in mind.  As I started writing, the plot became more than just a vehicle for finding closure with Shepard and Kaidan’s love story.  I had only planned on writing Shepard’s POV, but as I drew closer to a section in the story that I knew Shepard couldn’t tell, I realized I needed someone else to take over the story.  Skipping forward in time as I initially planned wouldn’t be satisfying.  I decided to make the story three parts, and Kaidan would tell part two.  I would return back to Shepard’s POV for the last part.  

I was nervous switching POV and thought a lot about how Shepard and Kaidan would tell their story differently.  Shepard is fast, goal-oriented, no-nonsense, and avoids uncomfortable, emotional rumination.  Kaidan, however, is more self-aware and honest with his feelings.  He’s reflective, cautious, and has a deeper internal life.  The idea of contrasting the POV while keeping a consistent narrative voice was a interesting challenge.  In the end, switching POV didn’t turn out to be as difficult as I thought, and I really enjoyed writing a part of the story from Kaidan’s eyes.  

As I approached part three, where Kaidan’s POV would end, I realized dropping his side would feel disappointing in a way.  The story had become as much Kaidan’s story as it was Shepard’s.  They needed to tell the ending together.  The decision to alternate POV in part three even gave the story cohesion: 1. Shepard 2. Kaidan 3. Shepard and Kaidan.  It felt right.  I was surprised I hadn’t thought of that from the beginning.

The story was starting to become big.  Somewhere into writing part 1, I realized this was a more serious endeavor than a throw-away short story.  So I got serious.  I knew my ending for the story, and I decided to dissect apart what would make the ending truly satisfying.  What were the barriers to it feeling the best it could feel?  

Once I identified those elements, it influenced the story quite a bit.  I had to include new pieces to the story, like Kaidan’s family, and I had to emphasize character arcs in some of the secondary characters.  I also realized the thing keeping Shepard and Kaidan apart had to be more than fraternization regs.  I had to be something internal in addition to external to feel believable.

As I wrote, there was one big development I hadn’t planned but that felt organic.  It worked for the character arc I was creating, and I let it play out.  While there was one big surprise, a lot of the story’s details sprang up and were little surprises while I was writing.  I knew the points I wanted to connect, but I discovered the details as I wrote it.  It was like I had this skeleton, but the discovery process as I wrote gave it the flesh and beauty of being something worthwhile.

The story’s ending was everything I hoped, which was a huge feat for me.  I took a long time reflecting on how all the elements could come together at once in a way that felt right.  I needed to incorporate a lot of external elements into one moment: the Mass Effect shard, the Scorpion terrorist leader, an object they’re looking for in part 3, and all the secondary characters (Council, Alliance, Shepard’s companions).  I needed it to bring Shepard and Kaidan’s internal conflict keeping them apart to a moment of clarity, which would be easy if it was just about realizing they loved each other.  They already knew that.  Shepard needed to confront her fears and realize her false reasoning wasn’t just wrong, but that actually the opposite was real truth.  It was a lot to achieve in one ending, but as far as I’m concerned, I felt like I was successful in bringing everything together into one moment.  I was able to resolve many questions, external and internal, with one answer.  

Honestly, I have compared Burning Barrier’s ending to my current big WIP and felt like I can’t live up to my own benchmark of satisfaction in an ending.  Granted, all of that’s really talking up my own ending, and readers may or may not feel like the ending brought everything together in a satisfying way.  But for me, I was pleased with the ending to a story I was telling myself.  Since I had never finished a novel-sized story, it was huge moment.

I wrote "Burning Barriers” in notebooks over the course of four months.  I had no idea of the word count when I finished.  It all come together so naturally and simply, I actually thought my story would fall short of being novel-sized.  All three parts together I expected to fall into the novella range.  I was wrong.  I started typing it up and watched the word count climb.  This story that felt so simple and quick to me turned out not only to be novel-sized, but each part was novel-sized. I was thunderstruck.  I realized: not only had I finished my first novel, I finished three of them!  It was huge for me.  

Writing fanfiction and not trying to live up to this inflated, self-imposed ideal of creating “Art” had finally set me free.  I could finally write and finish a novel.  I even did it with a method I never expected to work for me.  Being an organized and kind of methodical person, I always assumed outlining was the best way for me.  It was the responsible, better approach.  It turns out, knowing my direction but finding my way as I go was what worked best.  It gave me joy in discovering, and knowing I could edit it later, freed me from every word being perfection in the first draft.

“Burning Barriers” had three major drafts.  After writing the story in notebooks, I knew what I needed to emphasize and cut away as I typed it into a second draft.  I could foreshadow and set up the ending.  I could fill in missing scenes.  It was a major overhaul.  I then read through the whole story a third time focusing more on the writing-level, sentences and wording choice.  Then it was done.

Now I needed to do something with it.  After a certain point of writing this story, maybe halfway, I realized I was putting enough effort into it, I actually wanted someone to read it.  My sister, who had recommended Mass Effect to me, was also a writer.  As I wrote and finished editing my story, I had her in mind as the one person who would read my story.  Unfortunately, fanfiction is stigmatized and on a much lower level than if I wrote The Masterpiece.  After I was finished with this story, by sister felt embarrassed for me writing fanfiction.  The idea of reading fanfiction was demeaning for a serious writer and it wasn’t her thing.  It’s fair to feel that way, I suppose, but I was disappointed.  

My other sister who isn’t a gamer but was aware of fanfiction as a thing suggested I post online.  The game had been out for so long, I doubted Mass Effect fans were still reading fanfic, but I decided to try.  I had written 300 K words that no one would ever read but me if I let it lay forgotten on the hard drive.  

I went ahead and posted it on FFN.  I made each part it’s own book, and I posted all three books and all the chapters all at once.  Then I sat back and waited.  And waited.  And waited.  Nothing.  It was deflating.  I had a few favorites or follows scattered here and there, but it felt pretty silent.  I could see stats that some people probably had read the whole way through, but that was it for spending months writing this 300 K fic.  I actually felt worse than before I’d posted it online, because this felt more like a rejection.  My fear, my story actually being awful, could actually be true.

At the time, I didn’t know anything about fanfiction culture.  I didn’t know people posted before they finished a story or that it was common practice to post chapter by chapter to gain readership.  I had no idea my posting method could be playing a role in why the stories were lost to the void.  

My sister who had suggested posting online recommended looking for Facebook groups to information on other places to post.  I joined some FB groups and asked for recommendations where else to post.  I heard about AO3.  Now, I still didn’t know about this whole posting chapter-by-chapter thing, so I posted my story on AO3 the same way as before.  Unlike FFN, I decided this time to keep all the parts together, since so much of the story relied on in-jokes and references from earlier parts.  Plus, the story and plot arc were made to connect over the whole story.  Other than that, I posted “Burning Barriers” as one giant chunk of 124 chapters, like I had on FFN, and sat back again.  This time there was one difference: someone commented.

I got a comment from someone who read the first chapter, liked it, and said she would put it on her reading list.  That one comment changed my whole experience.  I replied to the comment, and I through a back and forth via email met my now very good friend @ripley95things .  She introduced me to another wonderful friend @rpgwarrior4824 .  Their comments on “Burning Barriers” made all the difference.  I went from feeling kind of devastated and being embarrassed about my story to being glad I wrote it.  It was a complete 180 just by having two people who cared.  It made all the difference.  

They welcomed me into the fandom.  I learned so much about the fanfic culture and started reading other Shenko fanfics.  I haven’t stopped since.  With all the encouragement I got from talking with them, I decided to write more Shenko fanfiction myself even.  I hadn’t planned to write anything more than “Burning Barriers,” but suddenly I had a new plot-heavy story I was writing (am still writing *sigh*).  I wrote a one-shot and some lighter, shorter multichapter fics.  I eventually joined Tumblr.  But it all started with “Burning Barriers.”

That’s a lot of extra information on “Burning Barriers” than just my inspiration and approach to writing, but haha, I guess, I got on a roll.  The story has a lot of meaning to me, and the history surround it feels integrated into its DNA.  If you read this far, I really appreciate you reading not only a very long book with “Burning Barriers,” but also a very long monologue about the very long book.  Haha.  Thank you!

Anyway, I’ll end here.  Thank you for your wonderful question.  It was fun to reflect back on this story that has so much meaning to me.  I appreciate your interest in “Burning Barriers.”  It means more than I can say that you read my story, and even more, to know you’re interested enough to ask a question about it (thought you probably didn’t expect how much you’d get!  Lol! :D)  Thanks again!

[bobasheebaby]

Tie Me Down- Cordonian Ruby short

Pairing: Ruby Rys x Beau Larkin

Word count: 1,192

Warnings: none it’s fluff

Summary: I got an ask from a dear anon about when Beau knew Ruby was the one. I could have just answered it but I thought Beau might do it better.

Song Inspiration: Tie Me Down by Taylor Ray Holbrook (it’s far more innocent than the name implies I promise)

A/N1: this is completely written in first person from Beau’s POV and jumps from when they are 16 & 17 to 17 & 18.

A/N2: I used the chorus to break apart the different sections, lyrics are italicized.

A/N3: This may very well be a hot mess disaster. I changed POV last minute from third to first, have had zero sleep and am only awake due to coffee and sheer will. Also I’m the only one who went over this draft, so please excuse any of my sleep deprived mistakes. Thank you to my snippet reader @loveellamae who screamed appropriately.

Series warnings: character death, blood, surgical procedures done by non medical personnel, may go NSFW in the future. May contain gun violence, knife violence, threats, not sure how dark this will go. By requesting to be tagged you acknowledge you are at least 18 years of age.

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist.

Disclaimer: I own Ruby, Galen, Lovett, and Beau, I’m borrowing Bastien and Olivia from PB.

When I first saw her I could barely tear my eyes off of her. She was new, sure it was the beginning of the school year but I surely would have remembered someone like her.

She was unlike any girl I’d ever met. She had this air about her that had me completely captivated and dying to know more.

Most of the other girls put far too much time and thought into their appearance, sure they looked pretty but she was an effortless beauty.

Her long golden hair sat piled on top of her head, and her nose was buried in a book, but still she captivated me. Every day at lunch it was the same, she would tuck herself away either in the cafeteria or out in the courtyard.

She didn’t seem too interested in making friends with the other students. She knew who she was and wasn’t concerned with proving herself.

Her self esteem took my breath away. I had moments of doubt at times, she looked like she never second-guessed herself.

She had this magnetic energy that just drew me to her.

Every time I passed her in the hallway my heart would race, by the time I got the nerve to speak to her it was nearly winter break. I couldn’t understand what it was about her that had me so flustered and nervous, I'd talked to other girls, been on more than a few dates.

There was just something about her that was different, special.

I knew that it was coming but I didn't see it coming now

Little did I know you had the finger I'd be wrapped around

One look at you and I saw everything I'd ever need

And you don't know what you do to me

I'm down to give it all up

If you're up to tie me down

If you're up to tie me down

I wasn’t even the slightest bit surprised when she pulled her blonde waves back into a ponytail. I knew I had been taking a risk with this unconventional first date, but I also couldn’t see taking someone like her to the movies.

It felt too played out for someone as special as her. She deserved a guy who actually got who she was. I might not be the guy for her, but I’m trying to be worthy of her.

She was always beautiful, but she looked absolutely breathtaking as she picked up the rifle. Her hair shimmered in the afternoon sun reminding me of gold. No, it was more like a halo, she was so angelic.

Damn the way she took my breath away.

Her form was perfect, if I didn’t know any better I would have sworn she’d spent her entire life in Texas.

She was completely at ease with the gun and the target practice, it was me who seemed to make her stutter.

I got it, she made me nervous too. It was second nature to reassure her.

Damn I sound like some kind of lovesick fool. It was too soon to know, but maybe someday it would be, if I was lucky.

I knew that it was coming but I didn't see it coming now

Little did I know you had the finger I'd be wrapped around

One look at you and I saw everything I'd ever need

And you don't know what you do to me

I'm down to give it all up

If you're up to tie me down

(Treat my heart like a secret)

If you're up to tie me down

(Promise me that you'll keep it)

(Treat my heart like a secret)

(You're the reason it's beating)

Panic flooded my veins the moment the wooden sword hit her ribcage with a deafening crack.

My heart dropped to my stomach and I felt like I might be sick. I hurt her. I actually hurt her. The thought made my heart ache.

Would she ever trust me again?

How would I possibly ever make this up to her?

I was frozen in fear, my heart pounding in my chest.

I never wanted to hurt her. Never wanted to be the person to bring tears to her eyes.

As I watched her clutching her ribs I noticed something, she wasn’t crying.

How was she not in pain?

I had watched her stumble backward and while I’m strong she could flip me over her head if she wanted, there is no way that I could have been the sole reason she was knocked off balance.

From the sound alone I could tell that I hit her hard. I knew it had to hurt like a bitch. Hell, I probably would be crying if it was me.

It should be me.

The thought barely even caught me off guard. It didn’t even surprise me as the next thought rang clear in my mind. I love her.

I knew that it was coming but I didn't see it coming now

Little did I know you had the finger I'd be wrapped around

One look at you and I saw everything I'd ever need

And baby you don't know what you do to me

I'm down to give it all up oh

I'm down to give it all up oh

I'm down to give it all up oh

If you're up to tie me down

If you're up to tie me down

It’d been weeks since the mishap with the sword.

The way she brushed it off like it was perfectly normal to have two busted ribs only compounded my feelings for her.

Every day I feel just a little more sure. There will be no other girl like her.

I still haven’t told her, I don’t even know if I could put the way I feel about her into words.

‘I love you,’ while the truth those three little words just don’t feel like enough.

She is the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. She stuns and amazes me every single day, and I feel like the luckiest guy in the world when she looks at me.

The way her brilliant blue eyes light up when she smiles. No other girl could ever compare. The way she makes me feel. I just know, she’s it, my one in a million. No other girl could make me feel the way she does.

I looked down with a smile as I felt her shift closer to me.

Out here in the bed of my beat up old pick up just leaning back and watching the stars. Nothing too special, except it was her. Everything feels perfect with her.

I felt the overwhelming urge to voice my feelings.

I’m a little nervous, what if she doesn’t feel the same?

I’m eighteen and I’ve already found the love of my life. The thought of anything shattering the perfect picture in my mind terrifies me.

God, I’m head over heels for her.

I love her and tonight I will tell her those three little words.

You won't see it coming but one day you're gonna turn around

And I'll put a ring on the finger I've been wrapped around

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