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orchidyoonkook · 1 year

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Under The Willow Tree | MYG

Title: Under The Willow Tree

Pairing: Bad Boy!Min Yoongi x (F)!Reader

Rating//Genre: (T) | One Shot, Small Town AU, S2F2L, Implied Age Gap, Slow Burn, Angst, Touch of Fluff, Darker Subject Matter, First Kiss, Silce of Life

Summary: The town outcast shows up in the one place you find solace from it’s residents. The people you force yourself to fit in with, even though you never want to be anything like them. Will he ruin your only place of salvation, or become the most unlikely friend?

Warnings: PG16, some not necessarily positive non-specific religious discussions, people using religion in a negative may, plot twisty, cursing, kissing, semi-apparent abandonment issues, discussions of dead parents and guardians, mentions of alcoholism in a parent, mentions of illness in a parent, yoongi has tattoos and a motorcycle, motorcycle lessons, longing, mishandled emotions, catharsis.

Word Count: 7401

Release Date: April 10, 2023, 4:05PM

A/N 1: This happened due to a writing prompts post I shared sometime in late march. I’m quite proud of it considering I hadn’t planned anything so the entire story was written as I was writing. Very different than my normal writing process.

A/N 2: Thank you endlessly to @borahae-k, @katykatmeow, @here4btsfics and @phthartic-fox for beta’ing this. I love you all for your help, support and kindness.

It happened under a willow tree. A weeping willow.

Your favourite willow, to be specific. Even though there’s just the one.

It’s by the pond deep in the woods behind your house, where you watch ducks swim through the long, wispy branches that just reach its shore. Where you sit at the base, waiting for the sun to set the sky ablaze with colour as it falls into the horizon for another good night's sleep.

The one under which you had your first kiss.

You’d been waiting. Wanting it to be special, with the right person.

But a brief brush of soft, pink lips with the last person you ever expected had you wanting more, more, more.

It’d been a few months since he started coming to the willow. You’d assumed for the same reason you did.

To get away. From anyone and everything.

There aren’t many places in your hometown that allow for privacy, and you imagined he needed it more than anyone. Somewhere far from the residents' judgmental stares that were always nothing less than smothering.

Hailing from a very small, very rural, religious town where everybody’s known everyone for generations, your community is one where you follow in the footsteps of your parents and grandparents before them.

Where your life is already decided for you at birth, whether you know it or not.

Copy. Paste.

Copy.

Paste.

You’re born there; either at home with a midwife or in the one floor hospital down the main road. Raised there; a hand-me-down wearing, bike riding, creek-playing child.

You go to school there; stuck inside the same four walls from the ages of 4 to 18. Get your driver's licence there; from the sheriff after a road test that a 9 year old could pass.

You graduate there; from the same high school your friends, parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents went to. Get a job; in town or on a farm, the only two options there are.

And marry there; before 25, lest you become a spinster, subject to the gossip vultures also known as your neighbours. Then have some kids before growing old and dying, your permanent resting place dug in the same graveyard as everyone else that came before you.

Copy.

Paste.

It’s a suffocating fate that petrified you to your core. And you’ve known you didn’t want it for as long as you can remember.

You never liked their rules. Didn’t want to become one of them, to do as they do, live the way they live.

You’d skillfully escaped making any true friends as you grew older, but kept the people you could tolerate close enough to not be bored on weekends. They’re all temporary placeholders in your life anyway, people who sound like robots stuck in the same settings. People who would hold you back.

What’s worst of all is that you don’t share the religion they claim to be so hallowed and wonderful. The one that’s unwittingly forced them all into this life of monotonous repetition.

You dream of more. Of life outside this dreaded purgatory.

Of leaving.

But no one ever leaves. They’re stuck here, in this downwards spiral of life you’re so desperately trying to dig yourself out of. It makes you feel like a fraud, constantly pretending to be one of them. Always wearing a mask just to make it to the next day alive, unharmed by them and their values.

It makes you feel like there’s always a pair of eyes watching, waiting for you to mess up and reveal your blasphemous self.

You’re terrified they’ll discover the truth. Terrified of the ostracisation that will come the second they know you aren’t one of them.

You’ve seen it in real time. What they do to people who don’t conform.

Seen how they treat him.

Two years older. Bleach blond hair and a sleeve full of tattoos. A leather jacket he wears like armour with all black clothes to match. And last, but certainly not least, a motorcycle.

You daydreamed about that bike. Taking it and riding far, far away.

The busybodied people of your town never had a kind word to be said about him. Instead, choosing to call him any and every horrible name under the sun.

Beast, bastard, demon, monster, criminal.

Unable to understand him, understand anyone different.

They herd their children away from him in the streets; parting like the Red Sea when he walks by.

As if he were acid.

As if he was evil itself, and not just a young man.

You’ve never even heard him speak because no one dares to talk to him, worried any contact could turn them, seduce them into whatever his sick ways were.

And you’re ashamed to admit you’re one of them…sort of.

You aren’t worried about speaking to him, you’re worried about what being seen speaking with him will do to you.

You’re someone whose only salvation from complete and total social isolation relies on fitting in.

And even if it kills you to pretend, you only need to do it for a little while longer.

You just had to make it to college. You’d be the first one in decades to go. Their mindset of ‘you have everything you need here so why bother leaving’ having not once in your life resonated.

You can deal with them and all of their beliefs about what you should do with your life for the short hours of school and occasional shifts at the diner, so long as you can escape to your willow tree, you’ll be okay.

The weeping willow in the middle of the forest behind your house is the only one in the area. You never understood why that is, but it’s your oasis away from everything you hate.

The tips of its branches sway rhythmically in the wind, and moss creeps up its trunk. It’s surrounded by dense, plush grass for you to sit on, and after all the years of sitting in the same spot, a little groove in the shape of your body has formed at its base.

Its canopy protects you from the outside world, creating a space where you don't have to hide. Where you can proudly be yourself without fear. Where you spend as much of your time as you possibly can to keep your sanity intact.

No one bothers you here.

Your mum died years ago from an illness they never diagnosed, her plot in the town’s graveyard long since filled.

And your dad never notices you gone, too drunk in your house up on the hill to care.

So as long as there’s a constant supply of food on the counter and beer in the fridge, you’re free to do as you please.

Under the willow you do your homework and sketch. You take pictures and eat breakfasts and lunches and dinners. You listen to music and dance under the safety of its shade.

Under the willow you read great adventure novels, and dream you’re the protagonists whisked away on grand adventures. Anywhere but here.

Under the willow is your home away from home. Next to the pond, under the stars.

So it’s to your great surprise when an unexpected guest pries open the curtain of flowing foliage one spring afternoon. A bleached blond, leather jacket wearing, motorcycle riding, guest.

You don’t see him at first, too focused on the sketchpad in front of you. He steps in, and watches you work quietly, waiting for you to notice him.

You fascinate him. Every other girl in town can be found at one of three places, yet you were never at any of them. Not at the restaurant sipping on a milkshake. Not at the library studying. And not at the church volunteering.

You’re always elsewhere.

And he’s finally figured out where that is.

He was nervous at first. To follow you. You’d never spoken but that wasn’t anything new to him. No one in this town ever did.

Not to him.

But you don’t look down at him like the others do. Or jump out of the way when he walks by. You don’t tear away from his gaze as fast as the others. You hold on, even if for just a second longer.

Unknowingly, you’ve captivated him more than anyone else he’s ever met.

So he followed you to see where you vanish off to, not expecting you to go into the forest behind your house.

For a half second he considered you dangerous, because what on earth could you be getting up to in a forest for hours? But as he trailed the sounds of your footsteps and saw the small clearing with the tree, it began to make sense.

After jumping ten feet from seeing something tall and dark in your periphery, you exhale a large breath when you realise you aren’t in any danger, and shake out the nerves.

You’d normally worry he was there to hurt you, but something in you knew he never would. Never could. Maybe it was the look he gave as he regarded you.

Soft. Wistful even.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, wary. The first words you’ve ever spoken to him.

Barely contained inside the limits of the willows perimeter, he shrugs, and takes a long look around your little sanctuary.

And as he does, you get your first real look at him.

He’s handsome. Stoically so. And for only a moment do you wonder about all the stories hidden behind his eyes.

The ones now focused on you.

“Wanted to see where you disappear to. You’re never in town.”

So what if you were never in town? Why did he care? Wait—How did he know? Does he pay attention to you?

…Why you?

You didn’t think he cared to notice anyone in this town, let alone you enough to know you don’t follow the social expectations of someone your age.

To pick up on the fact that you’re never there at all.

It makes a million things run through your mind—Why does he care about where you go? What about you is so special? Does he even know your name?—before one resounding thought hits you like a ton of bricks.

Can you trust him?

No one else in this town does, but all of their reasons are superficial bullshit.

All you know is you don’t know the first thing about him, and that now he knows about the one place you feel safe.

“That’s intentional,” you say, cautious. Not giving away anything but not saying much either.

“Can’t blame you,” he responds, before checking out the rooftop of bright green and muttering, “Eyes and ears everywhere.”

Those four words alone are all you need.

He gets it.

“Yeah.”

Maybe you can trust him.

Observing each other for a silent minute, there seems to be an unspoken understanding forming between the two of you.

And he shoves his hands in his pockets, asking, “Mind company?”

You think about it for only a second.

No. No you didn’t.

“As long as you’re quiet. I’m trying to focus,” pointing the eraser end of your pencil to the sketchpad on your lap. “The cattail leaves are the hardest to get the lines right.”

He nods, finally breaking free of his position at the branch's edge. Nearing the base of the tree, he crouches down, about a quarter of the trunk's diameter away from you. It’s close enough to still see each other, but far enough to not bump into one another.

And before nestling in fully, he extends a tattooed hand to you.

“Yoongi.”

An introduction.

“Y/N,” you return, putting your pencil down in the crease of your pad and shaking.

His hand is calloused, the ones you get from years of working with your hands. And strong, a firm grip. The kind you’d want to pull you up if you were dangling over a cliff.

So many stories contained in a 3 second touch. Yet you find yourself wanting to know all of them.

Releasing, he settles in.

What surprises you most about the whole encounter isn’t his arrival, or speaking to him for the first time, or even the handshake.

It’s that when he’s comfortable, with one leg up for an elbow to rest upon, he digs a book out from the confines of his jacket.

Jules Verne, The Mysterious Island.

Your favourite.

Spring fades into a wonderful summer of late nights and early mornings. Of beautiful blue skies and vivid sunsets you appreciate a little more now that you have someone to share them with.

Yoongi comes almost, if not, every day to the willow. Always a different book in hand. Always one of the classics.

The Iliad, 1984, Jane Eyre, Moby Dick, Anna Karina, Dracula, Little Women, Frankenstein, Catcher in the Rye, and those are just the ones you can remember because you’ve read them too. Some of them more than once.

You never expected to have anything in common with the boy that sits next to you. But from the little you’ve spoken to one another over the months, you’ve found that you share so much more than just reading habits.

On a warm April afternoon he told you he reads because he loves it but also to escape the daily hell that is your town.

“Mmm, what’s your favourite?” you’d asked.

Yoongi was lying down with an arm behind his head, staring into the treetop. Brave New World sat opened and facedown on his chest, his hand resting atop it.

“Pride and Prejudice.”

That was the last answer you expected.

“Why?”

He lifts his head to look at you.

“I thought the answer would’ve been obvious.”

After a cold drink on a hot June morning he told you his dreams of moving across the country. As far away as he could get.

“Just have to save up enough money first.”

You wondered how he made any. He definitely didn’t work anywhere in town…maybe waiting to inherit?

Who knew?

Both on a blanket you’d brought, Yoongi’s lying opposite and beside you, his feet by your hips. He used his balled up jacket as a pillow while you sat in your usual spot, capturing the way the branches swayed in your sketchpad.

He’d taken to reading to you while you drew, including you in the grand stories he now knew you loved to read too.

That day he had The Great Gatsby, a story you’d read about 20 times.

You often dreamed of attending one of his parties. Of seeing the green light across the way, or having a conversation with Nick, why he stayed.

“Are you anywhere close?” you asked, in reference to his saving goals.

“Getting there,” was all he gave.

And on a miserable, rainy night in the middle of August, is when you learned he’s all on his own.

Sitting beside each other, you both huddled underneath his jacket for what little protection from the rain it could give. Water droplets fell from the tips of his bangs as he spoke.

“My parents died in a car crash when I was 9, and then my grandma who took care of me, when I was 15.”

You grieved for him as he told you his story.

How he had to raise himself.

Just like you did.

“I’m sorry,” you’d replied gently. Softly. Knowing how it felt to have no one support you. No one to help you.

Knowing how it felt to be alone.

You understood.

You did, you did, you did.

Yoongi just stared at the ground, unable to meet your eyes. And you’d wondered if any of the water on his face was salty as he breathed out a quiet and heartbreaking, “Thank you.”

It made you question how many kind words he’d heard since his family passed.

And also incredibly pissed off at the people in your town for how they’d treated him.

How you’d…treated him.

A silent promise was made then and there. Never having felt more embarrassed and furious with yourself than in that moment. You’d learned your lesson, and hoped that offering up your own piece of vulnerability might help him feel not so alone.

Though you watched the rain turn the pond into a canvas of vibration as you did. Words dragged from the deepest parts of your soul, burning the back of your throat as they left.

“My dad hasn’t been sober a day since my mom died. His eyes are turning yellow,” you said, hugging yourself to stop shaking, convinced yourself it was because of the cold.

Even though it was August.

“He doesn’t recognize me most of the time.”

You closed your eyes, a familiar tang washing over your tongue as you licked the water dripping from your lips. He gave no response, but an arm found its way over your shoulders and squeezed.

He understood.

It’s the beginning of September. The air’s started to nip at your cheeks, and the ground crunches a little more everyday with all of the leaves falling underfoot.

The tips of the willows leaves have begun to turn the colour of the morning sun, and by the time mid October rolls around, it’ll look like golden hour every hour of the day.

Yoongi finally tells you about the job he has at a mechanic's in the next town over. He explains how they don’t pay him nearly what they should, but he doesn’t complain because every cent brings him closer to leaving.

Just him and his bike.

You turn sheepish.

“Can I tell you something?”

He sits closer after all this time, more comfortable around one another. Still not enough to touch, not crossing that invisible boundary line, but enough that you don’t have to turn your head much anymore to see his eyes.

Brown and endless.

“Yeah, sure.”

You take a deep breath.

“I kind of always dreamed of taking your bike to get away from here and never come back.” He gives you a look and you shrug. “Seemed the easiest route to take.”

A smile that starts as a smirk turns into a healthy laugh.

“What’s so funny?” You demand. He has to calm himself down a bit before answering.

“You just uhm…don’t seem the criminal type to me, Cattails.”

There’s a flutter of something in your chest at the stupid nickname. For the drawing you did the day you met.

He continues, unaware of the goings on inside you. “Stealing? You? Nah. Not a chance.”

You open your mouth in mock outrage, scrunching your brow and bringing a hand to your chest.

“I’ll have you know I’d make an excellent criminal,” you lie to his face. He knows it too.

But giving in, you detail the plan you’d always kept in your head for emergencies, heat slowly rising in your cheeks with every word.

“I’d take the key from you when you weren’t looking, duplicate it at the hardware store, and slip it back into your pocket before you ever noticed it was gone. Then go to your place in the middle of the night and be halfway across the country before morning.”

“Oh yeah?” he says with a raised brow you don’t trust.

“Yeah,” you confirm with a little too much faux confidence.

“And where do I keep my key, Y/N? Hmm?”

“Your jacket pocket,” you’d deduced long ago.

“Mmm,” he tsks with a shake of his head. “Nope.”

Oh. Well then it must be,

“Your pants pocket?”

“Nuh uh, try again.”

Damnit!

You’d never thought much about it. How many places can someone keep a key on them without a bag and it not be in their pockets?

“Ummm, in your wallet?” Far-fetched but worth a shot.

“Ooo,” he blows through pursed lips before smirking at you again, but this one was different. It caused something very deep inside of you to turn to lava. “Good guess, but also no.”

Closing his book and setting it down, Yoongi straightens and reaches inside the collar of his shirt, retrieving a necklace you didn’t know he wore.

It’s small, the key, and almost silver. The colouring is tarnished from years of use, with worn teeth and some lettering at its base.

He holds it against a palm to show you.

“Why there?” You ask, wondering if there’s a reason aside from convenience.

With a sad tug of his lips, he answers. “Bike was my dads. I like to keep him close.”

A tender smile meets your own plush as you stare at the little key, appreciating it more after learning the importance it has to him.

And Yoongi watches you, viewing his ticket to freedom with the biggest eyes he’s ever seen, full of that same compassion and understanding you’ve always given him.

An understanding he didn’t think he’d ever see again from this place.

One he doesn’t know if he deserves.

Before you can respond, he’s taking the chain off and sliding it over your head, hand lingering for a second longer than necessary at your nape.

“Yoongi,” you hesitate.

It’s the first time you’ve said his name out loud.

You like the way it feels on your tongue. Warm, sweet. Like honey.

What you don’t know is he loves the way it sounds coming from you.

You falter. “W-what are you doing?”

“What’s it look like I’m doing?”

“But it’s your key! Don’t you need it?”

“Nah, got a spare in the storage compartment of the bike,” he says, gesturing to the one you now hold in your palms. “This way you won’t have to go through the hassle of stealing it.”

“But I—”

“Keep it,” he cuts you off. “In case you need it more than I do.”

It never leaves your neck.

“You want me to what?” You ask as you walk towards the forest edge, Yoongi trailing on your left.

“Take her out for a spin. See if you even can. You’re the one who has all these grand plans but doesn’t even know how to turn it on,” he explains, referring to his motorcycle.

“Those were just daydreamed plans! I never thought I’d actually use them! What if I crash?”

He was kidding right? He must be.

For all the time you two have spent together, you’ve never spoken or been around one another in public. An unspoken agreement.

What happens under the willow tree, stays under the willow tree.

So to be out in the open? On his bike? You don’t know if you can. Or if you should.

But then you remember a promise you made not long ago.

“You won’t crash,” he says, like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.

“How do you know? Like you said, I don’t even know how to turn it on,” you hmph.

“Because I’ll be there.”

And maybe it’s the tone of voice he uses, or the fact that you trust him, you find yourself saying,

“Okay, fine.”

Minutes later you’re swinging a leg over the bike, and sinking on to the surprisingly comfortable seat.

“Where do I put the key?” You ask, taking it from your neck and handing it over.

Yoongi puts it in the side of the motorcycle, somewhere close to your knee.

“Here,” he shows as he turns it to the ‘ON’ position.

“Oh.”

What a weird place for an ignition.

“Mhm,” he acknowledges, then points. “Put your hand on the brake, it’s the part that sticks out on the right hand side. Hold it firmly against the handlebar. Don’t roll the handle bar itself back though, okay? That’s the throttle.”

Doing what he says, you hold the brake tight against the handle bar, murmuring an ‘okay’ under your breath.

“Now hit that button there on the right to let the fuel pump start up,” referring to the button beside the brake near your thumb. You do so.

He checks a little gauge on the side near the ignition. Seemingly pleased, he continues. “And now hit the button on the left to start it.”

Following his words once again, the engine roars to life the second the button is pressed, purring powerfully.

You feel exhilarated and a little terrified. But he’s here. You know you’re safe.

Voice a little louder to combat the noise from the motor, he says, “Okay, now on the left handle bar, grab the clutch. I’ll show you how to move into first gear, and look at me,” your eyes meet his, “do not let go of the clutch.”

You nod, but for extra precaution, he clamps his hand over the one you have holding it. You watch as he bends to put your left foot on a pedal and presses it down till you hear a pop, pushing up the kickstand when he rises.

The bike is heavy, now that you’re the only thing keeping it up right, you can feel its weight. And you understand why they’re designed to be able to have your feet on the ground even when sitting. You’d probably fall over otherwise.

“If you’re uncomfortable you let me know, yeah? And if you get scared just do what you’re doing now with this hand,” he squeezes for emphasis, “it’ll take all the power away from the engine and you’ll just coast until you stop, okay?”

“Okay!” You say, more excited by the minute. Your toes and fingertips are starting to tingle.

“I‘m gonna let go and you’re going to very, very slowly let up on the clutch—not all the way. Just enough that you move at about a pedal bike's pace. Let me jog down the road about 50 feet or so, and then you meet me there. Hold tight to the clutch again when you’re about 20 feet from me and I’ll catch you. Sound good?”

Nodding one more time in confirmation, nerves crawl all over your skin. You can’t describe the new feeling fully, but the closest you can find to it is probably the beginnings of an adrenaline rush.

You watch as Yoongi jogs down the road, throws his hands up over his head, and gives you two big thumbs up.

Taking a deep breath, you slowly release some pressure off the clutch and begin to move forwards. You know your feet are supposed to go on the metal foot rests below you, but you're so focused on not falling or crashing that you just stick them out so they don’t touch the ground.

Halting your left hands release at the speed he said to, you cruise along, wind picking up with your increased pace.

Holy shit!

You’re riding a motorcycle!

You never thought you could, it was just a dream for so long. Something you kept in the back of your mind just for fun, but now you’re actually doing it! Your driving down the road on an actual real life motorcycle!? All by yourself!?

Turns out all you needed was a little encouragement and someone you trust to spot you.

Aiming for Yoongi, you clamp down on the clutch once again, cutting power to the engine. You drift right into his awaiting hands braced for the impact, and he slides a little on the gravel road before getting you to a full stop.

He presses one of the buttons you did earlier and the bike shuts down, allowing you to jump off.

You’re positively giddy.

“Oh my god did you see me?! I just did that! I just drove a motorcycle! Can you believe it?! I can’t believe I just did that!” You don’t even register what you're saying, too full of excitement to care.

Yoongi can’t contain his grin as he gets the bike standing on its own. Your joy is too infectious not to take part in, and he walks over for a high five to celebrate.

But to his surprise, you bypass his hand completely and embrace him, throwing your arms around his neck.

It takes only a second before he’s enveloping you with his own, not letting the chance to hold you go by.

“Thank you!” You say, before letting go, not even realising what you did. You’re too busy catching your breath from all the rambling and jumping around, still filled with the remnants of your elation.

Meanwhile, Yoongi can’t get the feeling of your body against him out of his head. How soft you were. How warm. The way you smelled like a mixture of your natural scent and outside.

And he’s asking, “You wanna to go for a ride?” before he can tell himself not too.

The question makes you pause. Was he serious? Because you can’t think of anything you want more.

Staring at him, your answer is far too gentle for someone who was just screeching with joy.

“Really?”

He nods, still untrusting of his mouth, confirming with a ‘mhm.’

You don’t hesitate. You want to feel like that again.

Not a minute later he’s giving you the helmet and securing it tightly. He also makes you wear his leather jacket to protect your torso, leaving him in just an oversized black t-shirt and dark ripped jeans.

Swinging a leg over, he pats the seat behind him.

And you’re glad to have the helmet on because without it he would most definitely see your inability to meet his eye. You can barely focus on anything aside from the sight in front of you and being wrapped in the scent of him. But then he gives a tattooed hand to help you hop on, and says,

“You have to put your arms around me and hold on. Otherwise you might fly off the back when we accelerate,” holding his hands behind him to guide yours.

What? You didn’t think this far. He—you have t—Ummm, well...

“Okay,” you answer, voice small, letting your hands be guided.

Despite the loss of his jacket, he’s still deliciously warm, and the heat in your cheeks increases tenfold with your hands now splayed over his abdomen.

Lightly defined muscles meet your fingertips through the thin material of his shirt and you do your best to memorize them as he turns on the bike and pulls away from the curb.

He starts slower than normal to make sure you’re alright, but when you give him the thumbs up, he speeds up to just over the limit and you hold tight.

You’ve never felt so free, loving the rush of wind that flows over your body from going so fast. It’s pushing a welcomed cold through the fabric of your clothes as your body temperature has only increased since getting on.

You could go anywhere, do anything. Nothing and nobody could stop you.

You want that. You want it so bad. And he gave you the key to be able to.

Literally.

But now when you think about leaving, you think about leaving with him. Yoongi driving and you sitting right here on the back, nothing but each other, the road, and hope for the future.

Growing confident enough to release your grasp after a few minutes, you raise your hands in the air, and let the wind catch your fingertips. A whoop of joy leaves you at this newfound feeling he’s given you.

Then another, and another, before returning them to their place around him.

Yoongi can’t help but smile the biggest he has in years when hearing your squeals of glee.

Because for the first time in a long time, he feels it too.

Yoongi doesn’t come to the willow for almost a week.

He’s never done that since he started coming. Not once.

And you’re worried.

Where is he? Is he okay? You have no idea.

It’s not like you can go looking for him.

And you two aren’t anything anyway, so you shouldn’t even be this worried in the first place. If he’s safe, or in the bottom of a ditch somewhere.

But you can’t help it.

Just like you can’t help the feelings that have blossomed for him over the months. The feelings you didn’t want to admit to yourself for fear of him not returning them.

Yet there they were, and there isn’t anything you can do about them now.

They make you wonder if you’ll ever see him again.

Six days.

It takes him six days to return. Stomping in, and visibly pissed off.

“What’s wrong?” You ask once he’s close enough to hear.

“I’m leaving,” he says flatly, uncaring. Like you asked him what colour the sky was.

And your stupid, silly little unrequited heart shatters.

“What?”

“I’m leaving. Taking off. Getting out of here. I can’t do it anymore.”

Piece by piece it falls from your chest and into the depths of your stomach.

“B-but why? What happened?”

“I got fired.”

“Fired?”

“Yeah, fired. I tried all week to fix this one stupid mistake I made,” he explains, smoothing over his creased brow with two fingers. “But it cost more to fix than to keep me around, so they fired me. I don’t have the amount of cash I planned for, but I have enough to make it work. And I can pick up odd jobs on the road if I need to.” He nears, extending a tattooed hand. “I just came to get my key and say goodbye.”

Your hand reaches for it, clutching it tightly. You don’t want to give it back.

Who the hell is this? Because you barely recognize him. It certainly isn’t the Yoongi you’ve come to know.

The wonderfully kind, classics reading, dream-sharing, motorcycle instructing, freedom key giving man.

The one who told you about his grandmother, and his parents. Who read you stories while you drew and ate meals together. Who taught you how to ride his motorcycle.

The Yoongi you fell for.

Your Yoongi.

The person currently standing in front of you isn’t him at all.

He’s the hard, cold exterior, crafted over years of verbal and societal abuse. The one everyone avoids at all costs when walking through town. The person he had to become in order to survive.

You don’t know this person.

And you hate it.

You hate it so much it decides to exit your body in the form of tears. Ones of sadness, frustration, and heartbreak.

He’s—he’s leaving.

Actually leaving.

This place, it’s people.

You...

The few remaining pieces of your heart plunge to the floor, crumbling to dust as they hit. Nothing but a hollow, empty cavern remaining where it once sat.

“But I–you…,” the lump in your throat only getting bigger when you try to speak. You face away from him.

Don’t let him see you cry.

He’s clearly never felt anything close to what you do for him, so suck it up. Reign it in. You do it everyday. So why can’t you do it now?

You don’t get to feel this way!

Shove it back down, get it down!. Crush it all until it’s nothing.

Make it go away. Far, far away.

Yoongi’s face is falling while you’re taking deep breaths to calm down.

In all of his rage and despair at his terrible week, he’s forgotten who he was speaking to.

His kind hearted, music-sharing, been through hell and back, kickass girl. The one he can call his only true friend.

He’s such an asshole. He hadn’t seen you for almost a week, which killed him in of itself. And then the second he does, all he‘s able to do is spew the frustration and misery he’s been feeling the entire time you were apart.

Nah, he’s worse than an asshole.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t ha—”

But he freezes at the sound of a small, wet inhale.

You’re crying.

He made you cry.

And a regret bigger than the ocean drowns him.

“Hey, wait, please,” he says, rushing over, but you hold out a hand to stop him. “Please, don’t cry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

He reaches for you again, and again you stop him. You can’t let him comfort you.

Not when he doesn’t realise he’s become the only person in this whole godforsaken, judgemental hellhole of a neighbourhood wasteland you have.

Your grandparents are dead, along with your mum. Your dad’s an abusive drunk, too far gone to remember he has a daughter. You don’t have any aunts or uncles or cousins to rely on, nor do you have any real friends.

You have no one, aside from Yoongi.

And now you won’t even have him.

So you can’t let him comfort you. Can’t let him see you break.

You can’t, you can’t, you can’t.

Because you don’t know if you’ll be able to put yourself back together without him if you do.

But a quiet, “Y/N, please,” imbued with pain you haven’t heard since a rainy August night leaves his lips. A last ditch effort to get you to look at him, to let him help.

And it breaks you completely, bursting into a million tiny pieces to match your heart on the floor.

An unrestrained sob falls from your mouth, and he pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you. Yours go to his neck as he drags you onto his lap, gripping tight.

He holds you through every whimper and hiccup and stuttered inhale and shudder. Through every muttered ‘please don’t go’ and ‘please don’t leave me,’ that escapes, stroking a hand along the back of your head and down your spine, soothing.

He whispers, “it’s okay. I’m right here. It’s okay,” on repeat with the motion. Over and over and over until only occasional sniffles and deep breaths remain.

You hug him tighter as you start to shiver, the warmth created from your breakdown beginning to wear off. Yoongi doesn’t hesitate to slide off his jacket and throw it over your shoulders. An instant cocoon of warm and comfort.

When his hands find their place back around your waist, he dares to speak.

“I got you.”

“I know.” And you do. Your voice is a little wobbly, as you’re unmoving from the embrace, but you most definitely do.

This is your Yoongi. The one you’ve come to know. To trust.

Of course he’s got you.

You use one of your long sleeves to dry your eyes and under your nose. With the nearing autumn weather, you’ve returned to occasionally wearing them.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe into his neck after a long beat of silence.

“What could you possibly be sorry for, Cattails?”

The return of your nickname has a grin threatening to emerge.

“For freaking out. I didn’t know that was going to happen.”

“Don’t be,” he says firmly. “I sprung that on you in such a shit way because I was in an even shittier mood. And you clearly weren’t prepared to hear it. I should’ve known better, so don’t you dare be sorry about anything,” he loosens his hold to pull back and look at you. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

You look down, hiding, not wanting him to see you like this.

“None of that,” he whispers, and brings a finger to your chin, tilting up.

It doesn’t meet much resistance.

Your eyes are still a bit swollen and patchy, but it’s the concern in his that makes you crack the smallest of smiles, if only to see his worry erased.

He already has enough on his plate. No need to add to it.

Not able to offer much more than a quirk of the lip, you’re relieved that it’s enough when he starts to wear one of his own.

It’s then you realise your position. Like the sight of it cleared your brain fog.

You’re kneeling over his lap, sitting on his thighs, face inches from his. One of his hands is holding your chin up while the other rests low on your waist, your own still loose around him.

So close, yet so far away.

Because he’s leaving.

And that thought alone allows you to throw caution to the goddamn window. It’s not going to matter once he’s gone, and you’ve wanted it to be with someone special.

He’s as special as they come.

Leaning forward, you close your eyes and the gap between the two of you.

Eyelids fluttering as your lips brush his. Soft, and gentle.

Like him.

You hold only long enough to make sure it counts before pulling back.

It’s funny, really.

It was just a few seconds, but you already find yourself wanting so much more with him. An unfamiliar but welcomed electric pulse finds itself running through your blood at the thought, and it makes you want his lips everywhere.

Your mouth, your jaw, your neck.

Anywhere he can reach.

Sparks pool inside you. Sparks and butterflies and fast flowing lava.

You let yourself relish in the glorious feeling for a single moment, before the reality of what you just did sinks in.

And then you’re scared.

Terrified, actually.

To open your eyes, see his face. His reaction.

What if he hated it? What if he’s never felt anything but platonic affection towards you and now you’ve gone and done this?

Sure, he’s leaving. But now that you think about it, does him leaving mean you’ll never see him again?

What if you just ruined everything?

Teeth sinking into the plush of your bottom lip, you take a peek.

For the second time today you feel your heart breaking, this time at the look on his face.

Is it shock? Or worse.

Disgust?

Doesn’t matter.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt. Not knowing what else to say.

“I’m sorry,” you say again, trying to get out of his hold, but he keeps you there. Unyielding. And you start rambling. “I shouldn’t have done that. You clearly don’t—It’s just that you’re leaving and I—“

Lips on yours shut you up.

It’s fervent and needy and passionate as he pulls you closer by the hips, desperately trying to get you as close to him as physically possible. Your nails drag over his scalp as your fingers snake through his blond locks. They elicit a delicious groan from his mouth that you consume with your own.

It’s the most intoxicating sound you’ve ever heard, and you want more of it. So you do it again, and again, and again.

He moves down your jaw and neck, sucking at the tender flesh near your pulse point, and your mouth drops open at the feeling.

You’ve always wondered, but…you didn’t know it could feel like this.

Every touch, every whisper, every press of his lips to yours feels amazing. He’s pulling pleasure out of places you wouldn’t have thought possible before him. And you never want to go back to not knowing.

The sweetest of whimpers leaves your mouth as he gently bites a soft spot, then soothing the glorious pain he created with the kindness of his tongue.

Yoongi swears to any god who will listen that he’ll do whatever they want so long as he gets to hear that sound repeatedly and for the rest of his life.

He returns to your lips and says, “come with me.”

You’re so focused on feeling that it takes a moment for his words to land. “What?”

“Leave with me. Let’s get the fuck outta here, and never look back, the both of us. Together.”

Yoongi looks so serious but..

He—he can’t be serious can he? 15 minutes ago he was going on and on about leaving and needing his key back and saying goodbye.

And now?

Sensing your hesitance, he punctuates each of the next three words with a kiss.

“Come. With. Me.”

It makes your answer arrive without really thinking. You don’t need to think. Not when you know deep in your newly reconstructed heart that it’ll always be the same whether you think about it or not.

So long as you’re with him, you know you’ll be,

“Okay.”

“Yeah?” He questions like he can’t believe it. Can’t believe you'd agree.

You make sure there isn’t a single doubt in his head as you look him dead in the eyes and confirm.

“Yes, Yoongi,” another kiss. “I’ll go with you.”

He pulls you into him for what feels like a million more under your shared willow tree.

Your salvation.

And you know they’re going to be the firsts of many, many more to come.

Three days later, and two bags packed full of all your earthly possessions, you’re on the back of Yoongi’s motorcycle.

In those three days he’s prepared everything else you’ll need. He’s gotten a cute leather jacket and helmet for you, some reading materials for the road, snacks, drinks. A place by his side for the foreseeable future.

In the same span of time, you’ve given him a home in your heart, someone he can rely on other than himself. Talk to, trust, experience life with.

Something he hasn’t had in nearly ten years.

Something he never wants to lose again.

He swings a leg over and you unclip the chain from your neck, handing him the key to the bike, to your now shared future.

Driving out of town—straight down Main Street—you watch as all the people you grew up with, who you almost destroyed yourself to fit in with, gawk.

Watch as they judge you for being with him, your best friend. For leaving, and not doing what they all expected of you.

For not being like one of them.

Because you’re not one of them.

You never have been.

And just like the dust that flies behind the wheels, you feel weightless, not giving a single fuck what they think for the first time in your life.

You don’t have to anymore.

You’re free.

A/N 3: Thanks for reading, loves. Xoxo, - Yoon <3

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thel0v3hashira143 · 8 months

Text

❝𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐔𝐏!❞

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ eren armin jean reiner n levi ☆ various aot men as dads!!

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⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ fem!reader (referred to as mom or mommy), black aligned reader but as per usual anyone can read

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ notes: y'all thought i was playin when i said had 2 other pieces huh...well anyways heres my 2nd official revamp entry!! erm i hope u guys like it cause i lost like 3 hours of sleep over this. (its bhm you have to like it or else) stay hot!! 🎀🎀

eren yaeger 🌸

2 words. girl dad.

this man was born to have an army of girls surrounding him at all times (but he's not necessarily complaining in this case)

you two's daughter is a very passionate and outgoing child and eren totally embraces that

he's deeply involved in his child's life, sharing stories about the world and instilling a sense of curiosity (aka giving her bad ideas)

he was an outside and play in the mud kid so he is all for letting her have free range to express/play how she wants

and he's a sucker for your little girl so he usually gets roped into her shenanigans

when you come home and the house is quiet you know those two are up to something nefarious 😭😭

"eren, why the hell does my kitchen look a hot ass mess?"

"she wanted to make a cake, babe!"

i can see your daughter playing sports (soccer specifically) and he is 1000 the dad that yells at the ref.

"did you see that [name]!? that brat just pushed her over l, why didn't that bastard call it!?"

will get down and dirty for his girls. no matter what

emphasizes the importance of freedom, encouraging your to pursue her dreams no matter what.

actually the most supportive ever??

your daughter wants to play 10 different sports? he's buying all the equipment no matter the cost. she wants to be the next picasso? he'll buy her brand new art supplies and be her model.

just hes so just....*sigh*

armin arlert 🌸

my man, loml, my day 1, my soul mate my everything (he was my first anime crush i will be projecting on this one argue wit ur mama)

he is definitely a gentle parent to your little boy who's just a shy little dude

armin knows what it feels like to be that shy and quiet kid so he's very patient and understanding

him and your son are practically carbon copies of eachother minus his curly hair (which he got from you) but you think its adorable

speaking of hair HE TOTALLY LEARNS TO BRAID/DO TWIST

he knew taking care of your son's hair was going to require extra effort because of his texture but he doesnt care and learns anyway (sob sob)

him and your son are attached at the hip and wherever one goes you typically find the other.

they spend many quiet moments together and obviously armin reads him multiple stories before bed.

i can totally see y'alls son being an artist/artistically gifted

you can find him and armin sprawled out on the floor with paper and various art supplies as armin nods along to the nonsense coming out of your son's mouth

"mhmm, oh i see! i think that color looks great there too."

meanwhile you're in the corner just sobbing and dying of cuteness in your house

much like eren he teaches his son the values of curiosity and freedom, even if his son is a little more reserved

he wouldn't ever force him into doing anything he doesn't want to, but encourages him in the small things

i also fantasize about living by a beach with armin so ik he takes y'all to the beach at least 3 times a month.

every single time he goes he carries his son on his hip as the explore the beach in search of shells and other treasures to take home.

"you like this one buddy? why don't we give it to mommy as a nice present, yeah?"

i can't write too long or imma short circuit but i will be expanding on this because i love armin so much

he's so neat :]

jean kirstein 🌸

jean, as a dad, is like a mix of cornyness and seriousness

on the one hand i can totally see him making the stupidest dad jokes while you and your daughter are just like 🧍🏽‍♀️🧍🏽‍♀️

like the irl personification of "im not a regular mom, i'm a cool mom"

but on the other hand he's just like my dad where he can turn anything into a life lesson and you have to sit while he scolds your daughter for at least 30 minutes

it's all out of love tho

he thrives in a lighthearted atmosphere at home and spending time together is a huge thing for him

he is a bbq/camping dad and no i will not take criticism on this

jean takes pride in teaching life skills, from fixing things around the house to imparting practical wisdom (even though it isn't always wanted 💀)

your daughter will likely be well-prepared for the challenges of the world. he likes to think he's the reason she has a good head on her shoulders.

speaking of which, your daughter is very much sassy...(jean swears she gets if from you but we know the truth)

shes the first one to have something smart to say and its gotten her in trouble quite a few times with jean...but theyre besties.

balances tough love with genuine affection, cause he definitely mellowed out as he got older but knows when to put his foot down (unlike eren. what who said that??)

your daughter knows she can always count on him. ♡

reiner braun 🌸

AURGGYGHH I LOVE THIS MAN

anyways as soon as your son was born he only knew one word.

panic.

specifically timeskip!reiner. i can only imagine him as a worrier and a helicopter parent up until your son is like 6-7.

"rei, if you don't let that boy go play with the other kids!" "[name], i read that a slide has 82 times more germs than a kitchen sink. i won't let him be exposed to that."

it's just like *sigh* but thanks to you he eventually mellows out.

y'alls son is a really kind boy. like stupidly nice. damn near a pushover. (but we love him)

while you're ready to fight the other parents (or kids) who hurt your baby, reiner is actually more gentle in his approach

he's clearly a big strong guy but he's very gentle in his approach when it comes to seeing his son cry or just in general

reiner, as a dad, is the protector. he's vigilant and caring, instilling a strong sense of security in your home

your son feels safe knowing reiner is there to shield him from any harm.

seeing talk all soft to y'alls son makes you go sksmwkwmwka he's so man...

"hey, me and mom love you very much. you got that bud?"

balances strength with gentleness. offering a listening ear and encouraging open communication.

he wants his son to know he'll always be there for him since he never really had a father growing up

safe to say your son grows up feeling understood and supported by both parents ♡

levi ackerman 🌸

for sure the strictest dad on this list.

from the moment your daughter was born he had her on a schedule that was planned meticulously.

like hour by hour he knows what's going on and you're just there like🧍🏽‍♀️

"i read a consistent schedule helps with her brain development." "...."

as she gets older he calms down a little. but like only the smallest little bit.

however! levi, although strict, is a fiercely devoted dad

this just came to me but he's the dad where if you our your daughter syas you like a snack one time he'll buy a lifetime supply until you tell him otherwise

despite his stoic exterior, Levi has a soft spot for his child's well-being and takes pride in their achievements, no matter how small

your daughter is a dancer. fight me.

even if you can't make it, you see him in the audience at every recital with a soft smile.

"you did great. yes, i recorded all of it for mom to see too."

ngl he is very rule oriented but 9/10 he bends begrudgingly for your daughter (she looks like you, so he can never say no.)

he values discipline and order but also knows the importance of showing love and appreciation.

like reiner he didn't grow up with the best father figure (if one at all) or anyone to really give him confidence growing up.

your daughter never doubts that daddy loves her and thinks she's the best ♡

he also is so skilled at doing hair?? probably better than armin.

ponytail, bun, twist, braids, you name it, he can do it. (has put you shame on multiple occasions)

teaches self-reliance and responsibility, ensuring his child is well-prepared for life's challenges.

expects excellence but also provides unwavering support

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⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ 2nd piece done!! why was i fighting for my life during jean and reiner's....but i actually really wanna expand on dad!armin and dad!levi so maybe i'll give all the kids names sometime in the future. i tried to finish this is my ap chem class and my teacher almost took my phone 💀💀 but expect more soon cause i am on a roll! 🏃🏽‍♀️💨

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐲 ♡

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𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚!

𝙘𝙤𝙥𝙮𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙡0𝙫3𝙝𝙖𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙧𝙖143 2024

#Words of the Love Hashira 💗#aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #snk x reader #shingeki no kyojin x reader #eren x reader #armin x reader #jean x reader #reiner x reader #levi x reader #black writers on tumblr #x black fem reader

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rqbossman · 2 months

Note

Hello Mr Bossman! (and possibly anyone else who reads this)

Its an honour to be here, I have a few questions. First i appologise for the long paragraph, you may dismiss it for the questions at the bottom. For context, i am here after finishing TMA and being up to date with TMAP, i then went over and listened to RQG, and have just finished listening to Epilogue 3 and might i just say, good sir I am grateful for your podcasts. I am currently just a few months away from my final exams of High School, and as someone who even just 1 year ago was very lost, struggling with school and being just overwhelmed. TMA isnt exactly comforting, but the characters and plot managed to serve as a good form of escapism while sorting myself out. I found my self engaging more in creative things that i had originally put aside in favour of maths and science (which i hated but thought i needed to do). I started drawing again, even if just fanart. and i found things going well. By finding podcasts, story telling and these communities have helped me in my own understanding of what i want in life. I got an ADHD diagnosis earlier this year, and almost directly after started RQG and as my first hyperfixation (that i was aware of as an hyperfixation) gosh dang it hit hard. (in a good way). Ive been able to do so much more creative writing and drawings, and got re-involved with a small dnd group with some friends who i played one game with almost 4 years ago now. So overall, inspirational sounds cringe, but it was. Im doing my best with the upcoming exams, but trying to get in to Medicine is not my only prority, and the fact ive been re-introduced to my first love (Literature and story telling), im planning to go do an Arts degree and i know i wouldnt have been able to confidently make this decision, or even have survived this long in the school system without the work you and your coworkers do. Now the sap is out of the way, Question time! (if you could answer even just one of these questions it would be so cool)(they go in order of RQ relevant to random stuff)(dont feel pressured to answer all/any. i know i wrote alot): 1. what would you say is the best way to draft out a long-form story. (with "Erasing the Line" as an example) Did you start at the end, with the links to the overarching plot.

2. When working with the players (in a form of TTRPG), what did you do to make sure you didnt miss relevant timing of plot points/ avoid creating spoilers while still giving enough detail?

3. What are good places to start with making a job out of storytelling/voice acting/audio etc. In the case of RQ, how is this a job and where do i sign up please! /j (what i mean is, how is best way/how did you find all the people involved and was there a common path that you were all on before getting to where you are now?) 4. Do you have recommendations for Terry Pratchett Books, i may be an literary-leaning student, but it seems i have never actually properly read any of his books. so where is best place to start?/What did you read first?

5. Similar authors or similar inspirations? Did you have a favourite podcast you listen to in your free time that you havnt had a hand in producing/directing/working on. 6. Favourite song/album/artist. And more specifically, what you like listening to in background when doing either writing or (for ttrpg) character research/game planing. 7. Since the olympics are on at the moment, what has been your favourite sport to watch, if you have been watching at all. Thank you for your time :)

Thankyou for all the kind words. Knowing our work is helping people really keeps our engines fired up. Let's see if I can't answer your questions: 1. I "sandbox" which is where I just shove everything I can think of into an unorganised bullet point list. Characters, setting, plot, all of it in one big mess. Then I decide what type of story you want to tell, copy and paste to a new document and then start to organise the thoughts (with the sandbox on standby if new stuff comes in I don't know what to do with). I think of it like scultping, you cut away bits and reshape until something comes out the other end that is story shaped. Only then do I attempt to build the sandcastle and put something coherant together like a synopsis or scratch draft etc.

2. Very tricky. I did a complete review and update of all notes after each recording session and don't forget the audio eas edited. I made lots of gaffs that you never heard as audience.

3. I contacted anyone I could convince to take part and just proved I was serious by overworking. I don't reccomend that route. Unfortunately it really is "who" you know. That doesn't mean chase established professionals as much as it means you need to get out there and associate with other up-and-comers who match your vibe. For me the route was long and windy and not a particularly good example. 4. I normally recommend people do not read his books in publication order. Don't get me wrong, its wonderful watching his craft grow from one title to the next but I would recommend new readers tip their toe into his later works to see if they like where he ended up before committing the time. I often recommend 'Monstrous Regiment' as people's first one. My favourite though is 'Thief of Time.'

5. I don't get much time to listen to podcasts in the last couple of years. I used to listen to a lot of non fiction. 'Stuff you Should Know' and that ilk. I also read a fair amount of classic YA fiction to unwind (Windinsger trilogy, Bartimeous, stuff like that.) 6. Paul Simon's Graceland but when working I assemble a playlist for each seperate project that is tonally appropriate. If I really need to focus I listen to Classical Minimalism. Or the Old School Runescape soundtrack. I'm allowed to be ecclectic. 7. I am actually in an incredibly busy work crunch at the moment so haven't seen any of it!

#alexander j newall #honest #rusty quill #personal life #advice

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esamastation · 3 months

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hi!!! i just wanted to pop in after reading some of your AC fics (ones where desmond, ezio, and/or altaïr are at the forefront so in this case: i was born for this, terrible two, stone angel, gift of living well, impermanence, three fold, & earthly scene) and say that you're a brilliant writer. as someone who's trying to write longer, more impactful stories, it's admirable how you prioritize the plot and how romance is a sweet part of it. (this is part 1 of this message bc of the word count!)

you construct romance in an original, cathartic way that feels effortless. i just finished 'i was born with this' and the romance that forms between the characters feels so natural and unforced. another thing i love in your fics is that when desmond goes back in time, he always (unintentionally at first) makes an impact in furthering knowledge, inventions, etc centuries ahead of when they were supposed to happen. more importantly, desmond finds his well-deserved happy ending.

your fic ideas are also so creative and out of the box. i'm currently going through the games right now and desmond has been so so much shit (unwillingly) and he deserves some rest and happiness :,) another thing i love is how you always leave a hopeful ending that makes me ache to know what happens after!! you flesh out the characters so much over the span of + 100,000k words, tie things wonderfully at the end, and make me feel out breath (in a good way)

yeah, to sum that up, you're an amazing writer!! i also wanted to ask you some questions about writing. i aspire to write long fics, but i struggle with plotting out events =( i feel like i rush the events in how i want to get to the end where the characters are happy! do you have a writing process? do you plot out your stories or kind of go with the flow? do you have any tips on improving your writing? i totally get if you don't have any advice! have a great day!

Thank you for your nice comments, sorry it took so long to reply, I was feeling very antisocial. Anyway.

I do not have a writing process - I'm what they call a gardner writer, I take characters and I put them into situations and see how things develop and plot either happens or it doesn't. Maybe I have vague plans like "here's a scene I want to see in future" and "this is a result I want them to come to" and then try to write towards those goals, but they don't always pan out. It's all very chaotic and leads to lot of dropped fics, but it's how I enjoy writing. (It really helps having someone reading your stuff and poking at the plot holes though, I got a lot of fics that only got as far as they did because nimadge or someone else was there along for the ride.)

I dunno if there's anything other that just practice that can improve a person's writing. Some people recommend writing short stories and flash fiction, some people say your should write X amount of words every day. If all else fails there's thousands YouTube videos on subject.

Personally I'm a huge advocate of taking ideas from other people and putting your own spin into them. Derivate, rehash, put them in a blender, see what comes out. Like, don't copy Lord of the Rings word for word and publish it as your own work, that's bad - but maybe dwarf and elf going on adventures together is a idea that could go places. Fanfiction is all derivation upon pre-existing ideas.

Related, I whole heartedly endorse anyone who wants to take plots and ideas I've written and taking a crack at them with their own style. It's pretty much how I learned to write as wee bab on a typewriter, stealing from the books I enjoyed. And hell, if you don't have a style, try someone else's. One is my most popular fics started with me trying to emulate the style and cadence of narration of a completely unrelated TV series I was watching at the time. I don't think anyone even noticed.

Once you have enough practice under your belt, your style will develop on its own.

#About writing #Fake it till you make it basically #Obviously don't copy straight up that won't teach you anything - but master studies are one of the better training methods for a reason #Lot of the old masterpieces were produced by people who were once students emulating the styles of their predecessors

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totallyjustabunchofhocuspocus · 9 days

Text

Untitled Buck/Tommy angst

For @kinardevan 'cause they sent out a general request for angst and I like hurting people with my words...er...I mean, writing angst is fun!

Pairing: Buck/Tommy

Werewolf!AU

CW: could be read as MCD, though the ending is ambiguous and we all know the 118 pulls off miracles all the time. Soooo, interpret as you choose.

t wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

The thought echoed uselessly in his head, circling and circling. Like if he just thought it hard enough, God or the universe or something would hear him, and agree. And this would not be happening. Not like this. Not like this.

He checked his phone for the hundredth, the thousandth, the millionth time, still cursing to himself when a signal had not magically appeared. Closing his eyes, he hit the call button on his radio, opening the channel.

“Mayday, mayday, mayday, this is Firefighter Kinard, 217. I am trapped on the south side of the Stewart Street building collapse, at least at the sub-basement level. Firefighter Buckley, 118, is with me with severe injuries. Need immediate medevac. Does anyone copy? Mayday, mayday, mayday, this is Firefighter Kinard, 217, does anyone copy?”

Static.

Nothing but static.

“They're not–gonna hear you. Gotta be…forty…feet of debris…signal won't get through.”

Carefully, so, so carefully, Tommy shuffled closer to the figure sprawled inelegantly in a half-sitting position against a slab of what used to be part of a subterranean parking garage ceiling. Evan's head came to rest on his shoulder, and he pressed his lips against his boyfriend's bloodied forehead. His skin was icy cold, pale as a ghost in the dim glow of their emergency lights.

As far as he could tell, Evan had escaped any spinal injuries or broken bones. But none of that mattered. Not when there was six inches of twisted, jagged steel protruding from his boyfriend’s abdomen.

He couldn’t even tell what it had been originally–a support beam, or part of the internal structure of the wall…it didn’t matter. Evan had landed on it or been impaled in the fall, despite Tommy’s best efforts, and even if help arrived soon...

He shut that thought off before it could come to its conclusion.

He’d stabilized the piece of steel as best he could, ripping his undershirt into shreds to pack the wound in a desperate effort to keep Evan from bleeding out before they were found. People were coming for them. Even if everyone else gave up on them as a lost cause, Tommy knew the 118 wouldn’t abandon Evan. Wouldn’t abandon him, either. They were coming, he just had to keep Evan alive until then. He just had to keep Evan alive.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

“How you holding up?” he asked, ignoring Evan's–very, very correct–assessment of the likelihood his radio signal was going through. He pressed two fingers beneath Evan's chin, finding his pulse and counting the fast, thready beats silently.

“Been…better,” Evan mumbled. “Finally get to work…together on the ground…and it ends like…this.”

“Probably should’ve expected something to go wrong,” Tommy said, aiming for humor and missing by about three nautical miles. “But hey, now you and Chim can have matching rebar scars.”

“Matching…parking garage stories…w’th Hen too,” Evan replied, his head growing heavier against Tommy's shoulder, his eyes fluttering alarmingly.

“No,” Tommy said firmly, shifting his hand to cup his boyfriend's cheek. “No, none of that. You know the drill, babe. Stay awake.”

“Trying,” Evan whispered, pushing into Tommy's touch like he always did. “What…’bout you? How bad…are you hurt?”

Evan had already asked him that. A couple times, now. Swallowing down the panic that was trying to claw its way through the iron control he'd developed long before he was a soldier or a first responder, he answered anyway.

“I'm fine. Bumps and bruises. I’ll be fine, I'm just worried about you.”

“Liar,” Evan sighed, reaching up weakly to tangle their fingers together.

Tommy was not lying, was the thing. Not technically. He had felt something shatter inside when the floor he and Evan had been trying to clear collapsed beneath them, plunging them two or three sublevels into the basement parking amid a hale of debris. Several somethings, actually. He’d had no time to try and categorize his injuries, too busy frantically wrapping himself around Evan, trying to cushion his fall, trying to protect him, to take as much of the damage as he could.

Evan was strong. Evan was tough. But Evan was so painfully, perfectly human. He couldn’t take the damage Tommy could.

He’d broken and splintered and shattered on the way down, had slammed his head hard enough upon the final impact that even with his helmet, even with all the strength his nature afforded, he’d lost consciousness. He had no idea how long he was down, but it couldn’t have been very long–he’d had bones still knitting back together when he woke up, cuts and lacerations on his exposed skin that hadn’t quite closed.

He’d have taken worse–a hundred, a thousand, a million times worse–as long as Evan was all right.

He’d done his best. He’d done his fucking best.

“How’s the pain?” he asked, resisting the urge to check his phone for a non-existent signal again. Evan swallowed roughly, his fingers twitching in Tommy’s grasp. “Evan?”

“Kinda…fading,” Evan admitted after a long moment, his voice so quiet that even with his enhanced senses, Tommy could barely hear him.

Tommy’s stomach dropped, though he didn’t let any of his fear show on his face. He didn’t need to–he and Evan both knew what it meant when a wound this bad stopped hurting. “Okay. Okay, sweetheart, you just hang on. Hang on for me, okay?”

Evan tried to smile at him, a small dribble of blood spilling from the corner of his mouth. It was all Tommy could do not to start howling, his other self clawing, lunging, demanding to be let out, to so something.

To do the only thing that might keep Evan here, keep Evan with him…keep Evan alive.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

His mother had always warned him to be honest with his partners. The instant he started thinking he could see a future with them, it was best to be honest. To reveal himself for what he was and let them decide if it was too much.

He’d known he wanted to share his other self with Evan only a few months in. Wanted to share everything with Evan, for as long as Evan would let him. He’d been startled by the intensity of his wanting, the strength of it. He’d had partners he considered telling his secret to, before. Had actually gone through with it, once.

Only once. The relationship hadn’t survived the reveal.

Maybe that was why he’d been holding back, even as Evan became more and more entrenched in his life, in his heart. He’d never wanted anyone the way he wanted Evan. Never loved anyone the way he loved Evan. He didn’t think he could bear it if he revealed his other self, and those beautiful, beautiful blue eyes filled with fear. If the same words that had poured out of Maddox’s mouth left Evan’s lips.

And yet, he’d known he would have to do it. They were moving in together next month, as soon as Evan’s lease ended. Evan had given him everything, offered up every part of himself with no shame, no inhibition, no regrets. He wanted forever with this man. He wanted it so badly it was like a permanent ache in his heart. But how could he ask for forever when he hadn’t given Evan everything, every part of himself in return?

He’d resolved to tell Evan everything. He’d just been waiting for the right time, waiting for their schedules to line up for some time off so Evan would have time to process, waiting, waiting, waiting.

He’d waited too long.

He hit his radio call switch again, gently wrapping his arm around Evan’s shoulders. “Mayday, mayday, mayday, this is Firefighter Kinard, 217, does anyone copy? I am in need of immediate medevac for an impalement injury on the south side of the Stewart Street building collapse. Does anyone fucking copy?”

Static.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

“Gonna be…hours, babe,” Evan said, his voice breathy and hoarse now, another dribble of blood leaking from his lips. “Even if they’re…already digging.”

He was right.

The truth Tommy had been refusing to acknowledge smacked him full in the face, damn near stealing his breath, ice blooming up and down his spine. Even if, even if rescue operations were already in full swing, even if the 118 had any idea they were still alive, even if they’d pinpointed their location and were going full tilt trying to dig them out…it would be hours before help got here.

Evan didn’t have hours.

“Love you,” his boyfriend–his partner, his lover, his fucking everything--murmured, his grip on Tommy’s hand growing weaker. “Never…thought I’d…get this.”

“Shut up,” Tommy said, a growl slipping into his voice as his other self railed against the weakness in Evan’s voice. “Don’t you fucking dare start saying goodbye to me.”

Infuriatingly, Evan just tipped his head forward, resting in the crook of Tommy’s neck with a barely-there smile. “Tommy. I’ve got…like a foot of steel…through my guts and it doesn’t hurt. Just…keep holding…me.”

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

Tommy was supposed to ease his boyfriend into it…into the idea that there were other people than humans in the world, that there was a whole world out there that Evan had never seen or interacted with. It was supposed to be slow and gentle, giving Evan plenty of time to process, to consider. And then…and then later…later, when they were sure they both wanted the same things, wanted the future that Tommy craved so badly…when Evan had had time to really think about it. To get to know Tommy’s other self, to become comfortable with it. To decide for himself if he wanted to step into this other world with Tommy. Become a part of it. Become like Tommy.

In his deepest, most private dreams and fantasies, he imagined them going away together somewhere–the mountains maybe, or the beach–where they could have privacy for a few days. He imagined candlelight and roses and music, every romantic cliche he could fathom. Imagined making love slow and sweet, worshiping Evan’s body before tenderly taking his wrist in hand. He’d change just a bit, let his other self out enough for his eyes to glow a rich gold and his teeth to lengthen to fangs. In his dreams, Evan’s breath always caught, his scent growing richer with lust and desire, loving every part of Tommy just the way Tommy loved every part of him. He’d stare into the eyes of the man he loved as he bit down, kiss the bloodied bite apologetically as Evan gasped and shuddered, hold him tightly as the change worked through his body, as Evan’s other self was born out of their love.

It was not supposed to happen like this.

“Evan…do you trust me?” he asked, a leaden sort of dread settling in his gut. This–this was unfair. It was so unfair. Evan was in no condition to make such a life-altering decision for himself. Christ, he didn’t even know what Tommy was. Had no idea that things like werewolves weren’t just stories and legends. And it was dangerous to try and change someone who was this severely injured. The bite was only ever given to people who were mentally prepared for the change, who were healthy and strong and ready.

But God help him, he couldn’t lose Evan. Not here. Not now. Not like this.

“...’course,” Evan sighed, and Tommy almost wanted to cry at the simple conviction in Evan’s voice.

Please, he prayed, not even sure who he was praying to. Please let it be enough.

Evan was strong. He was so strong, one of the strongest people Tommy had ever met, in every way possible. He had to be strong enough to survive what Tommy was about to do.

Because he would surely die if Tommy did nothing.

“I’m going to get you out of this, baby,” he said, carding his fingers through Evan’s hair, clumped with sweat, grime, and blood. He kissed his boyfriend’s forehead, his cheek, his bloodied lips. “You’re not dying here. I love you.”

Then he shifted, let his other self come to the surface enough for his teeth to lengthen, for his eyes to shine with unnatural light in a twisted mirror image of his treasured dreams.

It couldn’t be Evan’s wrist–too small a wound, too far from the heart. With the blood Evan had already lost, with shock setting in hard, the bite would have to take fast to have a chance. The throat. It had to be the throat.

“Trust me,” he said again, asking, pleading, begging as he tilted Evan’s head back, the weight of it already so loose and limp. Evan was slipping away from him.

“Huh…wha’?” Evan gasped, blood bubbling from his lips, frothy, scarlet bubbles, his breath rattling in his chest.

Tommy bit down.

Squeezed his eyes shut as the man he loved more than anything in the world screamed in pain, the sound of it weak and ragged, dying, Evan was dying and he bit down harder, pierced skin and muscle and felt more blood spill into his mouth.

Please let it be enough

He held Evan still when he convulsed in Tommy’s arms, desperately trying to keep him from dislodging any part of the steel bar through his abdomen. Not yet, not yet–Tommy would have to get it out of him when he started changing, but he couldn’t risk pulling it yet, Evan would bleed out in seconds.

He pulled his teeth from Evan’s neck with a ragged cry, pressed his forehead to Evan’s as his boyfriend shook and shuddered. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he gasped. “It’s all right, it’ll be all right. I’ve got you, I love you, I’ve got you. Just hold on, baby, it’ll be fast.”

Evan’s mouth fell open, his breath coming in short, rattling pants. His fist closed weakly on Tommy’s shoulder, spasming as his whole body seized. Tommy searched Evan’s face frantically, looking for the first signs of the change taking place, waiting for the familiar gold light to start to eclipse the blue of his eyes, waiting for his breathing to become steadier, his pulse to become stronger. The full change would take hours, but the first effects should be enough, should start to heal Evan’s wounds. He just had to be ready to pull out the steel at just the right moment.

“I’m here, I’ve got you,” he promised over and over. “Don’t be scared, please don’t be scared…it’s the only way. I love you, I love you so much–I couldn’t let you die.” The words escaped him in a torrent, a flood, and all the while he scanned Evan’s face for the first signs of the change.

They didn’t come.

Two minutes.

Five minutes.

Ten.

Evan’s shudders grew weaker and slower, until he slumped against Tommy, his chest barely rising and falling, his pulse a weak, fluttering thing against Tommy’s fingers when he pressed them against Evan’s neck, slick with blood from the ragged bite. Before Tommy’s horrified eyes, the skin around the bite grew inflamed, streaks of scarlet spreading out from it, crawling up and down Evan’s neck to disappear under his turnouts.

“No…no, no, no, no, baby, don’t do this. Hold on, please hold on!”

It didn’t always work right away, Tommy told himself, clutching Evan to him, barely resisting the urge to shake him back to wakefulness. There was still time. Evan was so hurt, it was just taking longer. That had to be it. Had to be it. Sure, his mother had told him that sometimes the bite didn’t take, that a person just couldn’t handle it, that sometimes a bite could turn bad…but that couldn’t be happening. God, please that couldn’t be happening. Evan was strong enough. He had to be.

“Please, Evan. Please don’t do this. Come on, baby, come on! Stay with me–just a little longer, just hang on a little longer. Stay. Stay! Stay, damn it!”

He clawed at his radio again. “Mayday, mayday, FUCKING MAYDAY! Anyone! Anyone copy?!”

Static.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

#911 abc #evan buckley #911 tv show #mywriting #evan buck buckley #buck x tommy #tommy kinard #shameless self promotion #bucktommy #tevan #kinley #kinkley

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sunfiltersthroughwillowleaves · 1 month

Text

had a tgcf and svsss crossover idea

ok so xie lian and hua cheng find this book (or whatever a book is in that universe) by an author named "airplane". wtf is an airplane anyways? so they start reading and its about a world a gajillion years in the future where there's paper that's made out of metal and it can change its image on will? and metal birds that carry people like swords except they're called airplanes and they're designed for the usage of many people at once??? why would the author name himself after that? chunks of metal with wheels that don't need horses???

"why dont they use cultivation" you ask, because there is none! so weird, right? anyways, they keep reading and there's so much stuff they call technology that's basically just magic. it's about an overpressured author who eats food that only needs water to be edible and sends his writing over an invisible spiderweb that covers the entire world. tbh, the author did a really bad job explaining all the "tech". overall a really stupid idea for a novel. xie lian honestly sorta likes it, but it's just wierd. the most odd part? these things keep coming out regularly. they're ridiculously long, and unlike other works from the same author, there's no sex scenes.

xie lian kinda likes it, and reads it every now and then cuddled up with hua cheng. hua cheng loves being next to xie lian, who giggles occasionally while reading, but hates the novel. somehow, shi qingxuan finds it, and shows it to ming yi, (shush leave me with my beefleaf) ming yi claims he doesn't like it but reads shi qingxuan's copy of that day's update every night. knows literally every detail, understands teh worldbuilding the best of anyone. feng xin and mu qing don't bother to read it, but they know a little about it.

one day, the next update is about someone who does something called a comment on his work. apparently, they do it a lot. and the character’s name is cucumber. who would name a character cucumber!? this author is weird. anyways the cucumber does a comment about a bunch of mean stuff critiquing the work and stuff. there are more than 3 pages of just mean commentings. the next page is about his metal paper. apparentlu, the metal paper can’t touch water, or else it poisons the water??? this makes no sense. not even ming yi can explain how it works. and then the main character touches the poison water? what a dumb character, remarks hua cheng.

main character wakes up in a cultivation world. apparentlhy main character was writing a story about this world? how dumb. hualien and beefleaf are crossing a road while reading this when a reckless cart driver is about to crash into them. hua cheng, obviously, obliterated the cart and its driver. problem solved!

later that evening, when the four fall asleep, they don’t awaken (in those bodies, anyways). fengqing finds them, starts yelling their heads off, eventually brings their comatose bodies to ling wen, who shrugs and puts them in a drawer.

meanwhile, hualien and beefleaf are reeling. they didn't get transferred into different bodies, but they are at a hospital. someone who looks vaguely like ling wen tells them that they were found half-dead under the seats of a funeral of some guy named shen jiu. weird. the nurse tries to charge them but, upon finding the only currency they have is merits, groans and lets them leave. hua cheng rolls dice. nothing happens.

xie lian asks where hua cheng’s butterflies are. hua cheng shrugs, but seems visibly on-edge. none of them are able to do cultivation when they try. people are looking at them weird. who the hell does cosplay in the middle of the street? some guy compliments xie lian and hua cheng on their tgcf cosplay. none of the four understand any of those words. someone asks to take a picture of them. take a picture? she pulls out a chunk of metal, holds it in front of their faces, presses next to them. oh, is it a mirror? but she clicks a white circle at the right of the rectangilar mirror, and it flashes bright white. hua cheng begins threatening her for daring to harm xie lian’s eyes, but xie lian apologetically gets him to back off.

the woman apologises and asks if they’re new to the area. shi qingxuan says yes, and she offers the four a place to stay. ming yi holds up his shovel, arguing that he could just dig a hole in the ground and sleep there. he has to be reminded that cultivation doesn’t work here.

back in the danmei world, airplane is no longer making money from his latest series, “an author without cultivation”! there were a few people buying it, but not anymore. they also tended to overpay wildly. airplane somehow pieces it together; (idk) ohhh they transferred to the human world. he convinces the system to let him and cucumber return to their world, but lbh protests. “where are you going shizun shizun dont leave me let me come with you shizun shizun come onnnnn shizunnnnnn” eventually they let him come too. mobei jun is ok with it as long as shang qinghua returns eventually. they transfer back to the human world, where cucumber finds himself in a coffin, at his own funeral. everyone is shocked when shen yuan sits up in his original body. people scream and shout and everyone is very happy, but cucumber barely remembers any of them. it’s been, like, twenty years. he can hardly remember his parents’ names. he smiles, laughs a little, rpetrends to know everyone, and then lbh arrives. through the window. pulls out an enormous sword. people then start screaming, because omg shen yuan’s enormous murder boyfriend is here. his parents scold him a little “why didn't you tell us you got a murder boyfriend” before getting yeeted into a wall. mmkay that’s happening now. luo bignhe and shen qingqiu spend their first day in the modern world in jail.

shang qinghua pays for their bail. apparently, they all arrived back to the modern world a day after sqq’s death, and a day before sqh’s. time travel? they don’t even know at this point. they manage to track down the other four by following a police report on a man in a red tunic and butterfly jewelry threatening a poor tgcf fan, witnesses report. (the woman wasnt even the one who ratted them out, it was the ugy who complimented them on their cosplays haha.) sqq and sqh share a look. that sounds like hua cheng, from tian guan ci fu! isn’t that a really popular danmei? lbh is just sitting next to them like a lost puppy, following them around, reminding shizun that he can tear anyone who dares question his authority to pieces. anyways they find the four. their conversation kinda goes like this.

sqq: hey are you xie lian?

hua cheng: who are you (the four are very concerned as they have never seen metal birds that make loud noises before)

lbh: how dare you threaten my husband

sqq and xie lian: binghe/san lang, calm down

sqq and xie lian make uncomfortable eye contact. woah. that guy also has an overprotective but lovable husband. neat. homosexuality.

xie lian: yeah im xie lian, this is san lang, ming yi, and shi qingxuan

sqh: *looks at the other, nods* mmkay and are you familiar with the undiscovered gem of a series called “an author without cultivation”?

hua cheng and ming yi roll their eyes, the other two nod

sqx: yeah, what about it?

sqh: yeah, i’m the author! *waits for applause that never comes*

ming yi: so you know why we’re here?

sqq: well did you read it and hate it or somehting?

*lbh is still glaring at hua cheng. hua cheng is still glaring at lbh*

hua cheng: it was very easy to hate

sqh: *sqq laughs* shut up cucumber

ming yi: *snaps to attention* that was the name of one of your characters! peerless cucumber.

sqq: *laughing, elbows sqh* guess someone doesn’t hate it so much after all

*ming yi smacks him on the head with a shovel. lbh smacks ming yi on the head with his fist. they both pass out.*

sqx, catching ming yi: sorry about him, he can be a bit… (doesn’t finish)

sqh: yeah, no problem. my husband’s the same.

hua cheng: what?

sqh: *completely ignores him and moves on* okay so here’s what’s happening; i come from this world. i teleported to your world to do things accidentally after i died. then i stayed in your world and got a husband and started writing again and stuff.

xie lian: what things? and also you havent told us what you mena by we’re all gay. also why are giant metal birds your namesake?

sqh, swallowing: this is gonna take a while

they explain to the tgcf crew and stuff, and they end up grabbing an apartment. turns out, none of them know how to transfer htemselves back. also, they all appear to be human now. they appear the same, they’re all just human. sqh gets them a flat, and they all sleep on the floor.

ok i might update this later but who knows haha

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geminixevans-stan · 1 year

Text

Sweetest Thing - 1

Pairing: Curtis Everett x Female!Reader

Words: 4.5+k

Summary: When reader decides to start over, she moves to a new town hoping that she can make in the world on her own.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, explicit language, nothing too bad, more world building than anything

I do not consent to my work being copied, plagiarized, or translated in any way >:P

Just the thought of starting your new life was all the reason you needed to finally open your eyes. The sight of your room fills you with joy—you’d decorated it yourself, and spared no expense. The walls are painted a baby-soft pink, offset by the butter-soft white sheets that adorn your bed. Soft, sheer curtains blocked the rising sun on the other side of the wide window, beneath which was a plush window seat. You already made up your mind that this area would be for when you wanted to look out and take in the world without having to leave your home. Two small side tables accompanied each side of the bed, holding a small vase housing a plant that you are currently trying your very best not to kill.

When buying that particular plant, you knew that it would probably not last long. But you were determined to live on your own and take on the responsibilities of a proper homeowner. The warmth of your bed enveloped you like the bear hugs that your daddy used to give you. The feeling was so good that you decided that maybe thirty more minutes of sleep wouldn’t hurt.

… Or that was the intention.

The next time that you blinked your eyes open, the sun had finally shown its beautiful face through your curtains, and the faint noises of cars passing by indicated that everyone on your street was up. You sit up, rubbing the remnants of your satisfying sleep from your eyes, and raising your arms to stretch. The comfortable silence that you were striving for was here and you smiled at the realization.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed to slip your feet into the softness of your bedroom slippers, an item that you couldn’t leave without. Everything from your old life was dead and gone… except for those slippers. They were the last things that you received from your grandmother before her untimely passing. She was the only person, besides your dad, who really and truly wanted the best for you.

Victoria de Montfort was a name to be reckoned with in the world of fashion. She made such a name for herself that you suspect the generations following you will still be called fashion royalty. She was a powerhouse, her attention to detail in every stitch. She poured herself into each piece—that was something she’d taught you, too.

“Nothing means anything without love.”

After doing your morning hygiene routine of brushing your teeth, skincare, and a shower, you go downstairs and head straight for the kitchen. With you waking up so late, your stomach was saying some not-so-nice things to you and you needed food immediately. Another lesson that your grandmother taught you was to always keep a clean kitchen. No matter if you didn’t need to clean while you were still under your parents’ roof.

You lived a very wealthy life before this, and you know that naturally, anyone would wonder why you gave it all up. If anyone would outright ask you, they would think that they were part of a soap opera with all the drama that you had to endure. It took all the strength that you could muster to leave the comfortable life you’d known. But you weren’t happy—your mother, Nora, made sure of it. To her, you were just another link in the chain of the De Monfort family, and she’d groomed you to be the perfect heiress.

In a sick way, you had to thank her for being the evil woman that she was. If she hadn’t pushed so hard, you never would have decided to start your new life. With the constant bullying you’d endured from both your mother and brother, Caden, you had enough stories for your future therapist to write volumes. If they hadn’t pushed you away, you'd never have found yourself here— in Camden, Maine, living the life you’d thought you’d never have.

You step onto the tiled floor of your kitchen, standing there for a moment to take in the area as a whole. A wide kitchen island sits in the center of the room, and the counters are littered with your growing collection of silver appliances. The surfaces on the stove and counters gleamed beautifully in the sun, innocent of the future stains of your failed attempts to learn to cook and bake. Something that you couldn’t do because the De Montfort’s never lifted a finger.

Luckily for you, Grandma Victoria showed you a few recipes that stuck with you, ones that she would make for you when no one was looking. On mornings when it was just you and her, she would make the most sinful thing — a heaping stack of chocolate chip pancakes, eggs, and a hot side of bacon. That was one secret that you were more than happy to keep from your own family.

The kitchen smelled just as it did when you were a little girl. The sweetness of the chocolate chips mixed with the syrupy sweet concoction of the maple bacon had your mouth salivating the entire time that they sizzled in the pan. You sit down at the table, setting it beforehand with your utensils and orange juice. You happily sit down with your plate in both hands, setting it on the table and saying a quick thanks before digging in.

Cutting into the pancakes is like a breath of fresh air, and you groaned with satisfaction when the familiar sweet taste touched your tongue. The mixture of flavors sent you back to your grandmother’s quaint kitchen table.

Whenever she had some time to herself, she would take impromptu “vacations” and would go off the grid, no one hearing a word from her.

But not you…

One vacation in particular was a week-long trip to Aspen. It called for heavy clothes at all times. The snow sparkled in your innocent eyes, nose moist as you tried to withstand the cold. You marveled at the pillows of soft ice on the ground, wanting to be one with it.

And so you were…

Without hesitation, you pulled off your bubble coat, tossing it on the ground as you fell back, feeling the instant coldness on your skin. You sigh in contentment, letting your joy fill you with warmth against the coolness. Bursts of laughter erupt from your lips, not paying attention to someone else watching you.

Victoria watched on, startled at first to see you doing something so ridiculous. But she warmed at the pure joy radiating from you and she could swear she saw her younger self lying in the same spot as you.

Her soft chuckle rouses you from your world, snapping up to see your grandmother with the most loving smile on her face. You tilt your head a bit, sure that you were in trouble but her face said something different, “You okay, Grammie?” You say in a confused tone.

She chuckles again, shaking her head, “More than, sweet bee, it’s like I’m looking at my younger self….”

As you enjoyed the most perfect breakfast, you couldn’t help but think of your grandmother and how proud she would be of you. To know that you got out and dared to start your path was something that you always wanted to do. Sure being wealthy had it’s perks but was that living?

One thing is for sure, you were going to find out and seek out a life that you could be proud of. As you begin to get lost in your thoughts, you hear a familiar sound coming from the kitchen island that held your phone. The ringtone only belonged to your one and only best friend, Thea. Your body moved before your feet could, rushing over to snatch your phone off the counter and answering quickly.

“Hello?” You answered, almost out of breath.

“It hasn’t been two days and you’re already whoring,” she says amused. You roll your eyes at her, eliciting that laugh that you missed so much.

“Yeah, yeah laugh it up. I haven’t even been out of this house yet to touch anything or anyone,” snickering as you looked at your friend who had a gleam in her eye, “What is it?” You ask, pulling a stool from the island and taking a seat.

A tremble formed on Thea’s lips and she continued to keep her eyes on you. You knew that she was getting emotional and before you could even say another word, she burst into tears. It didn’t take much for those salty drops of fluid to form in her eyes, Thea was just like that.

She was the most normal person in your life besides your grandmother. You two grew up together in the same circles. Although, her family were less… vapid than yours. Thea had been a breath of fresh air to your high-strung situation. You two were each other’s safe space and she was the only person that knew exactly where you were.

Everyone else knew that you were gone for some “you” time. That’s the story that your mother was pushing around since your untimely departure. You stare at the screen watching Thea’s eyes well with tears as she begins to talk super fast.

“It’sjusthtatyoudiditandi’msohappyforyou,” she says quickly, unable to form her words correctly as she bawled in front of you.

You were so used to her antics that you knew that you just had to let her go on with her spiel before you could get a word in.

“You’re doing it again! Slow down weirdo,” you chuckle as she lets out a watery laugh.

A smile forms on Thea’s lips as she grabs a nearby tissue to fix her face, “You know how I get. I’m proud of my friend! She finally got out of that castle with that evil dragon of a mother,” disgust on her tongue as she made a fake retching sound.

If anyone was a hater of Nora De Monfort, Thea would put them to shame. To say she loathed your mother was an understatement. If she met her untimely demise, Thea would plan an entire parade around your mother’s death.

And you can’t say that you wouldn’t be in attendance…

You and Thea talked on the phone for almost an hour. Catching up on the move, what you needed to do, and how her life was going. It was nice to know that she was slowly making a name for herself and getting comfortable with becoming a well-known socialite. The lights and fame were where Thea shined the most and she knew how to balance that life and still be her true self.

After you two caught up, you let her know that you had some errands to run and the first place on your list was to find a hardware store to add some more embellishments to your room. You were thinking of adding a small shelf above your bed to put some added Knick knacks, plants, or even pictures. It was whatever your heart desired and this was going to be your little project.

Pushing open the door of Everett Hardware Store, the ringing of the bell startled you a bit making you jump in alertness. A man with a weathered face, placed his eyes on you, freezing you in place. But it didn’t last for long as you were put at ease by the wide smile he gave you.

“Welcome to Everett Hardware! You don’t seem like you’re from around here and I should know,” he chuckles, never taking his eyes off you, “The name’s Jerry, little missy, what can I do for ya?”

“I’m looking for wood? I guess? I’m not sure…”

“Well, what do you need the wood for?”

“I’m trying to build a mantel to go over my bed. Something big enough that I can put some plants or little decor pieces,” you say with certainty. You were determined to do this for yourself.

Jerry furrows his brow in thought, a low sound coming from his throat, “Seems like a good maple wood would be good for that. You’ll go down to aisle 4 and if you want I can help pick out a nice maple for you.”

“That’d be great and can I ask another question, Jerry?”

“Shoot.”

“What would I need to do the mantel?”

Jerry’s eyebrows rose at that question, “A pretty lady like you? Doing her dirty work. Now I don’t think I can let that happen,” he says, folding his arms.

You stare at Jerry in confusion, “Hey! I can do it!”

“And I don’t doubt you can but, what you’re trying to do ain’t a one-person job. I tell you what, I know a guy that will have that mantel up in an hour… two if you’re trying to get fancy.”

“Well, I do have a little fancy about me,” you say, doing a slight curtsy that made Jerry erupt with laughter.

“Funny gal, We’ll get along just fine. Just as a new member in the community, we want to make sure our own is taken care of. You pay for the wood and I’ll have my guy come and get that fancy mantel of yours done in no time.”

“Oh no that wou-“ your words cut off before you could even finish them as you see Jerry put his hand up.

“Now I won’t hear another thing, little lady. Let’s get you something nice,” determination in his voice and he leads you to the aisle holding all sorts of wood.

He was just like your grandmother, stubborn and wouldn’t hear a thing from anyone who lent a helping hand too. That made you feel a little more at ease as you followed Jerry down the aisle, amazed at all the different types of wood and the sweet smell coming from the maple solidified the suggestion that Jerry made.

Your eyes landed on a thick piece, sturdy and looking heavy enough to hold just the right amount of things that you wanted to put on it. Taking a look at Jerry, you point up to the piece of wood high on the shelf, “I like that one. It speaks to me and that’s the only one I want,” you take a subtle gulp, not used to getting your way where it counted, you were ready for a rebuttal and you didn’t get one.

A gleam came into Jerry’s eyes as he did a deep chuckle, “You got a good eye, I’ll tell ya that! Would have been my pick too.”

The time at the hardware store was your first time paying for anything in your life. Usually, others did the shopping for you and it was refreshing to be able to pay for something that was all yours. You and Jerry found the right size of maple wood for the mantel and even bought some tools — just in case you were in the mood to fix other things in your house.

He helped you load everything in the car before mentioning someone by the name of Curtis would be stopping by to help with the mantel. You let out a sigh, shaking your head at him, “I swear I have it, Jerry. That’s too much.”

Jerry folds his arms, dead set on what he promised, “This ain’t up for discussion, little lady. Think of it as a welcome present from the town,” a small smile appearing on his lips, “It’s okay to get some help sometime. If you want, maybe Curtis will let ya help. Show you a few tips or two,” you could no longer decline the gesture.

“Okay… okay. I’ll let him come over. Under one condition…”

“I’m sure he can meet yer’ demands. What’s the condition?”

“He can’t say no.”

Jerry furrows his brow, unable to grasp what you just said, “He can’t say no… to what?”

“To anything. Not that I will ask him to do anything crazy. But that’s the rule,” you wanted to hide or disappear for making a rule. You didn’t know how this would play out but you were proud of yourself.

Jerry shrugged his shoulders, “Alright. I’ll let him know. Now if he’ll listen is the real challenge,” he chuckles, walking back to the store, pushing the door open, “Go easy on him will ya?”

“I’ll try my best,” your words caught in laughter as you waved goodbye and got back in your car. You take the scenic route back home, looking at all the places that Camden has to offer. Down the street from the hardware store was a cozy-looking coffee shop, small enough to fit enough people and you made a note to visit later. Maybe even tomorrow.

You take in the oranges, yellows, and golds for the leaves littering the streets, signaling the changing season. The noticeable change in temperature when you first got here was indicative that you may see some snow for the first time in ages. That puts a small smile on your face as you turn into the driveway, happy that you made it back home.

Home….home…

Something that you haven’t felt in a long time came back to you and all you could do was enjoy that moment for a while, lying your head back against the seat as you finally realize that you have a home of your own. Your place of peace.

Thunk

“Ouch..”

Thunk… THUNK!!

“OW!! Dammit!!” You screech out, dropping the hammer to the floor and you suck on your injured thumb. The stinging pain ran down the whole of your thumb, throbbing slowly as you tried to quell the discomfort. It was hour 2 of trying to put the mantel up and no YouTube tutorial in the world could help the obvious.

You were not a handy person…

Nor did you have enough manpower to get the job done. There was no way you would be able to hold a heavy piece of wood and drill it into the wall. At least that’s the excuse that you came up with. You got off the ladder, frustrated by the entire idea.

But one thing is for sure; you couldn’t be mad and hungry. You didn’t have the energy to attempt to cook anything so you decided that pizza or takeout would be the greatest choice. With a half-defeated spirit, you plop down on your couch and start to search for restaurants on your phone. There were a couple of pizza places that stood out as well as some Thai and Chinese places.

You were stuck on both but before you could make a choice, a ring at the bell startled you, making your head snap to the door. The figure on the outside covered the entire length of the door so you couldn’t get a good look at the person’s face. The bell rings again and you stay still, uncertain if you should answer or not.

“Maybe they’ll go away…” you thought to yourself, noticing some movement at your door before the person stood still again.

A ding coming from your phone fills the room and you jump, finding it behind you as you look to see what app went off or your weekly email from your dad that you don’t bother reading. Instead, you see a text message from an unfamiliar number reading.

It’s Curtis from the hardware store. Jerry told me to come over. Just wondering if you’re home.

“Shit!” You whispered loudly, running up to the door to swing it open. Curtis steps back, giving you a first look at him as you crane your neck up to look at him. He is… very tall with a clean buzz cut to match the neatly trimmed beard on his face. His plaid shirt spread over his expansive shoulders, a thin cotton shirt hugging the noticeable broad chest that could be a great pillow for someone.

Or you….

Nope! You couldn’t be thinking this way about a stranger, even if he looked like a warm hug and a piece of art. You have been staring at him for too long, the clearing of his throat snapped you back to reality and you finally could think, “Um, you’re Curtis? Jerry’s guy right?”

Curtis chuckled, adjusting his bag as he took a look at you, “Yeah I’m the guy. I help him out sometimes,” a smirk pulled on his lips as if he knew something you didn’t.

But it was no matter, you needed a mantel and you were going to let him do it, “So Curtis… Chinese or pizza?” You say as your stomach grumbles for something greasy, “Pick or I’m choosing both,” you look at him with a straight face, feeling small on the inside with him almost towering over you.

“I’m not opposed to both and I’ll even pay for it.”

“Nope. I pay. You fix. There’s a hammer that lost it’s life in there and I just can’t go back into that massacre. So, I’ll pay and feed you. That a deal?”

Curtis takes one long look at you, standing straight before shrugging his shoulders, “It’s not like I can say no, right? You are the boss, ma’am.”

A tiny shock sent through when he said those words, but you quelled it down before you were able to speak, “I like you already Curtis. I think we’ll be just fine,” you smile, moving out of his way so that he can come in.

A small smile pulls at the corners of his mouth before he walks past you, stopping to lean down, “ You had me at food, ma’am. I’ll never say no to eating,” he steps into your house as you follow behind, closing and locking up. Curtis takes a look around, making note of the familiarity of the house, “This is the old Hancock place. We didn’t think they would ever sell it,” the timbre of his voice trailing as he begins to look around the place.

You follow behind him, mimicking the path of his sight as you notice some things that need to be repainted or even redone. The mention of the previous owners intrigues you and you decide to ask, “Were they well known around here?”

“One of many. I live down the street so I was here many days playing with the other kids. Time goes by fast is all,” a small smile pulls at this lip as he turns to you, “By the looks of everything, I think this house is in good hands.”

His words warm you in a way that you’ve never felt before, causing a nervous chuckle to escape you before you could stifle it. You quickly recover, taking a deep breath as you try to change the subject, “Ready to see the bomb I let off in my room?” Smirking a bit as you begin to walk down the hallway.

Curtis follows along, snickering at you, “I’m sure it’s not that….” He takes a look at your room as he stands at the threshold, taking everything in. “What exactly did you try to do in here?” Genuine confusion on his face as he tries to make sense of all the scattered materials on your floor.

You stand in the middle of the room, looking around before looking at him, “I was trying to put my mantle up. I read all the instructions, looked at tutorials and nothing,” You knew that you should have waited but determination surperceded your memory. Which is why you were in the predicament you were in now. You look around, finally seeing the actually mess in your room, feeling your heart race and before you knew it… “You know what? Let me clean this up. Shit… I should have never… I’m so sorry let me get this cleaned up. I’ll be quick, I promise,” you say hurriedly as you begin to pick things up and put them back down, feeling the frustration arise as you try to grab anything on the floor in sight.

The sight before Curtis was like a tornado and he needed to stop it before you went into a full on panic attack. He steps over, placing his hands on your shoulders, looking down at you, “Woah, woah! Slow down there. It’s fine, I’ve seen worse okay?” He says softly, keeping you in place as you begin to calm down, breathing deeply, “There you go, keep breathing,” his instructions are all you can hear as the blood lowers from your ears slowly. You hadn’t felt that feeling in months and one mistake sent you into a frenzy.

You’re not there anymore…

You’re free…

You’re going to be okay…

You repeat that in your head over and over, listening to Curtis as you keep your breath steady until you no longer feel that familiar tightness in your chest. The room begins to come back into view the first thing you see is the cerulean orbs staring down at you. For a moment, you see just a speck of green in them and you decide to get lost for just a second.

The sound of your name brings you back to life as you hear it come from Curtis’s lips, sounding like a the sweetest thing you ever heard. He’s silent for a second, paying attention to beauty of your eyes, clearing his throat before he sees you fully alert, “You okay?”

You do a quick nod, taking another deep breath, “Yeah… yeah. I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t sweat it. We all get overwhelmed,” he says in a reassuring tone as she squeezes your shoulders lightly, “Relax. I’m here to fix and you have some food to order. M’ not picky either,” he smirks lightly as you let out a soft laugh.

“Who’s the boss here, you or me?”

Curtis takes a deep breath, letting out a quick chuckle, “You are and what happened to the food boss?”

“Oh right! What kind of boss am I?” You teased, pulling away from him and walking out of the room, “One round of sinful food coming up!” You shout, going out to grab your phone before sitting down. You take another breath, replaying the way Cursis said your name. It wasn’t said with vitriol or disgust.

But with care…

You wanted him to say again. Just like that… Just to give you something that you always craved….

#gemoriginal #chris evans characters #chris evans #curtis everett x female reader #curtis everett imagine #curtis everett x black!reader #curtis everett x black female reader #curtis everett #curtis everett x you #curtis everett x reader #curtis everett fic #curtis everett fanfiction #curtis Everett series

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idrellegames · 4 months

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hi there! sorry if you've gotten a similar ask before. do you write wayfarer directly into twine or do you keep it in a separate doc? do you just have really clearly labeled sections in a word doc or something or is there a specific program you use to keep track of every story path? basically, with something as expansive and w/ as many routes as wayfarer, how do you keep all your writing organized?

I have answered this before, but I can't seem to find my posts on the subject (you may want to peruse my coding in twine tag, the masterpost has a bunch of different resources for this kind of thing!).

But in short, no, I do not write Wayfarer directly into Twine. This could functionally work for a very small game, but I would still advise against it as Twine doesn't really work as a word processor. You can't proof-read in it.

My process has three main steps:

Outlining

Writing

Coding

Compiling

Outside of my big beat chart (which spans the whole game), I break each episode down into their own outlines, and then break the routes of each episode down into their own outlines. Sometimes specific sections end up with their own outlines too. My system probably doesn't make much sense to anyone other than me, but as long as I know what the divisions are, then it's all good.

I write in MS Word. Each episode has its own folder (sometimes with subfolders) and every section of the game gets its own document.

Here's the main folders, each episode goes into its own thing.

This is an subfolder for Episode 1, specifically Route B.

Within my word documents themselves, I use a colour-coding system for separating out branches and sections. This is extremely useful for writing dialogue loops, like this:

I also add in any coding notes (variables, true/false states, stat checks) while I am writing so I know what I need to do when I sit down to code 4+ months later. I usually throw a X or XX on choices after I have written them as a note to myself that I have finished it (this is just personal shorthand - X means I've done the pass version of a check, XX means I've done the pass and fail states).

I use about 8-10 colours in my documents; I have a set of MS Word macros set up so I can easily switch between them.

I share my word documents with my editor via OneDrive, which makes it easy for her to got through and proofread.

I use MS Word because I've been using it to write since the 2000s and it's what I prefer to use. I have also been writing professionally for over a decade now, so I have systems and strategies in place that work for me that I've developed for myself over time. But if you're new to writing and you're looking for a word processor that can also help you with outlining and keeping your story straight, something like Scrivener may be helpful.

One the text is ready to be coded, it's a lot of copy/pasting from Word into Twine. When I'm coding I will typically be running multiple programs at once:

MS Word

MS Excel (for my variable sheets)

Twine

Notepad++ (which has some regularly used code stored in it; I also use it to edit CSS and Javascript, as well as any really code-heavy sections since it's easier to do that in Notepad++ than it is in the Twine editor)

Notepad (just the regular version - I use it for writing notes to myself while I'm coding)

a web browser to launch tests in as I code

Once I am done coding and I have tested things, it's time to compile. The Twine editor can only handle so many passages and text in one file (around 500-700 passages before you hit massive lag), so I break Wayfarer into multiple story files. Having multiple story files also makes it really easy for me to cross-reference events (if I need to grab a passage title to reference it later) because I don't have to look through one big file. If I know the event happens in Episode 2's first scene, then I know I need to open Chapter_2.1.

My Twine library looks like this at the moment:

I am using an old version of the editor (with an up-to-date version of SugarCube) since I didn't like the new one. I don't necessarily recommend using the Twine editor when you can easily make your game with Twee extensions in Visual Studio Code and have better support and functionality, but this is what I like and it really comes down to personal preference.

But because everything is in separate files, I have to merge them altogether. I have Tweego installed on my PC; it's run through the command prompt and outputs multiple story files into one HTML file. I've talked about this process here and here.

And that's basically it! I don't think there's a one-size-fits-all solution to keeping track of your IF. You need to figure out what works for you, based on your writing and outlining habits, how big your story is, and how much you intend to keep track of.

Hope this helps!

#wayfarer #wayfarer if #coding in twine #twine #twine game #interactive fiction #interactive novel #answered

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melodygatesauthor · 1 year

Text

Okay guys, I can't believe it's been a full year since I published the first chapter of my first fanfiction story and I'm still going strong today. - (Side note...it was actually yesterday but I wanted to get all my fics posted to AO3 so I could get an accurate word count and tell you all what I've done so...it took me an extra day)

This is going to be a really long post, and I thank everyone in advance for reading all the way through if you make it. I'm taking a moment to allow myself to talk about my accomplishments over the last year, my goals for this next year, and gas myself up just a bit. As an artist, it's really hard to talk about myself in a positive light without being critical, but I'm going to do it anyway. No one asked, but this is one of the ways I wanna celebrate my ficversary so...I'm gonna do it lol.

My First Fanfic Ever

I'd like to start by sharing my beginnings with writing. If I really think back to the very first fanfiction I wrote, I thought it was a Gorillaz fic (which I still have a handwritten copy of in my closet lol), but it wasn't. I think the very first fanfic I wrote technically was a Pirates of the Caribbean fic when I was 11. I didn't even realize that's what it was, I just knew that I was SO into POTC that I wanted to write about it. It had just come out by the way, so I'm really dating myself. This was...2003.

We had this thing we had to do for school, it was like a writing assignment or something, one of those big ones that they gave you, a standardized whatever. I managed to find a way to spin it into a POTC related thing and I went OFF writing this story. It had its own twists and turns unrelated to POTC, but it was a fanfic through and through.

The Beginning of My Fan Art

When I was 12 I started listening to Good Charlotte, to a point that it was my entire personality. Everyone who knew me, knew I loved them. Every fucking art project I had in middle school (7th and 8th grade) was revolved around this band, particularly Joel Madden.

My love for them has come and gone, but I still remember how I felt at the time (not unlike how I feel toward Oscar Isaac now lol). I mean my art teacher literally had to be like "I want you to branch out, you can't make everything about them." And as an adult, I'm wondering -why the fuck not but- ...I digress.

The First Fanfic I Ever "Published"

When I was 12 (or maybe closer to 13), I became OBSESSED with the Gorillaz. When I say obsessed I mean...I listened to the album Demon Days on repeat until it fucking broke. I changed my G's when I would write by hand to match the G in their logo. I made tons of fan art and it was a damn vibe. This was the first time I really discovered fanfiction and learned what it was.

I remember reading one fanfic from some girl on this website (I'm really dating myself here, some of you will know what site this is...) Quizilla. Quizilla was THE site at the time (other than LiveJournal I think, but I never used LiveJournal and didn't know it existed at the time) for fanfiction and what you would now call "buzzfeed quizzes". This girl's writing inspired me to write my own fanfic, which I handwrote and kept in a green folder which, as I said, I still have to this day sitting in my closet.

My very first fic, and yes at 13, included some romance, some non-con (don't fucking ask me why idk even how I knew about that at 13. I was never exposed to this type of thing as a child fortunately) and other nonsense. I published it on this site, and it made me really happy. I don't remember if anyone ever read it or not tbh, but it will forever hold a place in my heart <3

My Best Friend/Emo Era

I met my best friend in high school when I was about 14. She and I are still close to this day. Not as close, but I can still tell her my most unhinged thoughts and she loves me regardless. We met because we both wrote fanfiction and lost our minds over the fact that we did. Thus started my emo era.

She was into My Chemical Romance, and I was into The Used. 2005 was a time lol. The two of us had either a binder or a composition notebook where we'd handwrite our fics and pass them back and forth between classes. I still have the ones I wrote tucked away in my house. When we'd read them she and I would leave little notes in the margins like we all leave comments today.

Most of these fics never got published, they were just for us to enjoy. I did, however, publish a fic when I was about 15, that I wrote to completion. Quizilla ended up going down, and most of us moved to Mibba.com instead, which is still a website.

Edit: I looked at Mibba, and it looks like the website is still there, but you can't search for anything, so Mibba is gone too. Not gonna lie, broke my nostalgic heart just a bit to see...Some fics I wrote on there will be gone forever. Maybe for the best, but it's still kinda sad.

The Avenged Sevenfold Era

When I tell you that Avenged Sevenfold has been my favorite band since I was 15, I'm dead ass. Are they the best band ever? Not by a long shot, but damn the way I still lose my shit over them is unhinged. Anyone who was around during this time fucking knows...they were fucking HOT. Matt Shadows really had the bulky but not shredded body type going on, they all kinda did, and I'm so here for it.

Why I'll never post any of the fics I wrote during this time, even if I get my hands on them...

I wrote them when I was 15, and I was writing about things 15 year olds shouldn't write about.

You don't know cringe until you've read those fics.

It's about real people and I'm not a fan of rpf anymore. I'm all for writing whatever you want and fiction being fiction but there's something that gives me the ick about real people fiction. No offense to anyone who writes it, that's just my feelings.

The way these guys had a hold on me for the next 5 years was ridiculous. I wrote about them a lot, by hand, on my laptop, however I could. I had so many unhinged ideas and stories it's insane. I loved every minute of it, and I always look back on this as my true start into fanfiction.

The End of an Era

All good things come to an end. After graduation, my best friend and I stayed in touch, but grew apart. I went to college and continued writing fanfic. I was pursuing a major in graphic design with a minor in creative writing. I was convinced that even though I was writing fanfiction, I was going to write a book too and it would be a bestseller.

As time went on, probably when I was about 20 or 21, I kinda stopped writing fanfiction all together. My friend wasn't really writing it anymore, and the community around Avenged Sevenfold was slowing down. I was also in the middle of a breakup and it was a whole thing, so I kinda stopped writing around this time.

I'd also, unfortunately, felt like fanfiction was for kids/teens, so didn't feel the need to continue writing anymore. I didn't want to seem like a loser writing fanfiction in my twenties...so I didn't.

For the record, you're not a loser for writing fanfiction. It's a very valid artform and it's fun. We only live for so long, so enjoy it doing what makes you happy, period. I'll probably be writing in my 50s I fucking hope lol.

Anyway, at that time, that's how I felt. I now know it's bullshit to think that way. So fanfiction fizzled out for me, and I kinda moved on to other things.

My Not-fanfiction Era

What was I doing instead of writing? Going through an emotionally and mentally abusive relationship, working on trying to build what I thought was the 'dream' (marriage, kids, a house, e.t.c.), working and playing video games.

Fortunately that relationship ended. After years of therapy (which he told me I needed because he gaslit me into thinking I was crazy lol), I grew the balls to finally tell him to fuck off and leave. It was the best decision I ever made, especially considering this was JUST before COVID hit. I shudder to this day thinking about the fact that I was almost stuck in a house with that freak during lockdown.

When that relationship ended I moved back to Maine to be with my family. I missed them and had spent basically my entire 20s in another state with some loser.

Back to Fanfiction - Kylo Ren Era

So how did I get back here? How did I get back into writing and creating fan art? The truth is, a switch literally flipped in my brain over this guy right here...

I mean...

The funny thing is, I wasn't SUPER into Star Wars before this. I liked it, I'd seen the sequel trilogy in theaters, but to me it was just a movie series. I was literally watching a Sam Collins video on YouTube where he made fun of a Kylo Ren cosplayer's thirst trap on TikTok and was like...oh that's actually kinda hot.

Thought nothing of it though, just moved on with my day...until I dreamt about him too. And then I felt this spark inside me that I couldn't shake. I literally was like...👀 something is happening here.

So I remembered this feeling from when I was a teen and recognized the impending obsession immediately. I actually googled "is fanfiction still relevant" and "is it ok to write fanfiction as an adult?"

The short answers are - yes - and - of course it is -. This was how I discovered the VERY popular Kylo Ren fic Fix Your Attitude by Kassanovella. I read it in a matter of a week, and in that time I started writing my own fic. I also rewatched ALL the Star Wars movies, and then continued rewatching the sequel trilogy on repeat just so I could get Kylo Ren's character down. I wanted to make sure I captured his voice and personality perfectly. - When I say I watched the sequel trilogy 20 times, it's not an exaggeration, I had it on constantly.-

The fic I wrote was called, Yes, Master

The first chapter of that fic was published on 09/05/2022 (one year ago today), and the last chapter was published on 10/14/2022 with a word count of 100,701. Not only is it the longest fic I've written of all the fics I've done, but it's the one I wrote the fastest. I was posting a chapter a day every day until it was finished. I mean...I literally went OFF on this story. I was so proud of it that I went to lulu.com and made myself a physical copy of it that I intend to read as part of this celebration I'm doing lol.

Wondering if anyone would be interested in me revamping this story (rewriting and updating it) and posting here? I would definitely do it if there was enough interest.

I then wrote a sequel called By Your Side which taught me SO MUCH. Here's what I learned when creating this sequel...

Not everything needs a sequel.

Writing a chapter a day isn't realistic.

I should've planned a full outline before diving into this fic.

I'm not into pregnancy fics/domestic fics all that much as far as longfics go.

It's okay to genuinely dislike something you've written and you should try to learn from that.

By Your Side is still to this day one of my least favorite fics (if not my LEAST favorite). I am still proud of myself for finishing it, (it sits at a hefty 85,599 words). I don't have to love it though. I'm just grateful for what I learned in the process of writing it and proud of myself for finishing it despite being sick of it by chapter 8 and still writing 20 chapters after that.

I also wrote my very first Yandere fic, Just You. It's a bit darker, in my opinion, than The Fractured Moon. This fic was a blast to write, and it felt very freeing to write something so disturbing. It was fun to just let myself get into a dark headspace without holding back and not feeling bad about it. It was more

The Rainbow Six Siege Era

During my time writing for Kylo, I went back to a video game I used to play a lot, Rainbow Six Siege. My Oscar Era bleeds into the Kylo and R6S era a little but I'll talk about that soon.

The Siege fandom was an interesting one...one that I'll probably not go back to much, though I may still write a little fic for it here and there as I feel inspired to. I won't dive too much into this as I know most of you are Oscar fans, but I'll mention my accomplishments here and the things I learned.

I wrote another novel-length fic for this fandom called The Recruit and the Hunter which has another 83,888 words. I actually LOVE this story, and still look back on it fondly. It was a fun one to write, and I really challenged myself to write less smut for it, and I succeeded. It focused heavily on the relationship that built between the main pairing and in my opinion it's one of my better slow-burns I've done.

Why did I leave this fandom?

Well, I'm not going to throw shade, I don't like doing that unless I have to, so I'll keep it brief. The long and the short of it is this...

The readers were getting EXTREMELY demanding. I have comments on RATH of people saying things like "I'm going to be upset if you don't give us a happy ending" and "there better be smut or I swear...". It can get really discouraging as a writer when people seem to say "I love your fic but I'll only continue to love it if you do xyz." It puts us in a dilemma, and makes it hard for us to find a balance between providing fan service, and doing what's fun for us to write. It definitely changed the outcome of RATH and I'm not happy that I gave in like that.

The requests I got were confusing and downright weird. I didn't do some of the really weird ones, and I'm not meaning to kink shame, but it was just very niche things that I couldn't get myself into. I think part of why I felt obligated to provide fan service like I mentioned in the point above, and why I caved and wrote some fanfics for these more unique requests, is because this fandom is very small, and I felt an obligation to provide.

Some of the other writers in the fandom are fucking rude. I'm not going to mention names, like I said, but I had very poor experiences with several writers in the fandom, and since I was also integrating into the Oscar fandom at the time, I could see a stark difference in the way I was being accepted in one, versus the way I was being pushed away in the other. There aren't a lot of x reader writers in the R6S fandom, and I was one of them, and there seems to be some animosity between the people who ship characters, versus the people who write x reader and that's where this mistreatment came from. I don't know, I tried making friends over there, and felt like I was getting pushed out.

So anyway, it's not for me anymore, but I still think back to certain parts of it fondly, and I may write a little more here and there as I see fit.

The Oscar Isaac Era

This really is THE era, isn't it?

As I was working on the last 10 or so chapters of Yes, Master, and after my 12th time rewatching the sequel trilogy movies, I started to fall for Poe Dameron, naturally. How could I not? I mean look at him...

So I decided that I would give Poe a prequel to my Yes, Master story called One Hell of a Pilot. This fic was so fun to write, and it's how I became involved with the Oscar Isaac community in the first place. Immediately I started following Dee, and through her I found Mona, and it was just snowballing from there. Whitney and Romana were some of the first to follow me and my shenanigans.

In December, which is when I started writing One Hell of a Pilot, another novel-length fic that ended with 80,517 words, is when I started reading Dee's fics, along with Mona's and many others. I saw their interactions and felt excited by the prospect of making new friends who were just as into some of this stuff as I was. A place that I could be myself and lose my shit over this idiot and not be judged.

I had no idea what the hell I was getting myself into.

It all started with a fic that Dee had written, I can't remember which one, probably a dbf!Santi fic, and I asked the innocent question of...

What movie is this from?

Oh shit...I didn't realize what the fuck I was getting myself into. After she told me it was Triple Frontier and I should watch it, my brother and I watched it right away. I told him a friend of mine suggested it. The way we spent the entire 1.5 hours laughing at how bad it was is still a memory I hold dear to my heart. I still didn't know at the time that this loser (Oscar my beloved) would hold a place in my heart from that day on.

My first Santi fic was a headcanon about Santi w/ a plussize reader that I called Preciously Plump. A headcanon that later got a full fic, appropriately named Preciously Plump the One-shot.

So then I read something about Moon Knight, and between Dee and Mona shoving me into it (peer pressure ftw) I caved and watched the show.

Phew...

That gave way to the first Moon Knight fic I ever wrote, How Unexpected which came out on January 3rd, 2023 of this year. I was sure that between Steven's adorable nerdy behavior, and Marc's tough exterior, I'd be head over heels for those two. I was nervous to even TOUCH Jake, because I didn't know shit about his character, and the last thing I wanted to do was write a character without it sounding like them.

I was also afraid at the time of writing the Moon Boys with DID because I didn't know anything about it, and I didn't want to misrepresent something like that. After some time went by, I got my bearings, and started working on A Bit Dodgy.

ABD is definitely one of the fics I'm most proud of. I had learned a lot from my past fics I'd written, Yes, Master, e.t.c., and figured out what it was that works best when I'm writing to not only keep myself interested, but to create a good balance between smut for smut's sake, and pushing the story forward.

When I first started writing ABD, I was sure it was going to be a 30-40 chapter fic, but as I started writing it more, I realized quickly that a lot of the chapters were just porn. Is there anything wrong with that? No...but as someone who's written nearly a million words in this past year, I don't feel the need to draw my chaptered fics out with smut just to say I wrote something x chapters or x words wrong.

That's why ABD ended up getting cut down SO MUCH from my original plan. I just made some decisions that I felt maximized the story more and used the smut as a major plot device, rather than the fic revolving around smut as the plot...if that makes any sense lol. I'm happy to say, that as of today, A Bit Dodgy has concluded, though it's the only fic I've ever finished with such a heavy heart.

I was an Oscar stan HARD after that, diving into Sucker Punch and other silly little movies filled with that silly little man whom I love so so much.

Statistics

Numbers aren't important when it comes to kudos (AO3) and likes (Tumblr) so I'm not focusing on those. What I am going to focus on...is my personal accomplishments. Like I said, I don't normally toot my own horn, but I fucking wrote A LOT this year, and I'm going to take a minute to pat myself on the back.

So NOT including my random blurbs (since I'm not bothering to cross-post those)...

My total word count from 09/05/2022-09/05/2023 is (drumroll please):

791,829 words

GEE

I had thought I would've hit a million by now but I am NOT going to complain. By the grace of the horny demon that runs the smut factory in my brain, I've written more than I ever even thought possible.

In the Moon Knight fandom alone, I've written:

238,950 words

I think the only fandom I've written more for is Star Wars, but I'd have to add it all up and I'm not doing that rn haha.

Just kidding it's:

368,566 words

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I wrote 6 novel-length fics, a total of 147 works, MK holds the record for most fics I've written at a whopping 82 fics!

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It's shocking to look back and see what I've accomplished, and to look forward to seeing what else I can do. I know that this next year I won't have the same word count, probably not even close.

I'm focusing a lot on drawing now as well as writing, plus I'm working on my first novel that I'd like to publish so things will definitely be slowing down. I'm going to continue writing, but the speed at which I churn out fics will be slower in the future.

In Conclusion

Thank you all for the support throughout this year. There's no way in HELL I would've had the drive and desire to continue writing if not for the amazing community (most the Oscar Isaac community lol) behind me. It's not just the kudos and the reblogs, it's the people who I've grown to know since joining the world of fandom.

I never had a ton of IRL friends, and I live alone (happily btw) with my dog. Being able to make some friends here that I genuinely call friends, not just people I know online, has meant the world to me. I would list everyone out, but I have a fear of accidentally forgetting to tag someone despite how much they mean to me so I'll leave it at...those people know who they are.

And to my readers (I hesitate to use the word "fans", that makes it sound so conceited), thank you to the moon and back. Without out, I wouldn't have had the drive to keep going. Kudos, Likes and Reblogs aren't everything, I can't stress that enough, but they do help keep the drive alive. (Particularly the comments). Without the little boost of excitement I get when I see that other people are just excited about what I'm doing as I am, I probably would've given up ages ago.

You all are the reason that this was even possible.

With all that being said, I have a small celebration planned that I'll announce later tonight. In the mean time, stay amazing. You keep supporting me, and I'll keep providing the fics that you all love so much

Love, Melly

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