#because doing the math made me hyperaware of the fact

[fictionadventurer]

It's very satisfying to me when the number of Inklings Challenge participants divides perfectly into equal teams. Any new members had better sign up in groups of three.

[skullsnbruises]

Hello welcome back to my autism decided today was the day I’d finally work on NAW and so here’s the FIRST FUCKING CHAPTER!!!

[Ao3 Link]

Taglist: @poprockpanda @brick-a-doodle-do @local-squishmallow @dingbatnix @data-expunged-0 @da3dm

Noms Are Weird

Clumsy

[2248 words] [full tw list on ao3]

Tommy had the misfortune of being born right into the first generation of giants integrated into human culture. Which for him, meant all sense of a previous culture and country he could’ve shared with other giants was a far fetched fantasy now, unlike his father, Phil’s, life. This didn’t mean anything to the blonde growing up, until teenage years brought hormones and odd feelings. Not those feelings, weirdo.

The types of feelings that burrow deep into your soul, and stomach, and gurgle and squeeze anxiously. The type that make you realize how dumb you fumble around and how much space you take up as a giant in the small world around you.

Hyperawareness. Discomfort. Some secret third thing Tommy spent the majority of his time trying to identify now. It was an odd sensation that came up anytime he was around, or thought of, a human.

He didn’t dare bring it up to anyone, worried in the back of his mind what it could be. He wasn’t stupid. There were stories and fears about how giants sometimes ate humans. That’s something Tommy definitely didn’t have any mixed feelings towards whatsoever, nope! It wasn’t like every moment he came into contact with his peers at school, his stomach churned hungrily and intrusively snuck thoughts of slipping them into his mouth- not at all.

But just in case, Tommy decided it was best to isolate socially from humans. Completely ignore and avoid them, because that’s definitely healthy and the right way to cope.

Clumsy, uncomfortable Tommy stumbled through the hallways, rushing his way to the last class of the day.

The only luck Tommy had was his school being more developed than when Wilbur was taking classes. The blonde’s school was actually suited for giant students and housed them comfortably.

But now the teen had made it to the class, stupid math. He carefully stepped past the front side of the room, which seated the human students, and made his way to relax in his own seat.

Classes could snugly fit about three giant students each, while dozens of humans could fit. Meaning, if you didn’t like your same-sized peers, you’re not only a giant blemish to the humans, but to the giants as well. That was typically Tommy.

In math, he was sat beside Punz, and only Punz. He was a senior, contrasting Tommy’s being a freshman.

The brief consideration passed Tommy to try and make friends, though Punz had a cold hard face that told him he was not at all interested. So, of course, Tommy struck up conversation with the platinum blonde.

“AYUP, how do?”

Punz gave him a bewildered side glance, before fully turning, expression clouded in disgust at the very fact Tommy was even acknowledging him.

“Who,” Punz bared sharpened teeth, “are you?”

“They call me Tommy,” he nodded, “most people say I’m annoying, but only at first, nice to meet ya, what’s your name, mate?”

Punz’s expression returned to normal; normal being incredibly bored and done-with-people looking, but still.

“Punz,” he answered. Tommy smiled, despite already knowing from the older one's reputation that spread like wildfire around the school.

Punz. He was a monster. Every giant stereotype Tommy could really think of was true for him. Loud, brash, violent. Punz was the type to start fights and he was certainly strong enough to have people wishing themselves dead. Tommy heard Punz had once broken someone’s arm! He was a threat of a giant, strong and cruel. And Tommy was all the more concerned with befriending him.

It was simple, having friends was good anyway. But having someone tough on your side always played to one’s advantage. As well as the fact Punz was a cold person who needed a heater to warm him up, metaphorically. If Tommy could be that, letting the giant trust someone, he’d consider himself having done a good job. Plus, softening Punz would do all the much to push giantkind in the eyes of acceptance.

Maybe Tommy was considering too much.

“You’re staring.”

“WHOOPS,” Tommy laughed it off nervously, “Sorry, big man, sometimes a boys gotta stare, ya know?”

“…What are you talking about?”

Tommy continued to chuckle, playing off his discomfort, “Ay, big guy, maybe we could spend time together after school, yeah?”

The giant’s nose curled and the word ‘no’ was on his lips, but a sudden thought took Punz aback, and he softened his face again, “Actually, I was spending time with some friends after school, you can come,” there was something dark in that invitation, but Tommy couldn’t detect it.

“Hell yeah!” His voice was a bit loud, the teacher hushed him.

Tommy smiled and quieted, flashing his toothy grin to Punz before focusing on maths.

As much as Tommy was a klutz and a social embarrassment, he still wanted to try with giants. Humans were completely out of the picture; his feelings and intrusive thoughts messed him up too much to bother, but at least he could talk to giants. They were on the same level, literally, and he felt all the more comfortable just in their presence than the small little breakable creatures that were humans. It was too dangerous to allow himself by them. And Tommy would avoid humans, he swore upon it, for his and their sakes.

Class went alright, and Tommy kept serving one liners and quips to Punz to butter him up. He really wanted the older one to like him. It meant so much with every giggle and small twitch of the corners of Punz’s lips he caught. The blonde didn’t think he’d be able to stand being an extrovert with no friends.

Maths was over soon enough, and the two giants parted ways, walking down the giant sized hallway to their lockers. The humans walked along a small, lifted up, walkway that was guided by a railing. They were high enough that they walked the same height up to an average giant’s chest. The school feared if they were waking down too low, they’d be stepped on, so everything for humans was raised more or less.

The freshman tore his gaze from the small walkers. He didn’t want to tempt the nagging urge anymore than it already ached. It was a foggy sensation that was trying to overtake his logistics, that settled unkindly in the back of his head. Stupid foggy feeling, ruining his high school experience.

The blonde met his locker shortly after leaving the class, as the hallways for giants were quite short and twisted in loops around previously human-built rooms. Tommy input his combination, fumbling slightly with recalling the exact numbers, before swinging open the door. Inside was nothing but his backpack, blue and plain. He’d meant to decorate it with patches, pins, and whatever else he could get his claws on, but had yet to do so. He ignored that his wish was to do so with human friends.

Tommy slipped the bag over his shoulders and walked back through the hallway. Slight anxiety met his mind when he realized Punz never told him where he’d be waiting for the younger.

It didn’t matter, as Punz turned the corner immediately, a duo of giants behind him.

“Hey, ready?” Punz offered a clawed hand.

Tommy beamed, “Yep!”

“This is Quota,” The brunette one raised a polite hand, “And Jake,” The one with glasses smiled, baring teeth.

He’d seen these two as passersby in the hallway before. He knew every giant’s face at this point, by how much staring he’d accidentally done. It was easy though to know every other person of giantkind, considering they were still a minority, especially in this school.

“Hello!” Tommy tried his best to make a perfect first impression, grin wide as day with an outstretched hand to give out handshakes. Quota shook his palm firmly, but Jake denied the contact. Tommy cringed internally, but coolly played it off.

Punz nodded to the three of them, “Let’s get going.”

Tommy nodded back, bold expression all proud of himself and totally not lame looking. The two giants beside him gave glances and turned away.

As the group made their way along to the front entrance of the school building, Tommy found that the rest of the giants were taking small glimpses over on the railings where the humans were walking. Tommy swore for a second he caught sight of Jake licking his lips just for a split moment, and his heart sank in the way of the possibility they might, too, understand this cruel feeling inflicted upon him.

It was a great deal of time later they had spent just walking and chatting, casual topics, that Tommy’s legs were just starting to pang after having used them for so long straight. He was about to speak up and protest, when his complaints were shot down by Punz taking lead talking instead.

He said, “Here we are,” And Tommy looked up to see the movie theater. Shit, he never brought money to school, they were gonna have to pay for him. How much more awkward could the teen get around his peers?

The group piled into the theater, and Tommy bashfully peered down to the floor, embarrassed to admit that he couldn't afford anything. Before he could say a word, again, Punz was first to open his mouth, “I’ll buy everyone’s tickets. Tommy, you’re new, want popcorn?”

Tommy blushed, “Uh, yes.”

“Are you the kind that likes lots of butter…?” The question was so simple, but felt like if he ‘got it wrong’ he’d be kicked out of the building quicker than he joined the trio.

So honest it was, he wasn’t Honest Tom for no reason (nobody called him that).

“Painfully buttery.”

“My man,” Punz approved, and as he handed over the money and was given the striped bag, he gave the honor of buttering it to Tommy, who absolutely slathered that delicious yellow all over the little buds of delight. Hell fucking yeah.

Jake and Quota got their candies, which Tommy politely asked not to have (he already felt guilty spending Punz’s money on popcorn and a ticket), they all made their way deeper into the building. Punz had bought them all tickets to whatever the only giant starring movie there was. It was rare to see a movie even about giants without them being demonized, so supporting them when they were correctly shown in the media must be important to Punz. Tommy respected that.

Tommy had the important job of carrying the popcorn in and they filed into the room, where they took their seats around the back, where the giant sized seats were. Jake scrunched up his nose, pushing his glasses up at the same time.

Punz groaned, “Don’t you hate that we’re stuck back here?”

Tommy was being stared at, “Y-yeah!” He didn’t have that strong of an opinion, but it must matter to Punz a lot. Jake and Quota seemed to profusely agree.

Quota echoed behind him, “It’s not fair that we’re treated like ‘others’, look not a single human even wanted to see a movie about giants!”

Tommy hadn’t noticed. Now that he was looking at the dozens of rows of empty spots, he realized the situation. At least, he thought hopefully, now he wouldn’t have to worry about the mind-numbing sensation of the ‘desire to eat people’ thing, which he totally wasn’t dealing with behind the scenes.

“It’s disgusting,” Jake curled his lip upwards, “How are we meant to trust the narrative of ‘accepting, welcoming’ humans when they don’t acknowledge we even exist?”

“You’re right…” Tommy felt uncomfortable in the knowingness. Like it was some type of poison traveling down his throat to be so hyperaware of a human’s discomfort with the idea of him. It made the odd intrusive thoughts seem even worse. How evil was he for wanting to eat those who turned their back on him?

Punz lifted his soda, “To giants, and each other, the only ones we can trust.”

Jake and Quota cheered with Punz, and a duo of giants that were also in the building smiled at the scene. Tommy reluctantly joined, afraid of sticking out like the sad, sorry, red thumb he was.

It was a few previews in, and a human entered the building, to every giant’s surprise. Punz jeered at the poor thing as she walked in and chose a seat closer to the screen. She whipped around all nervous, but ultimately ignored Punz’s distasteful choice of words.

Tommy suddenly felt like a stranger to his own skin, tenfold of what he normally experienced. It was like he wasn’t even in his body, viewing from a distance outside himself. It was nauseating, and so he excused himself away to the bathroom, leaving the bucket of buttery popcorn there with his new friends. If he could call them that, yet.

The giant felt sick, tumbling his way into the stalls, he bent over and kneeled there. Over the toilet, he just sat on his knees, and waited. It was a few minutes ticking slowly and painfully by, that nothing ended up happening. He was thankful at least, his breath wouldn’t be rotten when he got back to the trio, but the sensation of dizziness and the urge to vomit didn’t let up. It lessened slightly after a dozen more minutes, and Tommy felt fine enough to stand once more.

He couldn’t explain what had just happened. Something about the way Punz was cussing out that human for what seemed like merely entering the room disturbed Tommy greatly. He’d have to ask about what that was for at some point, if he planned on even making friends. It was starting to seem a little foreign to him. Maybe he was in the wrong for thinking like that, though. He should, as Punz said, support his fellow giantkind. It was only fair.

As he abandoned the bathroom, Tommy slowly made his way back to the theater room, begrudgingly tracing the striped walls as he walked.

Upon turning the corner into the room, the first thing Tommy realized is that the human was gone. He hoped that she hadn’t ditched the movie over Punz’s jeering.

Tommy reached the back of the room with the giant seats, and took his place beside his new friends like he was before. He didn’t notice the way Punz proudly displayed his hand upon his stomach, which was being pushed against furiously, acting like he just had a wonderful feast, meanwhile the popcorn was untouched.

The movie had since started, and was about a third into it when Tommy sat back down. He felt bad for missing so much of what Punz had paid for, but the platinum blonde didn’t seem to mind.

“Psst, Tommy,” Quota whispered over, “We’re gonna ditch this place, the movie is awful anyway.”

Tommy made an audible ‘oh’, and stood as the trio did, making their way out of the building and down the next few streets.

Punz explained, leading the group, “We’re going over to my house.”

The blonde nodded back, “Oh, uhm, I might go home actually. I wasn’t feeling that great back there, uh…”

Punz huffed, “After school tomorrow?”

“Yeah! I can do that,” He smiled brightly, happy they’d still accept him even if he left right now. Maybe he wasn’t the total loser he thought he was, and actually proved he could make friends with people, specially, the scariest giant who might have a secret soft spot. Tommy vowed to find that special little spot, and worm his way into Punz’s heart.

He waved a giddy goodbye to Quota, Jake, and Punz, as he turned and headed the opposite direction, down and over a good amount of streets. He eventually made his way to Allen Drive, where his house was. The bright wooden shingles welcomed him home as entered through the front door. It was a tiring and long day, and even though dinner smelled good in the kitchen,

Tommy took instead to upstairs, where he flopped onto his bed. The cushion caved beneath his weight, and happily accustomed to his body laying there. It was incredibly comfortable, the sheets, blankets, and pillows all piled around him. Tommy sighed out, happy how the day had ended up. Maybe tomorrow, he’d successfully join a social group with Punz and the gang, and learn how to be a person like everyone else.

[thenamesblurrito]

I have a question about cybertronian families. Several in fact. Do older cybertronians adopt and raise newly forged cybertronians or is it a fend for yourself thing? Can two or more cybertronians get together and build their own child, and if yes, do they wait for a new spark to come and poses the frame?

well hello there! judging by this and the other rapidfire asks i got, i'm pretty sure you're new here, so let me link you to where i've answered this stuff before.

Here's how newsparks occur, being forged from hotspots and then taken to group homes and/or adopted to individual parents (although the idea of building an empty body and waiting for it to be possessed by life is INCREDIBLE). This is the only way in which newsparks are made in this universe, as cold construction doesn't exist for reasons.

Here's an example of a typical group home and also Orion being cute

Here's an explanation of sparks, siblings and families, and a bit about twins

i think i said somewhere before that a child can have anywhere from one to seven legal adopted parents, but i've done the math and they can in fact have up to fifteen legal parents! that's specifically legal parents, mind you, which doesn't include other adults who are alloparenting without being legally recognized for it. additionally, there's places like Carcer where communal parenting is the norm and it's actually more uncommon for there to be "default parents" for a kid. children can be adopted out at any maturity stage, but most commonly they're adopted from group homes as sparklings or nymphs, not younglings. there isn't a limit as to how many kids an individual can raise in their lifetime, either, for instance Kup has seen many children reach adulthood before Hot Rod was ever forged

if by perverse you mean specifically genitals, then no, genitals are completely nonexistent here. they reproduce totally asexually, don't have gender comparable to human gender, and the closest thing they have to sex is done through hardlines, which are multipurpose and more often used for medical checkups or digital programming than intimacy.

this is a nonissue, since functionism has created a society where there are no alien "locals" to imitate:

Cybertron is isolationist, which is a good thing because their society is wildly xenophobic and organiphobic. No other petty species could possibly compare to them and their grand function divinely ordained! It’s been many megavorns since Cybertron has had confirmed contact with alien life, and even longer since it’s had diplomatic relations. They don’t know of any other species around their space currently, and they don’t care to know. Anything taught about xenospecies or organics is always done with a heavily condescending bent.

they don't go anywhere or interact with anyone to make imitation necessary. the closest thing you'll get to humans in SNAP is Thundercracker's favorite show As The Kitchen Sinks. even then, the vast majority of mecha cannot trans-scan to adopt another alt mode! the only ones who can are Mutacons

good guess, but nope! law enforcement are called Enforcers, and the Academy’s vice principal Prowl used to be one. they’re a pretty brutal part of functionism. medical personnel are referred to with the title Medic. anyone who’s a noted professional in their field may end up being called by the title Convoy, denoting their authority and expertise, which is mentioned in here.

if you’re looking for the characters in these groups, you’ll find Chase and Heatwave as sparklings in Orion’s compact, First Aid from the Protectobot Compact as one of Thundercracker’s roommates, and a few links to a wiki where Academy faculty, students, and multiple group homes are listed so you can see if you can spot any other familiar names ;)

there isn’t really a concept of nudity, so “all natural” is just... the norm. as mentioned in the first couple answers in this ask dump, mecha can remove kibble and put it back on, but while they may be a segmentary species, they aren’t like Legos, just swapping out parts freely. they can when medically necessary, but their alt mode, size, and general structure are all permanent from forging.

clothing, however, is more of an accessory thing than a necessity, and there’s plenty of mecha that go their entire lives without ever wearing a single article of clothing! a lot of this is because of entrapment protocols, which is mentioned in the above link in the seventh answer, and also in this ask dump in the seventh answer. do you remember in the Bumblebee movie when Dropkick got all tangled up with a chain wrapping around and through him? that’s what entrapment protocols are meant to prevent. it’s a hyperawareness of foreign objects in seams, joints, and internals, compelling the mech to be still until it’s removed. unfortunately, once an object gets entangled deep enough, this awareness becomes helpless paralysis, and an agonizing, deteriorating mental state quickly sets in as the mech is trapped in their own body with something stuck in them. this paralyzed state is a boon for Enforcers, who often use nets, cords, and other similar capture gear designed to trigger entrapment protocols for easy arrests. if they’re feeling particularly mean, they’ll simply leave the arrestee under protocols. it’s very possible to go insane with prolonged periods of entrapment protocols.

all clothes, therefore, are designed to avoid entrapment protocols. here’s a quick example of what fancy dress might look like, very much based on accentuating the kibble and colors already there rather than covering up, and the fabric that’s been added can be easily ripped for the same reasons pet collars have stretchy sections, so as to not harm them when caught on something.

[boymeetsweevil]

SS5 - MYG, NSFW, 3237w

TW: Explicit content, talk about human sacrifice, kinda crack-y

“I don’t get it,” you panted after finally getting the rusty boiler room door shut. “Why were they still following us?”

“Dunno.”

Your classmate, Yoongi, huffs beside you to catch his breath. After running through the environmental science department’s small observation forest, it was abundantly clear that neither of you were the athletic type.

“Don’t you think it’s weird? I thought for sure that the purity potion we put in that Taehyung guy’s backpack would be good enough bait for the warlocks.”

Yoongi remains silent. So you continue to suck in gulps of air nervously while peering through the frosted glass window on the door. It’s not as if you can actually see the people who have been tailing a group of innocent freshmen for sacrifice. And you and your friend, funnily enough.

You turn to him then to watch him take his glasses off and polish them on his hoodie. It’s a strangely casual gesture and the fact that he’s trying to polish the glasses despite the fact that the lenses are cracked from falling in the forest makes you think something’s up.

“I mean, don’t you think it’s weird that we had two groups of bait—one full of actual virgin freshmen and one with a guy holding what’s essentially virginity in a bottle—and there’s still warlocks tailing us?”

“What do you want me to say?” He almost shouts before shoving his glasses back onto his face.

“Something that lets me know you think this is fucked. Because it is fucked up.”

“I don’t know what to tell you.”

Your eyes narrow and make your way back over to him. When you get close enough, he scowls at the ground and turns away from you but he’s got nowhere to hide.

“What are you not telling me?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. There’s a bunch of crazy evil wizards out there sacrificing virgins and I don’t want to end up on the wrong side of it.” 

“It’s none of your business. Let it go.”

“I could die here, how the hell is it not my business?”

“It’s just not.”

“What are you hiding?!”

“I’m a virgin,” he shouts. “There! Are you happy?”

“...Oh,” you say, unable to hide your surprise as your eyes widen. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

He rakes a hand up through the dark bangs that cover his forehead. The sigh he breathes out is shaky, probably partially from annoyance and partially from still recovering from running for his life.

“It’s just embarrassing. Didn’t want to change how you saw me.”

There’s a tenderness in the way he admits it as he stares down at his feet. Shame blooms softly on his pale cheeks and the image makes your heart clench a little. You take a breath to calm your heartbeat and take in the dry damp smell of the boiler room. Now is not the time to be dwelling on a petty crush, you’re reminded.

“Well, we have to figure something out. I didn’t think to take any kind of weapon because I thought the freshmen would need them all.”

“It should be fine. I think that one of them said there was a book in the classics library that might actually have the banishing spell in it. We just have to wait it out.”

You nod. “I guess you’re right. Maybe—”

A loud metallic bang shatters the quiet atmosphere. It’s all too familiar since you heard the sound almost 15 minutes prior when you both ran to an abandoned math building in search of a hideout. It’s the sound that the chains blocking the ground floor entrance made when you tried breaking in.

“Maybe it’s the others,” you let out a tiny nervous chuckle. “They could be trying to find us. To let us know the banishing spell worked.”

“They said they’d call first.” Yoongi’s words are tight and low. You don’t like how much resignation leaks into his voice.

“I’ll check my phone. Maybe I missed their call or they left a voicemail.” Of course your phone only displays a low battery warning, no calls or texts of success in sight.

“Shit.”

You look up from your phone to find Yoongi cupping his face in his hands and sliding down the brick wall to squat above the ground. Instantly you crouch down too, wanting to comfort your friend.

“It’s gonna be okay.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It is. I mean it, Yoongi. We’ll find a way out of this.”

“Well, you can definitely find a way out of this.”

“I’m not leaving you. You’re getting out of this alive too.” 

He laughs, empty and dark. “Please, the only way I’m getting out of this is if...” he trails off.

You tilt your head. “What? Do you have an idea?”

Suddenly he looks nervous, eyes darting from your face to different spots around the room, to your face again.

“I—yeah, but...It’s crazy.”

“Just tell me. Whatever it is, I’ll help.” You pat his arm for emphasis and he shifts away minutely.

“You’re not gonna want this, though.”

“Doesn’t matter, I’m doing it anyway. You know, to keep you alive? Just spit it out?”

His mouth opens and closes and he brings a hand to smooth down his face like he’s exhausted at just thinking up the idea. Finally, he looks to you.

“We could...have sex.”

“Uh, what,” you laugh because you really weren’t expecting such an answer.

“I’m not trying to be a creep or funny,” he holds up his hands. “It’s just that...that’s the reason why they’re chasing me—why they’re chasing any of us.”

“No, I get it. But, um, how is this gonna work?”

“It could honestly just be a couple seconds, right? Just long enough for me to technically have been inside someone. And then we can stop. Magic is pretty literal, right?”

“I guess?”

“God, I’m sorry. This is so weird.” His voice comes out sounding pained, and you snap out of your own awkwardness.

“No, it’s fine. This is probably the best option anyway.”

Just as you solidify the idea in your head, another boom echoes through the building followed by the sound of footsteps and the scrape of chairs. From the sound of it, the warlocks had found their way into the building and were ransacking the classrooms lining the floor above.

“Okay, let’s try it,” you nod resolutely to yourself.

You stand up to let Yoongi stiltedly unbutton his pants and push them down his thighs. In the back of your mind, you’re mildly surprised to find that he wears boxer briefs. There’s no time to unpack the thought, but you promise yourself that if you get out alive, you’ll do whatever you want with that information. Instead you reach under the skirt you wore that day to wriggle your panties down to your ankles.

While your hands play with the hem of your skirt, you approach Yoongi. Slowly you lower crouch until you’re hovering above his lap, a few inches away from straddling him.

“There’s a problem,” he hedges before you can fully sit.

“What?”

“I just, uh, I’m not exactly ready yet.”

“Huh?”

You look down confused because you don’t see anything wrong. And then you realize you really don’t see anything at all and therein lies the problem. He’s not hard.

“I don’t normally have an issue with this,” he stutters while blushing anew. “But I guess the fact that I can hear the evil wizards right outside who are determined to kill me is messing with the atmosphere a little. Sorry.”

“No worries. I mean, mood is definitely important. I’m not really that ready either.”

The sounds of chair scraping and classroom doors getting slammed grow subtly louder, reminding you that time is precious right now.

"Yoongi,” your voice comes out softer than you planned. “Do what you need to. To get ready.”

He gives the smallest look toward the door before fixing his eyes back on you. Then, his eyes grow wide. You’re unbuttoning your shirt in front of him, to speed things along you say to yourself. Jitters in your fingers make you clumsy but they’re obviously not the usual pre-hookup jitters. There’s no warm excitement spreading with each button undone. It feels fairly perfunctory in fact, almost as if you were doing the buttons up instead of down. You get the first undone after what feels like too long, just enough to show off the peaks of your breasts.

Yoongi’s hand migrates down to his lap while you continue, heel of his palm pressing into his groin. He lets out a small breath while taking in the plush roundness of your cleavage. Thoughts of how long it’s been since he’s been this close to another person buzz around in his head like annoying pests, but he tamps down on them. Instead he focuses on the way your breasts rise and fall with each breath you take. If he tries hard enough, he can imagine the backdrop of the boiler room melting away and fading into your dorm, where he’s spent many a night working on music theory homework with you. It helps and he pulses a little under his own touch.

He watches the buttons of your shirt fall away one by one, revealing an extra inch of skin each time in a methodic rhythm that’s tantalizing in its own right. Your bra is simple, he realizes as time passes. The cups look soft from wear with the gentle way you almost spill from them. He gets the urge to bite the smooth skin out of nowhere and squeezes himself harder. The material looks black in the little amount of moonlight that’s filtered through the dirty boiler room windows, and he can just barely make out some lace through the cracked lenses of his glasses. In another version of this moment, he’d take the frames off and lean closer to you. Pull you in under the guise of seeing better, but also so he could feel you. 

With a small huff, he sticks his hand unceremoniously down his briefs to work himself up faster. Judging by the way he gnaws at his lip, it’s not fast enough. Feeling emboldened, you lower yourself so that you can rest in the seat made by his lap and bent legs. Carefully, you press both hands to his chest. The movement stops him in his tracks and he looks up at you abruptly.

Having his attention on you makes you hyperaware of yourself at first, but you continue and peel off your top fully from where it hung limp around your shoulders. The straps of your bra slide off on their own, laying delicately below your shoulders. The consequence is an instant acceleration of the motions of his wrist. It doesn’t take long for him to be at full mast after that. Nor does it take long for you to begin to feel the weight of arousal in the pit of your stomach when you concentrate on the small noises he makes in front of you instead of the noises of incoming danger outside. Your mind doesn’t let you fully pull away from the present, though. 

The footsteps echo in the hall in the same moment that Yoongi gives a grunted, ‘Okay’. The steps grow louder still and transition into the sound of quick strides as he pulls himself from his briefs. You grab him at the base, ignoring the way he hisses, and the steps get replaced with bangs against the boiler room door. The blows to the door reach their peak volume when you finally slam your hips down.

You and Yoongi let out twin gasps at the movement, but you quickl clamp a hand over his mouth. For a moment, stars twinkle at the corners of your vision, but you blink them away and listen. A few seconds pass, each one punctuated by the rush of your pulse in your own ears. 

There’s a sudden snarl, a flash of light under the crack of the door, and then...silence.

“I think,” you breathe, “They’re gone.”

Both of you wait a few seconds more, unwilling to move from your spots, limbs locked in wishful thinking. When no one comes bursting through the door, the victory finally sinks in.

"It worked!”

You lurch forward to throw your arms around his neck in a hug, chest pressing against his, and Yoongi lets out a mangled whine.

“Are you okay?” You pull back to look at him. Maybe you leaned on an injury he got while running through the woods.

There’s no cuts or bruises visible, but his jaw is clenched and his hands fist at your sides. It’s then that you remember your semi-bare state and your embarrassment surges forth. You move to leave his lap but he hisses again and bucks his hips up hard. It knocks the breath out of you and you unconsciously steady yourself with both hands on his shoulders.

“Yoongi, what—”

His hips twitch again though he manages to tamp down on most of the force. But not without you getting bounced lightly in his lap. With your adrenaline fading, you’re becoming more aware that you’re connected. A shiver spreads up your spine after a small delay.

“Oh,” you moan before you can stop yourself. “Yoongi, w-we should stop.”

“Yeah. That is what we said,” he grits out.

You make the mistake of meeting his eyes then. His gaze is aimed at you but there’s a far-away, dreamy quality to it. The sweat that was beginning to prick at his hairline when you first sat on his lap is now rolling in a single errant bead. You follow its journey down the length of his neck.

“We should stop,” you say again after letting your bottom lip get trapped between your teeth. “Right?”

“Listen,” he has to choke the syllables out. “I don’t think I—”

"Yoongi.”

“You’re too warm and soft...and wet. Fuck.” 

His hips snap again and this time all you can do is tighten around him. It eggs him on and as soon as he feels your grip on him increase, his hands unclench over your hips. Using your waist as an anchor, he blindly grinds you down his length. The pressure feels amazing on your clit and you can’t help but wind your arms around his broad shoulders so you can get closer for leverage. 

You let his name slip from your mouth in a groan at the way he fills you up. The sound is melodic and your new embrace gives him the chance to feel your breasts up against him. If he concentrates, he can feel your nipples drag against his shirt. In hindsight he wishes he’d taken it off.

Using the muscles in your thighs, you draw up from his lap until he nearly slides out from the silky glide. You look down and your mouth drops open. While you were vaguely aware of him when he was fully inside, you’re still surprised to see how thick he is. The stretch you felt at the beginning you attributed to the simple fact that there was no foreplay before you took all of him in one go, but now you realize it was also just him. Slowly, you slide back down his fat length. The sound the follows is lewd and makes your cheeks warm.

With his fucked-out expression as your motivation, you lean forward to brace yourself on his chest and slam your hips back down to take as much of him in one go as you can. He lets out a breathy whine and his head falls back against the wall. The sound of his moans are so nice that you do it again. And again. Until you have a rough rhythm that he meets you with halfway. The smack of his hips against your ass is loud in the small room, verging on filthy. 

Though he can barely keep his eyes open, he manages to keep them open enough so he can admire the way you bounce on him. Each time you spring up, your breasts bob with you. The itch he had earlier to put his mouth on them rears its head once more. This time, he entertains the urge. He leaves one large hand on your hip while the other one snakes up your body. The warmth of his palm leaves an incendiary wake and when he finally cups your breast, his name is tumbling ceaselessly from your lips. He leans forward and rests a cheek on the softness for a moment before doing his best to mouth at it all.

A feedback loop builds. The wet feeling of his tongue on your chest has you clenching your core. The wet cushion of your walls around him makes it easier for you to feel him pulse inside you. Each new trickle of arousal from between your thighs soaks his lap. The motions become slicker and slicker until he’s almost slipping out with each thrust. The pleasure is so acute that his nose begins to wrinkle adorably. You can’t help but lean forward to kiss him. His soft lips part for you at once, lending a new soft sensation to you. It’s sweet enough to have you slowing down your movements to fully seat yourself in his lap and taste him, to grind your clit into his lap and tighten on him gradually until he was bucking clumsily up into you.

When your tongue brushes against his, he jolts twice before spending inside of you with no warning. The release is almost hot and you continue to move to milk him through it, glad for having enough foresight to have taken your birth control already. You pull away from the kiss only for him to chase your lips as his eyes flutter open. He doesn’t remember closing them.

“Did you?” Yoongi sighs against your chin.

“No, but that’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” He mutters to himself before reaching down between you. 

His fingers lack elegance as they bump against you initially, but once he figures out the angle, he rubs you with ease. The glide is slippery and dirty as he parts your folds and circles the bundle of nerves at the apex of your core. But it’s enough to have you swiveling into his touch. His fingers, now free as you bump your clit against the palm of his hand, find your entrance. You’ve always liked Yoongi’s hands and even admired them from afar before this fateful night. You like them so much more than now that they stretch you so good and reach places you can’t on your own. Your orgasm is like smoke and follows the rise of heat that starts at your core and melts into your extremities.

You lay boneless in Yoongi’s arms for a few long moments. There’s some rustling as he shifts under you.

“Hey,” he strokes his palm down your side to wake you from a shallow slumber.

“What’s going on?”

“Look.”

You peer down at his hand where his phone shines a pale blue. There’s a text open from an unfamiliar number that reads simply ‘the spell worked’.

“Oh, finally!”

“Yeah. We should celebrate.”

His gaze wanders over the curves of your body and a moment later, you feel a telltale pulse between your legs.

“We should,” you hum against his neck, hips starting up again in a sensual circle. “Congratulations.”

huge thank you to @bangtancentricsblog​ for talking this through with me <3

[adamfoolcry]

How the Tables Turned (One-Shot)

pairings: Reader x Hendery, Lucas(mentioned)

rating: PG-13  

warnings: none just cringe inducing fluff

genre: comedy, fluff

synopsis: You are a student assistant at the library and Hendery seems to love staying in the library past open hours.

word count: 1,734

a/n: Mentioning @nctcreations in case the tags don’t work. I love Hendery he exudes so much positivity and is very thoughtful.

Everyone who is acquainted with you knows that you are good-natured and possess a calm temperament. Right now though, the way you are glaring at the back of Wong Kunhang's head makes you resemble a bull seeing red complete with steam blowing out of your nostrils. The ticking of the old clock as it counts every second passing by infuriates you as if it's its sole purpose. It is already past five in the afternoon to other high school students it isn't much of a nuisance but to you, it is life or death. You need to be out of the school premises past five and should be on the way to the cafe you work in the evenings. Being a minute late at your part-time job means that you will receive a lengthy sermon from the cafe's owner as if they will not deduct it from your salary. But here you are still at the library waiting for Wong Kunhang to go on his merry way so that you can return the book he is pretending to be reading back to its respective shelf. Honestly, you would have let this pass but it's as if he is doing this on purpose for the past seven days. Adding salt to the wound, for every single day he takes a different book bringing it to his desk leafing through the pages eyes unfocused. Making you conclude that he is not doing any reading at all but just drops by the library to spite you. Each time before he leaves he will try to approach the desk where you are situated at and as if changing his mind in a millisecond he always makes a hasty retreat, exiting rather abruptly. You have reached your threshold and decided that you are going to confront him, for whatever his game is this got to stop. You walked towards the desk where he is, standing from behind his seat. You cleared your throat to get his attention. He craned his head back to look at you.

"Ummm, hi"

He immediately stood up from his seat in a frantic manner and rise to his height to stand opposite you. The seat's leg scratched the concrete producing a screeching sound.

"Hi, my name's Kunhang you can also call me Hendery if you like." He scratched the nape of his neck sheepishly smiling.

"I know who you are it is past five and the library closes at 5:00 PM sharp and I need to be at work -"

"I can totally take you there!" Kunhang exclaimed cutting you off. His words echoing in the empty library. You were not expecting that, the heat started blossoming on the tops of your cheeks.

"Uhhhmm, I was going to say that if you can, you know tidy up before five that would be great." You replied awkwardly.

"Ohh uhmm sure sure." You can see that he was embarrassed. He picked up the book from the desk. "I am sorry, I am gonna put this book back." You watched him as he put the book on its respective shelf and exited the library leaving you bewildered. Well, at least you got that over with.

After that incident, you no longer have to deal with him as he does not visit the library anymore. But he now occupies the other half of your brain you see him from your peripheral vision wherever you go. It seems that you are hyperaware of his presence and you can't take your eyes off him. How could you not notice before that he sits a few seats away from you at classes? By the things are going you can probably write a one-page essay about him.

He likes cats, not fond obsessed is the right word. His pencil case is imprinted with cat designs. He keeps a picture of his cats in his wallet, you know because you peeked over his shoulder at the cafeteria while he is paying for his food. He always remembers to feed the school's resident stray cat every morning. You saw him one morning bending down at the bushes near the outskirts of your school petting and feeding the stray cat.

He always hides a manga behind his textbook during classes snickering quietly so that he wouldn't be caught. Strangely enough, for someone who is not trying to do his best academically, he excels in maths and sciences and actively participates in those classes.

He likes to exchange crumpled notes with Yukhei. Maybe containing a joke or two because one time the teacher caught them they were kicked out of the class and got detention for the rest of the afternoon.

You can't deny that you are fascinated with him the same Wong Kunhang that you used to curse in your mind. You might even develop a tiny crush on him. This is why you found yourself boring holes at the back of his skull with the intensity of your gaze. Looking for minuscule details to add to your Hendery's cute and quirky habits list. Yukhei caught you in action sending you a wink and a teasing smile like he knows what's going on in your mind. He leaned down and whispered it to Kunhang.

Oh god no ...

Which made Kunhang spare you his attention looking at you with his biggest signature goofy smile. You abruptly hide your face behind your textbook and pretended that you are not gaping pathetically at his back so intently. You avoided looking at his direction for the rest of the day but you can feel Kunhang's eyes following your every move making you flustered and rendering you to something akin to tomato for the rest of the day.  

You do not feel good scratch that this is the worst menstrual cramp that you have experienced in your life. Top that with the fact that your PE teacher has instructed your class to do ten laps in the field under the sweltering heat. Your peers are already ahead of you and you have long given up trying to match their pace. You stopped jogging and clutched your stomach the spasms intensifying making you double over in pain.

"Hey _______, you okay?" Kunhang kneeled at your crouched figure.

"Yeah, I am fine." As soon as you said that your abdominal muscles contracted so hard and a whimper escaped your lips.

"Let's go to the clinic you don't look so good." Kunhang reached for your forearm and slung it on his shoulders providing support to your frail figure helping you stand up. Although feeling like you might pass out any minute you can't help but observe Kunhang now that your bodies are now in close contact. His perfect side profile, tall straight nose, big doe eyes, plump pink lips, his floppy hair that frames his face, and his light perfume which smells like the sea breeze. As Kunhang led you to the clinic he started telling you about the time he collapsed due to over-exertion at one of the PE classes blaming the teacher's strenuous routine and launching on his tirade about what a pain in the ass the teacher is. You giggled finding his attempt to comfort you adorable.

"I am on my period Kunhang. The cramps are a bit on the painful side today."

"Oh ..." Hendery said embarrassed.

After dropping you off at the clinic Hendery got back to the PE class to inform the teacher about your mishap and that the nurse advised you to take the rest of the day off. You decided to rest up at the clinic and head home after the classes are over. Exiting the clinic you advanced your way to the classroom to collect your belongings when you froze on the spot upon seeing Kunhang leaning at the opposite wall to the clinic. He was carrying your bag on his shoulder. Noticing your presence he greeted you with his smile.

"I thought it'll be a hassle for you."

You can't help but smile back at him, taking your bag from him as the two of you walk towards the school gate Kunhang started bribing you to buy him ramen as payment for his good deeds.

He has this habit of looking at you but he isn't trying to hide it, in fact you think he is waiting for you to catch him because every single time you caught him redhanded he'll flash his goofy smile at you. The first few times you caught him your initial reaction was to start blushing but after the novelty of being embarrassed wears off you just shook your head smiling your eyes crinkling in mirth.

He'll always approach you and start acting cute doing silly little poses sometimes Yukhei drags him off before he starts embarrassing himself other times Yukhei will join in and start imitating Kunhang's comical poses resulting in overjoyous laughter erupting from your classmates.

He leaves you food and other trinkets on your desk. Lately after coming back from the cafeteria the ever-presence of food at your desk baffles you sometimes it contains other miscellaneous items like hair clips and ties. It was not after that your cramps manifested again that you finally knew who the culprit was for in your desk is a hot water bag. You quickly looked in the direction where you knew Kunhang was sitting, his head thrown back laughing at Yukhei's joke. As if sensing your stare he turned his face in your direction and grinned charmingly doing another of his silly poses.

It's fifteen minutes to five o clock and you need to make sure that every book is on their designated shelf and there is nothing out of its place scrutinizing the library with a sweep of your eyes you deemed that everything is in order. You grabbed your bag under the desk when the sound of the door hinges creaking got your attention. You quickly look to whoever dares to come in at the library fifteen minutes to its closing time. Surprise it was none other than Wong Kunhang. You walk up to him to stand at his opposite side, clearing your throat to get him to address you.

"Is the offer of a ride to my workplace still up?"

"Only if we go to the movies afterward."

"It's a date then."

There it is Kunhang's goofy smile. Perhaps you are too, smitten with him.

a/n: Read more of my works for NCT here:masterlist.

[dancing-fires]

Modern AU with Tanjiro uwu

Was the teacher speaking an alien language? What was he even talking about? My mind became muddled as I ran through the lesson in my head over and over again. I hated not understanding concepts. After I finished my cleaning duty, with everyone gone, I felt I could have a little bit of time for myself to study.

My books were strewn across my desk, my pencil twirling in my hand as I frustratedly tried to solve the problem again. Was it like this? No, it was more like this...?  No.. is sine not supposed to be used? Urgh, I don't know!

My head thumped down onto my desk. I can't do this anymore. I don't think I'll ever get it.

"(Y/n)? Why are you still here? It's past 4:00! Are you not done cleaning?" I turned my head to see my teacher, who was leaving his office next to our room. He was peaking into the room with confusion. I blushed in embarrassment.

"Sorry, can I use this room for a little? I'll make sure to lock up after." I smiled in hopes to look like I was fine even though my mind was invaded with repulsive math problems. He squinted at me, before shrugging his shoulders.

"Alright, but make sure everything is tidy before you leave." With that, he left me to my misery. I would have made him stay and tutor me, but I didn't want to be rude. Plus, he wasn't that good of a teacher and would have confused me more than he already did during class.

I rested my chin on my hand, looking out the window. The sun was setting, marking the sky with orange and pink. I couldn't wait for summer break, even though it was a long way away. I needed the break more than anything. I wonder if I could hang out with my friends more, or if I'll still be stuck studying over the break.

"You should hang out with Kamado more, (Y/n)! If you like him so much, ask him out." My friend Mitsuri teasingly smiled at my flushed form.

"I would never! He probably doesn't like me that way," I protested.

I sighed as I remembered Mitsuri's words. It was the last year of high school. Was I never going to tell Kamado that I had a crush on him, despite being in the same class as him for three years? I groaned and thunked my head in frustration again. Great, since my mind can't focus on math, it decided to think about something, or someone, that's just as frustrating.

I couldn't help it. My mind wandered to images of Kamado's cute smile and his cheery voice. He always had friends surrounding him, and everybody loved him. My friends always tease me, saying that he looks at me when I'm not paying attention. I doubt he did though. With so many people around him all the time, what are the odds he liked me? I snapped my head up, there was no way I was going to waste my time thinking about a boy. I mind as well leave if I wasn't going to get any work done.

With that, I packed my stuff and cleaned everything up before I left.

~~~~~~~~

With a whole day to sulk in my feelings, I felt refreshed when I arrived to school. Putting my shoes away in the lockroom, I was chatting with Mitsuri on the latest anime I watched. We fangirled about the main protagonist in particular. He certainly was a looker. I was laughing at my friend's suggestive comments when she suddenly stopped laughing. I frowned at her.

"What's wrong?" I asked. She mischievously looked at me again.

"Pretty boy is looking at you again," she squealed quietly, gently hitting my arm. I blushed. "Pretty boy" was our code name for Kamado.

"Stop teasing me! No, he's not!" I squeaked out. I turned my head to see what Mitsuri was even talking about. My palms felt clammy when my eyes suddenly made contact with red ones a few feet away. His eyes widened like he didn't expect me to look at him. A small blush formed on his cheeks as I continued to look at him with confusion, and he smiled tentatively at me before quickly going back to talking to his friends. One friend, a blonde boy named Agatsuma Zenitsu seemed to see our exchange. He looked at me, and back at Kamado. He leaned over and whispered something to my crush. I obviously couldn't hear, but it must have flustered Kamado because he turned really red. He dragged Agatsuma, and his other friend Hashibira Inosuke, out of the locker room without looking back at me.

"See?!" She excitedly giggled once they were out the room. I shook my head in disbelief. I didn't know what just happened, but that doesn't prove he likes me, I tried to reason to myself. He probably was daydreaming into my face. I did that plenty of times. Mitsuri pouted at my lack of enthusiasm.

"This was the first time you finally caught him looking at you, and you aren't squealing with joy? He stares at you with heart eyes! Heart eyes, (Y/n)! All our friends know it! Why do you guys not make moves on each other? Lame," the pink-haired girl scoffed. I ignored her as we walked to class.

~~~~~~~

I'm going to the restroom, I'll be right back." Before I could offer to go with her, Mitsuri skipped out the classroom and into the halls. I sighed. I could go after her, but I felt like I should protect our lunches, which were already set out on our desks. I pulled out my phone to text my friends in other classes while I waited for Mitsuri. Kanao, Shinobu, Mitsuri and I haven't hung out in such a long time. I missed it when we used to all be in the same class.

My mind was still hyperaware at the fact Kamado was laughing on the other side of the classroom with his large group of friends. His cheery voice was talking enthusiastically, and I heard a couple of laughter from his group. I always seemed to keep tabs on where he was, although that does seem creepy saying it out loud. I always tried my hardest not to look at Kamado even when we have class together, but sometimes I let my eyes fall onto him during a lecture. Just thinking about his cute, concentrated face as he does a problem, or his face when he's sleepy, makes my heart flutter.

Kamado suddenly stopped laughing in the background, and his group seemed to have quieted down. I would look at him right now just to see why, but I didn't want to make eye contact like last time. I forced myself to continue typing on my phone. I heard footsteps nearing me, but I assumed it was just Mitsuri. I looked up, but instead of green eyes, I met a pair of nervous, red ones.

My eyes widened. What was Kamado doing here? Did he accidentally lose something around my side of the classroom?

"H-hi," he said with a friendly smile. Was he talking to me?? I looked around me, and back at him. I heard his friends giggling in the background. I flickered my gaze at them, and they were all looking at us like they were expecting something.

I felt my heart stop. He probably was dared to talk to a random girl or something. Otherwise, there would have been no other reason to talk to me. We hardly knew each other, other than us being classmates. I shook my head, beating away my stupid hope.

My focus snapped back to reality when I saw Kamado nervously shifting on his feet, and quickly looking back at his friends. They seemed to be cheering him on, smiling, and laughing. Agatsama was giggling so hard that I thought he was going to collapse. I forced a smile at him after I realized I was silent this whole time.

"Hi, Kamado. Did you need something?" I kept up a friendly tone, and I mentally praised myself for not sounding nervous.

Kamado looked back at me when I spoke. Why was he blushing so hard? His eyes barely could look at me directly.

"U-um, I just wanted to say.. that I think that y-you're... really..pre..prett-" He suddenly stopped talking and twiddled his sleeve as he looked shyly down. I was really confused now.

I smiled again to try and make him more comfortable and touched his arm. It seemed to do the opposite because he squeaked and started to visibly shake.

"Never mind, (L/n)! Sorry I bothered you." With a sheepish smile, he ran back to his friends on the other side of the room. His friends looked at him in disappointment. Hashibira slapped him on the back, yelling at him. I couldn't quite hear what he said, but Kamado covered his face with his hands like he was embarrassed.

I was so confused, but I quickly shook off the feeling when Mistsuri came back into the room.

~~~~~~~~~

I couldn't do this anymore. I needed help! I thunked my head back onto the desk as I tried to solve the problem. I decided to stay in after school today as well. I volunteered to be on cleaning duty so I could use this room again. If I didn't get it together, I was going to fail the test. It's all Kamado's fault! Ever since our weird interaction, I couldn't stop thinking about him. I thought he was an easygoing person. Why did he seem so awkward when he came up to me?

I shook my head again. Enough with this. I shouldn't think about him anymore. I was done thinking about a guy who probably didn't like me anyway. With a note of finality, I went back to working on the problem, full force. No more liking him. I could totally stop-

"(L/n)?" I heard a cute voice at the entrance. My eyes flickered up. I couldn't help feeling surprised when I saw a certain red-haired boy. I blinked to make sure that my mind wasn't playing tricks on me. He was still looking at me.

I cleared my throat. "Oh, uh, hi, Kamado. Did you need something from here?"

He flushed. "I think I left my earrings at my desk. I wanted to get them before I left."

I smiled. "Okay, pretend I'm not here then." I went back to my work. I heard a few shufflings and then silence. I assumed he left, but I didn't look up.

"U-um, so what are you doing here, (L/n)?" My heart jerked when I heard him speak again. He was at the entrance of the door. He didn't leave.

I sighed, embarrassed. "I'm actually using the room to study. I'm having a lot of trouble with math these days."

His eye widened. "Oh! I could help! I kind of understand the concepts." He ran up to me and turned the chair from the desk in front of me so he could sit on the other side of my desk.

I giggled. Of course, he would want to help. He was a really sweet person. He blushed again and smiled at me shyly.

"Y-you have a really cute laugh," he stammered. I blinked at that. Did he just..? I couldn't think too much about it as he took out a pencil from his backpack.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Oh, so that's what it means," Tanjiro hummed as he erased his answer. I chuckled at him.

"Do you get it now? Or do you need me to help you more?" I asked, playing with his free hand as he wrote with the other.

After helping me that day two months ago, Tanjiro and I got really close. Closer than we've ever been in four years. I don't know when exactly, but after that day, we started to study together after school. He was really bad at literature, and I was really bad at math. It was a good partnership.

"I think I get it now," he said with a teasing smile. His hand I was playing with softly held mine, and his fingers intertwined with mine. His hands were really warm. I blushed, but I cleared my throat to snap out of my lovey-dovey faze. Or else my friends will never stop teasing me!

"O-okay, good work! Let's go then." I didn't let him answer before I gently squirmed my hand out of his, and quickly packed my bag.

"Wait!" Tanjiro grabbed my wrist as I stood to leave. I looked at him, confused.

He was looking down nervously. "Can you.. um, sit just a little longer?"

I tilted my head. "We need to hurry and go to the restaurant. We ordered already remember?"

"I know.. just a little longer though.."He looked at me pleadingly.

I sighed but plopped back down.

"What is it?" I quirked an eyebrow up when he started shuffling in his bag.

My jaw almost hit the floor when he took out a small bouquet of flowers. It was crushed, but it still looked cute. And when he held it towards me, a red blush on his face, I couldn't decide what was cuter.

"Are those.." My wide eyes took in the flowers, still in disbelief.

"I-it's for you, (Y/n)..I'm sorry it got crushed.." his small voice said. Tanjiro looked at me hopefully as I took it from him.

"Thank you. They're really pretty." I smiled at him and softly smelled the flowers.

"You're more beautiful." My eyes flicked back to his nervous gaze. My heart started to beat faster as I realized what he just said. He spoke again shyly.

"I really like you, (Y/n).. I always did, but I was always too shy to ask you out. My friends always told me to talk to you, but I felt so nervous around you all the time. I'm so glad we were able to become good friends because I would have been devastated if I was not able to become close to the girl I like. So.. before our last year ends, I wanted to tell-"

He couldn't finish his sentence because I gently dropped the flowers on the desk, and leaned over to wrap my arms around him. I felt him hitch his breath when I snuggled into his neck.

"I really like you too, Tanjiro. I always did. I'm glad you told me because I was too shy to confess myself."

Leaning away, I gently kissed his cheek, and giggled when he turned red. He looked down with a small grin.

I sat up. "But we really need to leave. I hope they didn't throw out our orders yet." After we packed our things, I held his flowers with one hand and held his hand with the other.

I tried to drag him out of the school gates, but he held me still again. We were so close to leaving. Why did he stop? I looked at him, confused. His eyes looked at me nervously.

"What-"

I couldn't finish my sentence because before I knew it, under the cherry blossoms of the school, Tanjiro leaned down and softly gave me my first kiss. I felt my eyes close after a split second as he brushed his lips gently against mine, and I grabbed his sleeve tightly. After a few sweet moments, he leaned back slowly.

When I opened my eyes, he was sheepishly smiling at me with that cute smile, and I couldn't help but like him even more. But we really needed to get to the restaurant.

So, I grabbed his hand, and we ran as fast as we could.

[untilourapathy]

Navigating a white space as a PoC

This comes after a 7 hour conversation with the lovely Anna @pukingpastilles. Bear in mind that this is drawn from our specific experiences and may not be universal. We hope it resonates with some of you.

Scrolling past this is an act of white privilege.

A lot of people either see race as irrelevant or that we talk about it too much in our ‘post-racial’ age. However, for us, it is our daily reality. We cannot choose to switch off our race, and thus cannot remove the burdens that accompany it. We do not have the ‘luxury’ of ignoring race. Until then, we’re going to keep talking about it. You may want to ‘skip the drama’ but it is a privilege for you to be able to scroll past this. It is our very lives that you are scrolling past. We are attempting to argue for our right to exist in this space. The topic of race is extremely underdiscussed in fandom discourse. Some people either see race as not relevant to fandom or something that they think they’ve sussed because they’re ‘open’, ‘liberal’ or have a PoC friend or something. That’s very different from actively educating yourself on issues that affect us beyond what you see in the news or from history. That’s good, but there’s more. Just because you’re socially liberal does not excuse you from perpetuating the cycle of racism. We have to fight to validly exist, and that is exhausting. Existing is exhausting.

Being a PoC in a predominantly white space is an act of protest as our very existence is politicised.

It can never be just a story of two people, not when we are so burdened. You are never just yourself, race comes first, and you are never not conscious of this. A PoC would be constantly hyperaware of their race because it informs how society treats them in every way. You are always self-conscious about things like not associating with too many people of your own race in case it comes off as threatening or exclusive or discriminatory. You subconsciously make adjustments to blend into the space as much as possible in fear of offending somebody, such as changing your accent or clothes. You feel a constant sense of double alienation. You occupy a liminal space. You are the hyphen in the Asian-American. We are marginalised, Othered. We are never granted full rights to exist independently of a Eurocentric standard.

Frank, outright racism does occur. And it sticks with you.

Whether or not you are easily hurt, it does stay with you subconsciously, and just reinforces this concept of your being lesser. It’s even worse when the target is someone you care about. You never forgot those moments. Moreover, microaggressions, ignorant comments, stereotyping and subtle prejudice can be just as bad. You have to work twice as hard to get recognised, and one thing do wrong completely discounts everything you’ve done. We are gaslighted, invalidated, discriminated against because of our genes…

You are seen as a representative of your entire race.

There have been incidents where I see a fellow person of my race on public transport, or in that room, and silently hope that they don’t do anything ‘embarrassing’ or ‘out of the ordinary’ because it would reflect badly on me. Watching the news, every time I see someone of my race do something awful, my heart drops not only due to what they did, because no matter what, their race is highlighted and I feel like this reflects on me. The onus is always on you, to conform, to fit in, to be as least foreign and Other as possible. However, your behaviour will never eradicate the fact that you will be judged. Or, you will be judged as ‘good for a ---‘. We must make a good impression to offset the automatic prejudice before they have met us.

Internalised racism has led us to believe we deserve our treatment.

Family can sometimes be the worst perpetuators of the cycle, as in their bid to give us a better life, they seek for us to fit in to a certain standard (especially with colourism). The effects of colonialism etc have shaped the way people view the white hegemony, and subconsciously we believe that we are lesser, less beautiful, less valid, less human. Furthermore, we’re grateful whenever an ally joins our cause, because we have got used to seeing our treatment as what we have to settle for. Even as adults, Anna and I still feel uncomfortable with our features because they do not fit the European standard of beauty, despite rationally knowing that it is just a subjective, culturally imposed standard. For example, we are keen to wear glasses because we feel so negatively about our eyes due to that ingrained internalised racism. By sole dint of having European features, the irrational part of me with that engrained white supremacy with never think of myself as pretty enough in comparison to white girls. You feel off-brand, broken and like something is wrong with you, even as a very small child. My friends still have to call me out for hating on my features too much. It makes for a very difficult relationship with your family, your sense of identity, home and how you see others of your own race. The onus is on us to accommodate white fragility.

That’s why representation is incredibly important.

Every time I read a fic with representation, no matter how small or how large the issues are explored, the twelve year old me within me tears up a little because for a little girl growing up assuming every character was white until disproven, I remember hunting library shelves for books with any PoC that weren’t stereotyped, reading those few books over and over again just so I could relate to somebody in the media I consumed. For all the little children, and for the children inside us all, please make an effort to reflect the way society is today. Your work makes a huge difference to us, our self-esteem, how we see ourselves. Every instance of representation is something that sticks with us forever. You will have made such a difference in people’s lives. If you’ve made a difference in mine, you must’ve for somebody else. Please. If your art or fic has helped someone deal with the implications of being PoC in a world of white hegemony, I personally think it’s worth the hate that you’ll inevitably get. Every fic or art that involves a PoC has been automatically politically charged, and there is a meaning and purpose behind it.

Often it’s said that a character is not PoC in canon, and thus shouldn’t be in fic.

Well, lots of the things that people do in fic isn’t canon. White fragility is real; a fic that removes every aspect of the character’s personality, or behaviour, or introduces A/B/O or sex pollen or talking hats or removing magic in the HP universe, for example, is seen as more acceptable than making a character PoC. Saying that a character can be turned into a wall or a pancake but not a PoC is to invalidate our experience as less than valid.

How should I write PoC in fic if I am not a PoC?

Perhaps see this comment I made on @gracerene09‘s post here. I am all here for the normalisation of PoC in fic. It doesn’t have to be tackled in depth in every fic. But due to the dearth of authentic representation in fandom, I think it has to be explored. However, please be diligent about how you explore racial issues if you do choose to. Race cannot just be switched out, you must deal with the implications – your heritage, culture, background, experience of the world all shifts. To lend authenticity to the experience you are trying to convey, please research eg please don’t fall into the trap of white saviourism, etc. Also, please don’t use epithets unless is it absolutely integral to the story. If we know the character’s name, there is no need to write: ‘‘Yes, please’, said the Indian man.’ If you are nervous about representing a PoC character without that experience, ask a few friends or try engage in discourse. It is better than remaining in ‘respectful’ silence, because then you are complicit in the greater systemic problem. To pretend race doesn’t matter is to say that we are all treated equally. The experience of being PoC is being hyperaware of your race constantly and that feeding into everything you do, regardless of how mundane, so there is no conceivable way that a PoC's character's every move in a world with white hegemony would not have been influenced by society's perception of their race. To pretend racism doesn’t exist is to dismiss societal racism and our everyday experiences. To be honest, racial issues are an inalienable part of the PoC experience, and thus I think they should be explored. 

HARRY POTTER SPECIFIC DISCOURSE

How would the race be treated in the wizarding world?

There is no canon on this, so this is all my personal conjecture. However, I believe that Petunia’s treatment of Harry could easily be understood as racist as well as prejudiced based on his magic, should you choose to see Harry as a PoC. Harry can be an anglicised name (from Hari, which means Lion in Sanskrit), or Harry could’ve just been named Harry. It’s totally possible for someone to be named Harry and be PoC. Blood purity was intended as an analogy of racism to begin with, and the stigma of being mixed race and that balance between two worlds is not incompatible with canon. Say Harry is desi – the Potters could have gained their wealth from the days of colonised South-East Asia. Also, to say that it is unrealistic for there to be PoC in the Wizarding World is a bit rich, considering as the Wizarding World defies gravity etc. Plus, looking at the census, the nineties had about an 8% ethnic minority population. I think the percentage of PoC characters in HP is less than 1%, although do tell me if I’ve done my maths wrong.

Blaise Zabini: Class, status and race in the upper echelons of the Wizarding World

Blaise Zabini is at a very interesting intersection between various social constructs. He’s chummy with the upper class and the Sacred 28, and grew up in the Wizarding world. He is wealthy, thanks to his mother, and is very posh. However, as a black man, in my eyes he is almost certainly Othered. This is just my personal interpretation, but I think Blaise would have to emphasise his poshness to validate his place in the Pureblood bubble, and yet he would always be subconsciously othered, one’s Otherness can never be erased by looks, class, status, wealth or intelligence. Although race would not be the primary optic that people are discriminated against, I think that it still would be one of those open secrets that blood purity could sometimes be conflated with. I think that is why being both elite and PoC is such an interesting intersection to occupy. In a manner of speaking, I see Blaise to be akin to Othello – accepted because he has his merits but his entire character and experience is so heavily tinged by being black in a white space. This would be especially if the Pureblood set is meant to parallel aristocracy. I doubt the Draco, for example, would say anything intentionally racist to Blaise, but he seems to more the exception to the rule. This social mobility may be because he is a ‘foreigner’ from Italy, and thus his race is ‘excused’ because I very much doubt a PoC family could rise to such extreme heights in medieval England like the Malfoys. Say racism didn’t exist, in an extremely hypothetical scenario, being the minority would still affect you in power dynamics.

Hermione Granger as a Muggleborn PoC

Should you see Hermione as a PoC, she would then be doubly discriminated against. I would believe it to be inconceivable for there to be two parallel societies, of which there is interaction and immigration, existing in the same space where race would not matter in one where it would in the other. Blood purity does not matter in the Muggle World because they do not know of magic. This is not the case with race. Especially given Britain’s empire, it would take lots of worldbuilding for one to believe that the Muggle community at one point owned 25% of the globe but the Wizarding World was a happy little content republic. The twin lenses of blood purity and race is something that cannot be ignored, and that intersection has deep impacts upon a character’s identity. Hermione would be forced to go above and beyond to justify her existence (hence her fear of being expelled) and then would be called out for not fitting in by trying too hard. Being dismissed for the smallest of things is very real because as a PoC, everything is your fault. As a PoC, this behaviour would be normalised for her because she, even at 11, would be so used to accommodating to fit Eurocentric notions.

Cho Chang

This lazy orientalisation naming is another example of JKR being a white feminist. No PoC couple in the 80s would have wanted to draw further attention to their child’s race. To better integrate to make their life easier for their child, they would have not chosen Cho as an extra obstacle for her, I don’t think.

Colourblind casting

Adding onto above, I don’t think we can give JKR credit for being a progressive, intersectional feminist in the books if she retroactively showed love for black Hermione. I love that she did that and could be one now, but a lot of HP does not show due diligence in portraying characters of colour. The thing about a white character being casted as another race is that usually, that is fine because their race is incidental, and was not a defining aspect of their character or experience because white people in white spaces do not face the same institutionalised discrimination. When a PoC character is played by a white person, it complicates matters as their experience as a PoC in a white space is integral to their experience of the world.

by @untilourapathy

[onceuponamirror]

It's crazy to me that your % is that low? Your fics are pretty popular. I didnt realize the problem was that bad

honestly i have it pretty good all things considered!!! i am very lucky and pleased to get the reviews that i do, and i know that my average is pretty solid in comparison. 

but that’s kinda the point i’m trying to make, so i’ll explain thoroughly about how i got those readership numbers.

i’m sorry this is dumb amounts of long and is depressing and has math in it (ew)

so—as a freelancer, i run my own business, so i’m in the habit of keeping track of simple numbers and statistics. 

and i’ve been struggling to put into words the frustration i feel (as well as similar feelings i know other authors have as i’ve spoken to them about it) about how reader engagement—especially when the platform is fandom, of which the whole purpose is fan engagement—never felt in line with readership counts, etc. 

and i couldn’t really express it, ironically, without feeling just really confused about what the “industry standard” was, more or less. is what i’m feeling valid, because these are actually low comment numbers? am i just late to the game on how it works? does this feel high? is it low? what’s the average? 

i’m very annoyingly one-track-minded and a weepy ass emotional person so i decided i needed some statistics to confirm or deny what i was feeling. so i started doing some math, to have some facts. 

i used to work retail, and one of the things we would track is conversion. 

as in, how many people come into the store that actually buy something? and/or, how many people come onto a fic that leave a comment?

to do this, the process is: number of sales divided by number of people who came in. so if 300 people came into the shop and 75 people bought something, the conversion would be 25% of people were buying.

in our case of fic, let’s say a story has 1000 hits and 50 reviews. think this is pretty generous example when it comes to fic, but the conversion would be 5% of readership “bought”/commented.

so first i went looking across a few different fandoms to get a sense of this. i found a oneshot—from a couple years ago, granted—that had currently 17k hits……..and 27 reviews. SEVENTEEN THOUSAND. 27 reviews. (that’s the number without author replies)

goddamn!!!!!!!!! that is really fucking depressing. not even doing that math. i’ve got more numbers and they’re sad as hell, so at a certain point i stopped looking at oneshots, especially older ones. 

then i went to a long, popular, completed fic in the bughead fandom, which has what i think a lot of us would consider good review counts. 

conversion? approximately 1.7% overall. 

what about rereads, you might ask? sure! 

let’s say a completed, multi-chapter fic has 25k hits, and 500 reviews, not including author replies. this seems like a pretty solid, average number, right? possibly even unaverage. and we’ll be generous and say half of those hits were people rereading the fic twice. 

so 500 reviews at 12.5k hits is 4% of readership commenting.

now, let’s say it’s a third of readership rereading over time. 500 divided by 8333 jumps the number up to 6%

so, in the breakdown of per chapter, i can only do my own but—for example. as of right now, my latest chapter update on stealing home got 700 hits. as of now, 40 reviews. 

that’s approximately 5% of readers who read the latest update and then commented; 11% if i’m being very very generous and assuming all those people were actually rereads. but, i kind of doubt it. 

and 40 reviews!!! hot damn, that’s great. please, please, please, don’t misunderstand that i am incredibly grateful for every single comment, and again, i fully realize that’s a more generous number than many more deserving fics get. 

but again—that’s part of my point. 

it’s not perfect math by any means 

(and if you disagree with my numbers, please, anything other than basic math and i fall apart, so i could be embarrassingly off about the application of the equation and in which case i will eat my words. let me know if i’m wrong)

1. there’s no way to track exact hit numbers per chapter. i do it by just writing down the hit count right before i post a chapter, but obviously this isn’t precise.

2. because hit count isn’t necessarily even an individual person every time. but i googled this, because listen i’m nothing if not obsessively thorough, and ao3 does track IP, so clicks by the same person within a reasonable span of time only registers as one hit. 

            a. but again, those hits can count for rereading, over time

3. there’s a certain amount of shrinkage in these numbers, as ao3 doesn’t offer individual statistics like FF does.

4. on the other end, there’s also a valid amount of growth in a fandom like riverdale, which i feel like really swelled in size over the summer. but people still aren’t commenting on fics they may be reading retroactively.

because it’s not just my fics that i was tracking the review-to-hit ratio with; these numbers are pretty consistent, i’ve found. popular fics and lesser promoted fics as well. 

don’t get me wrong

i feel really lucky that my fics are p visible within the fandom, i do genuinely feel like they’re appreciated or at least being more or less well-received, especially because a lot of the reviews i get are so thoughtful and wonderful, and i am really pleased as punch about all that. 

and i’m personally not doing it for the reviews. i’m really not—i love writing, i love the storytelling, i find it immeasurably satisfying and i’ll keep doing it regardless. 

but it sucks, to be completely frank, to feel like you’re doing all this work and then shouting it into a vacuum. but you also know it’s not a vacuum, because you can see people reading it. you can see that it’s got hits. so then what? 

maybe you don’t know what to say. maybe you can’t muster the energy, or the time. maybe you didn’t like the chapter and you didn’t feel like leaving constructive criticism, that’s all okay. maybe you are one of those rare people who reviews later on, when you have time. 

maybe you’re a ghost with a wifi password. maybe you’re one of those people who doesn’t like to admit you read fanfic, which, hey, honestly i get. but the guest features exist and i know that you know it. 

really, there are plenty of factors. authors get it. it’s really, genuinely all chill, amigos, but that can add up, that’s all. 

and i promise you, it’s draining for the people putting out the content for you. we just want a little nudge so it doesn’t feel like said vacuum.

tl;dr

this is something that i’ve been thinking a lot lately now that i’m writing consistently—and at length, i spend hours and hours of my time on stupidly long chapters—and suddenly just feel….hyperaware of it all, whereas i definitely wasn’t before this past summer. and i’m hoping y’all weren’t aware of it either. 

i know i have a tendency to sound preachy so that wasn’t my intent, and frankly i kind of regret starting this math equation because it just made me more depressed, but hopefully idk, y’all find it as interesting and important as me. 

but i hope the takeaway is, regardless, review if you read it. 

[fipindustries]

THERE IS A CRACK IN THE WORLD: afterthought.

           So there we go, my first, full novel, entirely written in English. I did it.

There is a crack in the world originated from three or four very basic seeds, eventually many others were incorporated, so many so granular that I wouldn’t be able to keep track of them all, but the basic ideas and characters have easy to track roots.

           The three sisters were the first thing I came up with, way, way back in 2012/2013 and from the sisters the first one I came up with was Telescopica. Yes, that’s right, Telescopica was the first character from this story I invented and she was based on the design of the main character from the tv show Fringe, if you want to know how she would look IRL, she is basically a hardcore version of Anna Torv. Later came Harmonica and she was based on Martha Wayne in the short batman story made for the flashpoint event where Martha was the joker. The common thread between both of them (and what ultimately decided they would be together in the same story) was the fact that they both were female characters I didn’t often see back then and that I thus wanted to tackle. One, the stoic professional hero, the badass, not in the rough and tough Michelle Rodriguez kind of way, but more of the slick professional John Wick kind, I basically wanted to write r63!agent-47. The other was female joker, which is a far different beast than Harley Quinn, I didn’t want the cutesy, quirky, lol I’m so evil that can be redeemed by the right dick, or worse, misconstrued as an anti-hero. I wanted a truly detestable and threatening maniac, I wanted someone off-putting, someone people could truly hate. I’m not entirely sure I succeeded in this last regard.

          I had these designs and ideas for characters yet nothing concrete at the time, but then I read one book: the gunslinger, the first book in the dark tower saga, and boom. I had my idea for a premise. One chases the other on a dystopian world, simple, effective powerful. They are batman and the joker, they are Javert and Valjean, they are Tom and Jerry, but more than all of that, they were sisters. I think this vision I had of them (and of the world they inhabited) really solidified itself when I saw for the first time the trailer for Bioshock infinite, the one with the “Beast” song from Nico Vega. The thing about that song is that it came in two versions, an acoustic one and an electric one, and the relation between both versions reflects pretty well the relation between both sisters. One is calm and introspective, the other is chaotic and loud, yet they are both the same degree of fucked up. They are about the beast of America and how we are not going down like this. Give them a listen and pretend they are both sung by their respective characters.

           But that was not enough; I had a layout for the basic premise, right? One chases the other in a dystopian world, but what happens during the chase? Why is one chasing the other? How did the chase start, and more importantly, how will it end? I didn’t have answers for this, all I had was a shitty, unfinished comic (that would later be cannibalized and turned into chapter one of this story) that I couldn’t finish because back then I hadn’t figured out yet what kind of paper to use for proper inking. Hell, I didn’t even have names for them! And then, as always, math was the answer.

           I was doing Calculus II in college (and failing at it pretty hard) and we were studying numerical series, about their formulas and about how to tell when they diverged and when they converged. And so I came across a few really cool words: the telescopic series, the harmonic series and the geometric series. OBVIOUSLY I had to use them as names. But see, these are three words, and I only had two characters, so the next logical step was to come up with a third one. And this character was going to be even cooler than the other two because this one was going to be the mysterious one, this was going to be the white ranger, as it where, this was going to be Jacob from LOST, this was going to be that one character that was constantly going to be alluded to but always kept in the shadows until the very end, and once revealed the character was going to remain aloof and strange. And her name was going to be Geometrica, the oldest sister.

          Originally Geometrica was supposed to be “good”, in as much as she wasn’t going to be a psychopathic manipulator. She was supposed to be the Zen one, not evil like Harmonica, nor as obsessed as Telescopica. She was the middle ground. The calm one, the one who was supposed to be above it all. But then I started watching Hannibal.

           Now my big problem with Hannibal is that season two, and SPECIALLY any scene with Gillian Anderson, is a fucking slog, they are slow and dull and boring, so much so that whenever her scenes came I would have to create my own gore since the show wasn’t giving me none at the time and so I drew, because of course. This is a thing I’m not sure if other artist do, that is drawing while watching tv because what is on the screen is just so goddamn boring (I would do this as well with doctor who, daredevil and true detective) but the thing is that while watching Hannibal I would draw, and particularly I drew Geometrica. First she was cutting her own arm, and then using it to beat someone to death. Once I finished this particular drawing I asked myself who could she be beating and the answer came instantly: Harmonica, because obviously the most Zen character in reality turned out to be the most fucked up one! That’s just a no brainer. And then my imagination fired up and chapter 17 was created. And that was when I knew for sure that someday, somehow, I would have to write the whole story.

           To this day, chapter 17, and particularly it’s final scene, is my favourite thing I have ever came up with, as a scene, as a concept, as a story beat and a reveal and the only reason I made it this far was because of how desperate I was to make that scene real. I came up with it in 2014 and three years later here we are, the dream came true.

           Now this is all fine and good, but none of this is what actually made me sit down and put the actual words on the paper, I had chapter one and chapter seventeen, but what about everything that was supposed to happen in the middle? All of this was simmering in my head but it wasn’t actually boiling. The steam pressure, as it were, was not moving any locomotives as of yet. And I could tell you a thousand more stories about how The Foremost was originally supposed to be a female version of the nazi guy in inglorious bastards, or how his and Karachay’s current design came from the character Shades in Luke Cage, or about how once I came up with the names Chernobyl, Karachay and Tzar I realized they were a perfect reflection of Harmonica, Telescopica and Geometrica and thus they had to exist in the same universe, or how I’m not sure where the character of the emperor came from but I’m convinced Warhammer 40K and Twig had something to do with it. I could tell you all this and more but instead I’m going to tell you about the story that finally made me take stock of my life, of my choices, and decide it was time, that the ideas had been stewing in my head for long enough and it was time for execution. Weirdly enough, the story that did that was The Northern Caves. Even more weird was that it was the second read of the northern caves what did it.

           I’ll say it right here, There is a crack in the world was me reacting to the psychological horror that TNC, and indeed many other stories like it such as cordyceps or the hell sections in Unsong, caused in me. A horror intensified by the mental problems I had been dealing with during most of 2016. But the thing was that ever since I moved to a new city and started looking for a job most of that horror had been replaced with much more grounded concerns. Instead of having the shakes because of existential, metaphysical uncertainty, I was getting the shakes due to economic and housing struggles. I realized that normal, everyday problems were the perfect antidote to counteract existentialism, and so those were the problems I decided to plague my story with. Lack of food, poor shelter, contaminated water, rampant crime, earthly, lower class concerns, those are the horrors within There is a crack in the world, as opposed to a children’s book writer making some book that apparently made people go insane. And then I decided not to stop there, another common thread in many of these stories was that there would be this mystery to the world, this unfathomable puzzle, filled with complicated plots, intricate lore and abstruse complexities which were begging for a plucky protagonist to be smart enough to solve it all. So I decided to make the lore in my story absurdly simple and yet completely impossible to solve no matter how clever or intelligent or rational you were: There is a crack in the world. That’s it, nothing can be done about it.

And then came the final touch, the characters. The final thing that I saw in a lot of what for lack of a better word I’m going to call “rational fiction”, an umbrella term under which I liberally group works such as HPMOR, Worm, After the hero, Unsong, The northern caves, etc was that in every instance the protagonist would be some form of bleeding heart. Someone who would be painfully hyperaware of the pain and suffering that happened all around the world and would desperately try to find the way to fix it all, to understand it, to make sense of it all. So my story would have none of that. I made Telescopica and Chernobyl to be as indifferent and callous as I could and as the story advances they slowly start to consider that maybe they can do something to help, that maybe they can try and make the world a better place, and then I prove how incredibly foolish they were for ever thinking that.

Not gonna lie, the story is filled with self indulgent bitterness and misery, and a lot of it is me getting carried away and probably venting some of the negative emotions I had accumulated all throughout 2016. If I want to be uncharitable with myself I would say that some of that bitterness came from me reading those stories I just mentioned and feeling inadequate knowing that I would never be smart enough to write anything like it (I’m a deeply insecure person, in case you haven’t noticed). But also, for whatever reason, halfway through the story I decided “fuck it, I’m just going to write some misery porn”, I started challenging myself to see how horrid I could go, what horrors I could concoct if I well and truly tried. Yet the thing is that I feel I never really went all out on it. I like to think that, as dreadful as the story could get at times, it was never truly absurd, never profane, I could be wrong though. There is an essay talking about this in way better detail than I ever could so just go read it.

           I published there is a crack in the world as I wrote it, which means I challenged myself not to go back and edit something in the previous chapter for the sake of convenience or to establish something I might need for later chapters. I forced my self to compromise and work only with what I had previously established in the story. This fostered an interesting practice where I would start to throw foreshadowing and small meaningless data all over the place which could be easily ignored or forgotten but that I could also go back to and expand into something more on the long run if I needed to pull something out of thin air for the plot. That is the way characters like Hector or Maurice or things like commando living on an abandoned military base ended up becoming a thing in the story, grown from just throwaway characters and trivia that I thought nothing of when I first put them in the page. The biggest example would be the kosmonavt, I had no idea what I was going to do with him by the end of the story but I knew an astronaut was a useful thing to have so I put him there in his own chapter, just in case.

           Another consequence of this was that, as the story progressed and I got a better grasp of the world, of the actual real consequences of having a crack in the world, of the actual sociopolitical organization the empire would have I realized I fucked up. A lot of the lore doesn’t really add up, there are details which are poorly thought out or scientifically incorrect. And if I decided to start introducing all of that it wouldn’t just interfere with what had been previously established in the chapters that I had already published but it would also interfere with where I wanted the story to go, with what I wanted to do with the characters and with my dear, precious chapter 17. All of this meant I had to foregone a lot of neat realism and worldbuilding that could have made it into the story if I had taken some time to think things through before starting putting chapters online, but the thing is that if I hadn’t put those chapters online then chances are I would have never been  motivated to write the rest of the story. Hopefully I’ll allow myself to develop whatever new story I come up with next in more organic ways, not being afraid to kill my darlings in order to let it grow naturally. We’ll see.

           Final thoughts: I’m actually really proud of this story, whatever its origins or the emotional fuel was behind it, whatever gross scientific mistakes I made in there, whatever edits I would like to perform to make it a stronger, more coherent whole, I truly believe is the best story I have written thus far and that is achievement enough for me, I know people had been reading it and even enjoying it according to AO3, not sure how many but more than zero is enough, I hope you guys enjoyed it and I hope you have thoughts and comments about it that you might want to share with me.

           Whatever the case might be, it’s been three months and a little more that I worked on this and it’s been a great learning experience. See you in my next work.

[fritillus]

heleddi stormfist

race: half-orc half-dwarf alignment: lawful neutral [tending towards good] background: guild artisan class: barbarian

const: 17 (+2 racial) = 19, +4 bonus //// str 14 (+2 racial) = 16, +3 bonus dex: 13, +1 bonus /// wis: 13, +1 bonus int: 12, +1 bonus // char: 12, +1 bonus

speed: 30 feet max carry: 210 lbs

hit dice: 1d12 per level   lvl 1 hp: 12 + const = 16 // hp per level: 1d12 or 7 + const (4)

ac: 10 + dex + const (class bonus) = 10+1+4 = 15 passive perception: 10 + 1 bonus + 2 proficiency = 13

personality

rolled / selected largely from the guild artisan tables and embellished:

personality trait: 1 and 3 and 5

i believe that anything worth doing is worth doing right. i can’t help it — i’m a perfectionist.

takes pride in her work, but tends to progress slowly and carefully. a firm believer in measure twice, cut once.

i always want to know how things work and what makes people tick.

observant; won’t attempt a new task or behavior until she’s seen it executed successfully enough times that she’s sure she understands how it works.

attentive to the emotional states of the people around her; wary and somewhat emotionally closed off herself.

i’m rude to people who lack my commitment to hard work and fair play. 

somewhat judgemental. tends to assume the worst of other people’s motivations; especially so towards people she judges as motivated strongly by chaotic self-interest.

ideal: one and five and six

community. it is the duty of all civilized people to strengthen the bonds of community and the security of civilization. (lawful)

people. i’m committed to the people i care about, not to ideals. (neutral)

the above two: not necessarily the security of civilization, but the security of the places and people she considers hers.

aspiration. i work hard to be the best there is at my craft

to further her craft

but also to master and channel her emotional rages, so that she can go home and settle down with a nice dwarven boy

bond: one, secondarily three

the workshop mountain where i learned my trade is the most important place in the world to me.

i owe my guild a great debt for forging me into the person i am today.

character flaws: [not rolled]

paralyzing self-distrust, second-guessing

she does not trust her own judgement, her own emotions, and is concerned with how she appears to others. she has no desire to be intimidating, and she is frightened by her culturally proscribed emotionality.

wary and insecure.

she spends a lot of time watching others and attempting to fit in socially as she could not physically. this has made her unusually discerning of others’ emotions, but she isn’t always the most accurate at determining why people react the way they do. she has a tendency to assume the worst of others.

character and background

orcish name “elet” dwarficized to heleddi

grew up in a dwarvish metalworking community; she is the result of a an ill-conceived tryst between her dwarven father and orc mother. her mother reappeared in the mountains with a toddler a few years later, and left her behind. she barely remembers her time in the orc tribes, and may or may not have any mementos from her mother1; her command of orcish - once fluent - has lapsed over the years (reads/writes fluently, speaks without an accent and can pass among orcs without detection for simple sentences; complex conversations require a saving throw to determine whether she fucked up a grammar).

she grew up in lawful good dwarvish society, very aware of her status as an outsider both by appearance and temperament. her branch of the clan was seen as unusually modern, her father was already considered impulsively experimental even before her birth. hyperaware of the fact that her existence caused a tremendous scandal and badly damaged her father’s reputation, she isolated herself from her peers in early childhood, and no one tried hard to stop her (aughts). she was kept away from combat training for much of her adolescence2 (teens) due to fears that her increased size and strength, emotional volatility, and orc blood might make her a danger to herself or others.

she spent much of her time watching others and attempting to pattern herself after dwarvish behavior, but still found herself wracked by worryingly strong emotional whirlwinds: tantrums and rages, bouts of sobs or laughter so intense her body was wracked with them, immobile, while they siezed her. most of her emotions were fleeting as summer storms, disturbing the steady and slow-moving dwarves around her. worse, her emotional disturbances sometimes stuck with the same powerful certitude that defined a typical dwarven emotional range, but with depths and peaks rarely reached by dwarves outside of isolated moments. her rage wasn’t the slow simmer of a dwarven grudge, but a shrieking boil that would refuse to abate; her worry would sink into her bones, leaving her sorrowful and weeping for weeks at a time before the next emotion hit.

eventually, she learned to focus her emotionality through her metalwork, to find some regulation of her excesses. here she finally found connection: her increased strength and passionate emotional range caused her to struggle with inconsistent craftwork her dwarven peers did not face, but her willingness to redo her work until it was perfect, her struggle to ensure that she would make a perfect piece on the first try no matter how gripped she was by emotion: this struggle and her deep, stubbornly-held dedication to this craft helped other dwarves relate to her and resulted in artistic and technical discussions that were the seed of her first true and lasting friendships. (twenties)

**figure out her eventual weapons training - she’s proficient with light hammers and hand-axes just because... you’re dwarf-raised you learn how to use them, but possibly not AS proficient using them in combat (doesn’t have practice hitting a Moving Bleeding Target with them). her actual weapons are likely to be larger/heavier than typical dwarvish warhammer/battleaxe - ideally greataxe & maul3

[[something happens that brings out her Rage in combat - possibly a sparring accident in which she injures or kills someone close to her, possibly acting in defense of her friends but terrified with the violence with which she lashed out.]]

either way, it both frightened her enough to cause her to remove herself from the community which she had been raised to value above all else, in order to learn to master - or at the very least channel - her rage, until she feels she can safely return home.

1 - at dm’s discretion, possibility of backstory for future plot, etc. 2 - possibly trade some forms of proficiency for others - she’s late to the game and somewhat banking on natural talent but also likely to use heavier/larger weapons 3 - at dm’s discretion but holy shit PLEASE

skills & proficiencies

species: half-dwarf, socialized dwarf (no orcish skill proficiencies beyond the language itself)

languages: dwarvish (primary), common (accented secondary), orcish (tertiary semifluent; roll a deception during involved speech).

see background for additional language skill (gnomish)

resilience: resistance to poison; 1/2 poison damage

stonecunning: advantage in history (int) throws => history of stonework;  add double the normal proficiency bonus to the roll

tool proficiency: smithing

combat training: proficiency in battleaxe1, warhammer1, hand-axe, light/throwing hammer

mountain dwarf armor training: proficient with light and medium armor

1 - again, trade for greataxe / maul proficiency at the dm’s discretion

class: assumes a Barbarian Tribe training background not relevant 2 her.

proficient with light and medium armor

proficient with use of shields

proficient with simple and martial weapons 

skilled in (choose two): animal handling, athletics, intimidation, nature, perception, survival

all of these overlap with dwarven proficiencies with the exception of shield usage, which i’m not sure i can justify her taking given that she probably largely relies on two-handed weapons.

also, given that she’s fairly sheltered with very little real-life battle experience the only skills i’d feel make sense would be perception (people-watching! she’s an observer!) and maybe athletics.

her barbarian classing is like an innate characteristic of how she fights, not representative of her character background or training.

background: guild artisan

skill proficiencies: insight, persuasion 

she’s probably got insight from Peoplewatching but maybe not persuasion? poorly socialized? half a proficiency bonus?

tool proficiencies: one type of artisan’s tools 

smith’s tools (overlaps with dwarven training)

languages: one of your choice

limited conversational and written fluency in gnomish - enough for trade, but possibly not to discuss philosophy.

feature: guild membership. guaranteed food/lodging from members; funeral paid for; guild halls to make connections (jobs!). political connections. will help you @ trial.

cost: 5gp per month in dues to remain in good standing

equipment

barbarian starts with:

(a) a greataxe or (b) any martial melee weapon

ideally a maul (10lb/2hand/2d6 bludgeoning)

failing that a greataxe (7lb/2hand/1d12 slash)

(a) two handaxes or (b) any simple weapon

handaxe (light, thrown 20/60, 2lb/1d6 slash) 4lb total

an explorer’s pack (59lbs)

backpack, a bedroll, a mess kit, a tinderbox, 10 torches, 10 days of rations, a waterskin, and 50 feet of hempen rope.

four javelins

trade javelins for light hammers?

light hammer: (light, thrown 20/60, 2lb/1d4 bludgeon)

guild artisan starts with:

a set of artisan’s tools (one of your choice)

weaponsmith’s tools: 20gp / 8lb

a letter of introduction from your guild

a set of traveler’s clothes

a belt pouch containing 15 gp

trinket:

roll closer to play

math for ability scores:

2 5 5 1 = 12 5 2 3 4 = 12 3 1 6 4 = 13 6 3 4 2 = 13 2 5 4 5 = 14 4 6 5 6 = 17