#like should i say that i have hundreds of OCs because I’m writing a fantasy sf epic or none because those are Just Characters not OCs

[calyssmarviss]

Hey quick question, when people talk about their OCs, does that include characters from original works too or is it only about making characters to go into fanworks/just making guys that you then put in various settings?

[thewingedswine]

Can I ask what it is about this fandom you find unfriendly? I've been feeling the same a little and I've been feeling alone in this.

Long winded rant, hold onto your buttcheeks.

I’m going to put this out there for anyone who feels afraid to say it, and that’s only because this particular fandom is the ONLY fandom I’ve ever experienced this with. I’m a big fan of marvel and dc, sci-fi and fantasy, I show dogs, I train dogs, I make leather goods, and those are all cutthroat communities with their own problems but I’ve never felt uncomfortable in any of those the way I am in this one,

So here goes; I hope this helps some of the people like me, who really love Avatar, but don’t like the fandom environment.

I think the biggest problem is with the NeteyamxOC pairing niche- which seems to be the biggest subcategory in the fandom.

I’ve seen in the comments sections of several Instagram and tumblr posts(Neteyam pictured or written with oc’s, mostly) where a bunch of mean-girl antagonist harpies will emotionally body each other and the OP and claim Neteyam as if no one else has a right to pair an OC with them?

UM EW? SO WEIRD AND CULTY. thank god none of that happened on any of my posts or I would’ve had to slam my head in a door.

then there are the purists, who reprimand you if you change the traits of any of their favorite characters or portray them in a way they don’t approve of- this has happened to me several times, which, fair, I suppose. I did something heinous with a character in my story(he gets a redemption arc later but that’s not the point. I should be able to write anything I want, and while I value free speech, it’s like? Why are you getting so mad? He’s a fictional character, just DNR my fic and move on to something you like better, it’s not that serious)

There’s also people reposting artwork that I spent a lot of money on and not crediting the artists, but I feel worse for the artists because you can have all the money in the world but you will never get your time back, and I feel like it’s fucked up that they aren’t at least getting the recognition they deserve on those posts that these stupid poopybutthole assdicks are making.

That could go for any fandom, but I think it’s worth mentioning.

Lastly, both my direct and indirect interactions with a select few people who are VERY prominent in the community have just… left a slightly bad taste in my mouth…? Like nothing explicitly bad happened and if you ask all three of them they will probably go “oh no, me and that person don’t have a problem!” But just… if those three incidents were translated into equivalent in person interactions, I would’ve felt extremely bullied. You could call that me being sensitive, or a number of other things, but that’s just plain how I feel.

It’s a shame because I looooove love love all the fics people write in every aspect and pairing of the fandom, and can recommend you so many amazing fics that were written so much better than mine by such fucking nice and pleasant and humble people tbh, I legit would lick the bottom of their shoes if they asked me politely enough

It’s just those few hundred OTHER people that have made this a bad experience for me🤣

So there that is, this place and some of the hostile NPCs that inhabit it make me feel like I either need to curl into a fetal position to mourn the loss of common sense on the internet, or step into a rage room and never come out,

And the more I think about it, the more I feel like stepping away is a good decision for me.

Maybe when I come back people’s buttholes will have loosened up and I can walk around in the bountiful fields of Avatar/NeteyamxOC fanfiction again like a floppy golden retriever puppy without having to look over my shoulder for a poacher with a sledgehammer, but until THAT day,

(But not before I’ve made my last 2-3 posts by the end of the week)

I’m peacing out, buh-bye😂💕

[fanfiction-artist-prototype]

In the past few weeks I’ve seen lots of posts about people either complaining about or explaining to ‘younger’ fic writers about how their belief in an AO3 algorithm is incorrect and I wanted to put my perspective forward as someone who probably is counted age wise in this section of younger fic writers.

I’m 18 and have been writing fic since I was 11 and found Wattpad and started posting little self inserts of my friends and I in the animes and comics we loved, so about 7 years of writing and to be honest my perspective of ‘growing’ an audience in fic has been influenced in some way by social media, but not to the point of assuming there’s an algorithm. 

With Fanfiction, there’s always going to be niche tropes and genres depending on the fandom and it’s common sense to assume that the more you ‘target’ a popular ‘trope’ or genre in fic the more (i hate to call it this but for the sake of the social media allegory I will) engagement you’ll get. The more clicks you’ll get, and theoretically the more comments, bookmarks/saves and likes/kudos you’ll get!

For instance, let’s take mid-2010′s Wattpad; self-insert/oc-ish inserts were still popular because it let the reader (commonly a pre-teen/teen girl involved in a fandom for the first time) act out fantasy scenarios with their fictional/unrealistic crush or let them become best friends or family with their favourite characters! People loved it, because it’s the most basic form of self-indulgence and of course self-insert always has and always will be popular in fic but from my personal experience it was BOOMING on Wattpad then; so if you wrote self-insert/ocish insert then you would get more people clicking and reading as was my experience. 

However if you were to do a more ‘niche’ genre or trope... lets say a Mineta Minrou ship fic in the Boku No Hero Acadamia fandom (since Mineta is an almost universally disliked character in the fandom) you may get the occasional views from Mineta fans or from people who were looking for another tag and are just genuinely curious about what’s going on here but with a character/trope so unpopular within the fandom it doesn’t matter if your fic is the most beautiful gut-wrenching philosophy changing piece of literature to grace the internet people won’t read it. It’s the basics of ‘don’t like don’t read’.

To me, that’s my social media influenced perspective of fic sites. 

The READERS in an essence are the algorithm, if you want ‘clicks’, hits, likes, bookmarks, kudos in the most efficient way then you have to do research into you fandom and find what people LIKE to read - are songfics really popular here? Is any ABO fic created under this fandom tag bullied into deletion? Does this fandom love coffee shop au’s? 

But if you do that, then what’s the point of writing fic? 

What’s the point of writing something that you might not even want to write, that you won’t be able to put your best into, that you will just sit there going ‘I hate this, this is stupid, useless and not something I want put to my name’ all in the interest of getting people to click on your fic so that you can feel you’ve gamed the system when the number goes up?

I know people who’s magnus opus of fics have gotten less than 500 clicks, and most of them regrettably will come from the same 20 or so people re-reading but they’re beautiful, fantastic fics that have all the right tags, that should be ‘palatable’ to a wide audience but they just never get picked up by a wide readership on A03 because as beautiful as it is, there’s hundred of fics being posted every day on AO3 and the tough reality is you aren’t special.

Fic writing isn’t a competition, it’s a fun hobby or side hustle and it’s something that people do for many reasons; to improve their writing, because they can’t let go of this one particular plot point or scene,  to share their love or hate over a character and many other reasons as simple as ‘I wanted to write a story with these character’s in it. But why would you want to write a fic just so people might go ‘oh wow! you make really popular stuff’.

Will that really make you happy? I don’t think so, my first non-self insert fic did absolutely terribly when it came to people reading it because I was so used to writing a genre where people would flit from one of my fics to the other and tell me how much they loved it, but I nearly ended up deleting the fic and never straying from self-inserts because I must not be as good of a writer as I thought.

(I wasn’t, hand on heart I’ll admit that. I was 13 and had a very inflated sense of self)

But then I just kept writing because my friend told me that they liked it and it took a good long while to unlearn the idea that people interacting with your fic in large droves meant success but I did and my writing and confidence has improved. 

And so...

To all the younger fic writers or even the older fic writers just getting started, looking at fic sites like a social media site will do nothing but hurt your creativity and harm your confidence.

When it comes to social media sites it’s easy to forget you’re engaging with real humans and not just creative outlets handed to you by the algorithm but they are real people, and the social media mindset is ‘appeal to what the machine wants and the people will follow’, but on sites like A03 everyone is a person and there is no machine to appease. If you soullessly pump out fics just to make some mystical computer program push it into peoples faces people will notice how little care there is in a fic. 

A fic is supposed to be something you’ve created, and like with all art it’s in some part a reflection of *you* so if all you do is go ‘I don’t need to put as much effort into this I just need to put the right tags and let the magic happen’ people will know, if you pour your heart into it but then mistag the whole thing people will get pissed at you.

Nobody likes reading a whole wall of tags, it’s boring and unreadable and if you mistag your fic to get ‘more clicks’ people will just report you because you’re in breach of T & C. You’re not only turning people against you from the offset you’re potentially getting yourself booted off the platform with nobody but yourself to blame.

The best way to get ‘engagement’ on AO3 is just write what you want, do what you want and people who like the same things will come to you, people aren’t going to read something they don’t want.

An archive is just a collection that you look through yourself; hence the name Archive Of Our Own. It’s OUR archive of OUR things that we made. 

If you try and dehumanise the system then you’re going to be on the losing side.

[yuzukimist]

Tagged by the amazing @ladykittenfair. Thank you so much! I love doing these. <3 (And sorry it took me so long lol)

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 143, apparently! Which is, uh. Wow. Although in fairness, some of those aren’t actually fics (just picture accompaniments to an older fic) and some of those fics are on hiatus. Still, I didn’t realize I had so many things posted lol.

2. What is your total AO3 word count? 832,822. And always growing, haha, especially since I’m going to be posting a lot of Whumptober content very soon. ;D

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they? Oh geez. A lot! I tend to dabble in whatever catches my interest. Let’s see…right now I write mostly for (in no particular order): Final Fantasy XV/Kingsglaive (and I’m loving every minute of it!), Batman (the Red Hood comics specifically, because I love Jason Todd), Owari no Seraph/Seraph of the End (although I will admit that I write for one pairing specifically and have not really been keeping up with the actual manga storyline), Chaos Legion (a really fun video game that no one but me even remembers but that’s okay because I love it enough for a hundred people lol), Cursed (the Netflix show), FFVII/Crisis Core/Dirge of Cerberus (although all I have posted is one OC fic that’s on hiatus, I have various other WIPs kicking around that I will get around to polishing up and posting. Hopefully. Eventually. Someday. ;D), Final Fantasy XII, Megaman X7/X8, Lord of the Rings, Naruto, Tales of the Abyss, the Originals, and a few others as inspiration strikes. My fanfiction career can basically be summed as me going “ooh shiny!” and then making that everyone else’s problem because I have ideas and a keyboard and very poor impulse control. ;D

4. What are your top five fics by kudos? Oh boy, let’s see. Counting just standalone fics and not anything that’s technically a drabble series (because otherwise I think my Nyx time travel series beats everything through cumulative kudos lol and that doesn’t seem fair to my other fics haha), I think my top five fics are actually all Batfam/Jason Todd fics! Which is kind of entertaining actually, considering how hyper-focused I’ve been on FFXV lately lol.

Anyway! Are We Living In The Darkness (Do We Listen To The Light) has the most kudos (~1874), while the sequel to it, Won’t Stay in the Shadows Now, comes in at second place (~1655). 3rd place goes So Hard to Find the Way Back Home (which is actually the 5th installment of my ongoing Jason Todd-centric Batfam series, A Motley Little Crew of Dysfunction). 4th place goes to the first Motley Little Crew of Dysfunction drabble, I Turn at Last to Paths That Lead Home. 5th place goes to When the World Says Give Up, Hope Says Try One More Time, which is the 3rd drabble in that same Batfam series.

Honorable mentions go to some of the other drabbles in the Motley Little Crew of Dysfunction series (2, 4, & 7), as well as my KagaTobi Naruto time travel fic, you’ve got ten more thousand miles to go (because you’re one of the living), and my most popular OnS fic, a 5+1 titled Five Times Shinya Suffered Through a Panic Attack Alone (and One Time Someone Showed Up to Help).

5) Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Oh man, I try to!!! I really love interacting with people who read my stories and forming those connections with other members of a fandom is always really great. That being said, I sometimes take reeaaallly long to reply (which I always feel guilty about lol) because I am just stupidly crazy busy these days. Like, I work one full-time job, do freelance writing on the side, and generally have two college classes going on at the same time, all while trying to stay on top of my household chores and do fic writing. So if I ever respond, like, 3 months late to someone and you’re like ??? that’s why lol. But everyone should definitely know that I absolutely adore feedback and every single comment I get makes me grin so wide my cheeks hurt. ;D

6) What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Uhhh…I don’t know if anything I’ve ever written has an angtsy ending??? I mean, normally if I’m writing a fic it’s because I want a happy ending lol, or at least a hopeful one. So while a lot of my fics can have a lot of angst in the main body of the work, the endings are generally not that bad. Like, I think my most commonly used tag is “Angst with a Happy Ending” haha. Maybe my Tales of the Abyss drabble Pâro qualifies because it’s sort of an angsty introspective piece? Idk. ;P

7) Do you ever write crossovers?

You know, I actually don’t think I ever have? Huh. They seem like fun, though, so maybe someday I will!

8) Have you ever received hate on a fic? Who hasn’t, lol. At this point I have enough self-confidence for it not to really get to me the way it used to so I generally just do my best to ignore it.

But! If someone is being *really* obnoxious I will absolutely return fire without hesitation lol. My eight+ years of working retail has also helped me to have a No Fucks To Give mentality when it comes to jerks so that probably contributes to my attitude haha.

That being said, it’s been a while since I got any hate on anything; the most aggravating hate I’ve ever gotten was way back when I was still actively posting on ffnet, and it was literally years ago now. Since moving over to ao3 I’ve had fewer problems by far, so that’s nice! Plus the fandoms I’m in right now are mostly full of very nice people, so that definitely helps. :D

9) Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Uhh, not really, no. I think the only actual smut piece I’ve ever written was a request for someone on ffnet way back when I was actively writing for the Originals fandom; I had a longtime reader following along with my hundred chapter OC-centric longfic and as a holiday gift I wrote them a smutty one-shot for a pairing they liked. Other than that I think any other love scenes I’ve written are done, like, fade-to-black style lol. Like, smut is just. Not really my area of expertise in any way, shape, or form lol.

10) Have you ever had a fic stolen? I think something of mine got stolen a couple years back when that one paid fanfic app was developed? I don’t even remember what the app was called lol but I remember me and my fandom friends all being Really Mad when we heard about how someone was snatching fics off of ao3 and then charging people to read them. It’s possible that other things of mine have been ripped off since then, but if so I haven’t found out about it yet; I know some writers do periodic searches to make sure their fics aren’t being posted other places without their consent, but I just don’t have time to do that lol.

11) Have you ever co-written a fic before? No, not yet! Regrettably my hectic schedule doesn’t really lend itself well to co-writing. My work hours combined with my other responsibilities mean I write kind of just whenever I can, and if I were to ever make a commitment to co-write with someone I’d like to be able to offer a little more consistency so I don’t accidentally let them down. I hear it’s a great experience, though, so maybe someday I’ll give it a whirl!

12) What’s your all-time favorite ship? Oh jeeeeez. I don’t think I have an all-time favorite ship lol. I kind of flip between OTPs depending on whatever my hyper-fixation is at the time ahaha. At this particular moment I’m super into Promptis (Prompto/Noctis, FFXV), GureShin (Guren/Shinya, OnS), and KagaTobi (Kagami/Tobirama, Naruto).

Other OTPs that I still like but am not currently obsessing over include Keith/Shiro (Voltron), Sterek (Stiles/Derek, Teen Wolf), and KakaObi (Kakashi/Obito, Naruto), Zack Fair/Aerith (their scenes in Crisis Core are The Cutest), Vincent/Veld (because of @ladykf-writes who writes them So Well) plus a bunch of others. Honestly, I’ll read just about any pairing if it’s written well. ;D

That being said, for most of my own fics I focus more on platonic relationships (I think good friendships are just as important as romances, if not more so), although I am unapologetically GureShin trash and also have an extreme fixation on Nyx Ulric/happiness. ;D

13) What was the first fandom you wrote for? Uhhh, I don’t know if I remember lol. I think the first thing I ever posted might have been a Stargate Atlantis OC fic but I think I wrote a few different Final Fantasy and Naruto things before that? Didn’t post them though, so maybe that doesn’t count? XD

14) What’s your favorite fic you’ve written? Ack, this is like asking to pick a favorite child lol. I love everything I’ve written for one reason or another. My Nyx time travel series is currently at the top of my list, I think, although another one I’m proud of is my Megaman X fic the past cannot be changed (the future is yet unwritten) because while I am writing in a small/mostly dead fandom it’s definitely a labor of love that I’ve put a lot of effort into and even though updates are really slow/sporadic right now I still have a lot of fun working on it. My LOTR and FFXII OC fics are very near and dear to my heart as well, because both feature pretty extensive world-building and that's something I love to do. That being said, some of my Whumptober2021 drabbles ended up being very shiny to my gremlin brain so I think they’re favorites at the moment too lol.

Now to tag some people! Let's see, uh...@phantomchick @gingersnapwolves @ocfairygodmother @darknightfrombeyond @whostarlockeda03 @garbria @ceruleanmusings @comebackolivia @yumearashi @wandererriha plus whoever else wants to! No pressure to do this, of course; if you don't feel like it, that's fine, too. <3<3<3

[vassia-sparta]

The Green-eyed monster is released

Dr. Connor Rhodes and Dr. Kate Karson (OC) have been friends since they first met on Connor's first day back in Chicago, but never felt brave enough to reveal their true feelings to one another. When Dr. James Lanik taunts Connor about his relationship with Kate, will our beloved Cardio resident step up and claim what he wants?

(Gifs not mine, I found them on Tumblr and inspiration hit me. I own nothing but my OC Dr. Kate Karson and the plot. )

Kate POV

Another day, another shift. I walked through the familiar doors of Gaffney Medical Center’s Emergency Department, letting my eyes scan the entire room. We were relatively empty today, so things looked to be going slow.

“Hey Maggie, how are we looking today?” I greeted the head nurse and friend of mine as I walked up to her office.

“We’ve only had two incoming so far today, so things look really calm.”

“I hope that lasts,” I nodded, making my way towards the doctor’s lounge to leave my bag and coat and prepare for my shift. On my way there, I spotted Connor talking to Dr. Lanik right by the lounge, and Connor looked ready to punch him. Then again, Dr. Lanik always had that effect on people. I had yet to meet anyone who didn’t feel like beating the hell out of him after spending five minutes in his presence.

“Good morning gentlemen, how are you doing today?” I smiled, keeping my gaze on my friend.

“Hey Kate, just fine,” Connor smiled at me.

“Better now that you are here Dr. Karson,” Dr. Lanik smirked, and I tried really hard not to roll my eyes at him. Everyone knew that Dr. Lanik was a flirt, and a bad flirt too. He used the cheesiest lines any woman had ever heard, and he tried them on any woman he deemed worthy of him, doctors and nurses included.

I ignored him and went to my locker to put my things away. As I closed my locker and pulled on my stethoscope, I heard the ambulance sirens closing in.

“So much for a calm day,” I sighed, running out to tend to whoever had come to our door.

Connor POV

I was trying to explain to Dr. Lanik about the extra supplies we had to order for the hybrid OR when Kate arrived, all smiles and joyful energy. Seeing her there gave me the courage to withstand our idiotic Head of Trauma for a few more minutes.

And just as I was about to get away from him, he just HAD to go and piss me off even more.

“You two a thing?”

I paused, not sure I had heard correctly. Had he actually asked me that?

“What’s it to you?” I responded to his question, feeling prote4ctive of my friend.

“Give me a heads up when she dumps you,” he smiled that smug smile of his before he walked away, leaving me a lifeless statue.

One sentence and all the good vibes I had in me flew away. Did this idiot enjoy sucking the life out of everyone around him, leaving them miserable and grumpy?

I only realized I had left my mind drifting on what was the best way to kill that idiot without getting caught, when Will came up next to me and nudged me, bringing me out of my troubled thoughts.

“Hey, earth to Connor, are you there?”

I shook my head to clear it, a frown slipping on my face.

“Yeah, just great,” I grumbled, trying once more to focus on the charts of my patients. Honestly, it was like I was trying to read in a foreign language, I was so upset.

“What happened man, what did Lanik say that made you so mad? If looks could kill, you’d have murdered him three times over by now,” my friend chuckled.

“He actually asked me to let him know when Kate dumps me,” I scoffed, the urge to punch the insufferable idiot growing as I thought about him getting anywhere near her.

“But I thought you and Kate are just friends, or at least that is what you both keep on insisting.”

“We are Will, it’s the idea of Lanik even thinking he is worthy of Kate that bothers me,” I defended.

“Well, you never know. She might actually like him,” Will shrugged.

I turned to glare at the red-haired doctor, suddenly having the urge to punch him too.

“Seriously Will, Kate with Lanik?”

“Like I said, you never know. He might have hidden talents,” my friend wiggled his eyebrows.

I rolled my eyes at him, the very idea so surreal, it might as well be part of a fantasy movie.

“The Kate that I know would get sick to the very idea of Lanik even touching her.”

“Well, you know Kate as your friend, not as a woman. Who knows, she might actually like him. After all, it’s none of your business who she dates. It’s not like you have a romantic interest in her, right?” the former plastic surgeon asked pointedly.

“We’ve been through this a hundred times Will, and the answer is still no,” I pointed out.

“Okay then, let Lanik try his luck, he and Kate might be good together,” Will shrugged as he walked away, leaving me to fume on my own. I guess Nat had hit him on the head last night, there was no other explanation for his ridiculous suggestions.

____________

Around midday, I finally took a break from my patients and tried to track down Kate, hoping she had a few minutes to spare and have lunch with me.

I looked around the ED and the surgery floor, but there was no sign of her.

“Hey Maggie, have you seen Kate?” I asked when I reached the nurses’ desk.

“Yeah, she went to the cafeteria about 10 minutes ago, Dr. Lanik asked her to have lunch together.”

I paused, not sure if our head nurse was playing tricks on me.

“Maggie, Kate and I are just friends,” I reminded her.

“Ah ok, ‘cause I think Kate might actually like Dr. Lanik,” our head nurse shrugged, and I felt as if a bucket of cold water was dropped on me.

“I don’t really have a say in it Maggie; Kate is a grown woman, she is free to do whatever she wants,” I shrugged.

“And whoever she wants,” Maggie added.

I walked away, choosing not to answer to Maggie’s teasing. All of our friends enjoyed teasing both me and Kate that we liked each other more than friends, and every time we laughed it off. I wasn’t about to rise to Maggie’s taunting, not after hiding my true feelings for so long.

_____________

Kate POV

“Nat, what you’re suggesting is completely idiotic, I can’t do that!”

“But it’s the only way to find out if Connor really wants you. We have to make him jealous to see if he reacts, and Lanik is the perfect candidate!”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair in frustration. For the past half hour, Natalie and April had been trying to convince me to accept going out with Dr. Lanik, only to see if Connor would get jealous and do something about it. But they were forgetting one crucial part: Connor was already in a relationship with Ava Bekker, his colleague and rival in the Cardio department.

“Nat, Connor sees me only as a friend, and I’m happy with that. Can’t we leave it at that and focus on something more pleasant?”

“If he sees you only as a friend, then why is he freaking out every time a cute guy speaks to you? Do you remember how he reacted when you and Kelly Severide went out to dinner?” April pointed out.

“That was because he was worried Kelly might break my heart. Everyone knows he’s a womanizer. And in any case, Kelly and I never had anything.”

“And yet, whenever Kelly comes in to talk to you, I see Connor glaring at him, even if he’s trying to be all stealthy about it,” Nat commented. “To me, that sounds like he’s got a crush, and a big one at that.”

“You’re imagining things girls, there’s nothing there.”

“Then why did he freak out today when Lanik asked him to notify him when you were available?” Nat questioned, raising her eyebrow as she stared me down.

“What?” I turned to Nat.

“When you came in today, Lanik was with Connor-”

“Yeah I remember, I greeted them both,” I nodded.

“Right. And when you passed by, Lanik asked Connor if you two are a thing,” April offered.

“That’s right, and when Connor didn’t reply, Lanik merely asked for Connor to let him know when you dumped him,” Nat added.

“Great story girls, you two should be writing scenarios for soap operas,” I rolled my eyes at them.

“They’re right, I heard it too,” Maggie jumped in, making me groan.

“Come on Mags, I thought you were more mature than our two little matchmakers here.”

“I’m just saying I saw him fuming when Lanik leered at you,” our head nurse shrugged.

“Well of course he would, he’s my friend and he cares about me. It doesn’t mean he’s got a crush on me. And you all seem to forget that he’s dating Ava Bekker.”

“They’re not, at least not anymore,” April shook her head. “He’s been avoiding her for the past few weeks.”

“That he has, Doris can confirm it.”

“Ah okay, if the head gossiper of the hospital can confirm it, then it’s okay,” I scoffed.

“Never doubt the observant eyes of the nurses,” Maggie poked her finger at me.

“I don’t, but not on every occasion,” I shook my head.

“Then why not try this, see if we are right?” April challenged.

I sighed in defeat, seeing how I would never get away from them.

“Okay, I will,” I nodded, accepting my fate. “I’m going to flirt with Lanik to see if Connor will react. But when he doesn’t-”

“He will,” Nat hurried to reassure me.

“Alright, IF he doesn’t,” I looked at all three of them, “you guys must never bring up this subject again, understood?”

“Okay,” April nodded, as did Nat. Maggie just shrugged.

“Alright, how do we do this?” I asked my friends.

“I have a plan,” Maggie smiled, gathering us all close to her.

_______________

Around midday, I decided to put the girls’ plan to work. Since it was the time that most people went to get something to eat, chances were Lanik would be there, Connor as well. Although I had to admit this was definitely immoral, it was a great way to clear the air and perhaps help me get some closure over my crush on Connor, maybe even move on with my life (definitely not with Lanik though).

I had fallen for Connor without even realizing it, however cliché that sounded. From the first day he came in, riding on the gurney doing chest compressions on that man, he had managed to leave his mark on everyone, one way or another. It had nothing to do with his good looks or the money he had from his family; it was his drive, the passion he had every time he tried to save a patient. He gave his everything into being a doctor and did whatever he could to save a life, even if it got him into trouble sometimes. He wasn’t perfect, not by a longshot, but to me, he was.

With renewed resolve I walked up to the nurses’ station and left the last of my notes, noticing that Dr. Lanik was within earshot.

“Maggie, I’m going to get something to eat, if anyone needs me I’ll be in the cafeteria.”

“You got it Dr. Karson,” Maggie nodded, winking at me when Dr. Lanik wasn’t watching.

I kept my cool and walked to the double doors that led to the food area. The place was filling quickly so I made my way to the line, greeting friends and colleagues as I did. I picked up my lunch and, just as I was about to pay for it, a voice interrupted me.

“I’ll get that.”

I turned and found Dr. Lanik standing behind me, a supposedly seductive smile on his face.

“Oh, there’s no need for that Dr. Lanik,” I tried to stop him, but he shook his head before I could finish my sentence.

“It’s my pleasure. I do ask that you sit with me though.”

“Of course, lead the way,” I nodded, feeling so disgusted with myself. Focus on the outcome, it’s not like you’re gonna have to kiss this moron I thought, and took some comfort from that.

He paid for both our lunches and led me to one of the tables near the windows that overlooked the small park next to the hospital. I sat with my back towards the door, so I wouldn’t be affected if I saw Connor coming in. I had to remain focused on Lanik, seduce him in the most discreet way. I was sure the nurses that were taking their lunch right now had their eyes and ears focused on any possible gossip source, and I was not going to taint my reputation by acting all flirty towards my boss. The gossip mills had long memories around here, and it took a lot of effort to get rid of the label they’d stick on you.

“You know, it has been so long that I’ve wanted to have lunch with you Dr. Karson,” Dr. Lanik started, that ever-present smirk of his making me wanna punch him right on the nose. I held myself back though, hoping to hit two birds with one stone and maybe put this little turd in his proper place as well as figuring out if Connor had any romantic feelings for me.

“It’s Kate, and why didn’t you just ask me Dr. Lanik?”

“It’s James, and I thought you were involved with Dr. Rhodes,” the idiot shrugged, picking at his pasta. “I didn’t want to invade foreign waters.”

“Connor and I are just friends, he’s with Dr. Bekker,” I shook my head, smiling at my idiotic boss.

“That may be, but he sure is protective of you.”

“Aren’t all friends protective of each other?” I shrugged. “Besides, he’s probably like that because he saw what I was like after my last relationship.”

“What happened?”

“Let’s just say that the guy enjoyed having several ladies to please him at the same time while pretending he wanted to marry me.”

“He was an idiot then, having a lovely lady like you and trying to hook up with others. If I had a girl like you, I would never let her go,” he winked at me, and I fought the urge to roll my eyes.

“Well, he’s history, so let’s not focus on him, he’s not even worth talking about. How about you James, you got anyone in your life right now?” I smiled softly, hoping he took this as flirting.

“Nope, my busy work schedule won’t give me much time. Not to mention it’s difficult to date anyone who cannot understand the kind of pressure we are under.”

“Indeed, it’s very challenging for anyone who has not been through a typical day in the ED to understand why sometimes we have to stay here late, or why we have to answer a call in the middle of the night. Literal lives are at stake, and it’s up to us to save them.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean we cannot enjoy the finer things in life. After all,” he smiled that disgusting smile of his, “we have earned it.”

“We certainly have,” I agreed, smiling back.

I noticed a figure in black scrubs moving towards us, and got ready for the big showdown.

“Dr. Karson, make I speak with you for a moment?” Connor asked, his eyes focused on me, shining with anger.

“Oh, hey Connor,” I smiled at my friend. “Sorry, I’m having a conversation with James, is it an emergency?”

Connor seemed taken aback that I had used Lanik’s first name, and I even caught a glimpse of the idiot’s face. He was smug, smiling such a big smile that it was a wonder it didn’t hurt his face.

Connor kept staring at me, his lips pressed so thin they were barely visible.

“No, it’s fine, no need to interrupt your lunch. I’ll see you later,” my friend growled, then turned and left without even saying goodbye.

Though I wanted to jump up and down, I kept my composure and turned to smile at Lanik once more.

“What got into him?” I shrugged, giggling a bit.

“He’s probably jealous that you preferred to stay here with me,” Lanik smirked, and I forced myself to chuckle.

“Well, it would be rude to just get up and leave, after all we’re having a conversation, aren’t we?”

“Oh yes,” the idiot leaned closer to me, “we certainly do.”

A shrill noise came from his coat pocket, making us both jump.

Saved by the bell, literally, I thought.

He pulled the pager from his pocket and checked it, cursing under his tongue.

“It’s an emergency, they need me upstairs in the OR. I’m sorry I have to leave you like this.”

“It’s okay, I understand,” I nodded. “We can continue another time,” I smiled the sweetest smile I could, feeling sick that I stooped that low. It’s for a greater cause, suck it up, I scolded myself.

“We definitely will,” Dr. Lanik smiled before he rushed off to whoever had been calling him.

As soon as he was out of sight I leaned back on my chair, taking a few deep breaths to calm my erratic heartbeat. A smile formed on my lips. The plan had worked. Connor had shown interest. Now it was time to move even further, see how he would react.

________

The next few days I pushed the plan even more, spending more time with Dr. Lanik any chance I got, either having lunch with him, consulting him on various cases, or even discussing some changes that could be done around the ED. He barely even realized it when I convinced him about getting an additional vending machine for the waiting room. Maggie said it was only a matter of time before I made him my slave.

Connor, on the other hand, was getting angrier every time he saw me with Lanik. He barely spoke to me, and even then it was only for a case. Nat and April were certain that he was about to cave in. I, on the other hand, had a different opinion.

I had seen how Dr. Bekker had noticed our drifting apart, and had wasted no time in slipping in the space that was left. The two of them had been seen leaving together every night, and last night I saw Ava smirking at me when she and Connor left, his arm entwined with hers.

This morning though, when I saw them arrive together, was the final straw. I walked up to Maggie and April, already feeling tired despite sleeping for a full night.

“I’m pulling the plug on the plan,” I announced, and they both looked up at me sharply.

“We are about to hit the jackpot and now you’re getting cold feet?” April sighed, exasperated.

“Well it’s not about my cold feet, it’s about how warm Dr. Bekker’s feet got last night. I saw her and Connor leave together yesterday, and this morning they arrived together, in Connor’s car. I think it’s safe to say the whole jealousy plan pushed him in her waiting arms.”

“You don’t know that,” Maggie argued. “Maybe he’s doing her a favor, maybe her car broke down.”

“Yeah, he’s doing her a favor alright,” I sighed. “The point is, I was right all along. Connor is not interested in me, at least not in a romantic way.”

“Then why is he so upset over you hanging around with Lanik for the past few days?”

“Because he is my friend and is worried over me being around an absolute moron,” I shrugged at them.

“Girl you are either too blind to see how he stares at you or too stubborn to admit it,” Maggie huffed, her eyes shining.

“I am neither blind nor stubborn, in fact I think it’s the first time in a while I’ve been clear-headed about this. The plan is off, I’m putting an end to it as soon as possible.”

“Just one more day, will that hurt you?”

“Probably,” I nodded at April. “Lanik is all hot and bothered, and I can only push him away and try to keep him close at the same time for so long. He’s going to want more, and I’d rather die than give in to him.”

“One day,” Maggie insisted. “If nothing happens today, we’ll find you some way to dump Lanik without getting you in trouble with him.”

“Okay, but just one day, and not a moment more,” I looked pointedly at them.

_______________

Around midday, I was making my way down the corridors towards a patient’s room when I caught sight of Dr. Lanik making his way to me, all smiles and a smugness in his step that made me want to punch him. I braced myself, hoping to end all this quickly and painlessly before things got out of hand.

“Hello Kate, shall we go to lunch, I’m kind of famished.”

“I actually have to go check on two more patients, but I’ll meet you down there,” I smiled at him, then walked away before he could answer.

After I finished with my patients I made my way to the cafeteria, pausing when I saw Connor sitting on a table with Ava, her touching his hand as they ate.

I pretended not to see them and made my way to the line, picked up a salad and walked to where Dr. Lanik was sitting. His face lit up when he saw me, and he pulled his tray to make space for me.

“Thank goodness, I thought you had forgotten about me,” he said teasingly.

“If I start forgetting things like that it means I’m in serious trouble,” I chuckled as I sat across from him.

“So,” he spoke, leaning a bit closer to me, “I was wondering if we could go for drinks tonight after the shift. You get off at 9, right?”

I paused, giving myself some time to swallow my bite before I replied.

“Sure, that sounds great. Shall we meet at Molly’s?”

“No, that place is way too casual for my taste,” he shook his head, his face scrunching. “I was thinking more of that bar on Arlington, it opened up a few weeks ago and it’s said to be great. Upscale, clean, and with a great crowd.”

“I’ve never gone there, but okay, doesn’t hurt to go to new places,” I shrugged.

“Awesome. Want me to pick you up from your place?”

I panicked, but got a hold of myself quickly enough.

“No need to bother, we can meet there. Say, around 10?”

“Great,” he smiled a smug smile, taking a sip of his Coke.

We continued the rest of the meal chatting about various things, mostly the gossip he heard from the nurses, and his obsession about getting the board to agree with his opinions. I got a headache from how self-centered he was. Did he think of anyone else but himself?

I returned to the ED just as we got the call for two car crashes with several victims. That kept us busy for the rest of the afternoon, three of them going into surgery to control the internal bleeding and set broken bones.

By the time I was done with the last surgery, it was 5 in the afternoon. I made my way to the room adjacent to the operating theater to clean up and get out of my sterile clothes. As I pulled off the surgery gown, Connor entered the room, still in his own surgery gown.

“How did it go with the woman?” I asked as he pulled off his gown and set out to wash his hands.

“She made it through. It was kind of tricky controlling the bleed, but we managed to save her spleen.”

“Good,” I nodded. “Her husband had three broken ribs and an internal bleed in the liver, but we managed to fix it just in time. I expect he’ll make a full recovery as well.”

“Wonderful,” Connor replied, not even glancing at me.

“Okay, what is it with you these past few days?” I huffed, feeling tired with all the silence and the way he had been ignoring me.

“What do you mean?” my friend asked, still very intent on his hands.

“You avoid me, you barely even talk to me let alone look at me. Did I do something to offend you?”

“No, I just thought you were too busy hanging out with Lanik. Word around the hospital is that you two are an item now. And here I thought you hated his guts.”

“We just talk Connor, there’s nothing going on between us.”

“Oh, you just talk, is that why he has that leering smile every time he sees you, or why he stares at your ass every time you walk past him?”

“He’s not doing that, and besides, why do you even care? I might as well ask you about Ava,” I threw back at him.

“What about Ava?” he turned to look at me.

“Well, word around the hospital is that you are back together again.”

“Well, we’re not,” he shook his head. “Can you say the same thing about you and Lanik?”

“I just told you that there’s nothing between us, and what’s it to you anyway?”

“Nothing,” he shook his head. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Good, glad we cleared that up,” I huffed, walking out of the room.

My dignity was the only thing that kept me from stomping down the corridor like a spoiled child. I didn’t need to give more gossip for the nurses to talk about.

Before I could reach the corner however, I felt a strong arm pulling me into one of the hospital supplies rooms. I was ready to start yelling, but paused when I saw it was only Connor.

“What is it this time Connor?” I sighed, but barely got the words out before Connor pushed me against the closed door, his lips smashing against mine.

It was a hot and demanding kiss, all passion and fire. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer to me as he licked my lower lip. I gasped at the sensation, and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue in my mouth, deepening the kiss. I moaned into his mouth, so turned on by the feel of his body pressed so closely against mine. I could feel every muscle, every ridge, all the strength that he had in him. My senses were on overload, trying to take in every touch, every sound, everything of him.

We broke the kiss, both out of breath. He didn’t waste any time though and latched onto my neck, peppering it with soft kisses. I closed my eyes, letting his touch consume me. His lips burned a fiery trail all the way down to my cleavage before returning to my mouth, this time kissing me with even more passion, if that was even possible. I swear, an earthquake could happen right now, and I wouldn’t even notice it. I felt his hands reach down to my legs and I jumped, wrapping them around his waist, feeling him pressing against the door even harder. I had no doubt that if by chance anyone walked by, they would definitely hear us.

Connor broke the kiss and pulled back a bit, staring deep into my eyes with those gorgeous blue orbs of his, his gaze so intense it took my breath away.

“Do you have any idea how long I have wanted to do this?”

“Probably as long as I wanted to do it,” I smirked at him, pulling him for another kiss.

He groaned, his hips pressing into me. I could feel him, hard and ready between my legs, and the fire in me burned even righter. I wanted so much to just peel away our clothes and have him right here, not even caring if anyone heard us, but I knew the danger of getting caught would never let me enjoy it as much as I wanted.

The higher powers must have heard my thoughts, because the room filled with the shrilling sound of our pagers.

“I’m going to murder the inventor of these hellish things,” Connor growled, putting me down reluctantly.

“And I’ll help you, but right now we need to be saving lives, not taking them,” I chuckled, fixing my ruffled clothes a bit before I checked my pager. We had multiple victims coming in, GSWs from some gang war.

“You know this isn’t over, right?” Connor stopped me before I could turn to open the door.

“Oh, it’s far from over, as long as you make sure Ava understands that you are no longer available to her,” I pointed out.

“When are you going to learn not to listen to what the nurses always blab about? Ava’s car broke down a few days, and I offered to drive her home and to work until it’s fixed, nothing more.”

“And what are the odds she planned this?”

“Very high, but I think seeing us leaving together tonight will put it in her head that I belong to someone else. What are you going to do about Lanik? You’re supposed to go out with him tonight, if my sources are correct.”

“I’ll make up some excuse,” I shrugged. “After all, I never promised anything would happen between us. I’m not worried though, he’ll find another victim to drool over.”

“He’s had his eye on you for a while, he even asked me if we were a thing, and to let him know when you dumped me.”

“Ah, so I guess the girls were right about that,” I chuckled. One of the few times the gossip mill was truthful about a rumor. “Well, he’s going to be waiting a long time, about an eternity I think, perhaps more,” I smiled, pulling him for another kiss.

He kissed me deeply, making my head spin for a moment before I returned back to earth.

“Come on, they need us downstairs,” I sighed, trying to cool my body and my mind down. “We can continue this later tonight. My place or yours?”

“I don’t care, as long as we get there as fast as we can. I don’t think I’ll be able to keep my hands off of you for long.”

“Game face on Dr. Rhodes,” I caressed his cheek. “Let’s go save some lives, and then we can spend the night doing oh so many things.”

“Oh, we will, I’ll make sure of that,” he smiled back, giving me one last kiss before we left the storage room.

We barely made it to the elevator when we came across Dr. Lanik coming out of his office, one of the nurses right behind him. Normally that would not be cause for an alarm, but they both looked disheveled, and Dr. Lanik’s shirt was buttoned all wrong.

“Dr. Lanik, I think I’m gonna have to cancel on those drinks,” I smirked at him. “I’ve made plans with Connor, and from what I see, you won’t have trouble finding someone else to entertain you.”

It was a sight for sore eyes to see our head of Trauma just standing there speechless, his mouth open as Connor and I slipped into the elevator. Connor pulled me in for a kiss as the doors closed, and I swear I heard the nurse yelling at poor Dr. Lanik, calling him a cheater and a scumbag. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

Connor let go of me, a smile on his face.

“I love you,” he whispered, his eyes so full of love.

“I love you too you big buffoon,” I beamed at him, kissing him once more.

[tothelasthoursofmylife]

4, 8, 11, 15, 21, 40 and 43 for the fanfic writer asks :)

Thanks^^

4) What is your favourite genre to write for?

Hm, basically what I like to read as well which is fantasy and mystery/crime with some other things sprinkled in it here and there, but fantasy and mystery are the main ones.

(Though I am realising that mystery is an absolute pain to write.)

8) Where do you take your inspiration from?

Uh.

Uhm.

I don't know? I guess it's just I take in as much as I can from music/books/movies/shows/posts/etc. and then it gets all shaken up and I end up with something at some point? I can't think of anything more specific ._.

11) Have you ever amended a story due to criticisms you’ve received after posting it?

Yes, though most of the time it's less "criticisms" and more "friendly point-outs" I think? Just last chapter, someone told me that Catholic priests actually don't marry and have children. I had actually looked that up and decided that Marcel's simply a convert and was married and had a child beforehand because that's okay - well, nowadays, yes, but I didn't check any dates and was a hundred years off with this^^' They are now all Protestants.^^' (I'm not Christian and not very religious or very versed in religion-related things ._. Was a bit embarrassing...)

I can't think of much else. I was once told that the Frankenstein joke from Ch9 is too long and maybe I should cut or omit it, but that's an answer for the reverse of the question because I didn't amend it.

Most amendments I think are because I want to change things. I don't change too much though so that I am not throwing people off too much. I want to make larger changes, but I guess it's better that I don't (I may rewrite too much).

15) If you write OC’s, how do you decide on their names?

It's a mix of "using the first name that came to my mind", "going on Behind the Name or another name site and looking at the lists until I find a name I like", "using random name generators until I get a name I like", "naming a character after another character", and "carefully picking a name." (The last two often intertwine.) Or: "naming a character after someone I know."

Basically, I do everything hah.

For example:

"Kristopher" is the first name that came to my mind that starts with a "K". (I low-key wish I had picked something else.) "Cecelia" was just a name I thought was pretty.

"Aurèle" is the product of a Behind the Name hunt. So are "Arnaud", "Jacques", and "Gérard".

Most Nanteuil residents got a randomly generated name hah.

Anais is named after Anais from The Amazing World of Gumball.

Marcel is named after a former history teacher of mine that looked like Jesus 👀

The Disaster Trio's names are a bit more complicated...

They are named after characters from KHR and based on them as well :)

Hayato ("haya" is falcon, "to" is person) Gokudera --> Falk Hermann ("mann" is man, so it's also person)

Takeshi ("Takeshi" means military in this case) Yamamoto ("yama" is mountain) --> Cadell (means battle) Beaumont ("mont" is mountain)

Ryohei (no idea what the right meaning for his kanji is, but the name can, i.a., mean peace) Sasagawa --> Geoffrey ("frey" --> "frid" means peace) Bentley (the first part means "bent grass"; Ryohei is nicknamed Grass Head)

"Disaster Trio" is something from an old KHR FF of mine^^ Though that trio consisted of 3 other characters.

(EDIT: Minutes after hitting "publish", I realised I've been listening to the three singing "Familia" while writing this XD)

21) Tell me about another writer(s) who you admire? What is it about them that you admire?

I admire many! I could go on and on, but I'll just pick my favourite ones :)

(I'm not quite sure if the question refers to published writers or writers of fanfiction, so let's do both.)

Derek Landy (Skulduggery Pleasant) - I'm terrible at fight scenes. His? Great. I love them. His dialogues are also so much fun. It's all fun and games and then he hits you with a brick of devastation :')

V. E. Schwab (Shades of Magic, Monsters of Verity...) - She also has lovely fight scenes and her writing style is so, so pretty.

Marissa Meyer (The Lunar Chronicles) - She's SO good with multiple POVs. The POVs keep adding up in the Lunar Chronicles and by "Winter", there are like 10 different ones and they are all distinct and easily distinguishable. Also, I've never been so anxious reading anything like I read the last parts of Cinder/Scarlet/Winter (and I got a genuine shudder reading the last bit of Heartless). If she ever writes a thriller, maybe it will finally be one that will actually "thrill" me.

All three are also genuinely nice people^^

I have to say: I don't actually read much fanfiction...^^' I used to read a bunch a few years ago. I only got back into reading more FFs in the last few months...

FollowTheMagpie is after all these years still one of my favourites. Dropped an amazing piece of writing and then dipped. Never uploaded anything again. Such an icon.

40) Do people know you write fanfiction?

Yes, some.

In real life, it's just my sister (my brother's suspicious haha). A bunch of my internet friends know too^^

43) Has anyone ever guessed the plot twist of one of your fics before you posted it?

YES, OF COURSE, YOU WOULD ASK THIS.

Yes, some things were guessed^^ 🤭

(The age-old dilemma: Can't say what though ._. (But I really want to.))

(A bunch of stuff hasn't been noticed yet though 👀)

[leapyearkisses]

For the director’s cut: Orbs Are Bad News, please? Part 2 (or both, if you’re willing!) It’s one of my favorites 💗

One of my favorites, too! Thanks for the ask! :D I'll do both parts, with Part 2 to follow this a bit later.

Director's cut comments in bold below the cut! MESS, m/m, holding a handkerchief, etc.

This story came from a prompt on a writing meme about a character losing the use of their hands while having to deal with snz. I can't remember at the moment if the prompt was D&D-flavored or if I just picked that setting myself because I was really into playing the game at the time (still am!). Also I'm incredibly sleep-deprived, so I hope these comments don't ramble overmuch.

"Okay, we don't know what we're dealing with here, so let's be careful." Gerrit pushed open the heavy wooden door and lifted his torch to illuminate the room inside. The firelight played over several tables covered in intriguing objects and glinted teasingly off of more than one hint of gold. Gerrit himself spotted a stolid wooden chest in the corner and his heart rate quickened.

When I was a kid, my mom gave me the Dragonlance books and I fell in love with them, although it was a long time before I was able to play D&D myself. I attribute my love of the very traditional fantasy realm to these books and my enduring love of sickly mages to Raistlin (Soulforge was like an EXPERIENCE for me). Gerrit has his origins in Tanis Half-Elven - he's a good guy, kind of a normal/default fighter build. "Jackpot," breathed Remembrance, the party's resident ne'er-do-well. She rubbed her hands together, sharp nails clicking. Gerrit was sure she was assigning price tags to the lot of it, except for whatever she hid in her bags for herself, of course. "I know a guy in the capitol who'll pay through the nose for that pervy little statue there." "That is a religious object," chastised Cordes with a haughty tsk. "It's used in rituals of worship for the goddess Fortuna." "Oh, I'm sure he'll be worshipping," cackled Remembrance, and she slipped past Gerrit into the vault. "Few hundred gold and he'll be rubbing out a grand ol' prayer." Her pointed tail waved with greedy delight. "Hey! The proper course of action would be to bring it back to a temple!" Cordes went after her, pushing Gerrit aside.

Remembrance and Cordes are here to be the beta couple and provide background color. Their development was based on a few factors: A) a D&D party should have ~4 people with different abilities (fighter, sorcerer, cleric, rogue), B) a priest and a devil is never not a fun/ny dynamic, C) I'm not into F snz but I feel bad that most of my OCs are not women, and D) given that Gerrit is a "default" archetype, there needed to be differing characters to contrast his personality with (or he would seem to have none). Also I like dirty jokes, so Remembrance can be my humorous id for this purpose lol The half-elf grumbled but wasn't surprised. "At least TRY not to touch anything cursed," he called. He'd been the one to organize this little band, but although he was the one who reported to their patron, he had precious little influence over what they did. They were happy to point to him when some upstart had a problem with the party, though. Ingrates. He turned to the last member of the group. "What about you, Llewellyn? I thought I saw some books on the far table." "Lead the way," replied the sorcerer, and his usually mellifluous voice sounded strained. Purple shadowed the hollows under his faintly luminous silver eyes, and he had his nose tucked into his handkerchief again. Gerrit hadn't spent much time around full elves, but he'd always believed they couldn't get sick, at least not like a human or dwarf. Llewellyn had been dragging since Saints' Day, though, and seemed to have come down with a flu. His skin, where visible under his fitted robes, was wan.

Fuck up that slender, haughty elf man is an endlessly running subroutine in my head. "Sure," said Gerrit, and he stepped into the room, holding the door out so that Llewellyn could join him. "You, uh, you don't look like you're feeling any better." "Oh," said the sorcerer, "I'm not. I ran out of tonics." He entered the vault and walked over to one of the tables, investigating a strangely shaped glass bowl. "But as we were already down here, I'm not sure what you want me to say. There's no inn at which I might rest my weary bones." "Cordes could make you an herbal remedy," Gerrit grumped. He went over to the chest he'd seen earlier and smashed the lock off with the pommel of his dagger. He didn't need any fancy lockpicking tools like Remembrance's. And hitting something felt good when his companions were all intent to be annoying, acerbic, or both. "I suppose," Llewellyn replied, sounding uncertain as his voice wavered. Gerrit tried to ignore the way his ears heated at that. That was the tone that overtook the elf when he was preparing to sneeze. It wasn't any of Gerrit's concern. His occasional roll in the hay (literal and figurative) with Llewellyn did not make it easier or more appropriate to acknowledge his odd attractions, especially since they were currently ransacking a dungeon with a priest and a psychopath. He focused his attention on searching the chest, and he was rewarded with a heavy coin purse, a stack of calfskin-bound journals, and a ruby the size of a robin's egg. He whistled.

Gerrit and Llewellyn are the dynamic opposite of Eliseo and Padgett. Gerrit is the less-privileged, more personable, "low class" character and Llewellyn is the high-born, fussier, sarcastic noble; however, in this story Gerrit is the voyeur character with the fetish and the POV window while Llewellyn is tortured for everyone's amusement. Narratively it's more fun and easier for me to describe the non-fetish-having character because I also like the power of the narrator to be that voyeuristic eye. Llewellyn gasped. "Hah- hahttsch-ow!"

I made myself laugh while writing this hahah "'Ow'?" Cordes appeared from behind a bookshelf, one arm wrapped tightly around a thick rug, the other reaching for his pack of salves. "What is it? Cut? Burn?" When Gerrit looked, their sorcerer was rubbing his nose with his left hand. "Bruise," Llewellyn said. He lifted his right hand, in which he held a blue crystal orb that was knotted inside a thin lattice of gold chain. "I got my hand caught." He'd apparently run the thing into his nose when trying to cover his sneeze. Llewellyn's thin face was already dusted pink from the embarrassment. Gerrit couldn't help but laugh. "Very graceful," he chuckled. "I will thank you for keeping it to yourself," Llewellyn replied, and that was elvish dialect for "fuck you." Gerrit laughed again.

Embarrassment is a huge part of my enjoyment of this kink because of the ensuing power dynamics. The victim is thrown into disequilibrium by something (snz) that is inherently seen as socially inappropriate, disgusting, or at least uncomfortable. Almost always their reaction is outsized to what it would probably be outside of a fet context (most people can sneeze in public without feeling shame - which is the typical mode, lol. It's a normal bodily function). However, then the other character, motivated by their BF's anxiety and potential humiliation is prompted to caretake and comfort them, "approve" of the "shameful" act, and deepen the intimacy of the couple. They can also enjoy the embarrassment and the act voyeuristically while feeling their own discomfort about watching, then deal with either having to divulge the kink or be found out by their partner later (because consent is the sexiest thing, really). But I love my characters and I'm not into hardcore stuff so much, so there are almost never any consequences of the "humiliation" - the characters do not get caught out, they do not get shamed by society, they do not actually lose face or have to explain their sexual preferences to anyone who should not know them.

Now you know way too much about my psychology but also the basic formula for any kink story I have written or will write in my entire life. Yay! Cordes had leaned over to see the orb better in the firelight. He was the only one among them whose vision was hindered by the dim light. "What kind of artifact is this?" he asked. "It doesn't resemble anything I've studied."

Lol humans don't have darkvision. "I'm not sure." Llewellyn held it up to the torch. The orb lit up like a lamp, but otherwise nothing happened. "Whatever this chain is, though, it's very prone to tangling." He tried to shake it off his wrist and failed. This was a task for both hands, and he set to freeing himself. And kept trying. And trying. Gerrit frowned. "What are you doing? Cordes, would you get that off of him?" "Sure." The priest reached out to help, but Llewellyn suddenly backed away out of reach. "Uh... I'm not trying to steal it, elf." "Oh, I would let you take it," Llewellyn said, scowling. "But I have a feeling we would be in for some trouble if you touch it now." He held up both hands. His palms were wrapped around the crystal and bound with the ball in that thin gold chain. "I am... I'm stuck."

---

"STUCK," hooted Remembrance again. She was crouched at the entrance to the dungeon - a root-cellar-like set of doors they'd found in a small bandit settlement - and hauling out a heavy pack stuffed with loot. In the daylight, she looked menacing and out of place, her horns, dusky maroon skin tone, and black eyes setting her apart from this land's primarily human residents. "And you even said not to touch any curses!"

Jump cuts are funny! I love this kind of thing, honestly. It's some of my favorite humor - that and dramatic irony, which is also often depicted in visual media with a funny jump cut. "I recall you said so as well," said Cordes, who looked exactly like a run-of-the-mill human resident except for the star-like scar on his left temple. He reached down and grabbed Gerrit's hand, steadying the half-elf as he climbed out of the hole. Llewellyn was hanging uncomfortably on Gerrit's back, arms looped around the other man's neck. They'd tried to find a more dignified way to get him out of the dungeon, but he couldn't manage the ladder well enough without the use of his hands. "The artifact didn't react to my detection spell," sniffed Llewellyn disdainfully, and Gerrit was quick to set him down before that sniffing could become another sneeze. He didn't want to blush in front of the others.

Blushing is very appealing to me, so everyone blushes all of the time. "There must be someone in Veigh who can help you," Gerrit said. "We'll just swing by on our way to the capitol." The city was three days out of their way, but they couldn't have Llewellyn stuck this way for the two week trip back to their patron. With his hands bound, he couldn't cast any spells that required him to gesture, and that was almost all of them. He'd effectively rendered himself completely useless in combat. Veigh had a chapter of the Mages Guild in residence, though, and if no one there could help, they might at least be able to send Llewellyn on ahead via a transportation spell.

Let's go on a short tangent about names. Usually I name my characters using Babynames.com or similar sites and I pick based on the look, sound, and meaning of the names. For this little group, things were slightly more haphazard. Llewellyn is a Welsh name meaning "leader." I just happen to like this name already, but it also has a visual beauty and difficulty to pronounce on sight that lent it well to an elf character without me having to look up specifically elven names. When I make elf characters in D&D, I tend to give them a nickname or alias that is easy to remember and pronounce so that the name isn't a hindrance while playing the game.

Gerrit's name was picked based on sound. It is similar to the Welsh name Gareth ("spear ruler"), which is on purpose, but it was altered to make it a bit more fantastical/removed. It's appropriate for a fighter in meaning but also suits his more familiar/pedestrian half-elven experience vs. that of a noble elf.

Cordes was given a short name because he is a no-nonsense human, but I chose it to resemble that of conquistador Hernan Cortes because of the "holy invasion" and "treasure hunter" associations. Remembrance is named using the PHB's suggestion that tieflings often pick "ideal" names for themselves, and she has a complicated past (like most tieflings). "I will hope there is." Llewellyn looked pale and worn, though his fine features still exuded the otherworldly beauty of the high elves. His hair was a silky black, although mostly covered by his hood, and the contrast made his silver eyes look even more curious. He fumbled for a minute at his waist before scowling heavily. "I can't get into any of my bags, of course..." "What do you need?" asked Gerrit. Remembrance had started off through the trees, humming, her bulging pack swaying with her sinuous movements. Gerrit really didn't want to let her get too far ahead, not least because she was scary good at concealing herself in the foliage and might slip the party completely. However, Cordes was with her, and Llewellyn couldn't exactly fend for himself right now. "My handkerchief..." The elf's voice had gone wavery again, and Gerrit watched as his nostrils flared. Fuck.

Oho! Here is the plot and the kink conceit. Gerrit hurriedly patted his pockets until he produced his own handkerchief, or what he bothered with when necessary. It was a large square of flannel, rough around the edges. It wasn't embroidered or monogrammed like Llewellyn's, but he figured by now the flannel was a hell of a lot cleaner, and it was soft for an irritated nose. "Here, take mine."

Characters' belongings are also a good way to contrast their situations and personalities. I don't consider handkerchiefs particularly vital to my enjoyment of this kink, but they are a useful visual and I like to describe things. Small details like this are how you can worldbuild without having to do too much extra research. Llewellyn held out his hands plus the orb for it, breath hitching, but no matter how Gerrit tried to drape the cloth, it kept slipping off of the artifact. He supposed he could try to tie it around the-

This is just so funny to me XD Llewellyn made a desperate sound and tipped his head back, exposing the long line of his throat. His breath was coming in soft pants now. And he was raising the orb reflexively. Gerrit couldn't let him whack himself in the face again, so he did the only other thing he could think of. With one hand he reached out and took Llewellyn by the shoulder. With the other, he lifted the handkerchief and pressed it over the elf's nose. His fingers settled firmly on either side of Llewellyn's nostrils, and none too soon. After another half-hitch, Llewellyn ducked forward again with a quiet but insistent sneeze. "Happtsch!

One of the most pleasing sneeze sounds, tbh. Gerrit was sure he was beet red. “Bless you,” he mumbled. Through the cloth, Llewelyn’s nose felt hot, and any gentle pressure resulted in a bit of a squish. “Let me just…” "Whh- wait-" Llewellyn leaned into the handkerchief. "I'm nh- I'm not done hhH-" His eyes slipped shut and he gasped again. Gerrit swallowed and tried to ignore the tenting of his breeches. "R-roger that." He could feel Llewellyn's nostrils twitching against his fingers. "Hh...Haah- Hapttschuh! Snrk... Aptschiu!" His body rocked, and he took a half-step forward. Gerrit could hear the thick sound of congestion in the elf's nose as he tried to stave off another sneeze.

The desperation, talking through the sneezing, and congestion are all vital parts of this scenario. Unavoidable embarrassment + disgust factor + need for caretaking/mitigation. "Blow your nose," he said. "It will help." Llewellyn hesitated, but in the end, he had to comply. There was nowhere for the mucus to go except out. He started to blow with a gurgle.

I used to be really against mess, but the taboo/disgust part of the brain turns off psychologically a LOT during arousal and now I really do not find snz interesting without it. Snz without mess isn't embarrassing enough or visually exciting. Gerrit moved the hand from his shoulder to start rubbing Llewellyn's back. The handkerchief and his fingers were rapidly growing damp, but he really didn't mind. "There you go." He held the handkerchief to Llewellyn's nose until the elf moved back on his own. His nose was red and tender looking, and his cheeks were flushed rosy. He didn't seem to want to meet Gerrit's eyes. Gerrit didn't mention it. He didn't really want to look at Llewellyn either right now. It had been a while since the elf had looked so very fuckable.

Potentially due to my propensity to write fanfic about established ships, all of my OCs apparently have a history or mutual attraction out of the gate. On one hand, it's difficult just mechanically to write a scenario about a romantic or sexual encounter without there being chemistry and an excuse for them to already want to rub bits (obviously), especially in short stories, but I also cannot stand the thin veneer of situational causality that underlies porn (to borrow from Cards Against Humanity). If I can't care about my characters' lives outside of the one random fetish scenario, I can't care enough to write about them at all. He put the handkerchief in an easily-accessible outside pocket of his vest. "Ready to go?" Llewellyn coughed lightly. "Yes." "Excellent." Gerrit gestured for Llewellyn to precede him, and the two of them headed out through the trees, following the sounds of Cordes negotiating the underbrush and swearing about it. --- Travel proved easy enough once they made it to the road. They were fortunate not to meet anyone else along the way. The party could handle a group of bandits without their sorcerer, but they had their treasure to worry about, and Remembrance always drew stares, and sometimes aggression, even from normal travelers. Gerrit thought her skills more than made up for the extra negative attention they drew. And anyway, Remembrance was crazy but she wasn't evil. She did better out on the road than in town, but that was probably true of all of them. Llewellyn kept up with her pace, but it was clearly a struggle. He was usually fairly quiet, but he didn't speak at all as they walked, focusing on breathing and not devolving into coughing or more sneezing. There were a few times when Gerrit hastily reached into his pocket, at the ready, but Llewellyn fought back the itch with admirable determination. He kept his nose from running by sniffling heavily, which sounded somewhere between awful and revolting. Cordes commented on it multiple times with disgust, but nothing could be done. Llewellyn held his tongue, and Gerrit was reluctant in this case to offer the handkerchief without being asked.

Cordes is here providing the societal reaction and voice of reason lol, but there still aren't any consequences or shaming from them. I just imagine how fricking uncomfortable it would be if people acknowledged this porn scenario happening in-world and so that is never part of the story development. They found a place to camp about half an hour outside the small village of Tewks. Remembrance cleared out some brush to make a flat area for the bedrolls and then promptly decided she'd rather sleep in a tree with everything she owned. She found a good, solid oak a few yards from the camp and ensconced herself in the crux of its branches. She had a good view of the road in either direction and volunteered to take the second watch in the middle of the night, which was her favorite time. Gerrit agreed to take the first watch as Cordes started to set up his tent. The priest refused to sleep on the ground and always took an extra fifteen minutes to erect a curious one-person canvas canopy. It wasn't even large enough to sit up inside, but whatever. The priest never asked anyone else to haul it along, so Gerrit wouldn't complain.

Remembrance and Cordes are thus handwaved away from the sexual center of the plot and they will neither see nor hear anything they aren't invited to. These arrangements left him and Llewellyn alone together on one side of the fire, and he supposed that was preferable during the orb situation anyway. Llewellyn couldn't handle his own bedroll, help with the fire, or unpack any of their supplies. Gerrit realized he would probably have to help the elf eat, too. And... Well, when he noticed Llewellyn fidgeting uncomfortably, Gerrit took him out into a thicker copse to see to his other needs. They didn't talk about it... Llewellyn could hardly undo his own buttons, though, and it wasn't the first time Gerrit had taken over.

I am very into watersports, so it creeps in, although I don't think there's a friendly community out there for that like there is for snz, so I haven't developed any kind of presence for it. It appeals to me for pretty much all of the same reasons as described above. Maybe someday I will start writing those kinds of stories on this account as well, but I don't know if they would find an audience, so maybe not. By the time the fire was hot enough to cook over, Llewellyn had tucked himself up to sit on a tree stump, exuding an aura of furious self-reproach. Cordes took some jerky into his tiny tent with him - for some reason. Gerrit made up two bowls of pottage and sat himself on the ground at the roots of the stump. He put one bowl on the ground for himself and then held up the other. "Hungry?" "Not particularly," Llewellyn replied, voice blunted with congestion. He coughed. "But you're going to make me eat something, aren't you." "I'd prefer you do it willingly." Gerrit tapped the spoon on the side of the bowl. "Come on. It's hot. You'll feel better." Llewellyn growled in a manner more suited to orcs than elves. "I feel like an invalid." Gerrit sighed. "Well, if it makes you feel better, we can pretend you lost your arms in an owlbear attack very tragically." He could feel Llewellyn's fiery glare on him and smiled a little. "Look, we've all done stupid things while adventuring. I'm sure you remember when I tripped and knocked myself out on that knight's shield during the tournament." "I remember," replied the elf, begrudgingly. "Besides, you're sick on top of the whole orb thing. Maybe your detection spell wasn't sensitive enough. Maybe the thing's not even cursed! Maybe it's supposed to do this, and we just don't know why." "I have a hard time believing that. What possible purpose could this serve?"

Porn! Gerrit shrugged. "Don't ask me. Dad says my mother was a druid, but I haven't got a magical bone in my body." He tilted his head. "We could always try smashing it?" Llewellyn's rejection was forceful. "Do you want to explode?!" Gerrit chuckled. "Not really." Llewellyn sighed. Gerrit held out a spoonful of pottage. Feeding both Llewellyn and himself was a bit difficult, but Gerrit did well enough when he could alternate. It would be better if he could use both hands equally like Cordes, but he couldn't, and so he didn't. He just thought about it wistfully as he worked. Llewellyn ended up eating most of his bowl, then went back to sitting quietly and sniffling. Gerrit finished the rest and put the utensils aside to deal with later. And... Even though Llewellyn hadn't asked, he drew out his handkerchief again.

More caretaking, more intimacy. Gerrit is a kind and loving person even though he's a fighter by trade. "Hey," he began, trying not to sound awkward. "You wanna blow your nose?" No one else was paying attention and Llewellyn didn't need to inhale any more of that crap. The elf gave him a shitty side-eye. "Come on," said Gerrit. "Don't be like this." He patted the ground in front of him encouragingly as if Llewellyn was a recalcitrant cat. "I'm fine," said Llewellyn, and then betrayed himself with a quick breath. "Hah--" "Come on," Gerrit repeated, "before you make a mess."

He is also pretty comfortable talking about a lot of things that people with the fetish have generally admitted difficulty acknowledging. This is because even though he's the one with the fetish in this, he is also the "Padgett" character and practical and not caught up in the anxiety prison. Llewellyn came down off the stump to sit in front of him, legs tucked underneath, and rested the orb on Gerrit's thigh to balance himself. His eyes were pinched with reluctance, but Gerrit could see that the elf's nostrils were already damp. "Hah- hh- hurry," Llewellyn gasped.

People should sit in each other's laps. It's good. Again, Gerrit reached out with the handkerchief, enfolding his companion's nose. He could feel Llewellyn's breath fluttering against his hand through the fabric and hear quite clearly how it kept catching on congestion. "Hah-hngk- Hahgkttscht!" Llewellyn ducked forward with the force of it and Gerrit steadied him with a hand on his hip. "Ngkttsch! Hnggktxch!!"

The sneezes now involve nasal consonants because of congestion. Sometimes people tend to have a certain way their sneezes always sound, and I try to maintain that, but these details are important to show a change in the severity of the cold (and evidence of sniffling for hours). Gerrit bit his lip sharply to keep from saying anything, but his body was singing with arousal. Llewellyn hiccupped a short gasp and Gerrit pulled the handkerchief away to present a clean corner. The current spot had become soaked and silvery. "Bless," he managed after a moment, and he carefully readjusted the cloth. "Are you going to sneeze again?"

Hiccupping is also sexy and cute. Also I spelled that wrong in the original, gdi... Llewellyn nodded, eyes teary with the effort of the first bunch. Gerrit wasn't surprised; the elf had been holding back since they left the dungeon. He couldn't imagine it had been comfortable, but Llewellyn had his pride. He never would let Gerrit give him love bites either. Annnd Gerrit was going to have to stop thinking about that. "Haptsch!" Easier said than done. Really. But Llewellyn's comfort came first.

Voyeur with a heart of gold. "Hahkptsch!" The sorcerer groaned softly. "Hah- hh- Hgnaptscxhx!" Gerrit did his best to assist Llewellyn through the fit. He kept the handkerchief secure, moving it when necessary to keep it dry enough. He steadied the elf when the sneezes bent his body or when he felt faint from lack of breath. He even massaged Llewellyn's nose for him when he was trying to blow it and the congestion was stubbornly refusing to move. By the time he felt finished enough to lean back, Llewellyn was flushed and light-headed, swaying where he sat. Gerrit was sweating and needed a towel. "........Thanks," murmured Llewellyn, eventually.

Sometimes kink authors tend to just write out like twenty sneezes in a row and I hate that, honestly. (No shade - I don't even have an example in mind because I don't read a lot of stories anymore and everyone has their preferences.) I just think that the kink should support the storyline and not the other way around. The story should be enjoyable and sexy but have a narrative structure and coherent rising and falling action. Even if a fit is a sexy scenario (it is), trying to make your eyeballs power through a repetitive series of nonsense syllables is counterproductive and takes the reader out of the story and into the realm of annoyance, which disrupts arousal as well. "Yeah," said Gerrit. "Sure." He swallowed. "Let's wash up." He helped Llewellyn to his feet and they went a little way to a creek (generously; it was little more than a ditch through the woods). Gerrit gently washed Llewellyn's face, careful of his tender eyes and nose, and sent him back to camp to lay down for the night. He lingered at the water's edge to wash the handkerchief and, well, to take other matters in hand.

If ya know what I mean. Llewellyn was completely out when he returned, and Gerrit was grateful. He smoothed the elf's bangs back and then settled beside the fire to take watch. The woods in the dark were full of the sounds of insects and small animals moving in the undergrowth. And Llewellyn snoring and sniffling in his sleep. Safe sounds. Gerrit rested his chin on his hand and looked toward the road. Damn orb. It was going to be a long way to Veigh.

And this was getting long, so this is where I cut it to make part 2, which I will also commentate in a bit (hopefully after a nap =___=). Thanks!

[theartofbeinganeldar]

The Art of Being an Eldar: Legolas x Reader Prologue

Summary: You're a fantasy-loving, LARPing human from this world, who's the black sheep of society because of your obsession for the unreal and alienation of what's real. When you're in the middle of a LARP battle with some pretty phony boars, you fall out of a tree and bust your head. You wake up, alone, and are suddenly attacked by some very pissed-off, very real wargs. Without any idea of how you got there, you got dropped into Middle-Earth, with only bits and pieces of memories of Tolkien's masterpiece, though your recollection of everything else is perfectly clear. And of all places in Middle-Earth, you got dropped into Mirkwood, with some suspicious, potentially hostile, Woodland Elves...

Chapter No.: Prologue

Key: [Y/N]=Your Name [F/N]= Friend's Name [B/N]= Bro's Name [S/N]= Sis's Name [M/N]= Mom's Name [e/c]= eye color [h/c]= hair color [s/c]= skin color

Notes: So, this is my first fanfiction on tumblr, and I'd thought I'd try it since I have very little time for DeviantArt's chaos. It's much different from my Legolas x Reader on there. I added a small loving family to make the emotions relatable-- even if you don't have siblings, or have more than what I added, it's just fanfiction! Also, I tried to make my pronouns for said reader gender-nuetral so that everybody can enjoy it! The reason your character is so wild is for the sake of not fitting in to this world, yet you're used to it, so that later points in the plot can become more... Well, you'll see. And yes, I made Elves pansexual because I don't think they'd care much about gender or age at that point. LARPing plays a big role in the prologue, because your character is really into it for personal reasons. If this isn't your cup of tea, don't drink it. I hope you like it! Feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Warnings: Fluff, angst, graphic depictions of gore and violence (Cuz of orc battles y'know?), more angst, slow burn, some light depression in the first few chapters, some amnesia about Middle-Earth because the Valar say you're not supposed to have foresight, hard-core language, feels, lots and lots of feels, mentions of NSFW content, maybe some eventual NSFW content, LGTBQ+ characters, Thranduil being a jackass at first because he's fabulous, Legolas being a hot edgy prince that nobody can handle, Kili being an innocent bean, Hobbits being smol innocent beans, except for Bilbo 'cause he's been through some tough shit, Bard being dad of the year, Thorin being one dumbass boi, awesome dragons, awesome Nazgul, awesome scenery, awesome stuff in general, Elrond isn't listened to by anybody, confused Aragorn is confused,  Denethor's a bitch as always, brace yourself for creepy as fuck Cream of Wormtongue Grima Wormtongue, Boromir lives, Gandalf. (yes these are all legit warnings don't judge me.)

Pairings/Ships: Legolas x Reader, Legolas x you, Aragorn x Arwen, Faramir x Eowyn, Thranduil x Elvenqueen, Galadriel x Celery Celeborn, Boromir x OC, Thorin x OC, Fili x OC, etc. general LoTR standard shippings plus some of my own cuz I can't stand my boys being lonely

Word Count: I try to keep my chapters short, under 2000 words.

Rating: Teen (14+) for now

You'd never been considered normal by anyone. You enjoyed LARP instead of reality. Your "job" was just staying at home and captioning videos all day every day you weren't LARPing instead of interacting with society at a normal job. Your home? A tiny studio apartment that only cost $450 a month without bills, and you did without cell phone, car, and electric for the sake of being your weird self. You hadn't been to college yet, despite the fact that everyone told you to go once your gap year was over, and it almost was. What would you even study? Acting was all that got you close to who you were, so, ok, guess that's fine, but nobody else thought of that as a career. Maybe you could write fiction-- you were good at that much.

You weren't always like this. There was a time when you were just a normal kid, living a normal life. But somewhere around ten, you started to change, and by sixteen you'd become who you were today. If the Old You could see the New You, you weren't sure if they'd think you were weird too, or if they'd stare up at you in awe.

Hopefully it was the latter, which made you feel good.

I mean, come on, were you born in the wrong timeframe or what?! That's what you thought, anyway. There's no way that this world was for you. The fact that nearly all people were heartless jackasses that enjoyed destroying the planet, the fact that everybody had to be the same or were considered freaks, prejudice and injustice were key factors of life and the rich got handed everything on a silver platter while the poor had to scavenge... Just, everything of this reality made you hate it. If only you'd been born five hundred years earlier, or, y'know, in Game of Thrones or Lord of the Rings...

You'd really liked to have been born in Middle-Earth. You had so many books about it, you knew practically everything there was to know, even the confusing shit about Faramir being in the Fall of Gondolin. You'd practically memorized Elvish, and dwarvish, and you knew the whole six movies by heart, every line. And of course, like most Lord of the Rings fans, you had a massive crush on a certain Elvish princeling who was too pretty for his own good. In fact, Legolas was who inspired you to learn archery; maybe one day you'd be as good as he was.

Despite your wishes, you were stuck in reality, however much you hated it

. Even amongst your LARP groups, you were considered outlandish.

Everybody else had normal lives outside of their games, whereas you pretended this was your life. You didn't have any job aside from the small caption jobs you did when you weren't LARPing, no social life, nothing. The only people you had was your mother, brother, sister, and your only friend, [F/N]. They accepted you and your strange fantasies, even if they thought you'd one day regret acting in a way when you could've been beginning a normal life and being productive.

So excuse you if you decided to invite them to a LARP event and let them borrow some of your costumes. It wasn't the end of the world. But your LARP group apparently didn't get that memo.

"You invited your mom?!" A royal asshole sneered, yet you took satisfaction in the fact that his knight costume looked like it was made of cardboard painted silver, whereas your sci-fi Elf getup was actual leather and cloth. His name was Jacob Brent; you'd never really liked him. He'd always had it out for you because your costumes were so much more fabulous than his. Plus you may or may not have actually known swordplay and archery and dagger throwing and martial arts... Kinda. You were still in the process of learning kickboxing.

You cocked a sky blue-- yes, sky blue-- eyebrow to your equally bright blue hairline, spiked up in a short faux hawk. This was your first sci-fi Elf, and you'd wanted to go all out. A cocky grin split its way across your face. "Yeah, so? It doesn't effect you on any level, Tin Can."

He sniggered with his cronies. "I can't believe you don't have anyone else to come with you." He mimicked rubbing his eyes like he was four. "'Oh Mommy, I need somebody to come with me!'" His whole group burst into laughter.

You surprised them by joining in, actually appluading. "Oh, wow! Wonderful, just wonderful! Hey, should I tell Mindy that I seen you feeling up Roxie behind your fort last week?" He paled, and almost everybody in his group of crappy cosplay got 'o' faces. You put your hands on your hips. "Guess what, asshole, just 'cause I'm close with my family and you're not with yours doesn't make it a crime to hang out with them. It's my life, my decision, and I enjoy spending time with them." You hefted up a disappointingly fake spear, turning to walk away. "Oh, and by the way, your paint's chippin' off."

Reason for Hating Reality Number 6, 965: Immaturity levels are almost incomprehensibly high.

Your mom glared daggers at Jacob's Immaturity Harem. She'd always been a tough gal, always sticking up for you when you got bullied when you were younger, but now that you were an adult, she had to let you kick ass yourself; you were pretty good at it. "I don't like him." She stated casually, and you chuckled.

"'Course you don't. He looks like a cheesy robot costume you'd get from Wal-Mart with a too-big crotch protector that's not impressing anyone but himself, and he has the face of a roasting pig. Too tanned, too grubby, and always with something in his mouth."

She smiled slightly. "Has he always been giving you trouble?"

You swung your gear pack off of your shoulder, letting it yank itself down to earth. "Since the day he tried kissing my ass 'cause he didn't know me." [F/N] must've overheard that last sentence, because he burst into laughter when he approached with your brother, [B/N], and your sister, [S/N]. "You talking about Jacob?"

"Sure as hell."

You'd first met [F/N] a year ago, when you'd joined extra-curricular activites for your last year of high school. He thought your personality was incredibly brave, especially in this modern world, but even still... He was just a friend, not a best friend. You'd never had that luxury outside of your tiny family. You just didn't trust him after the life you'd had.

Unfortunately, it seems they didn't like the getups. "Do I have to wear this?" [B/N] asked dramatically, slumping over. He didn't look right in the pauldrons and leather breastplate.

"It's too heavy!" [S/N] complained.

You sighed theatrically. "My piteous children, deal with thy armor, for it must be worn despite thou complaints."

[B/N] pressed his palms together and bowed down. "Screweth thou, false companion."

You mimicked his bow. "Off to hell with thee."

"Hey! You guys! It's starting!" [F/N] cried, and ran off, his pack of weapons and magic bags trembling dangerously on his back. The rest of you followed more slowly, as you explained to your family how exactly LARPing worked. Battles weren't actually bloody, magic was just colored powder, you get points for a hit, and so on and so forth. [B/N] and [S/N] got it immediately, but your poor mom, who hadn't even ever played Skyrim, had no idea how the point system and leveling up worked. You had to explain it six times over before you'd reached the massive gathering of LARPing cosplayers. [F/N] returned to you as you reached it, carrying a map. "We were in Larsgyushter Prairie last, right?"

"Duh," You shrugged, at the same time [S/N] asked with a grimace, "Luckyestire Prairie?"

[F/N] inclined his head. "Well, I made some arrangements because your family joined us. We made for Glewnburg, where we picked up their characters, and then headed into the Elder Woods."

You took the map. "Sounds fair enough."

[S/N] frowned. "What exactly were you guys doing last time?"

[F/N] blushed; he must've liked her, which made you feel proud and like pummeling him all at once. "A quest to defeat a horde of wildebors in order to get a good amount of gold."

"How much?"

"Four hundred."

Your mom seemed confused. "Is that a lot?"

"For the land of Sisgremor," You retorted, "Not much. But it's enough for us. We hunt for food, and sleep in the woods. It's summertime, so we don't have much need for shelter unless it storms, and we know where to find caves. The coin is for some new bits of armor, and some weapon upgrades and a couple of magic books for [F/N]."

"Oh," Your mom said, and you took the lead, getting into your Elven character with a huge grin on your face.

"Come, my children! We must meet the bors by midday!" You ran off, but you didn't miss the looks over half of the LARP community gave you.

~le time skip~

The one thing you didn't like about LARPing was the enemies. They weren't believable and were crappily dressed, at least in your community. They were crappy actors and their dying acts were unrealistic. Unless they were orcs that had good makeup skills and good cosplay, they weren't worth fighting, but you had an imagination to kick them up a notch.

As always, the wildebors were just some guys in black outfits decorated with needles, and wearing pig masks with an underbite bearing tusks. Your imagination knocked them to eight-feet long beasts with bloodstained tusks, wild red eyes, and porcupine-like needles that shot out of their near-impenetrable hides if provoked.

You'd only fought these beasts once. They had three separate healthbars, each a different strength: eight hundred, four hundred, and one hundred. Your spear-- the only weapon you could afford after your bow snapped (Poor prop craftsmanship.), had a damage rate of ten health per hit, thirty if you could make a three-combo move (The highest combo move allowed.).  [F/N]'s magic bombs, bolts of energy, and other magic stuff only varied from ten to fifty health damage per hit, except for his Fyrering, which was a once-a-day power that was ninety health damage, plus a three minute window of burning which took ten damage every thirty seconds.

The boars were also viscious; one hit from them took around fifty health, and at level nine, you and [F/N]'s health bars were only at two hundred and fifty, plus your armor rating of fifty and his of twenty. Your family, however, were only at level one, with a one hundred strength health bar each and armor ratings varying between ten and fifteen.

In short: that meant a hell of a lot of hits, very little openings, and there were always numbers to consider. There were six of them, and five of you. If you had your bow, this would be easy. You'd climb a tree, avoid their needles, and fire your twenty-five damage arrows relentlessly (With the thirty plus bonus from your actual bow.) while [F/N] pelted them with magic. You could take down two, maybe three that way before retreating, waiting for your strength to regenerate and your undamaged arrows to "respawn" before coming back for more battling (The arrows don't actually exist, for safety reasons. You had to wait for ten minutes before an approximated number of arrows, determined previously by the quest-giver, "reappeared" in your "inventory.").

But you had to think of a new plan. A brand new plan. You had three level one novices, two level nine intermediates, and six angry-as-hell wildebors that were level twenty. This was an impossible quest. You should never have accepted it knowing your family was coming.

You were hiding behind a huge oak, and glanced around it; for a split moment, you saw the crappy actors, but your mind quickly fixed that. Above and to your immediate right, [F/N] hid behind a mound of boulders up on a hill, and you'd positioned your family similarly. You just couldn't see them. [F/N]'s hand waving caught your attention. Frantically, he pointed above you. You whipped your head up, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. You gave him a look like WTF dude, and he rolled his eyes. He picked up a rock as an example and pointed back up into the branches, but still, you didn't see anything. He gestured again, almost forcefully, and this time, you seen it: brightnuts, a specialized kind of walnut bred specifically to explode into a bright white light on impact, with dangerous shrapnel and poisonous fumes that had one hundred and fifty health damage.

Of course, in reality, they were just blue and white beanbags hanging in nets rigged all over the branches, but you pretended they weren't.

But still, perfect.

You'd start calling out orders as soon as you started throwing them. [F/N] knew how to improvise to a plan already, but your family didn't. You propped your spear up on the tree, and started climbing, wincing when the bark scraped your palms; you were wearing what'd used to be white bridal gloves, but you'd tinkered with them to match your costume, sewing sky blue patterns into the gloves.

You personally didn't make a sound, but a couple of leaf-covered branches fell; luckily, wildebors were mostly deaf and blind, so you should make it to the top of the tree without any consequences.

You flashed [F/N] a triumphant smile when you reached the topmost branches, snatching a bag of brightnuts and holding them high above your head. He shot you a double thumbs-up, then made a wheel-like gesture to get you to move on. You stuck your tongue out at him, then readjusted yourself on the branch to get a good aim.

A few seconds of struggling against the knot, and you'd gotten the net open. With barely a minute of hesitation, you drew your arm back, and fired. Your aim was almost perfect. You hit one of the wildebors in the side, and you seen the actor as he started the most over-acted reaction you'd seen yet: a violent jump, then what sounded like a deranged "Guuuugh!" You rolled your eyes. So dramatic.

Either way, [F/N] whooped behind you. "Hit! A hit!"

Before you could give any orders whatsoever, [B/N] charged down the hill with his realistic-looking wooden battleaxe bellowing a war cry. You slumped over. "Aw, shit."

In the blink of an eye, [B/N] was officially dead but still pummeling the poor actors, your mom didn't know what to do, [F/N] didn't realize what was happening from behind his rock, and [S/N] was dodging air like a boss. You waited on the branch until the coach of the actors stood, took off his mask, and blew his whistle.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! You with the axe! You died already! Come on everybody, regroup, come on..." Your mom and [S/N] were laughing it off with a couple of the actors, but [B/N] was having a heated argument with the rest of them, and they were starting to shove each other around; he'd always been a sore loser. The coach separated them, and [F/N] called to you from below. "Guess we failed this quest, huh?"

You shrugged. "It's all good. There are other, less dangerous quests."

He perked up. "Yeah, so hurry up and get down here! We've gotta get back to Glewnburg!"

You tossed the beanbag you'd had in your hand back into the net. "Comin'." Unfortunately for you, you were a bit of a show-off. You stood, stretching your arms out for balance, walking quickly and carefully across the bough. A loud snap that echoed through the forest silenced everyone: your sudden movements had weakened the branch down the middle, where a split was slowly cracking open.

"Oh shit." Did I have to choose the top branch?

Everything seemed to be in slow motion as you fell. Your ribs exploded with pain as you slammed into a slightly lower branch full-force. Your ankle snapped. Your arms were whipped and bruised. Your head cracked painfully across the thick, unmoveable base of one branch, and white and yellow dots burst in your vision. Your sight started to fade, as did the pain, until you met the ground with a dull thud.

I should've went to college.

~time skip~

When you woke up, the first thing you realized was, Hey, I woke up! I'm alive! which was immediately followed by, Holy fucking shit what the fucking hell did I break, then a much more painful thought of Why the fuck am I still in the goddamn forest? 

And you were. You were laying on your side, in a couple of very small but still immensely terrifying pools of drying blood, one of which came from the corner of your mouth. Your entire body throbbed painfully. Every breath you took caused sharp, white-hot pains to spiderweb across your entire torso. Your ankle was burning up, and you couldn't move it or your left arm. Your head felt like you'd been hit by a truck. A truck made of solid wood...

Why were you still in the forest? You knew your mother well enough to know that she've panicked. She'd've screamed your name and ran to you and called 911 immediately. [F/N] would've done the same. In fact, there was no reason why they wouldn't have called for a medic. You fell from the equivalent of a three-story building with poles sticking out of it.

By all accounts, you should be near death.

So why were you still in the forest, exactly where you'd fell?

With immense effort, you rolled onto your back, panting heavily and wincing against the pain. Your vision swam, and things were blurry. The trees were different; the tree where you'd fallen from was tall and branchless for most of the way up, and definitely not an oak. To boot, there weren't any nets full of beanbags, and your spear was gone. Behind you was  a cliff with an outcropping of rock that looked similar-- but not the same-- to the one [F/N] had been behind. There were roots and underbrush and bushes and walls of thorny branches surrounding you, and in between the ground was filled of orange and gold fallen leaves; up in the canopy, which hadn't been as thick before, the leaves were all dressed for Fall. You stared at it in confusion. "What the hell?" Shit. Even that hurt.

Where were you? Why weren't you in an ambulance with the sirens blaring? You were pretty positive you'd broken quite a few bones, and from that fall, you couldn't not have internal bleeding. So where were you?

You waited, but no one came. When the sky started to darken and the pain began to worsen, you were forced to move, slowly getting up, inch by inch, until you'd managed to be in a sitting position. It felt like all the blood rushed from your head and torso, making you cold in the evening chill. You hugged your right arm to your chest, really wishing you'd've worn arm cuffs or something; your short, high-collared, sleeveless, sky-blue leather jacket over a thin white crop top and a black corset-style belt really weren't meant for chilly weather.

"Hello?" You called out. Your voice carried on, but you got no return call. Blood trickled down your chin from where your lips had rebusted; you were lucky you hadn't bit your tongue off or shattered teeth. "Hey! Help!" Still, nothing. "Hey!"

After a twenty-minute bout of screaming for help, you gave up. You were confused-- so, so, confused. Where were you and why were you here? Where was your family? Where was [F/N]? Where was the coach, and those shitty actors? Hell, where was the rest of the LARP group? You'd even be relieved if Jacob appeared out of nowhere.

The moon had risen by the time you’d made it to your feet. Your ankle wasn't as bad as it was earlier; you could put some weight on it now, even if it wasn't a lot. You must've only sprained it. You tried calling for help a few more times, but only the crickets replied.

Then, they went silent.

You frowned. In books and movies, that was usually a bad sign. What'd caused them to shut up so abruptly? Not aliens, you hoped, like in Signs.

A low growl from behind you-- behind you, dammit-- made your skin crawl. A chill ran down your spine. You turned, slowly, hoping you wouldn't aggravate the wolf or coywolf or whatever it was; it wasn't either of those.

It stood on top of the small cliff, and it was at least the size of a horse. A boar-like coat, dull brown, covered its entire body, spotted in places. Its head was broad and massive, bearing an underbite of fangs and small beady eyes. Drool fell from its jaws as it snarled at you. You were half tempted to try the "Nice doggie" before you seen the rider.

Damn, it was ugly as hell. Small, malformed, with dark green skin and a crooked nose. Greasy, thin hair hung from its wrinkled scalp. Nasty claws protruded from its wart-covered fingers and dug into the horn of some kind of saddle. It sneered with an evil grin, and a mouthful of sharp teeth.

You didn't know what else to do; you took off running at full speed, ignoring the pains shooting up your leg from your sprained ankle. Branches and weeds whipped your skin, trailing blood. You glanced back once. The monster-- which you knew was an orc-- and the giant dog that you couldn't place the name of watched you for a couple of moments more before the orc gave a sharp order in a language you didn't understand, but it felt familiar. Two more of the giant dogs burst from the bushes on either side of the first, and they did give chase. Shit, were they what'd happened to your family? Some whackjob dressed as an orc riding a pitbull on steroids mauled everybody?!

You pushed yourself to run faster. Your heart pounded in your ears. Adrenaline rushed through your veins. Each step jarred your aching body, but you couldn't stop. The dogs were enjoying the chase, keeping their strides slow enough to still be on your heels, but not close enough to get you yet. A new sound-- a river, maybe-- gave you hope, and you tried to move even faster, your lungs burning from the strain.

It was a river you'd heard, but it was down a steep hill filled of arching roots and thorny bushes. You didn't have time to stop; you barreled forward, tripped, and rolled the rest of the way, hurting your body even further. By the time you reached the pebbly shore (With all of the sharp edges of the rocks jabbing into you unnecessarily.), the dogs were halfway down, the orcs riding them laughing like hyenas.

You couldn't swim, but you'd rather take your chances with the river than with the giant pitbulls. You waded in, and were immediately swept off your feet by the strong current. It dragged you under, and you were bashed into some boulders, getting cut up badly. One slammed into your hip, nearly causing you to suck in. Another rammed into your already-broken ribs, and this time, you did scream, getting a huge gulp of water. A crimson cloud engulfed you as something long and sharp burst through your calf. You were pushed up against another boulder, and you grabbed on, hauling yourself out of the water and hanging on for dear life, hacking and coughing out the water that'd filled your lungs.

The dogs had chased you up the shoreline, and the orcs carried shortbows with arrows of dark wood. A glance down and, sure as fuck, they'd hit you with one in the calf, dammit. You looked ahead of you: rapids, a slow and drawn-out death. Ahead of you, probably a very painful death, but hopefully it'd go faster than drowning while being battered to a lifeless corpse.

I should've gone to college.

You squeezed your eyes shut tight and braced yourself for the next arrow, but you were pretty much forced to open them again when you heard the sound of dogs yelping and orcs wailing. One of the dogs was dead, neck slashed open and pouring blood onto the rocks. It had landed on its rider, who struggled beneath its weight. The other dog had taken off, but its rider had an arrow jutting out of its face.

A troop of warriors, clad in forest-colored tunics of dark browns, greens, and grays had appeared in the second you'd closed your eyes. Every one of them had long, straight hair, braided away from their faces. Most had a quiver of arrows and a longbow, but some, like the one who'd killed the dog, had a curved longsword. Others still had long knives. Compared to the dark orcs, these people seemed to almost be made of light...

Oh shit.

Elves. These were Elves.You could see it clearly now, in the way they carried themselves: regal, majestic, every move perfectly balanced and smooth. Their ears were pointed, but not drastically like the ones from Zelda, and they were taller than most average men. You were in awe.

These were some damn good actors.

No, they couldn't be actors. That clicked, finally. Especially when you were able to see the one that'd killed the dog slice off the struggling orc's head cleanly and deftly before kicking it into the river. Thankfully, it didn't come near you.

Shit. These were real orcs, real giant bloodthirsty dogs, real Elves... This was all real. But how...?

You heard the sound of a bowstring being pulled taut, much closer to you. You couldn't exactly whip around in your current state, but you still moved as fast as you could. Another Elf, standing on the flat rocks halfway across the river, no less than thirty feet away. How the hell did he get there?!

After the initial shock passed, you realized there was an arrow nocked in the bow. You'd already felt one once in the last ten minutes, you didn't need to feel it again, so you stayed still. He watched you with eyes so blue you could see them from where you were. He was illuminated from the side by the moon, giving him an almost ethereal appearance. His hair was somewhere between platinum and very light blonde, and a quiver of orange-feathered arrows hung over two identical sheaths for ivory-handled long knives. His bow was almost as gorgeous as he was: dark wood engraved with golden leaf designs. His tunic was dark green, and you admired his fancy Elven belts and buckles and bracers for a second before your eyes were drawn back to his face, the profile of which was almost... Dished, in a way, like an Arabian horse's. Your eyes locked, and you felt as if you'd seen him somewhere before...

An Elf on the shoreline spoke, breaking the trance. You couldn't understand what exactly he said; you could've swore you knew some Elvish...

The Elf staring you down watched you for a minute longer, then jerked his bow toward you in gesture, shouting an order to one of his comrades. His voice sounded so familiar... It was on the tip of your brain... It was deep and soft and gentle and commanding all at once. You couldn't explain it. Two Elves followed his order, nimbly leaping from tiny rock to tiny rock to get to where he was, then past him, coming to you. Their weapons were sheathed, so you hoped they were going to help you instead of kicking you into the water or something.

Carefully, noticing how banged up you were, they grabbed you underneath of the arms and lifted you onto the flat rocks the blue-eyed Elf stood on, still ready to fire, and stepped back as you coughed up some water in a delayed reaction to nearly drowning.

When you finished, your eyes felt like they wanted to close on their own. You felt too tired, too weak, too pained... Despite that, you sat up, shivering in the chilly evening air. "Th-thank you..." With a start, you realized they might not even understand English.

"Who are you?" The blue-eyed Elf demanded. "Answer me quickly; do not think we cannot throw you back to the river."

Shit. Pressure. Suddenly you forgot your name for a split second. "I-I'm [Y/N]."

"What are you doing in these lands?"

"I was chased," You looked pointedly at the dog and orc.

The Elf watched you for a minute, judging you... He signaled. "Throw them back into the river." Suddenly, you were being dragged.

Aw, fuck. You struggled against the Elf's strong grips. "W-wait! I don't even know where I am! The last thing I knew I was playing a game with my family and I fell out of a tree! All of a sudden I'm being chased by giant dogs and being manhandled by a couple of Elvish pri--!" You were cut off by a bought of coughing that wracked your body so hard that you doubled in on yourself, pulling the Elves down with you. Your eyes widened when blood trickled out of your mouth, leaving crimson droplets on the rocks. Shit.

The blue-eyed Elf ordered something in their tongue, and the two dragging you halted on a dime. He finally decided to lower his bow a little, inspecting you. "Are there more of you?"

You shook your head; you were getting dizzy, and your vision was blacking out. "I-I don't know... I was alone when I woke up."

The Elves conversed in their own language for a few minutes, and the blue-eyed Elf finally came to the conclusion that you weren't much of a threat in your current state. He looked to the Elves on the shoreline, and gestured at one of the ones holding you, who then scooped you up bridal style, but like you were the ugliest bride he'd ever seen. "Und win'doheim!" Shouted the blue-eyed Elf, obviously the one in charge, and lead the progression back to the forest.

I should never have gotten out of bed today...

Despite the crazy situation, you managed to doze off a few times on the Elf that carried you, until a coughing fit or pain would wake you up. A fever spiked up as you crossed a bridge, and you were half out of it as you entered some kind of woody building surrounded by trees and rivers that you couldn't comprehend very well in your feverish state. You were panting and wheezing, and couldn't see straight. It all seemed so surreal, like you were viewing this from somebody else's perspective. This had to be a dream... A very vivid, very painful dream...

The last thing you remembered was Elvish chanting, golden and white lights surrounding you, and the silhouettes of the Elves. Your pain faded, and you fell into a forced sleep.

When you woke up, a breath of relief whooshed out of your lungs. It was a dream! It was all a dream! It was night, and your nighlight had gone out, but your hall light was still on. You turned over to see what time it was, but your nightstand was gone. So was your window, and shelves and desk and computer and all of your things. Your bed was different. Your relief dissipated to terror.

Fuck. It wasn't a dream.

You were in a small room. An orange-hued light came through the low doorway, and the dark walls were ridged, as if carved from the earth itself. You felt the remains of your injuries from earlier-- or days ago, you couldn't tell how much time had passed-- as throbbing remains. Your clothes were still ripped and bloodstained, and as you stood up, it felt like you were just coming off of the flu.

Wobbly, you staggered over to the doorway, hoping to find somebody that definitely wasn't an orc or Elf.

You slammed face-first into elaborately crafted iron bars.

Outside of them, fully-armored Elves patrolled on small ledges beside the spiraling rows upon rows of cells like yours. This was a dungeon.

...Well shit.

Tag List: @tesserphantom​ @thedragonghostofmordor​ @taurlel @hauntedsiriel

[peach-jaehyunie]

The Descent

Pairing: Lee Taeyong x OC, (minor) Johnny Suh x OC x OC, (former) Kim Taehyung x OC

Rating: 18+

Warnings: swearing, suggestive content, implied drug use

Pt. I

Words 4,263

Genre: Fantasy, Fallen Angel AU, slow burn

Synopsis: Vada spends her days working in a restaurant, letting all the desires of her true nature remain mostly unfulfilled. Where passion had once been in her life she is left with only half memories—secrets of her past that haunt her heart. A man with blue hair catches her attention he and his friend begin to ignite the feelings within her that have long been dormant.

You had known a man like that as a sophomore in college. He had been your dorm roommate’s boyfriend, and he had radiated an unfamiliar energy. He was ethereal and his aura pulled you in. One time you asked how he got the two scars on his back “I had my wings ripped off,” he joked. He was gorgeous, but one day he was just gone and your roommate curled up in her tiny bed to weep over everything Kim Taehyung had taken and given.

He had made you look twice when you had first seen him a month ago. He rode a bicycle and his blue hair ruffled in the wind, you couldn’t help but look at him—the ethereal beauty you had seen before in someone else. It had become routine to see him as you walked to work: he would fly past, his shirt billowing, sometimes followed by a hooded figure with downcast eyes on a longboard. Eventually, his eyes would catch yours as he passed: they were deep brown and calming, there was always a twinkle of hope to be seen in them for a fleeting moment as he sped by. You noticed days you didn’t see him, they felt slightly emptier and work would be lacklustre.

“Vada?” You snapped to attention as your coworker said your name,

“Yeah, sorry, what did you say?” You quickly replied as you went back to whisking a pastry cream twice as hard.

“Katerina needs to know what to put on the menu for the desserts this week.”

“Oh, um,” Devo had caught you at a bad time as you were daydreaming about a blue haired stranger. “I made a white cake filled with almond pastry cream between the layers and an Italian meringue icing; I have blood orange panna cotta setting right now, which will be served with a blueberry sauce...oh! I’m making trifle with the leftover cupcakes, and I’m going to make a chocolate cherry mousse and serve it in martini glasses.” You noticed that Devo didn’t write any of this down and braced yourself for when Katerina would inevitably come and nitpick your work. You furiously whisked in the eggs yolks and were relieved that the cream remained perfectly smooth as it took on a yellow hue. You felt as though you could probably whip up a triple batch of pastry cream in your sleep, so thinking about the two men that chose a bicycle and a longboard as their methods of transport in a hilly city like San Francisco kept your brain busy.

A handsome man caught your eye for a second as you walked home with your bag of groceries. His eyes met your gaze and you felt unable to turn away. A chill came over you and you felt that his eyes were enough to suffocate you in the crowded sidewalk, every step drew each of you closer together. You fought back a grimace as the street narrowed and the mass of people were forced closer together. You were able to force your gaze from him, but the stranger’s arm bumped into your shoulder as he walked past. The hair on your neck prickled, your stomach felt like ice; he felt wrong. You couldn’t shake the feeling of repulsion even when you got home and set your TJ’s bag on the counter and began to unpack it.

“Hey, Vada,” your roommate greeted you without even looking at you as she breezes from the bathroom, through the tiny living room, and into her bedroom before shutting her door. You could hear two voices through the door; Brian must have been over and now they were getting ready for a night out. You considered an evening spent at home alone: you weren’t much of a Netflix watcher, and a string of bad first dates had left you in a dry patch romantically. You couldn’t go out with Ana and Brian, because you had fucked Brian first and now it felt awkward because he wasn’t quite your sloppy seconds; he just mostly was.

You ate the dinner you had brought home in a to-go container from work; it was delicious and the flavours were balanced, an array of textures should have been enough to excite your palate, but tonight it felt as tantalizing as eating cardboard. You picked up a book; any attempts to read it failed as you continuously got up to scour the cupboards and fridge for anything attractive. You spent the evening fidgety and almost...hungry. It was an odd sensation, a mix of physical hunger; for food, excitement, sex—anything to pull you from the mundane— and an even deeper hunger: a yearning. You thought of the blue-haired man on the bicycle, a warm and pleasant feeling filled you. It was the exact opposite sensation that you had felt from the other stranger while walking home. A streetcar outside the window clanged and you rolled over in bed, irritated by its sound.

The next day the blue-haired man was not to be seen on the way to work. A somewhat familiar feeling of unfulfillment took hold of you upon reaching your apartment at the end of the day. While you got ready to out to a bar with Devo you remembered someone else filling you with that feeling before: warmth, hunger, and insatiability that you couldn’t describe. You flinched like a wounded animal when you recalled the sharp grip of guilt that had clawed at you in punishment for giving in to such base desires.

“Here, you look like you could use it,” Devo said, sliding you his Manhattan as he ordered another.

“A Manhattan?” You looked at him skeptically.

“Sophisticated; like me,” he immediately quipped “No, but seriously, what happened in the two hours since I last saw you?”

“I guess I’m just kinda bored and very lonely.” You take a sip of your drink, already regretting the lasting taste the alcohol leaves on your tongue and the cloying aroma it will leave on your skin.

“What about your roommate?”

“She’s out with Brian,” you weren’t jealous, or at least not of the Brian factor, but no one would have possibly known that from the way you gulped down the rest of your drink.

“The one you fucked first?” Asked Devo.

“Yes,” you replied with a laugh in his direction, “The one I fucked-first. I’m very generous that way, you know, bringing people together like that.”

You and Devo’s friend, Adrian (boyfriend, but Devo’s parents don’t approve and, no, he doesn’t want to talk about it) must nearly carry poor, drowsy Devo back to his little bachelor apartment. It’s tidy but dark; there’s enough room for two men in love as long as lavish amenities like oxygen aren’t that important to you. The only pieces of furniture are a bed, two bean-bag chairs in front of a TV sat on the floor and a table in the kitchen area that’s used as an extra counter when Devo is experimenting with a new culinary delight at home.

“Vada, let me walk you home,” Adrian tells you right after you two have put Devo in his bed.

“Sure, thanks,” you tell him. You like Adrian, but he proves to be a slow walker and a fast talker on the way home. He asks you what Devo is like at work—Devo is the first guy he’s gone out with since moving to San Francisco from Ohio.

“What brought you out here?” He’s young and curious: Devo is the mutual friend, but no one talks about your past because the parts you make public are boring and you keep all the gritty and smutty stories to yourself.

“UC Berkeley,” you sighed, but not audibly. “My dream school; I dropped out Junior year, first semester.”

“Shit, didn’t like it?”

“Nah, it’s a great school, it just wasn’t what I wanted at the time.”

“What did you do after that, I mean before working as a pastry chef?” Damn, could he walk any slower.

“Just kinda bummed it on what I had leftover from student loans,” Liar. Someone had gotten you a lucrative job as a stripper in a club off of Broadway. You thanked Adrian and quickly left him out on the street as you hurried up the two flights of stairs to your apartment. There wasn’t a sound from Ana’s room, but empty takeout containers sat on the counter illuminated in the dark kitchen by a strand of lights that hung above the sofa. Your mouth felt dry as your senses were suddenly overcome with the bass of loud club music and a hint of chemical cleaner to cover up the odour of spilled alcohol. Your skin felt sticky with sweat and your hands felt grimy from money—but when you opened your eyes it was just a little two-bedroom apartment in a house with a blue facade staring back at you. It was not special, it was not grand; there were fairy lights strung up and a half-dead cactus (too much water) in the corner. You could close your eyes and remember a room for special guests who wanted a private show...after they inhaled from a blue balloon they were too out of it to do anything more to than slip a hundred into your g-string.

That night you had a dream (or maybe it was a nightmare, but it wasn’t all bad) that you were back in your Berkeley dorm. You laid in the bed and felt warm and full, it felt like happiness but there was a dusting of excitement: a *secret*—which is sometimes just a cute word for a lie. Your limbs felt tangled and you could hear yourself whispering, which was strange because you felt that you were alone until Ally came in and saw you on your little bed and started crying as she shouted and threw items from her side of the room at you. She didn’t want your apologies—were they yours? The dream began to feel claustrophobic; Ally wouldn’t talk, only cry and push away any comforting hands and you could feel yourself standing there...were you apologizing? watching? All you knew was that guilt was suffocating you.

You felt him before you saw him. For the first time, you were aware that you weren’t the only one who looked at him as he passed by on his bicycle. His gaze was as welcoming as a lover’s kiss and his eyes still felt hopeful and warm. You thought (foolishly? hopefully?) that he only looked at you.

You saw him again the next morning and you brazenly returned his gaze: his eyes were like a deer’s, you wanted to spend hours staring into them because they felt safe, welcoming, nonjudgemental. His sharp jawline made your mouth water, but the small smile that broke from his beautiful lips made you feel warm and happy.

Devo came to where you worked in the kitchen to complain about the new line cook.

“Does he ‘Yes, Chef!’ too much for your liking?” You ask him with a straight face.

“No—“

“Oof, he reeks of Axe—“

“No,—“

“Does he have mutton chops like the last guy? Those were gross.” Devo often came to you to complain about the new staff. You enjoyed listing off his complaints about coworkers more than you would like to admit.

“This dude just...creeps me out. Like, he seems nice and everything, but fuck, this sounds ridiculous, I just get this really bad vibe from him, you know? It’s like bad...energy.” You stifled your laugh because Devo was so earnest.

“Well, I feel like I have to meet him now.” You say wiping sticky sugar from your hands and setting a timer on your phone.

“He’s nice! He just makes my skin crawl,” Devo nodded and laughed as he said this before heading back to his prep station.

“Behind, oven door!” You said loudly as you stepped onto the line to put a sheet of rolls on the oven.

“Oh, hey, Vada?” The chef addressed you,

“Yes, chef?”

“This is our new line cook, Johnny.”

The tall cook turned to you and despite having not seen his face before today you knew, you felt that he was the man on the longboard.

“Hey,” Johnny gave a small wave “Vada...I like that name, have I seen you somewhere before? You look really familiar.” He looked at your face intently for a moment before you spoke.

“Um, no I don’t think so. I haven’t worked at many restaurants before.” Being under his gaze felt like a microscope, but...it wasn’t a bad feeling. He shook his head as if to get rid of a thought.

“Well, it is nice to meet you, Vada.” Johnny offered his hand for you to shake. There was a strange and sudden internal pull when you grasped his hand and he must have felt it too by the way he smirked at you.

You couldn’t be sure that he was the longboard guy; when Johnny left work he left on foot to catch a tram. He was talkative and easygoing, behind his outgoing demeanour there seemed to lurk a sedate and tormented individual. You could only see it sometimes: it was there behind his eyes as he worked, sometimes it was written on his face for just a second before the jovial mask would return. Devo avoided him as best he could and Johnny (strangely) didn’t seem at all offended, regardless of how obvious Devo was.

“Drinks and staff night out at Gus’s tonight!” Katerina yelled into the kitchen as closing started. You quickly cleaned up your work station and grabbed a bucket of cutlery for polishing to help the servers get out faster. An hour later the group of you were turning out the lights and locking up, stuffing the split tips into a safe place to be spent later on. Gus’s Bar was a short walk and extremely casual and therefore suitable for a bunch of sweaty kitchen workers.

“First round is on me,” Katerina stated as she sat down at the bar and the old barkeep slowly approached while he was polishing a glass. He nodded and remained quiet as everyone placed their orders, never writing anything down, and began to make drinks more efficiently than you had ever seen in your life. The barkeep (possibly Gus) soon had a row of drinks up for all of you. As soon as Johnny downed his first in one go he exclaimed with a mischievous glint in his eye:

“Third round is on me!” He winked at you as you realized what that meant because no one had offered to buy a second round.

“I guess I’ll buy round two,” said one of the waitresses with a chuckle, her long, blonde waves shaking as she laughed. You felt pleasantly buzzed after round three, not really needing a lot more but also not anywhere near turning down an offer for another one. You ordered a whiskey sour—neat; this one you were paying for. You sat between Miles and Johnny at the bar: Miles was laughing at everything anyone said but paying you no mind because you just wanted to sit there and enjoy the feeling.

“I know where I know you from now,” Johnny spoke resting his arms on the bar comfortably.

“Oh yeah, where?” You grinned at him, unfazed.

“The Velvet Angel,” he said it loud enough that you knew you could only hear him, but you still felt that your heart stopped for a few moments. His eyes stayed on your face, but your thoughts raced and your mouth felt dry when you realized what this meant.

“How did you—“ you began licking your lips

“Don’t worry, I won’t say anything—it’s our secret.” He assures you upon noticing your hands shake as you tried to bring the whiskey sour to your mouth. You looked at him, blushing at how kind and welcoming his gaze seemed despite the fact you felt nearly like drowning. You wanted to run away...but you couldn’t, not from Johnny. Everything seemed foggy, but you finished your drink and ordered another. Adrian came and you felt the brush of his hand on your back as he said ‘hello’ and you thought you must have said something back but you couldn’t remember. Miles fell asleep with his head on the bar as Johnny comfortably nursed a beer on your other side. Strangers came and went, and one by one your coworkers left until it was just the three of you—two if you considering that Miles was passed out.

“Do you know where he lives?” Johnny asked you as he finally finished his beer.

“No,” you had to clear your voice as it cracked from disuse. Why weren’t you more shattered, why did this not feel so bad to have Johnny know of your past life.

“I have someone in my couch at my place, can Miles crash at your place?” You wanted to ask Johnny if it was the blue haired man of your fantasies that was on his couch. That thought felt silly and hopeful, especially because you were nearly just operating off of a hunch.

“Yeah, I don’t think my roommate will mind. Wait—“ You grabbed Johnny’s arm as he moved to get up and, you thought, leave. “—I don’t think I can move him by myself,”

Johnny chuckled at your panic, and you felt your face heat up even more than just from the alcohol.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get him home for you; I won’t leave you.” He said as he gently patted your shoulder. Johnny went to help Miles up, but the young man turned out to be drunker than expected and your jaw dropped as Johnny picked up Miles easily and began to carry him out.

“Are you okay to carry him by yourself? That’s not what I meant when I said I couldn’t; I can help if you want!” You called after him, nearly tripping out of your barstool and trotting to catch up with his long strides.

“No, I’m fine, he’s light. Just walk us in the right direction.”

It’s quite a few minutes before you pluck up the courage to say anything to Johnny about The Velvet Angel. You choose your words carefully, wanting to keep the conversation lighthearted.

“No offense, but you don’t really seem like the type of person that would have frequented The Velvet Angel.” You finally say.

“A man?” Johnny joked after a moment. His breathing wasn’t laboured even though he was carrying another person up a hill.

“No, I mean, like that place had other stuff going on.” You began to feel uncomfortable, maybe you had completely misread him.

“Oh...you mean the private rooms and the balloons...well, I try to avoid that a bit now, but I haven’t always.” His voice was soft and low, you turned to look back at him and there was that sad tortured look again. You regretted saying anything.

“I think I deserve some credit for remembering your face, though.” Johnny suddenly quipped with a shy smile.

“Yes, that was very gentlemanly of you,” you replied sarcastically.

“It was the expression you wore on your face,” he began after a pause, “Some of the women...you could really tell that you were just paying to see their body, and some liked to play as if they were teasing you, but you—your face was that of a lover.”

“A lover?” You dubiously queried.

“It’s… You looked like someone in love, your eyes invited an intimacy if you looked closely enough. You didn’t look fake or cheap, it was all art and the beauty of love in your face.”

Your mouth felt dry, and your walking slowed down as Johnny spoke. Love, what did that even feel like? Did you remember, had you ever known it? There was a void where memories of feelings like that should be stored. All you could remember was guilt...disgust, remorse, and guilt. You had slowed to a stop without realizing it.

“Are you okay?” Johnny asked, worried as he stopped by your side. You looked at him, unable to form a complete thought until the building behind Johnny took shape in the dark.

“This is my house.” You finally manage as you lick your lips and think to take keys from your bag. You unlock the main front door and hold it open as Johnny walks in carrying Miles.

“I live on the second floor, I’m so sorry,” You grimace thinking of him having to carry another man up the stairs.

“I said not to worry about it, Miles is light.” And he easily carries him to your apartment where Miles is laid on your sofa with a pillow from your bed and a spare blanket.

“Thank you so much, I hope you don’t have too far to go.” You tell Johnny as he walks toward your door to leave.

“Nah, it’s fine. It would be faster if I had my longboard, but I can catch a bus.” He shrugged.

“You have a longboard?” You asked, hoping you didn’t sound too curious.

“Yes,” he turned to you and chuckled a little “But you already knew that.” He couldn’t see your blush in the dark. How could he have known that you suspected him?

“Vada,”

“Mhm,”

“If you ever want to meet Taeyong...all you gotta do is ask.” In the hallway, a streetlamp illuminated his face enough for you to see his grin and wink in your direction before turning around and trotting down the steps and out.

———————————————————-

The blue haired man is absent for the rest of the week, but on Saturday night you follow Johnny out the back door to shout after him:

“I want to meet him; I want to meet Taeyong.” Johnny sets his longboard down and pulls his phone out to check it before he answers you.

“Okay,” he looks at you with a slow grin, “I’ll find out when he’s free. Now get back to work, I gotta hot date I have to meet.” He winks at you as he gets on and rides off.

You feel giddy—butterflies like a schoolgirl when you get back inside the restaurant. You have trouble sleeping that night: trying to figure out every possible scenario as to how Johnny knew about your hunch; all the ways you could meet Taeyong, and imagining a first date in which you were overflowing with wit, intelligence, and good things to say; and also a terrible dread and anxiety that Taeyong was just some random person and not the man with the blue hair.

Your eyes are bleary the next day, the cookbook in front of you seems to keep going out of focus.

“Fucking shit!” You curse as you burn your hand on a cake pan, a silent stream of fucks threatened to be uttered by your tongue as you cup your tender wound. Disheartened, you peer into a mixing bowl of clumpy custard. It will need to be strained. Nothing is going right and you feel frazzled. You check the fruit purée in the freezer to see if they have set in their molds yet—they haven’t. You go up to the main kitchen and pour yourself a coffee with extra cream, avoiding the warmth of the mug with your burnt hand. It’s not a glamorous place to enjoy a coffee or a five-minute break, but the sun lights up the alley and even the dumpster doesn’t look too bad in this lighting.

He hops lightly off his bike as he reaches the alley corner, his frown is matched by your own. The hood of his sweater is up but it doesn’t stop the blue fringe from peaking out. He walks straight up to you with his bike, his frown softens and his eyes look like two inviting pools of melted chocolate.

“Is Johnny here?” He asks after a moment of you staring at him. You nearly choke as you try to speak and swallow your spit at the same time—

“Um, no he hasn’t come into work yet.” You finally manage after clearing your throat. The beautiful man’s frown returns and he almost seems to scowl at the back of the restaurant.

“He was off early last night, and said he was meeting up with a hot date.” You added, it felt rude but you were really unable to take your eyes off of him.

He looked back at you, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. His expression was safe and inviting and you suddenly felt less bad for having been staring at him.

“He didn’t come home after his date, and I can’t reach him on his phone; so I thought I’d check here just in case.” His grip on the bike loosened and tightened. Finally, he shyly averted his eyes for a second before offering you his hand to shake.

“It’s nice to finally meet you; I’m Taeyong.” His eyes confidently search yours out when he says his name.

“I know—“ you want to slap yourself as the words fall from your lips, but your hand meets his and you feel a warm and familiar pull in your very core. “I mean, my name is Vada.” You blush as you stumble over the words.

“I know,” and a soft blush breaks out over his smooth cheeks, his grip on your hand never loosening.

[gittetj]

Build an OC: Starting from scratch

Let’s say you’ve decided to write a story but you don’t have any characters yet. In fact, maybe you don’t even know what the story is about. Maybe you’ve never even made an original character before! Well, don’t worry because you can make a decent character out of nearly anything if you know how to add some surprise and conflict to their personality. I mean, everything in the following example is something I just pulled out of thin air as I wrote it.

Usually, characters belong in a story or at least some kind of setting. Some people like to start by making a cast of characters and then let them lead to a story, others like to put together a plot and let that lead to the characters. Either way works, but since this post is about character development, we’ll go with the former approach.

For the sake of this post, let’s say all you know is what kind of story you want to make. Let’s go with something common like a young adult story about a teenage girl who discovers she has superpowers. There’re already tons of stories about teenagers with superpowers out there so now here’s a challenge to come up with a protagonist that doesn’t seem too generic.

We have to start somewhere, so just think of the most generic protagonist you can. A teenage girl before she gets the superpowers? I’m picturing she’s 16, lives with her parents, goes to school, probably has some friends and probably has a hobby she likes to do in her spare time.

Now, this girl might sound extremely boring to you, but that’s because right now you’re probably thinking of a character you’ve seen variations of a hundred times in other stories. There’re actually already plenty of variables to play around with here:

For example, where do the girl and her parents live? Maybe they’re in a country you don’t usually associate with superheroes, like South Africa or Syria or Greenland. A Greenlandic superhero? Haven’t seen that before, that might be interesting.

What kind of school does the girl go to? Maybe it’s not an average high school but rather a boarding school or a tiny school out in the countryside or maybe she’s homeschooled for one reason or another.

Her friends don’t have to be typical either. Maybe her best friend is an 80-year-old woman who used to be a stewardess or the neighbor’s 10-year-old son who really likes trains. It could be literally anyone because you don’t know what the story is about yet - you can make their personalities work together and come up with an explanation for how they became friends later.

She could have an unusual hobby like cave diving or building really advanced Lego models or it could be something that requires a lot of her time and devotion like maybe she’s working to become a professional athlete. Again it could be absolutely anything, just pick something that feels interesting to you.

This is already a lot of options and you could create even more by moving the story to a different time period or a different universe. A teenage superhero in the wild west? A teenage superhero on a Mars colony in the future? A teenage superhero in a fantasy universe where she isn’t actually very special because humans are the only creatures who don’t already have superpowers? You can do literally anything you want!

Having a million different options can be pretty overwhelming though so let’s reel it in a little, let’s sort through all these ideas to come up with something cohesive.

In this case, let's say you really don’t want to have to come up with a fantasy universe or do a lot of research on time periods or foreign countries you haven’t lived in. Most people reading this will probably either be American or be familiar with what it’s like to live in the US, so let’s say our girl and her parents are American.

Now, of all the random ideas I spewed out earlier the one that stuck with me was the 80-year-old stewardess best friend because I personally really appreciate when elderly people are included in young adult stories - and that’s what you should do at this stage, go with whatever feels right and interesting to you.

At this point, a good start would be to figure out why the 16-year-old girl and this 80-year-old stewardess are friends. The first thought that comes to me is that the girl is probably fascinated by the stewardess’s stories about all the countries she’s been to and the people she’s met through her job. If this is something that stands out to the girl she probably hasn’t traveled much herself - in fact, maybe she’s barely ever been outside her own state. Maybe she hasn’t traveled because her parents are very bound to the place they live, like maybe they’re farmers. If they’re farmers they must live in the countryside which could very well mean the girl goes to a small high school where everyone knows each other. If the girl really wants to break free of this place and everyone who only knows her as a plain farmer girl and not the adventurous traveler she really deep down wants to be, maybe that has made her a bit lonely, maybe that’s another reason she’s found an unexpected friend in the stewardess.

See how one detail can lead to something that’s starting to feel like a person worth telling a story about? There aren’t even any superpowers involved yet! Developing a character this way is a bit like doing detective work - you find a couple of pieces of evidence that seem promising and then you try to connect them and make assumptions that lead to more and more evidence until you have a clear picture of who the character is.

This story was supposed to be about the girl developing superpowers so let’s move on to that. If wanting to travel is a theme here and maybe even a conflict for the protagonist it would probably be fitting to give her a power that has something to do with that - something like flight or teleportation. Flight and a farm just make me think of Superman so let’s not do that and take teleportation instead.

What would a young girl with wanderlust and a newfound ability to teleport do? It’d be a good idea to take a closer look at her morals and personality before deciding that.

There’re a few character traits we can derive from what we already know:

The girl is curious about the world and people different from her

She picks her friends based on personality, not who it’s cool to be friends with

For that same reason, she’s probably pretty sure of her own values

She’s responsible or respectful enough of her parents to stay in her hometown despite wanting to travel

Or if you want to cook it down to just keywords:

Curious

Open-minded

Independent

Responsible

Self-restrained

Apart from the self-restraint these are all typically seen as positive traits, but rather than coming up with a similar list of negative traits to round the character off, let’s think about what the downsides can be to the traits we already decided on.

First, there’s definitely a conflict between her curiosity and her self-restraint. That’s really good; internal conflicts like that are what makes a character engaging because we can’t quite be sure which trait they’ll favor when they’re in a situation where they can only follow one of them.

Curiosity and open-mindedness in combination might make her a bit gullible. If someone told her things about the world that were false or skewed by the teller’s own agenda she might not question it.

Her independence could easily make her set in her ways, stubborn or unlikely to ask for help. She probably has strong beliefs about what’s right and wrong but since she’s so young she probably adopted those beliefs from her parents.

If she adopted her values from someone else, the kind of responsibility she expects of herself might not be right for her. This plays into the internal conflict between curiosity and restraint.

It looks like the big question this character will have to deal with is: Should she be as her parents want her to be or should she leave and find her own path?

It’s interesting to give someone like her the power to teleport because teleportation is basically ultimate freedom. She can go wherever she wants whenever she wants. Before getting her powers it’d be easy to come up with reasons why she couldn’t leave, but once she has them what’s the excuse when she can go to the other side of the world in a second? She’ll be forced to think about that conflict she’s struggling with.

I don’t know what kind of adventures our teleporting country girl will get herself into, but with a bit of brainstorming and some detective work, we already have a good foundation for both a protagonist and the beginning of a plot.

If you want to try to develop characters this way just keep building on top of what you already know. There’s plenty we don’t know about this girl yet - what does she do with her free time? What is she really good and really bad at? What does she tell people she wants to do with her life and is it the same as what she really wants? Don’t focus too much on the really flat questions (how tall is she, what’s her favorite food, what clothes does she wear) the answers to those often come up naturally as you get to know the character’s personality, and if they don’t you can figure them out as they become relevant.

If you get stuck it might be time to start thinking about the other characters in the story. In this example we already know the stewardess, the girl’s parents and some of the kids and teachers from the girl’s school will have some importance. Flesh them out and maybe it’ll reveal something new about the protagonist. You can go through the exact same steps as we just did with her, except now you already have a setting and a vague idea of where you’re going.

[syubology]

Making a Character Profile

I’m the kinda person who spends hours making a family on Sims then never plays with them, so working on my characters is probably my favourite aspect of writing. 

There are a hundred million ways to make a character profile, including ready-made templates like this one, but I find that it’s better to make your own and tailor it to your story. As with everything, you need to do what works for you, but I tend to take quite an instinctive approach to writing my characters, so I keep my profiles fairly basic.

For the purpose of today’s post, I’m making a profile for Sergeant Iorath, an OC from my WWI fic A Gentle Sound. As AGS is a pretty big project, this profile is much fancier and robust than I would generally make them for a fic. I have a specific aesthetic I’ve been keeping up in my AGS notes, so don’t be daunted by that - you don’t have to make it pretty if that’s not your thing!

🌙

General Guidelines for Character Profiles:

Stick to the point. This profile is for you, not your readers. You don’t need to fill it up with information that comes to you instinctively. Reading through a profile should get you back in touch with who your character is as a person and allow you to envision them more clearly - that’s all.

Most important to least important. Keep the information you’ll need often and quickly up near the top of your document. Don’t put their appearance description at the bottom of the second page, y’know? And I wouldn’t advise starting a profile with a massive block of text detailing their backstory - expand on that further down, if you want, or in a separate biography document.

Don’t overdo it. When you forget your OC’s birthday at 4:00AM, you don’t wanna read an entire essay just to find it! For regular fics, my profiles are only about half a page long. AGS is a Big Project, with lots of research and multiple works likely to be attached to the universe, so these profiles are more like two pages. You don’t have to stick to this, but I think it’s a good guide.

Short and snappy. Keep each individual section short and easy to read at a glance. Avoid large, multi-paragraph blocks of text. Bullet-points and tables are good, don’t be afraid to go wild with the formatting options available to you.

✧･ﾟ: * :･ﾟ✧*

1. The Basics:

Edit: I noticed the image quality was pretty bad for these screenshots, so here's a link to the document itself!

This is literally just the most basic information, which will always begin with name and date/place of birth. As you can see, I’ve adjusted this to suit AGS universe with rank, enlistment date and time spent on active duty; if it was a fantasy universe, I’d probably have species in there instead; for a college AU, maybe their major, roommate, etc. You’ll also see that I have the Major Combat heading near the top simply because this is something I often forget, so I want it to be easy to find.

2. Appearance:

For OCs, their physical description is particularly important because it’s often the only real reference you have, but even when you’re writing fic, you’re gonna have to keep track of hair colours and body mods and such. It’s a good idea to have this very close to the top of your page and easy to find. Try not to get carried away with this bit, tempting as it might be. Only include what’s most important/details you really don’t want to forget. If you have a character with a lot of body mods, I’d suggest a separate section specifically detailing those.

3. Short Biography:

I just think a basic character profile is no place for an in-depth, multi-page biography, but a little bio is good. You want to be able to get a sense of who your character is as a person, so you need to know a bit about where they come from. Don’t load up this bio with useless information - only include details which actually had a formative influence on your character. For many characters whose background is important, I’ll write a separate, much more detailed biography for them in another doc.

4. Habits, Quirks & Hobbies:

This section does exactly what it says on the tin: habits, quirks and hobbies. I find these areas are often the most important for making your character into a person, and a unique person at that. You might think right now that you don’t know these things about your new OC, but I’d encourage you to spend a while with this section and try to write a few things down. You’d be surprised what you can discover about your character once you start on the finer details!

5. Extras:

So, I think the basics are pretty much covered under the headings mentioned above. Now comes the part where you really tailor it to your specific AU. For AGS, I have section about their health where I’ll mention any injuries/illnesses they’ve sustained during the war (and before, if relevant), then also a bit about the state of their mental health since most soldiers in WWI suffered some degree of (usually untreated) PTSD.

Most AUs probably don’t need a ‘Health’ heading, so you can switch this up with things like their major, class timetable, relationships, mental health, magical education and specialties - the possibilities are honestly endless. You’ll know what you need here, if you need an extra section at all!

Remember, this is for you. Don’t refrain from adding a section or several simply because I haven’t included them here - you know better than anyone what you need! Just channel your inner minimalist as best you can to avoid creating an overwhelming monster of a document.

I hope this wasn’t too confusing, lads. I don’t exactly have the most refined method of creating character profiles, but this works for me. I hope at least some parts work for you, too! 

As always, don’t be scared to come to me with questions specific to this post (I won’t be offended if something wasn’t clear!) or suggestions for future posts. Thank you for reading, my frens, have a nice Sunday <3

[duhragonball]

for the writer asks, 9!!

9. Who is your favourite character to write?

In general, the protagonist is the easiest one for me, since they're probably the thing that motivates me to start the work in the first place.

With Luffa, the sandtrap I've been stuck in for the past year or so is that I set up all of these supporting characters, and I decided that I needed to put a spotlight on each one, so that when the current arc is finished, they'll have a complete character arc before I move on. In principle, that's probably a thorough thing to do, but in practice, it means I gotta write all these side stories that may not move the plot as much.

The weird thing is that I always look forward to the upcoming chapters. "Oh good I'm almost at the Dr. Topsas chapter, and he's fun to write," I'll say to myself. Then I get to it, and it's like pulling teeth, until I start writing Luffa again, and then I realize how much easier that is.

Part of the problem, I guess, is that I only have OC's to work with in that story, and I have no one to depend upon but myself. If Beerus makes a cameo, it's like an oasis in the desert, because I can just think back to what he was like in the movies and Super.

For the most part, I feel pretty confident about writing characters from other media, as long as I get a chance to experience them in other stories. The first time I wrote Superman or Piccolo, I felt like I got it right on the first try. Marzi was more challenging, because I mostly had art to work from instead of dialogue, but that was kind of liberating too. Writing a character for the first time is like, either it's impossible to get wrong, or it's guarenteed to be wrong no matter what, depending on how you look at it. So the pressure's off. As long as I don't do anything blatantly ridiculous with the character, it'll fly.

I don't mean to sidetrack this into an OC post, but that's what I've been working on a lot, and I think the main advantage that makes it worthwhile is that you get to move all the sliders around, and decide exactly how nice or mean the hero is, or how sympathetic they are or how badass they should be. A lot of stuff I do with Luffa is kind of a metacommentary on other heroes. I've read too many Superman stories where the writer is more intetested in having him mope about what he can't do instead of figuring out cool stuff he can do. Harry Potter has super powers but he's legally prohibited from using them most of the time, which is just about the stupidest thing ever. Nobody in Lord of the Rings can put Sauron in a triangle choke.

I like some heroes better than others, but I feel like a lot of times they get saddled with stupid rules, like in RoboCop 2 when they reprogrammed him with hundreds of new directives based on public feedback, and it made him completely ineffectual. The movie only worked because he finally got sick of it and electrocuted himself to clear all the garbage programming so he could get back to business. That's the sort of thing I like to see. It's not a power fantasy unless the character has lots and lots of agency, and the motivation to use it.

[juanjoltaire]

On creativity and depression:

I often hesitate to talk in detail about my mental stability on a public platform for fear of driving people away, or worse, spreading my feelings of despair onto others. But right now I feel like I’m okay with talking about it in a more general sense about how it relates to my art.

I feel I’m in a sort of creative paralysis. I can feel inspired by other artists, and feel the desire to make art, but when it comes to actually sitting down with utensil in hand, I feel empty inside. I feel incapable of making anything other than the most generic thing possible, like an uninspired headshot. I feel like I have nothing original or interesting inside and that anything that will come out of me will just be the same old generic ideas, while my feeds are full of artists with beautiful concepts.

I haven’t had an original character in years, because I don’t really feel anything emotionally for anything I can come up with. At the same time I feel so strange about this, because I do feel a strong connection with the Grantaire I draw. He is my own design, and I’ve written over the past several years hundreds of pages of roleplay and fanfiction in modern and fantasy settings that is so divorced from Les Mis it’s laughable. It’s hard for me to reconcile that I’ve spent so much love and creativity on something that still falls under the often looked down upon label of fanwork, when most of the stuff I’ve made of him is technically otherwise original content. What I’m trying to say is, I’m upset with myself that I can’t seem to connect to any other characters besides one that is still tied to fanwork in origin, despite the fact that I have original ideas for the character in question. I’ve seen creators who divorce their work from fanwork by simply renaming the character but I find that’s something I would never do, especially since someone like Grantaire means a lot to people who look at my art because he is fanwork.

What I want to do then is to be able to also have original characters that I do feel a connection to. The problem is I can’t seem to come up with anything else I care about. I used to have so many ocs in high school, but I have no interest in anything I came up with back then. We grow older and move on, and nothing I cared about then seems a part of me now. I know that in the grand scheme of my depression not having original concepts doesn’t seem like such a big deal but it’s part of the problem of why I feel like a failure as an artist. And the issue is my fanwork doesn’t stimulate me much anymore, now that I don’t get to roleplay or have someone to share ideas with anymore, I don’t really feel like that spark is being kept alive.

I don’t know what to do and where to go creatively. I don’t know what’s going to feel right anymore. And I’m not sure how to get my artistic life back. I work as a full time illustrator and I’m able to do my work mechanically but as for being able to feel like myself and make art for myself and feel....anything at all, it seems like such an impossible task. Fighting through crippling depression is hard enough, along with feeling alone, feeling left behind. I’ll sometimes sit on the couch in silence for a long time because even playing a video game or watching tv feels too pointless for me to pay attention. 

I am on medication, and I do go to a therapist, but I haven’t actually gotten around to speaking about how my mental health affects me as an artist and how creatively dry I am. Not sure how much she can really offer me anyway because I feel like it usually takes another artist who’s been through this to know how to get out of the hole. Maybe I’m hoping someone reads this and can offer some advice. I’m not really sure what the solution to feeling empty is. I’m telling myself I should do things like make lists of things I care about and seeing if I can make any connections, or just draw things from photographs until something clicks, but the mental paralysis still keeps me in place. I spent almost 8 hours yesterday staring at the surface of a table feeling fear and pain and nothingness taking over me.

I’m writing this out because it feels better to get this down in words I guess, and to explain to you guys why I can hardly make a picture a month. I miss so much when I used to feel stimulated. Back in 2014 there was a month where I made almost 60 drawing posts, that’s like two drawings a day or something. I’ve been aware of my depression for ten years, but I’ve definitely been in better spots where I’ve been able to artistically fight through it. I know that the state of the world right now is probably a lot of the reason why I’m kept down, and waking up to bad news every day keeps me in that place, but I want to try so hard to bring myself out. Wanting and being able to are two different things though. But I’m trying, as best I can.

I want to be a good artist, I want to be a better artist. I want to feel like an artist at all. I’m doing my best to surround myself with art despite not being able to do anything, buying artbooks, joining patreons, following new artists every day. Hopefully I can see the other side of this soon. I really, really want to.

[eva-writes]

I was tagged by @danwritestuff (a million years ago and only now I actually got to finish this thing) so here it goes:

1. How did you begin writing? Technically I started when I was like seven or eight and was working on an illustrated story about a dog and a magical bone. Yup, true story. But I think I actually started to get into writing when I was in seventh grade and a teacher told us to write a short story as homework. I don’t even want to think back on what I wrote because it probably wasn’t good, but I will never forget that my teacher told me that she enjoyed my story and that I was good at writing. There’s literally nothing better than having someone believe in you. And I initially only wrote in Spanish but funnily enough after getting into roleplaying my brain kind of made a switch and it comes more naturally to me now to write in English.

2. What was your first writing project? Tell us a little about it. Again, the story of the dog and the magical bone. But the first serious project that I still hope might see the light of day when I stop planning and actually sit my ass down to write it is a fantasy trilogy. I started it in 2008 and needless to say my mind has changed a lot in a decade, so as a result that story has changed very much from my original idea. I think that’s why I haven’t really done much writing and I’m stuck in ‘development hell’, because the thing just keeps mutating and my ideas for that world and those characters keep growing and changing.

3. What is your preferred medium for writing first drafts? I’ve always used Microsoft Word.

4. What rituals or habits do you have around writing? I always have a cup of tea next to me. And I say stuff out loud too, especially when it’s dialogue. I also sort of act out certain stuff to find words that could describe that. Definitely not rituals, just weird habits I have.

5. We all have a “type”– of character, plot, theme– what is yours? Well, I always go for fantasy or scifi stuff because it’s easier for me to make up shit than do extensive research about things that are real (also it scares me that I migh portray something in an inaccurate way). So yay, I’m lazy like that. I tend to include reserved, quiet characters (even if not the protagonists, they’re there). I don’t know, I just have a deep appreciation for introverted people that are more of the observing/listening type than the talking type.

As for plots or themes, I like to dabble into the ‘self-discovery’ paths for the protagonists and the ‘change established structures’ in the world. As for important themes, family bonds are always there in one way or another (both biological families or ‘found’ families amongst the characters). Also I have this weird thing about names. In every story I have characters that are called a certain way by most but then they are given a different nickname or are revealed to have a different name by someone that is/becomes close to them. For some reason the way other people call each other has always had such a deep meaning for me.

6. Introduce us to one (or more!) of your OC’s. I have an army of OCs, I have no self-control when it comes to creating them... my latest one is a gentle giant of a man stuck on an island where people don’t age and those stranded there can’t escape (shoutout to Mira and Ally for @timelessrpg!). And this guy is mute and deaf because I’ve learned a bit ASL and I wanted to integrate that into a character, explore different ways to have him interact with those around him without having to rely on speaking.

7. What’s your favorite genre to read? Fantasy, science fiction, historical fiction and psychological thrillers. But I’d give a shot at every book that sparks my interest regarding of genre.

8. Your favorite genre to write? Fantasy and science fiction. I like creating my own playground rather than using our lovely little world.

9. How do you conduct your authorial research? Google searches to start off. Then once I get a general overview I start to look for more specific stuff in books, videos, etc. I use YouTube a lot. That thing is a treasure chest of information and it helps with ther ‘overview’ part so then I can do more digging about specific subjects.

10. What does your editing (gasp) process look like? I’m such a jerk to myself when I edit, so I guess that’s another reason why it’ll take a while for my stories to see the light of day. If you look up the word perfectionist in the dictionary you see my picture... But I’ve been trying not to be so hard on myself lately and instead of staying stuck on that endless cycle of writing and erasing, I’ve been allowing myself to just write on. I’ve also made a deal with my roomie: I have to pay her $15 pesos (little less than $1 usd) whenever I got back to edit a chapter I had already finished. I’ve only paid her once, but it’s a good incentive not to go back an edit stuff too much and just go ahead to write.

11. What are your favorite tropes? I have too many, especially with romantic/platonic relationships. Enemies to lovers, is definitely one. Also any sort of yin yang/light and dark representations in character dynamics, I’m such a sucker for those. Any kind of trope that involves characters not seeing it coming and then just knowing they’d do anything for the other person (not just necessarily in a romantic way, I love bonds like that with people who become siblings to each other). Any sort of trope that involves a ‘partners in crime’ or ‘ride or die’ dynamic, I’M SOLD.

12. Show off your writing space. It used to be a desk when I still lived at my mom’s place. It was in it’s usual state of controlled chaos, as I like to call it (because there’s stuff everywhere but I know exactly where everything is). Now my roomie and I share a desk, and most of the times I just end up writing in bed, using a folding bed tray as my desk.

13. What is the most useful piece of writing advice you’ve ever used? Sit down and write is one. And also something that I saw in Victoria Schwab’s instagram: “I’m not writing a book, I’m writing a chapter. I’m not writing a chapter, I’m writing a page. I’m not writing a page, I’m writing a line”. That helped me feel more confident. The work put into trying to write a book always felt so overwhelming and like something I would never really get done. But thinking that even a little bit counts has made it feel like a less impossible feat.

14. What is the least useful piece of writing advice you’ve ever ignored? That it’s wrong to repeat a character’s name or identifier (the queen, the thief, etc). I used to think it was wrong to it because ‘being repetitive means you’re a bad writer’ and you’d have me do mental gymnastics to figure out different ways to refer to my characters which, honestly, end up coming off as forced. So yeah, I’ve definitely begun to ignore that now.

Another one is that writing ‘said’ is wrong. I’d rather use ‘said’ a hundred times than throw in random shit like ‘ennunciated’ just to avoid using ‘said’.

15. Your writing beverage/snack of choice? Tea, always. Either black tea or rooibos with milk.

16. How do you compile your ideas? Quick notes on my phone when I don’t have a notebook at hand. Word documents. And notebooks. Lots of notebooks. I have a specific notebook for each story. Lately I started posting stuff on my wall. I have a summary of each chapter that I’ve already written in little pieces of paper, kind of like a timeline. Above each ‘chapter’ there’s a blue post-it note with the stuff that led to the events of that chapter, and below there’s a green post-it note with the plot points that chapter will set in motion. It’s kind of to keep in order all the information I’m dealing with. And then above the timeline I have even more pieces of paper with specific events that must happen eventually and I just keep moving them around to construct the rest of the story. It might sound weird and confusing, but I swear it helps. I’m a visual person and it’s very damn helpful to see those pieces of story and ideas have some order.

17. What are your controversial opinions ™ on the craft of writing? That being a best-seller means the book is good. I don’t know if it’s controversial or not, but I don’t think quantity equals quality. Also, LET STORIES END. I get it, sometimes as readers we love a group of characters so much or a world that we want more, but that doesn’t mean there should be more. I feel that a lot of prequels, spin-offs and extended series end up taking away from the original story/saga because they were clearly not in the author’s mind from the beginning. There are exceptions to this, I’m sure, but I just feel authors should know when enough is enough rather than try to milk their series for all they’re worth. And I might get shit for writing this, but I’m also against the idea that all characters have to be woke and politically correct 24/7. I believe characters should be allowed to be ignorant and say wrong things and make mistakes, because then they get to learn and grow and become better people, and yes, possibly get called out or educated throughout the story. I don’t know, maybe it’s just me having faith in people learning and growing, but I happen to like characters that start out not so great and begin to really become better human beings during the story.

Tagging: @azianxpersuasionwrites, @briannaswriter, @allywritestuff, @proserpinewrites, @theichthyostegawrites, @montaguew, @loeswrites, @eridawrites, @roshwrites, @rjwrites, @ashlaaaywrites, @trishywishy & @dude-im-batman

[dollsted]

Rated: T

Pairing: JarethxSarah 

Plot teaser: The Goblin King is dead...at least in Sarah's normal life he is...but what happens if that turns out to just be a rumor? Source: Archiveofourown.com/F0rce0fnatur3 

Notes:

Hello my bebes. So just a little address to those who continue to read this. I have always been a fan of the Labyrinth and I know nothing could touch on or pick up where Henson left off but I've put a lot of thought into how my version of the story should go. I hope I can give fans back some semblance of what we've been waiting for since the story came out. I have read all there is and watched behind the scenes and rare footage on my favorite movie and so characters that are within the novel, concept sketches, and other works will be put in here. There may also be minor oc's as well as one big one. So I say unto you. I hope you enjoy my version because the goblin king may be watching over all of us in the heaven's and no one can take his place...I bring him back to life here on the pages before you.

Chapter 1: Rumors 

When I was a child, I thought like a child. But I did not do childish things. In fact, I don’t think anyone could call what I went through childish. But that feels like a time long, long ago. Even now if I think back on it, my mind becomes a fog. And then one day I just---forgot entirely. I do remember the days after vividly. I graduated and parted with my drama club family. I struggled with my major but suddenly all these dreams and thoughts of harrowing tales wouldn’t stop springing to my mind like an unlimited fountain from a spring that burst and never dried up. At first I would scribble the stories down in notebooks when I was supposed to be paying attention to the lecture in front of me. Now at twenty, I’ve found my calling and have become one of the bestselling fantasy novelists of my generation. I’ve heard all the praises. To be so young and have one of the most sought after series. One scholar I met at a gala party in New York City told me fantasy novels were an elder mans game. The older the person the wiser the writing as if the pages were scrolled on ink and parchment paper itself. I gave them their props as they rightfully deserve, but I planned to hold my own. I’d rather contend with the older crowd than the young teen romance category. I had no interest following on the coattails of finding a way to weave a story about a werewolf or vampire. I’m just waiting for the mummy revolution to peak.

           Now, I stare at a blank page. My well is congested and I need inspiration but a deadline for my eager fans want a rushed job. No one asks a baker to take the brownies out of the oven because they’re clamoring to eat it before its ready, mindlessly spooning the hot batter into their mouth. I understand the impatience but this is why the good writers have one hit wonders, or a series, and then slowly peter out for indefinite hiatuses. I can’t just expunge something onto blank pages without inspiration to fuel my motivation. So I gaze out my window on the reading nook watching the city life buzz about. I wish I could just reach down and pull their thoughts from them and manage to get something cohesive enough to send to my editor. I wring my hands around my coffee cup too jittery to even take another sip, the perfume from my eight o’ clock brew souring in my stomach. I can hear the battery warning on my laptop but I’m frozen where I sit. I came up with different plots but nothing made sense. I would need to cram at least four hundred pages into the novel and when I got rolling and tried desperately to fill the pages with random ramblings it came out in cliché bits and pieces that made no sense.

           Tonight there would be another gala and this was a black and white only listing. I was prepared but that’s who I was. I was ready within seconds. If I was given three hours I would be ready in three minutes. Always itching to go. Why slow life down anymore? Maybe it was just my mindset as a writer, maybe it was the pressure from the public. I was already a book behind and itching to be at this gala, perform my part of dutiful famous author, and then slip away with a spoon of ice-cream in my mouth and my silk gray pajamas on my body. Suddenly a thought rolled over my mind making me feel suddenly ill. When had I become the mirror image of my stepmother? My insides coiled tight like a sailors knot and I couldn’t stand to have this cup in my hands any longer and be alone with my thoughts. I needed to keep busy to numb my mind and run on autopilot.

           I glanced at the one newspaper clipping I saved of mom stuck to the corner of my corkboard. Around her ideas were peppered on yellow sticky notes. I was stuck in my fantasy that worshipping an absent parent who left dad and I behind for the stage, for fame and fortune, had abandoned us took precedent over reality. Before my epiphany I lived in a world where she would come back because daughters were invisibly connected to their mother’s right? Like sons and fathers. I had dreams she would ride through our suburban neighborhood on the whitest steed---well in a white limo, and she would come out with a plume of feathers in a pink boa around her neck and her finest ball gown and she would announce she was here to storm the castle and take me away with her where we would live in riches and in the lap of luxury. That’s the word she was, luxury. But that’s all she was. She wasn’t a dream that would ever come true. A mirage. She was just a word. One everyone knew how to speak, and only the rich could afford to. When I finally grew into myself and knew she was just another selfish story I made up in my head, I put my scrapbook and pictures of her away. Even now they’re packed in boxes I doubt I’ll ever open. The article is recent, her career had slowly plateaued when younger famous musicians rose to fame and glory on the stages of Broadway. And in some way, I had to thank her for popping my bubble of dreams because I didn’t want to follow in her footsteps in reality. Or dad. Or my stepmother’s assumption of what I should do with my life. I needed to do what I wanted. What my heart and head wanted.

           But now I’m stuck. In a bog of eternal stench. I raised a brow. That was an odd way of phrasing something. What did that even mean? What did I even just think? Before I could grasp it and replay the sentence it was gone. I needed air. And possibly something to eat. Normally I would go for a jog before the night fell but I had an hour left to get ready so I did what anyone would do in my position. I took a much needed nap.

           As I scan the crowd I notice little things. Another perk of being a writer. People watching. Noticing details. I watched couples stroll in, one couple shied away barely making it through the door when they realized they had forgotten or weren’t notified by the theme of the party. Even champagne colored attire wouldn’t fly in the mayor’s presence. The women who wore their hair down had coiled them in delicately hanging curls that bounced as they floated across the marble floor. There wasn’t a straight haired woman in sight. I was thankful I chose last second to throw it up in a chignon before I left from the house. I had to admit I still hadn’t mastered the art of being able to glide like most of these women had with heels and dress trains. My mermaid style dress was all in black and the design made it hard to take a good stride. I never cared for alcohol. I never developed the taste for it. The most I would take is a glass of wine, any color, and that was on my worst days. But I felt foolish just holding onto the flute of champagne clutched in my hand. Perhaps I could discretely slip it on a passing tray or abandon it in a less frequented area. I longed for my settee, ice-cream, movie, and pajamas. Depending how the night shaped, maybe I’d skip it all and just go straight to bed. Since I wasn’t stalled in conversation or mindless babbling I stole my chance to discard the flute. As I turned I became arrested by a form. I cursed wishing I had my precious solitude back. A bulky man towered over me. His jet black hair was slicked back and went against the grain of men who wore the signature penguin suites of stark black. He was dressed entirely in pure white. His hazel eyes bore into me seeing me and not just scanning over my bodice as most of the suitors that had pursued me during the eve had been. I spent more time dodging the men in heat that I barely noticed if there were any noble guests not just looking out for the single stragglers for a one night stand.

           I shrunk into myself and flushed tearing away from his gaze giving a slight curtsy. As much as the restriction of my dress would allow me to bend my knees. And then I felt even more awkward because I did that. I felt my brows knit and I mentally threw myself out a window before grounding myself. I expected him to start the conversation but perhaps I was being vain. Not everyone knew about me even if I lived in a city packed with my fair share of fans. I was used to having others pounce on me with immediate greetings and questions. To stop my internal suffering I chose to open my mouth and end my misery of turning into an awkward child and reminding myself that I was an adult. Am one. Speak!

           “Good evening.” Oh good, I just used the opening line to every gothic and creepy character would use. I really floundered instead of thrived in large gatherings. I wanted to wipe the slate clean, I hadn’t realized half of my champagne had been slugged back. I became aware of the stinging in my ankles and the pain on my feet as I balanced on my heels. He parted his lips revealing pearly whites. I could see his dimples and I found my hand busying itself by brushing a stray strand that had come lose from the chignon behind my ear.

           “It is.” His smile was warm and inviting. But I was on high alert none-the-less. I wasn’t sure how to further this conversation. I’d give anything to have my joggers on so I could shift my weight side to side. It was my tell that I was uncomfortable. But I was restricted in these damn stilts.

           “Are you here accompanying the mayor in his entourage?” Aside from the orchestra playing at the base of the stairs I could hear the soft chuckle in his throat.

           “Unfortunately no. I was a plus one with the Matthew party.” I had no idea who they were but I nodded in agreement as if I did. “What about you, lady?”

           “I only got my invitation because of my status. I’m a hot ticket item until my success runs its course and someone else comes along to claim the limelight.” I whisked my flute in the air toasting to my misery and draining the glass abandoning it on the wide railing. I was drowning. I wished for my friend from college to be at my side. She was excellent at steering conversations away from my failings.

           “That’s usually how fame works. May I ask, what your profession is now?” ‘Now’? It was an odd way to say something but I disregarded it as a slip of the tongue.

           “I’m a novelist.”

           “Fancy.” He waggled his brow and now it was my turn to laugh. It came out more like a bark.

           “Mind if we speak more but actually participate in this party by dancing?” I felt my face pale. I was meant to be a statue. One that showed up, soaked up the atmosphere, and then left without being drawn into something complicated. Like dancing. That was complicated. Especially in the prison I handpicked for myself. He offered his arm and I gratefully took it stepping as if I was made of china. I literally took baby steps painfully listening to the stairs announce our decent when the butt of my heel ricocheted in the scoop of the room. I could barely get one foot in front of the other, my dress demanding my steps be smaller.

           He blessedly closed his stride into small boxy steps allowing me to move with him. He lead, and I floated in the weight of his arms. His palm spanned over my entire back horizontally. I felt like a small hill up against a mountain. The tempo slowed, the musician’s skill amazed me. They could transition from fast pace to slow and sensual within the beat of a note. Before I knew it, we too had slowed, the only glimmer of having been keeping in step to the upbeat rhythm was my fast beating heart and the bead of sweat on the back of my neck. Somewhere between that transition, his body had mingled closer to mine and now his lips were at my ear in a gentle whisper. My eyes widened. I was confused. What did he just say? Was that really what he meant to say? I felt my world splinter. I felt like a dark void inside my heart was going to swallow me whole and I would be rid of all the people and buildings around me.

           I somehow made it back to my flat on the top floor. I slipped off my shoes, wormed my way into my pajama’s and when I came back to myself I was curled up in bed holding myself not caring that my chignon was half tamed and half wild. I didn’t even bother to wipe away my lipstick, clean the eyeshadow off with the liner above my lashes. I barely got my arm into the sleeve of my shirt. I hadn’t bothered to turn the lights on or button the shirt closed. My covers lay neglected at my back, my pillow barely touching the top of my head. I was staring into the black hole hiding the corner of my wall. Tears welling in my eyes. Why was I so tore up about this?

           I felt the hot coals roll over my cheeks staining my silk sheets. My muscles were stiff, my circulation numb from sitting so still. Why was I feeling all these things that made no sense to me? The thing the man said didn’t even make sense. It sounded like a joke or something he stole out of a novel. What did he mean when he said ‘The Goblin King is dead?’ and why was my heart breaking?

           I pulled my phone from the belly of my clutch opening up the web browser searching for anything that could connect me to those words. How was I supposed to react to that? Why was it even affecting me?! My mind was screaming. I found forums with geeks talking about video game references. Millions of results were nothing more than mindless ramblings of geeks and nerds. Broken phrases about movies, books, television, games. There was no viable information present. Frustrated I threw my phone against the wall but heard it hit my vanity instead shattering the mirror. I gasped at my own failings sliding off the bed to clean up my mess. My flat was empty. It was full of things that adorned the walls and filled the spaces so it didn’t look barren but---the truth was it was just me alone living here. I got to work brushing the pieces into the dustpan pausing when I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a giant ragged shard.

           Hadn’t those words meant something at one time? A title? I had an odd hazy thought that I was meant to remember something. Something significant. But my work took precedence. What that man said was nothing. If it was a message it fell on deaf ears. Maybe it was just highbrow humor I forgot to gloss in the New Yorker. But that was a business magazine and no imagination or right brained people were allowed to even grace those pages. I got the vaguest of feelings that I had been on the other side of this mirror once. A fleeting thought. I disposed of it climbing back into bed regretting the ruin of my mirror and phone. I was a person meant to be on call any time of day especially for my editor. I would rush first thing in the morning to the store to get a new phone and hastily set up my mailbox.

           I stretched arching my back like a cat reveling in the warmth my flat offered through the central air system and gazed out to the skyline barely looking back at my with a slit eye of pinks and purples. No signs of orange yet. Coffee time. The heavens answered my thoughts. I heard the timer chime awake and the maker got to work gurgling the water I poured the night before come alive. All I would need to do is feed it creamer and retrieve my mug. I tapped a key on my laptop forgetting momentarily that the battery warned me the night before I needed to charge its juice. It wouldn’t matter. There would still be a blank page and a blinking cursor angrily ticking to remind me my own time was slipping away to start a draft. I couldn’t get what the stranger whispered to me out of my head. I paced feeling the ache in my feet from my heels from the night before. I had darted from the party wanting to stretch that space between me and my dance partner. Away from his words. Away from the mocking eyes that gave me a headache and dejavu.

           It would’ve been easier to hail a cab but I felt like the world was crumbling down on me. I was choking and I needed to breach the surface and gulp lungful’s of air. And then I practically fell into the lobby before the doorman or desk clerk could barrage me with questions. I knew I was disheveled. I didn’t need to be prodded or gawked at. I clambered into the elevator fishing the key to activate my penthouse suite on the top floor. I wanted to get home. I needed my bed before I passed out here. Fifty stories up and I stumbled into my room listening to the whirling gears of the elevator haul itself back to earth while I stayed floating in space.

           I escaped the footmen who were busy busing in luggage and packages of other residents. My main focus needed to be a new phone. With my laptop dead I needed access to the internet now more than ever. I knew my editor would be trying to get ahold of me. I tried to keep my thoughts singular but after I began setting up everything on the little device I found my curiosity drawing me back to the same spot I fled from. Who was the man that approached me and I danced with? Why did he single me out? Did he know me? Was he using code that I should know? Was it a password to get into somewhere?

           All my thoughts were spinning in a jumbled mess worse than a tornado at level five and I wanted answers but only gained more questions.  

[bigmoodword]

11/11/11 Tag

tagged by @silver-wields-a-pen -- thanks a bunch! this was so thought-provoking.

1. Who is your favourite oc? 

probably a toss-up between the two oldest:

a werewolf who hides his cold-burning hate behind a sweet smile and endless offers to make bitchin’ cups of tea/coffee/poison/cocoa

an immortal with unhealthy escapist tendencies, livin’ that long life as if EXTRA is their personal motto

at this point, they’ve run through several names each. here’s hoping i finally set 'em in stone sooner rather than later.

2. What themes do you struggle writing? 

healthy, established romance. i can do flirtation and doomed relationships, but actually solid relationships are a whole different beast. it’s kind of funny, because although there are plenty of problems to work through even in the best relationship, i have a tendency to tidy them with too nice a bow. lucky me, that’s my life experience, but it doesn’t make for the most engaging story.

3. What’s been the best thing about writing your wip?

striking creative oil. it’s wonderful to be so enamored with an idea that all my doubts dissipate and the words just... flow. it’s a feeling i remember from childhood, and it’s a relief to know it can still strike.

4. What themes has your favourite story included? 

survivor’s guilt. betrayal. missed opportunities. miscommunication. learning to let go. learning how to love oneself. abuse. wearing a mask. class struggles. systemic oppression. the importance of hope--whatever that ultimately means for you.

honestly, these tend to pop up in all my stories to varying degrees.

5. What time of day do you prefer writing?

i tend to switch between the night owl and early bird approaches. the former pops up when i’m on a serious roll, the latter when i’ve hit a rhythm of jotting down a few hundred words over coffee.

6. What’s your favourite relationship trope to write? 

a very specific kind of unrequited love. like the two are this 👌 close to actually coming together--they’d honestly be pretty great!--except they fail to communicate mutual interest so each assumes the other isn’t. or maybe they’re too preoccupied with their own issues to have a good relationship, so temptations aside, one or both decide it’s better to pass. it’s the idea of “maybe in another life” or “if only we’d met x years ago or y years from now.” can’t get enough of it!

7. What detail about your ocs has surprised you? 

they’re all so messed up. i mean. granted, most of them are born by taking a personality flaw (whether my own or one i struggle to understand) to a certain extreme, but even those that start on an even keel inevitably hit a significant low point. i think it’s an extension of the idea “everybody’s got something” but i hope someday i can manage to have a character that’s both interesting and well-adjusted throughout.

8. Thoughts on including romance in other genres? 

i’m ace, so romance often misses the mark for me. the fact my favorite romantic trope is two people not ending up together probably says a lot on its own. more specifically, unless the romance really adds to the wider story, i prefer it in the background. i think of certain characters flirting and growing closer as sprinkles atop the main plot’s cupcake.

9. Favourite writing snack? 

coffee! i don’t tend to snack much in general, especially not when writing, but i’m always game to break out the bean juice.

10. Favourite villain trope? 

the anti-villain. as a huge “fan” of gray morality, i guess that’s pretty darn predictable. while obviously i’m not here to root for villains, i like to understand them. i think it’s important to recognize how an otherwise good person becomes villainous, and i also have a certain affection for reformed villains. j/s

11. Best scene you’ve written? 

oooo. that’s a good one. i’m not comfortable calling anything my “best” scene, but i tend to favor those where major plot points finally intersect. here’s one i still quite like--

background: urban fantasy, slayer organization, investigation into a recently caught perp

trigger warning: implied sexual abuse

Sven didn’t bother returning Nina’s call until he was in the werewolf’s ritzy apartment, and when she picked up, she immediately reported how the guy had copped to lying throughout his first interview.

As he examined the titles in the bookcases, Sven figured that meant his perp was smart enough to recognize a boon. The asshole who’d put him in a wheelchair had also thrown him a softball cover story, and if he played along, his pack wouldn’t get hurt. Lucky puppy.

Yet Nina remained skeptical. She specified how Nate—that beacon of truth—had caught the werewolf talking on the sly about a little friend. He wouldn’t just make that up, so of course she expected him to search high and low for any proof. Just in case.

He promised he’d do his best then sat cross-legged before the shelves. He put the phone on speaker, set it on a dizzyingly ornate rug, and began pulling books out. One by one, he’d flip robotically through the pages, looking for anything of note.

Meanwhile, Nina’s voice lost its authoritarian edge, “What was up before?”

“Nothing important. Just a guy. Lonely. Works at the hotel.” Having said the words, he tried not to picture her growing smirk. “One thing led to another and…”

“Good for you.” A pause. “Hey. Hey, Sven. Was he cute?”

“Quite.”

“'Quite.’” He could hear her rolling her eyes. “And? Did you, well, have a good time?”

“Debatably.”

“Huh.” Nina thought aloud, “See, you were awfully mad at me when I called you before. That would imply that you were, in fact, having a good time. Otherwise, you would’ve appreciated the excuse, right? Right. But you didn’t. Since we’re talking about you, that means something.”

He snorted.

“Really! It does, and I hope you didn’t just run this poor guy off, you know? You should try meeting up again. Do a little wine and dine. Something nice. Classy. You have that red sweater that looks nice; you should wear that.”

Sven looked down at said sweater. “… Right. Well, I gave him my number, so we’ll—”

“Damn, Sven! He must’ve been really cute!”

He remembered Drake’s anxious wiggling and cracked a smile. “Yeah, he was pretty damn cute.”

Bit by bit, he shared details, and Nina nearly blew out his phone’s speaker with a squeal. She insisted others would give up their firstborn for the kind of porno romance he apparently lived, and her office chair creaked as she huffed a triumphant sigh. She was so animated about the whole thing, as if it’d happened to her instead of him, and however briefly, he thought maybe he felt a fluttering of that same enthusiasm. He wanted to, anyway. 

Even after hanging up, something twisted in his gut every time he thought about Drake calling or, hell, simply sending a three-letter text. But realistically, that was as likely to be dread as giddiness.

With pen and pad, Sven made notes about bookmarked passages as well as the odd comment in the margins, then restored each book to its original slot. Likewise, he compiled the contents of drawers, filing cabinets, and closets. He’d come prepared to scrub the evidence, but apparently, the evidence already suggested the werewolf lived alone. 

There were no articles of clothing that deviated from the rest of his wardrobe. The master bath featured a single toothbrush, and the kitchen just enough rotting food to feed a particularly voracious adult male. He couldn’t even find a hair that wasn’t deep brown and short.

He bagged a phone and tablet for further examination, then muttered to himself about how he really should’ve done at least that much beforehand. That is, the first time he visited the apartment, but no. He’d made his catch, handed the perp off, and disappeared for a long run in the Boston fog like a coward.

To be fair, the place still gave him the creeps. It bothered him that the overturned furniture, smashed vase, and cracked mirror were all exactly where he’d left them. There were blood stains too. Deep brown and foul.

In a small safe, he found jewelry, yellowed woodcuts, and a first edition copy of Leaves of Grass. Extraordinary, sure. Cataloged, absolutely. Yet, save for the werewolf’s budding psych profile, such finds were also woefully meaningless.

He moved on to the lockbox dug out from under the king-sized bed. As with the safe, he was able to pop it open without too much difficulty, but unlike the safe, its contents raised eyebrows. 

Polaroids. Hundreds of them aggressively rubber-banded into tidy stacks, all meticulously sorted. He held his breath as he unwrapped the first only to exhale a bitter “of course” at the revealed photos.

The shots lacked faces. Just bodies. All slender. All male. All dubiously legal. Twisted. Bound. Violated. Every single one manipulated with an escalating ingenuity. Clearly, the werewolf considered it an art-form. 

After that first stack, Sven quickly flipped through the others. He was convinced the whole stash was worthless. None of the subjects had tattoos, piercings, or any significant scarring. No one depicted could be reasonably identified. He was wasting his time.

But he had to make sure, and the deeper he waded, the more his shoulders tensed, the more he felt walls close in. He caught himself listening for heavy footsteps outside the door.

Childish. At its heart, it was all so childish. 

And pointless.

Then he found a stack with a face. He found Drake.

My questions

1. Who was your first OC? 2. What was the first story you ever wrote? 3. What book (or other piece of media) has most inspired you? 4. How do you fight writer’s block? 5. What is your favorite genre to write in and why? 6. How would you describe your writing style? 7. In general, do you think you’d get along with your protagonists? 8. What do you love most about your WIPs? 9. What is your favorite character trope? 10. What is your least favorite character trope? 11. What’s an upcoming scene you’re excited to write? Tagging: @mvcreates ; @whataremetaphor ; @phloxxiing ; @gaytivity ; @jessica-shouldbewriting ; @oyef ; @blurrywhitelies ; @savannahscripts ; @imaghostwriter ; @quilloftheclouds ; @maabon