#don’t know if you’d prefer or if it’s easier to read it on the doc

[centaurisolarflare]

König Headcannons

Someone tell me what absolute crack they’re sprinkling these masked Call of Duty men with. I’ve got major König brainrot and this got wildly out of hand, like a five-page word doc out of hand – I had to just stop because it got so long. Might do an NSFW one, lmk if you’d want that. I love you all dearly, enjoy!

- He’s really good at Tetris. Don’t ask me how or why I arrived at this conclusion, I myself have no idea. Dude just likes Tetris. It’s fast paced and demands his attention so he can usually sit still if he’s focused on the game.

- Compulsively chews the skin off his lips and the inside of his cheeks. Can’t help it. Used to bite his nails but that faded throughout his military involvement as he wears gloves pretty much all the time.

- This man has a list of things about you memorized. He covets each piece of information. He knows not only your favorite kind of tea but exactly how you like it prepared. Knows every single favorite you’ve ever mentioned – foods, flowers, books, movies, weather, what songs or types of music you’ll listen to depending on your mood, the colors you like and the colors you think you look best wearing, if you prefer gold or silver jewelry, etc. etc.

         -- Started keeping this list long before he ever actually really spoke to you with things he overheard you say. He was so worried he’d slip up and you’d think he was creepy.

- Fucking loves giving you things. Like I said, he has all your favorites memorized, so it’s easy for him to grab things when he sees them. MFer would give you a rock if it made you happy, he just loves seeing your face light up.

         -- Toward the beginning of you two, when he knew he liked you but was still too anxious and shy to really interact with you, it was so much easier for him to pack all his sentiment and feelings into the things he gave you. He could push them into your hands with maybe a word or two — sometimes literally just saying “here” or “for you”, though often it was without saying anything at all — and hope you got the intended messages of “I thought of you; this suits you; I want you to enjoy this; I care about you”.

         -- He heard you mention some obscure recently published book you wanted to read one time and he immediately began looking for it. When he found it, he bought it with an intensity that scared the bookshop owner; he nearly slammed it on the counter and shoved a handful of money at them, he was just so damn excited to be able to give it to you. And yet, he still carried it around in one of the bigger pockets on his gear for days because he was nervous to actually give it to you in person

         -- Gives you food all the time. Just appears next to you holding out something or another and vanishes before you’re even done saying thank you. You could be stationed anywhere and somehow this man has found? made? acquired? something delicious and he will be giving it to you.

- On that topic, he’s a really good cook. Like legitimately everything he even attempts to make comes out amazing. He loves when you hang out with him in the kitchen while he cooks.

         -- The first time you offered to help he was so startled he nearly dropped a knife. He comes to loves how seamlessly you two work together and move around each other in the kitchen.

         -- He gets to listen to you talk but the tasks at hand give him something to focus on and do, which makes the heat of your attention and his supplying the other half of the conversation easier to bear.

         -- Plays quiet music as he cooks, asks you for songs to put on and loves hearing you sing along as you work

         -- He loves when you hop up on the counter, you look so cute swinging your legs and watching what he’s doing.

         -- Will absolutely do the nonna thing where he swats at your hand if you try to steal something before the dish is ready but he also does the nonna thing where he’ll chop extra veggies so you can eat a few, or he’ll give you a handful of chocolate chips before using the bag. Basically, snacking is fine as long as it’s König approved snacking.

                   ---- One time, when he walked back into the kitchen to see you sneaking bites out of the pot on the stove, he reflexively swatted your backside with the dishtowel he’d had over his shoulder. He turned bright fucking red when you whipped around, shock written all over your face and the wooden spoon still in your hand. Immediately began stumbling over his words trying desperately to explain himself, god he was so fucking stupid and he felt like a chasm was opening up in his chest, until you broke out in a grin and started laughing so hard you got tears in your eyes. He was still mumbling apologies as he went to add spices to the pot, still bright red because you were leaning against his side trying to catch your breath.

         -- Loves sharing the things you make together, loves sitting down and having meals with you

         -- I also think he has a sweet tooth and he’d love it if you liked to bake

         -- While we’re talking about food, I think he really enjoys clementines for some reason. The fruit looks extra small in his hands as he takes the rind off, he’ll always pull it apart and offer you half

- Loves snow. Like kid-rushing-to-the-window loves snow. Stands outside with his head tilted back watching it fall.

- Rarely gets cold, he’s like a walking furnace.

- Trust issues af. Distanced himself from you, especially when he found himself liking you.

- Dude is big. Really big. He’s aware of that. But he never really thought about certain applications of his size; like how your hand fits in his, how your eyes shine when you look up at him, how his fingers fit around your waist/throat/wrists/thighs, how you look wearing his clothes, etc.

- You’re his first kiss and he is nearly shaking out of his own skin when it happened, but he makes up for the nerves and inexperience with hesitant enthusiasm and pure adoration.

- His phone screen is cracked. Badly.

- Good with animals, the type of person to be going about his day with a cat perching itself on his shoulder. Oddly loves waterfowl – birds like ducks and geese and swan.

- Good with kids in a quiet way. He’s a little awkward with them, they’re so unpredictable and don’t really have filters so they’re a little terrifying, but they adore him. He listens and nods as they babble, lets them hang off his arms, and gives as many piggyback rides as he’s asked for.

         -- Would love it if you were good with kids. If you were playful and indulged their imaginations, yet you took them seriously when they had questions and concerns. It’s a bittersweet thing to see you being so attentive and caring because he would have done anything for someone so kind when he was younger.

- Loves when you sit close to him and press your thigh against his, or when you stand and lean against him

- Either cannot make eye contact or stares. If you’re doing something that requires your visual attention but still talking to him, like driving, he’d be staring directly at you the whole time; until you glace at him in the passenger seat and suddenly he’s looking at anything else

         -- When he gets flustered, he tends to look upwards and trys to even out his breathing

- Speaking of driving, he absolutely says “horses” or “cows” when you pass a field of animals. Totally monotone and watches them as you pass by.

- Took him a while to get accustomed to casual touches from you, even longer for more intimate touches, but once he’s comfortable he cannot get enough. Touchstarved.

- Opens every single door for you

- Talks too fast and gets flustered when he trips over his words, which doesn’t help him speak any slower. He has poor volume regulation and either talks either way too quiet – and mumbles when he does – or way too loudly.

- He doesn’t usually stutter but it happens a lot around you. He wants so badly to talk to you but you’re so kind and pretty and his thoughts are going a million miles an hour in about four different directions, and he just ends up so nervous. He tries to say two things at once and stutters through his sentence, he tries to say one thing but abandons it half way through to say something else, repeats certain words, and of course stutters on certain letters.

         -- He’d be so so grateful if you didn’t laugh or mock him. He’s used to people finding ways to get out of talking to him, inventing reasons to cut conversations short, for a whole host of reasons – his accent, how intimidating he looks, the way he talks, the tripping up on words – and he remembers when he was younger and either no one wanted to speak to him or he’d get bullied for speaking at all.

         -- He loves that you’re patient and let him work through his sentences – and he will, because he really does want to talk to you if he could just sort his brain out.

         -- The effort you put into making him comfortable, making him feel at ease talking to you, knocks the air out of his lungs. The attention sometimes makes his anxiety flare up, but he can’t help but love your dedication to talking with him.

- On kind of the same topic, he will make noises or hand gestures to communicate. Sometimes only responds with a “hmm” or “mmhm” but he is paying rapt attention and wants you to keep talking, he just can’t make his own words work right then.  

- If you are outwardly confident, maybe even a little cocky, he eats that shit up. Winking while telling him you’ve got it, grinning after an impressive display of competence.

         -- If you speak up for him or defend him, he’ll lose his mind

- He loves playing with your hands. He’ll do it absentmindedly – rubbing circles on the back of your palm, toying with your fingers, tracing over the ridge of your knuckles – and always blushes when he realizes, no matter how many times you tell him it’s alright.

         -- If he gets more comfortable and in a relationship with you, he’ll lace your fingers together and pull your hand to his mouth so he can kiss the back of it.

         -- Also, if you put your hand on his face and hold his cheek he’ll grab your wrist – fingers wrapping all the way around it and then some – press your hand more firmly against his face, and turn his head to kiss your palm.

- Never feels like he’s allowed to touch you and will kind of linger around you until you initiate something or ask him what he needs (embarrassed as hell when you make him tell you exactly what he needs in a more NSFW context, but he loves it). Will always always always ask before touching you if he’s the one initiating. Once you do give him permission, he’s on you like a shot.

         -- Clingy as fuck. Always wants to be near you. If he can’t be next to you he’ll keep his eyes on you, you’ve lost count of the number of times you’ll look at him to find he’s already watching you.

         -- Uses his strength to his advantage when he wraps his arms around you and won’t let you get out of bed in the morning.

         -- Loves when you hug him so tight he thinks maybe you’ll crack his ribs, it feels so safe and he’ll rest his head on top of yours. I also think he’d be the type to hug so than his arms are under yours; yes, he knows it makes the whole thing less convenient because he has to lean down more, but he wants to be able to draw you in against his chest as securely as he can.

- He has stretchmarks on his arms/back/thighs from growing so much so fast. He’s really self-conscious about them.

         -- I also think as a result of growing so fast there was a period of time when he was young where he’d faint in the mornings. There’s a type of syncope that can occur during the years growth spurts happen, especially when a child grows a lot, caused by a lack of blood (oxygen) to the brain; it’ll happen especially after getting up from sleep, due to slow blood circulation, and in the shower, due to the warm temperature and humidity. He’d just space out, get black spots or narrowing vison, and pass out. Wake up quickly, maybe with a little vertigo, and be fine.

- Remembers and treasures every single complement and nice thing you’ve said to or about him. Complements and praise make him a mess.

- Can weave flower crowns.

- If you wear makeup, he loves watching you put it on. Maybe one day you’ll doll him up with it and tell him how pretty he is.

- Not fond of needles, doesn’t have any tattoos or piercings.

- Not super comfortable with PDA.

- In private, he loves kissing your forehead and the top of your head. When he’s more comfortable with you he’ll stoop over to kiss to the back of your neck, gently brushing your hair out of the way to press his lips right above the last knob of your spine.

         -- Loves kissing you when he’s sitting down and you’re straddling his lap, his thighs splayed out and you raised up on your knees to accommodate for his height, one hand on your waist and one up grasping at the back of your neck, and you kiss him filthy and tell him how good he is. He’s inexperienced so he gets overwhelmed quickly, resting his forehead on your shoulder and panting while he tries to focus on anything other than how badly he wants to pull your hips down and rut against you. He’s definitely cummed in his pants befo- *I am forcibly removed from the stage*

- Babyboy gets flustered and embarrassed so easily, has a blush than spreads down to his chest.

- Loves having inside jokes with you. Loves the side glances you shoot him, your suppressed smile, the little nudge you give him with your shoulder or elbow

         -- Loves that you two talk enough to have these jokes and references, and that you remember them. It reassures him that you enjoy talking to him.

         -- He especially, maybe selfishly, loves when someone asks about the glances and the snickering and you tell them that it’s an inside joke, that you refuse to offer any further explanation, that you want these little jokes to be yours and his alone.

- Loves when you play with his hair, lets out very contented hums when you scratch your nails over his scalp.

- Gives you massages. He’s really good at it, big hands, okay, and he’s so warm. Especially likes relieving your shoulders, back, and hands but will give diligent attention to any of your sore muscles.

- Doesn’t wear any jewelry but is absolutely the type to wear a little woven threads or beaded bracelet forever just because you gave it to him

- Because of how tall he is, he’s used to being cramped up when he sleeps so he sort of always curls up as much as he can when he sleeps, even if he has room to stretch out.

         -- If you’re near him while he’s asleep there’s a good chance he’ll wrap himself around you.

- He has so many little fun facts on an absurdly large number of topics and could ramble for hours about the subjects that particularly interest him.

         -- If you mention something you’re interested in he will do extensive research to learn about it. He wants to show you he cares and he also wants to be informed so he doesn’t make himself look like an idiot in front of you.

- Loves teaching you things, he feels more sure of himself when he’s instructing you through something he’s knowledge about.

         -- Loves being taught as well, he’s very good at following directions and always wants to impress you.

- Never forgets birthdays, anniversaries, or any other important dates. This man will remember your pets birthdays. 

#könig #könig x reader #könig x gn!reader #gn!reader #könig headcannons #fluff #könig cod #konig #konig x reader #konig headcannons #cod #mw2 #cod mw2 #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #modern warefare 2 #my writing #babygirl #babygirlification #i love this man. someone tell this man i love him #he’s so cute. i want to suck him off #no beta we die like men

[thesummerstorms]

Okay, because I just commented this somewhere else but now I need it here:

“Who else could it be? Ain’t it his shidi, the little sect leader Jiang Cheng?"- official 7S English translation

“Who other than his shidi, Jiang Cheng, putting an end to his own relative for the greater good." - Exiled Rebels', the original/first English fan translation

“Who else could it be? His disciple-brother, Chief Jiang Cheng of the Yunmeng Jiang Clan!"- Fanyiyi's partial English fan translation, and my personal favorite

“Who else could it be but his junior, the Young Clan Leader of the Jiang Clan, Jiang Cheng”- The Taming Wangxian partial fan translation

Even though they all technically express the same thing, the way they choose to word things sound so radically different. 

“The little sect leader” vs “the Young Clan Leader” in S7 vs TW.

“Ain’t” which sounds highly informal/kind of low-brow to the English ear versus... literally every other translation.

“Lan Zhan, can’t you tell what I meant by all that chatter?” “No,” Lan Wangji replied. “You can’t?” Wei Wuxian said. “I was complimenting you, tryin’ to get chummy!”-  official 7S English translation

Wei WuXian, “You don’t even know about this? I was complimenting you, trying to become more casual with you.” - Exiled Rebels', the original/first English fan translation

“Really, you didn’t know? I was kissing up to you so you’d be my friend.”-  Fanyiyi's partial English fan translation, and my personal favorite

(I unfortunately only have the first 26 pages of Taming Wangian’s version, so I don’t have this bit. If someone wants to link me to a doc... that would be great. I bought all the currently available legal versions because I believe in paying MXTX for her work; I just have translation preferences.)

But again, it’s a matter of small bits of word choice making a big difference, at least for me personally. 

First off, why is Wei Wuxian dropping his ending “g”s? Like, I know that’s a real life thing; I’m Texan and talk that way IRL. But they do this here (and with the “ain’t” above and the repeated use of “li’l”) and it just comes out sounding jarring to me? It isn’t as if WWX has a specific English-speaking accent to transcribe. 

Is this a tone/dialect thing in Mandarin that the 7S team is trying to localize? I wouldn’t know, but if so, why doesn’t it show up in any of the other translations? And if it isn’t are they trying to make the speech sound more “colorful”? Because for me, it’s just distracting.

Also, the word chummy. Again, there’s a difference in formality levels, but I also just kind of hate this word (which is used four times in 7S’s edition). It might be because in my daily life, I’ve only ever heard this word being used sarcastically- “I saw them getting really chummy with X” is always used with a negative connotation. And I just think there were smoother ways to render this?

Wei Wuxian had wanted to shuffle closer and get chummy to loosen him up, but when he couldn’t and was snubbed, he still wasn’t upset.- 7S

Wei WuXian wanted to get closer to Lan WangJi so that it was more convenient for him to flatter the other. Even though he couldn’t go over and was given the cold shoulder, he wasn’t angered at all.- Exiled Rebels

Initially, Wei Wuxian had wanted to move closer to Lan Wangji so that it would be easier to talk to him and worm his way into a friendship. But not only was he prevented from approaching the boy, Lan Wangji’s responses also offered no amusement. However, Wei Wuxian wasn’t angry. - Fanyiyi

Again, I can’t read any Mandarin whatsoever, so I can’t make meaningful comments about how the different translations relate back to the original text. I will say that as an English speaker, I just flat out don’t enjoy a lot of 7S’s translation choices when seen in the frame of comparable fan translations. Their diction is distracting and odd in too many places.

(And of course, this is not to say you can’t like or prefer or support the 7S version if you so choose. This is my personal opinion.)

#MDZS

[the-wayward-snowflake]

KNOWING YOUR PARTNER WELL CAN POTENTIALLY MAKE WRITING TOGETHER A LOT EASIER. ( REPOST DO NOT REBLOG ! )

✿ NAME: I’m Ari. I have used Ari Shae (and well ShadesOfLetters) as my pen name for years. 

✿ PRONOUNS: she/her  

✿ PREFERENCE OF COMMUNICATION: Guys, I am on discord if you’re ever interested. My instagram and twitter dms are also available. The messaging on tumblr isn’t as reliable for me because I don’t always have my Ipad on me or my laptop near me. I do tend to respond rather quickly when I have my phone on me. I’m a tad shy, but once you get me going... You’d be shocked because I do tend to get excited about talking about others characters and mine.

✿ NAME OF MUSE(S):   Isolde! My beloved. 

✿ EXPERIENCE/HOW LONG (MONTHS / YEARS?):  More like a couple weeks. A month even? I haven’t done this for long at all. I’ve been writing for years, but I have never really taken part of RP before. Oh! But I do have theatre experience. I think like five years of theatre? I was mostly a light techie, but I dabbled in acting. I learned I bounced off other people better.

✿ PLATFORMS YOU’VE USED:  For RP so far I have only used tumblr. 

✿ BEST EXPERIENCE:  Okay so, first off. I think a mini shoutout is in order because @sylvctica actually got me going and told me everything I needed to note. Hell, I was given a google doc. Which was so nice. So, I’d say getting into it I had a good time. 

But with that said, dear lord. The harem conversation had me DYING. I said one thing and suddenly a downward spiral happened. It was just so funny seeing how things went down. I just had a blast that day, I sat back and watched everything go down until I realized Isolde probably should be hiding! I don’t, I have had a great time so far despite being a shy coffee bean. 

RP is like the OC version of social media, but everyone is unhinged and living their best lives.

✿ RP PET PEEVES/DEALBREAKERS:  I haven’t experienced much to say I have a pet peeve. But the one thing I will say is when I check out a profile and they say to read their rules, they don’t have a link anywhere prominent and you have to dig through posts. If I don’t see them, it’s kind of a deal breaker for me.  

✿ FLUFF, ANGST OR SMUT:   I am cool with fluff, suggestive even. I am good with angst too. I’ll write a whole range of emotions. But... I. WILL. NOT. WRITE. SMUT. I have no issue seeing it. I just don’t like writing it. (sometimes people are really good at it though, like damn) 

✿ PLOTS OR MEMES:  Honestly, I am cool with both. I have not really had a chance to plot with anyone yet, but I am always open to it. You can always message me and I’ll get back to you. You can also as for my discord if you want it. I have grown to really enjoy meme-ing the shit out of my characters lately. I do enjoy both very much. 

✿ LONG OR SHORT REPLIES: I can do both. As of the moment I’ve only been doing shorter responses. I have not gotten a chance to write longer posts with people. If you want to do that, just let me know and understand the longer ones will take a bit of time for me to get out.  

✿ BEST TIME TO WRITE:  Any time inspiration hits me. Most the time that inspiration comes during the middle of the night. There I am, at my laptop, typing away because I got an idea I didn’t want to forget in the morning. Right now it’s 7am when I am making this. It’s just whenever for me. Hell, I put off my school work in the middle of the afternoon yesterday to polish up a headcanon I wanna post soon.  

✿ ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSE(S): I always seem to have a tiny bit of me in most my characters. In this sense, I would say the few things I share with me character are patience, asexual, and my love for warm beverages. Oh wait, and the fact that for the first time ever, I have a character that dislikes alcohol. It’s just some tiny things.  

#OOC I just wanted to do this to help get to know me better #[About Ari]

[reallyprofoundkryptonite]

AU Design Requests! (150+ follower special!)

To those who’re new here, welcome! I’m Maea!

Since I’ve hit the milestone of 154 followers (and because of the holidays tbh) I’m going to do a little thing in celebration!

I’m going to allow you, my precious followers to send me random ideas for an au of Krogan, and I will personally draw up an entire reference sheet (with information you provide, or I myself have figured out during the doodling of the reference sheet.) of it! After I’ve complied all of the aus requested I will draw sprites of each individual au and plop em on a finished “gallery” (really just a few slides I’ve assembled in procreate)to display them.

Each individual au will be linked back to the original ask; and I will provide a google document on this post below for you to fill out and either drop in my ask box (anonymously or otherwise idm) or shoot me a DM if you’d prefer to simply be @/ed instead of having a ask answered.

I will 100% try to get to everyone’s au requests.

Just note: anything not related to Krogan will be blatantly ignored or deleted.

If anyone has any questions about what certain things mean on the doc just let me know via DM or an ask- he’ll just comment your questions here. I don’t mind.

On the actual document, I highly suggest adding images so it is easier than describing things. (At least when asked to do so.)

IMPORTANT: Once you’re done with the document (Make a copy of it first so you can edit it) make sure your privacy settings are set to “anyone with this link can view.” That ways when you send the link I can actually read what you’ve written.

#requests #krogan #au requests #httyd #httyd rtte #krogan rtte #krogan httyd #rtte #httyd fanart #httyd fandom #httyd au

[silverpaintedstars]

Well, here’s a first chapter for y’all! Disclaimer it’s a little long, so be prepared for scrolling. I had a lot of fun writing this one

(if you havent read the prologue might wanna do that)

Chapter One: A Meal, An Encounter, and A Walk

He should be dead.

Somehow, though, he was alive.

But it felt like the opposite.

There was the left-over pain from the shadows, and on top of that, his face stung terribly. But he was alive, and he’d take that. Elliot didn’t open his eyes yet, still getting used to the fact that there was more life to live, and how he was going to use it.

It felt like he was laying on grass, or something of the likes. At any rate it was quiet, and he needed this moment of peace. He was lucky to snag them whenever he could, few and far between.

Finally he groaned and wrenched his eyes open. Grey sky greeted him overhead. He was laying on damp brush, rough and overgrown. Not too far from his original guess. A few trees dotted the land around, but he saw no other living form on this desolate wasteland.

Mustering all his energy, he slowly sat up, his head throbbing from the effort. He still had his traveling cloak over his shoulders, but whoever had put him here didn’t think to give him a bag or something?

Whoever had put him here…

Elliot looked around, then yelped.

On a rather large rock to his left, a black-clad figure sat, watching him. He wore a rather curious black mask around his eyes. A few strands of white hair peeked out from under his black hood. A scarf waved in the breeze, and a sword was buckled at his side.

All in all, he looked quite impressive, and like he could kill Elliot any second.

The black-cloaked young man quirked a small smile, his eyes completely concealed so Elliot couldn’t see any emotion from there. Clearly he knew Elliot had seen him but made no move towards his sword.

Elliot remained perfectly still, eyes wide and heart thumping. Did this person bring him here? Or simply stumble upon him? Not knowing made him feel even more helpless.

After a moment of the two staring at each other, the young man deftly hopped off his rock and strode towards Elliot, quickly closing the few yards between them. His boots flattened the tall grass, forming a temporary path.

Elliot swallowed, knowing he should run, but he was half curious what this stranger wanted, plus he doubted he could run faster.

The stranger stopped right in front of Elliot, who was still on the ground, staring up at him.

What he could see of his face betrayed no emotion as he reached a hand down, in the direction of his sheathed sword.

Elliot squeezed his eyes shut, frantically trying to shuffle back in the process. But when he heard no telltale shhhk of the weapon being drawn, he cautiously opened his eyes again.

A grey-gloved hand was outstretched in front of him.

Confused, ELliot looked back up at the stranger, who nodded his head towards his hand.

After a moment's hesitation, Ellliot limply grabbed it, his joints popping as the stranger pulled him to standing. Elliot dusted himself off, wobbling a bit. His face still hurt and he was terribly sore, but it was something he could bear to live with.

“Careful, traveler. Might get stepped on down there,” the stranger said. His voice didn’t quite match the rest of his outward appearance. Lower, a little hesitant but still confident. Elliot didn’t yet know if he could trust this stranger, but a part of him very much wanted to.

“Uh--em--tha-thank you,” Elliot warbled out, rubbing at his hands.

The stranger tipped his head slightly to the left. “And you are welcome.”

“Wh-who are you?” Elliot asked, knowing that stereotypical question had to be asked at some point.

“Around here you can call me Reaper.”

Elliot blinked. “Around here?”

“Yes.” He offered no further explanation. “I trust you are in need of food?”

Elliot hadn’t gotten there in his train of thought yet, but when it came around he found he was quite ready to board the car of food. His stomach grumbled hard when he found that inside this car were piles of food-breads, fruits, soups, and sweets. “Yes,” he said aloud, adding a hasty, ‘sir,” because it sounded safer.

Reaper smiled, pulling a wrapped parcel out of a bag hidden under his cloak. Inside were contents that added more memories to his car of food. A loaf of bread with a bit already broken off, a chunk of cheese, and an apple. He sat on the hard ground in one swift motion, crossing his legs underneath him and spreading the food on the paper, placing it on the ground.

Elliot clumsily sat across from Reaper, hungrily eying the food as more items filled his car as he looked at them.

Reaper tilted his head, as if studying him. “Go on.”

Elliot grabbed at the bread, tearing a hunk off and stuffing it in his mouth. He tried to go slow, act like he had some idea of manners, but the food tasted so good in comparison to what he was used to. Fresh bread--a rare thing for him. He was more used to barren soups, thin, watery things. This tasted a thousand times better, and Elliot felt himself feeling a sense of peace--despite dining with a stranger.

“So tell me,” Reaper said, watching Elliot eat, “how a High Elf like you wound up sixty miles from Orlem.”

He was that far away?

Elliot glanced down at his left hand, which bore the mark of a High Elf--black swirls along the side. He rubbed it. “I don’t know,” he said truthfully. So then, Reaper hadn’t brought him here? Just...found him? He reached for the apple and took a meek bite, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.

“Quite a scar,” Reaper said after a few more minutes of almost quiet, save Elliot’s chewing.

Elliot trailed a finger along the ridge, not trusting himself to be able to say anything. He ducked his head, letting his long hair hang over his face. He had finished eating and stared down at the ground, his head aching not just from physical wounds, but from memories triggered by it. Terrible memories. He willed them away, but it didn’t really go away. Just retreated until another vulnerable moment.

Why was he here? He was certain his father--no, the king--had killed him. He didn’t deserve the title father anymore. Elliot could bear king but not father.

And who was Reaper? Why was a random stranger being so kind to this small Elf boy? Elliot didn’t deserve this. He’d never even had someone really be nice to him before. Except Moss. But she was gone.

“Wh-where are we?” he asked Reaper, dragging himself out from his maze of thoughts.

“About a mile from Holden,” Reaper answered.

Holden. A town. Elliot had never been there, his few leavings of Orlem, the capital of Lucero, north rather than east, where Holden lay. He’d studied the geography of Lucero and the neighboring kingdoms, Chexon and Andromarche, before, so he vaguely knew the rough area.

What was so important about Holden? Was there a reason he had woken up here? Or was it simply...more convenient? He could think of plenty of wasteland around Orlem that would’ve suited the same need, but was closer.

“So…” Elliot started, trying to order his thoughts. “You--found me?”

Reaper nodded. “I was headed to Holden and came upon you. I couldn’t exactly leave someone in your, ah, condition.” For some reason Elliot got the feeling he didn’t mean his wounds.

Reaper rubbed his neck in an almost grabbing way. “To put it this way--most you meet will not sympathize with you. Since Loot has the throne, life has been difficult for most people, from cause of Elves.”

Oh. Elliot let that sink in. Because...of his father, people just associated elves with bad? And Reaper didn’t even know his father was the king.

“You’re lucky I found you,” Reaper added, snapping a twig in his gloved hands and making Elliot jump.

The world suddenly seemed a very messy place, and he’d been thrust in headfirst with no warning. He wasn’t quite sure what to do or say, so he just took another bite of bread.

“Now I know you probably don’t completely trust me,” Reaper continued, “and you just met me twenty or so minutes ago, but we can’t stay here very long. Benedons roam these parts, but the closer we move to Holden, the safer we are.”

Elliot definitely didn’t want to have to encounter a Benedon, a fanged, sharp-clawed creature. And there was a part that desperately wanted to trust Reaper. If he’d wanted to kill him, he could’ve. Elliot didn’t doubt that. But he hadn’t--and he’d given him food. So he had at least one good reason to trust him. But was it enough? He didn’t know who lay behind the mask. For all he knew, they were nowhere near Holden and Reaper was really leading him to his death.

He could never know.

But there was only one way to truly be sure.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll go.”

“Good,” Reaper said, looking around. “Because I doubt you have a choice.” He looked back at Elliot. “Rest a while longer--you don’t yet look strong. Then we will leave.”

Elliot nodded, wondering how he was supposed to rest.

Turns out he didn’t have to think about it, for he lay back in the grass and promptly fell asleep.

He woke up some time later to see Reaper anxiously studying the sky, where the grey had grown darker. He hadn’t noticed Elliot was awake.

Slowly he sat up, rubbing the cloud from his eyes and head. Reaper looked over and saw him. “Good, you’re awake,” he said. “We should be off. If it stays clear we should make it before nightfall, but it looks like storms. Though I know a shelter if we need it.”

Elliot listened to his words in silence. When Reaper had finished he made his way to standing with an amount of effort. His legs were sore and his head began to hurt again, but he made it. Reaper nodded.

“You seem well enough to walk. You feel so?” he asked, shifting the sword scabbard around his waist.

“I-I think so,” Elliot repeated, trying to convince himself that the words were true.

“Then off we will be,” Reaper replied with a readiness to his voice that Elliot couldn’t quite match.

They began to walk east, though it was hard to tell with the clouded sky, but Reaper seemed to know the direction, which didn’t really surprise Elliot. His strength still was weak, but he managed to get in a groove to walk, heaving breaths but refusing to ask for a rest, wanting to prove he could do this.

Yeah, well, he wasn't convincing himself.

At all.

They walked in silence, Reaper still kept looking at the sky, making Elliot start to worry himself if they would get caught in the rain. They had been walking for about forty-five minutes when Elliot felt it.

A drop of wet.

At first he thought it was a bead of sweat from how hard he was pushing himself, but when he felt another, he looked up, confused. Another drop hit him right between the eyes. “Um-eh-Reaper?” he said in a quiet tone. Reaper didn’t hear him. “R-reaper?”

Reaper looked at him. “Yes?” He wouldn’t feel the rain with his hood and cloak, Elliot figured.

Elliot opened his mouth to speak, when the whole sky opened up. He was drenched in approximately twenty one seconds.

Reaper let out a frustrated huff of air, the first time Elliot saw him drop the calm facade. “Come on--there’s a place just over this next way.”

“How far?” Elliot asked, but was lost in the torrent. He followed Reaper, almost running in the rain. His cloak was soaked through, his hair dripping rain in his eyes. He could barely see ten feet ahead of him, but he could see Reaper’s scarf, and followed that blindly like a lighthouse on a ravaging sea.

He squinted, rainwater running into his eyes and his strength almost completely gone, but if Reaper promised shelter--he would push himself as much as he could to get to it and out of this rain.

Finally he saw a blur of yellow. He wiped his eyes and it focused into a small building that was just coming into view from behind a small hill. “I-is that it?” he had to pretty much shout to Reaper over the wet.

“Yes,” Reaper called back. “We will stop there.”

Elliot let out a breath of relief. Finally, he could rest. He could stop and maybe, just maybe, feel safe. Of course, that was making a rather large assumption, but one could dream, couldn’t they? If you weren’t even safe enough to dream, then you were truly cut off from your largest freedom.

Then a crack of lightning struck somewhere close and he jumped, knocked from his thoughts yet again, remembering that he was still in the middle of a storm.

The building--or whatever--was closer now, and thanks to the light from within, he could make out Reaper, the clouds completely snuffing out the natural light. It wasn’t quite nighttime yet, but it was darkening towards it.

Elliot wrapped his dripping cloak around himself, utterly miserable in the wet, feeling like a cat out here. Finally, finally, he and Reaper stepped onto the small porch of the shack, sheltered after what felt like an eternity.

Reaper threw his soaked hood back, his white-grey hair also dripping into his black mask, but he kept that on. “We may have to stay here through the night,” he told Elliot, looking out at the desolate, wet land around. “Walking around in this isn’t quite my fancy, though we are not far from Holden.”

Elliot only nodded, trying to peer through one of the windows that opened onto the porch, but there was a cloth thrown across it on the inside, blocking his view. “What is this place?” he asked Reaper.

“Think of it like an inn for us...vagabonds,” Reaper said. “But less ravish.”

“Oh.” Vagabonds? Was he considered that now? Reaper definitely fit that category, at least from the time he’d known him. But he wouldn’t have labeled himself one before, but maybe now.

“Well then,” Reaper said, wringing the end of his cloak off and dripping into small puddles on the ground, “shall we go inside?”

Elliot definitely had no idea what to expect in this ‘inn for vagabonds’, in Reaper’s terms. But he supposed he would have no idea what to expect of anything he encountered from here on out.

“I-I guess we will,” he said, swallowing and moistening his throat, ironically enough the only part that seemed dry.

Reaper opened the wooden door, and it whined on the hinges. Then he and Elliot stepped inside, out of the external terrors, and into the internal mysteries.

#wip #my writing #writers on tumblr #silverstars writes #elliot loot #reaper #my ocs #how the son of shadows was cast out #chapter one #i don’t remember the word count so ehe #and it bugs me how it won’t copy paste indents #but I don’t feel like editing every single line #also are y’all fine just me posting it here #don’t know if you’d prefer or if it’s easier to read it on the doc #*shrug*

[cometstales]

“Beach Chaos” Sims 4 Challenge

by Comet’s Tales

—————————-

Explanation:

I am a writer, storyteller and most importantly NOT a gamer, so if anything seems impossible for gameplay let me know! All my challenges are based on original characters that I had no place to fit in any of my projects. I hate to neglect a character once I put a face to them so I decided to make them into challenges, that way they’re not in the dungeon and I can also exercise my brain to create in-depth stories for my OCs and not just slap a face on them and call it a day. Win-win if you ask me. Beach Chaos is centered around my OCs Kal-El and Allanis. Enjoy!

GOOGLE DOC OF CHALLENGE FOR EASIER READ + Bonus

—————————-

Summary:

Born and raised in Sulani, it’s no surprise that you grew up to love the ocean. With a full household, you learned not to spend too much money on materialistic things and prefer hand-me-downs and thrifts. You live a chill and vibey life with not many bumps in the road.Academics are merely satisfactory and your love life isn’t too concerning for you. Oh, but no kids. Nada, zero. You love your siblings but you discovered that you cannot raise a child, you just aren’t too keen on them. Other than your siblings, you’d prefer to stay far away from children as possible.

—————————-

Traits:

Hates children, Child of the ocean, Freegan

Aspiration:

Beach Life

—————————-

General Rules:

If you’re playing as a boy, your name has to be Kal-El. If you’re playing as a girl, your name has to be Allanis.

Be born into a household of 4 sims or more.

Complete Beach Life aspiration

Master Fabrication and Fitness skills

Be born, raised and die in Sulani.

No specific career! (But I do recommend Freelancer or Social Media)

Never marry (you have hookups and/or partners but the marriage route just never came into your life)

You believe in the importance of a childhood home, so you don’t move out

Have good manners throughout all your life stages

—————————-

Childhood Rules:

Have at least 3 good friends

Create a club

Have a grade C in school

Have good relationships with your siblings

—————————-

Teen hood Rules:

Join the Lifeguard part time job

Have one childhood friend become distant

Meet a mer-person

Get a fish tank

Keep school grade as a C

Have club reach 5 members

Find at least 30 things in the dumpster

—————————-

Young Adult/Adulthood Rules:

Uh oh…due to a sudden event (of your choice), a toddler has been brought into your care and you don’t have the heart to turn them away…

Reconnect with childhood friend that became distant

Have a mediocre relationship with the toddler

Have at least two arguments with your child (you can choose at what age)

Kick out a club member

Dig for treasure and find 5 things

Pick up a new hobby

—————————-

Elder hood Rules:

Have another argument with your child

Become distant with your child

Go on vacation

—————————-

The End

#the sims #simblr #sims 4 challenge #sims4 #not so berry #legacy challenge #sims challenge #sims 4 challenges #sims challenges #Spotify

[wing-ed-thing]

Group Project (Shino x Reader x Kisame x Temari)

Request: 

Word Count: 2,282

Tags/Warnings: Language, Alcohol Mention, Gender Neutral Reader @brokennerdalert​ @narahanabi​

Notes: I have never written for Temari before. I think I got her spot on tho. This was actually too fun to write. Enjoy, y’all.

The only time that worked for everyone was 10 o’clock. Which, by the way, sucked ass. At least, that was what Kisame said in the groupchat just ten minutes before you dragged yourself out of your dorm and into the rain. You trudged through the puddles, holding your jacket closed over your body to protect your backpack-encased laptop. Shino had a night lab. The earlier he finished his work the earlier he could leave. Temari had been insistent about that. She had some sort of circle and you remembered Kisame asking her why she couldn’t just skip for the week only to be met with a passive aggressive response. And Kisame himself had hockey practice. Even the sports houses were off campus, only impeding your scheduling efforts.

When you got to the longue, Temari had already set up all of her belongings. She sat herself in a cluster of four shallow armchairs and spread out a flurry of papers on the long coffee table. With the packed schedule that she threw into the chat, you wondered how she got there so quickly. Temari looked up at you with one long, slender brow raised.

“Oh good, at least you’re here.” Unsure, really, of what to make of her backhanded compliment, you sat down in the chair across from her and wordlessly unpacked your laptop.

You never liked general classes. At the end of the day, you worked on a few big, group projects, ultimately learned nothing, and your grade depended on the work ethic of others. You glanced over at Temari. She likely didn’t even have the same major as you. Granted, that was probably the point of the class, but nonetheless, it weighed on your already drooping eyes knowing that you’d have to pour so many late night hours into a project that would amount to nothing.

You pulled up your school account and sifted through your notifications.

“I signed us up for a research question. I thought that censorship in the classroom was an easy and relevant one. I don’t know about you, but I’m not about to get into the intricacies of drones at this time of day.” You couldn’t help but nod. Temari sure pounced on top of things quickly and for that, you were thankful to have received an easy prompt.

“Sounds great,” you mused and the heavy door from the outside to the longue slammed shut. You glanced over your shoulder to find Kisame, still in athletic clothes grinning as he approached.

“Well this is bullshit, isn’t it?” Those were the first words to come out of his mouth and you could practically hear Temari groan in exasperation. Kisame plopped down in the armchair beside you, offering you a wink as he did. “What kinda professor assigns a project on Tuesday only for it to be due Thursday? Ain’t that right, sweetheart?”

You averted your eyes back to your screen, pretending to sort through your notifications. You hummed in response, too easily flustered and too tired to process. Temari’s fingers flexed over her own keyboard.

“It’s the beginning of the semester. It’s to test out organizational skills and teamwork,” she managed through half-gritted teeth. You looked between your two teammates, wondering what exactly happened between them that made them so hostile to each other. You made a mental note to not get in the way of whatever that was. Kisame scoffed, sitting back in the arm chair and reaching for his own computer.

“I don’t really care what it is and why it is. What I care about is that I’m wasting my Wednesday night…”

“Ah, yes, Wednesday night,” Temari repeated mockingly, “Because I know that I like getting plastered in the middle of the week.” Kisame leaned towards you on his left arm cushion.

“Soy Sauce over there is just sore that her brother picked a fight with one of my boys and lost. Sasori’s a short guy too, you should link with us sometime.” You heard Temari scoff.

“Yeah, like Kankuro would lose to any of the thugs you hang around—”

“Who are you calling a thug?” Temari met Kisame’s pointed glare. Even so, he sank farther into his seat, lifting one ankle to rest on his knee. “Though, I think it says something that you knew exactly what I was talking about—” He punctuated every word with a smug swing of his head before Shino walked in.

“Nice to see that things are lively in here.” He made his way across the lounge before plopping down next to Temari. A white piece of cloth hung out from his backpack, something that Temari didn’t miss as Shino prepared his materials.

“That’s a hazard.” She bit the inside of her lip.

“Don’t listen to her. She’s been grumpy since before you came here,” Kisame quickly explained, much to Temari’s disdain.

Looking across from you, you almost wished that you had just been paired up with Shino. You didn’t know him that well, but he seemed smart, capable and overall, quiet. Temari had drive, but her approach felt intense. Meanwhile, Kisame seemed like he couldn’t care less about the project. Or perhaps, it was more that he couldn’t care less about Temari.

“So the paper,” you began out of sheer nervousness. “And the presentation…” The three sets of eyes turned to you. You glanced at the clock. You had already wasted more than a half hour.

“Let’s be real here, a five page research paper is nothing,” Temari said, also crossing her legs. “It’s the presentation that we should worry about.” Kisame let out a breath.

“Well, here I was about to say the opposite.” He turned his neck to the side and you heard a few audible cracks. “What about we split it up if the paper is so easy for you?”

“I’m not just doing the paper by myself. Besides, I’d need to find sources and by the time I’ve found sources and written everything up, I’ll have done most of the work.” Temari wrinkled her nose at your partner next to you. “I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what you were banking on.”

“Here.” Shino’s low voice broke through the room. With one exaggerated click on his keyboard he looked up at the three of you. “I just put a list of sources in the shared doc. There’s ten of them which should be more than enough. I pulled a few articles and a few academic papers which should meet the criteria from the rubric.”

Temari blinked down at her computer, furiously switching tabs. Her lips formed a round ‘o’ shape.

“Nice work, Shino,” you praised only to receive a shy nod. “I think if we take an anti-censorship stance, it’ll make out work easier given the time that we have to finish. Maybe Temari, you can start the paper and I can start the slides.”

“I can help you with that,” Kisame offered and you typed his email into the share box.

“I’ll help Temari with the paper,” Shino said with another nod.

“Start with the counterarguments. I’ll work from the top, you work from the bottom.” Temari gestured widely to Shino’s screen and you let out a relieved sigh. Maybe you’ll be able to get all of this done after all.

Time flew during the late hours of the night. You didn’t know what it was about the nighttime that made time feel quicker than usual. Soon enough, the clock struck one. Temari plucked ferociously at her laptop and it surprised you that Kisame hadn’t asked her what she was punishing her keyboard for. Shino, on the other hand, liked to stand. About an hour ago, he had stood up from his seat, and with one foot on the low level of the coffee table, kept at writing his part of the paper. Temari and Shino didn’t speak much. Rather, their side of the table mostly sounded of clicking.

Meanwhile, you and Kisame were having a great time. He made you laugh much to Temari’s annoyance, but knowing that you were getting your parts done, she didn’t comment. Despite his outward physique, Kisame had a sense of style when it came to design and organization. You flew through fonts and images quickly and by the time you had cleared the first few slides, even you were impressed by how professional it looked. The clock read two o’clock.

“This was your conclusion, right?” You turned your screen in your hands to face Temari. She squinted over and her eyes lit up.

“Actually, that’s a way better wording. Imma just steal that…” She clicked some more. “That’s some great work.”

“It was actually all Kisame.” And to your surprise, he didn’t gloat. Instead, he remained eerily focused. Temari glanced at him before glancing away.

“Like I said, great work…” she muttered.

“We’re almost done with the slides,” you announced, “Do you guys need help with the paper?” Shino shook his head. You found that he preferred non-verbal answers.

“We’re wrapping up over here, too,” Temari answered.

“Good, because I’m fuckin’ starving.”

And with the one mention of food, you all looked up at each other.

***

There was only one place open this late at night and it was one block away from campus. Fast Food, of course, but no one in your group complained. The dining halls were closed and most of you didn’t keep your rolling pantries stocked with anything worth eating at two in the morning, so you packed up your things.

It felt odd walking down the road with this group of people. You chattered amongst yourselves about anything other than your assignment.

“Me? I’m a biology major. I want to study beetles but I have to get my undergrad before I can do anything really specific.” By far, Shino had to be the most interesting of you all. You made your way off of campus, the restaurant in your sight. And as the walk continued, so did your conversation.

“I’ve wanted to try the new place that they opened up by admissions but they’re always closed when I try to go.” Temari pouted and you crossed the street together. You wondered if spending four straight hours having to communicate with any three people could make talking to them this easy.

“Marine biology?” You stared up at Kisame. “I don’t think I would have guessed.” He let out a hearty laugh that sent a few birds flying.

“Oh yeah, they have us go out of labs for the whole day. And when I say the whole day, I mean the whole day. I’ve always loved the ocean, but I think I’d have to transfer if I had to wake up at seven and come back at eight for more than one day a week.” Kisame reached for the handle, only for it not to budge in his grip. He tried again.

“Are they closed?” you asked, getting slightly agitated at the prospect.

“No.” Shino cupped his hands around his eyes as he stared through the window. “Wet floor signs are out. This must be the time that they clean the dining room.” Shino hardly had to finish his sentence before Kisame was already on his way to the drive thru.

“Hey, wait a minute,” Temari yelled after him as she jogged to catch up. “You can’t just walk through the drive thru.”

“Sure you can.” Kisame stood directly in front of the speaker with his hands in his pockets. “There are no cars around and even if there were, they’d have to take our order to get us out of the way… Hello?” The speaker crackled and Kisame shot a pointed look at the rest of you before moting for you to come closer to order.

“What can I get you?” the apathetic worker droned.

“Can I get a number nine?” Kisame started.

“Oh me too,” you whispered to him, not entirely sure why you spoke with such a hushed tone. He crossed his arms with a smirk.

“Make that two number nines? One large—” He stepped back to let Temari come up to the speaker.

“May I please get a number six with extra sauce, please? And, uh, a number seven too, please.” Like Kisame before her, Temari stepped to allow Shino to talk.

“Two number forty-fives, one with cheese and a large soda.”

With nowhere else to sit, you claimed a spot in the empty parking lot. Temari ended up paying. You put up a fight, but she insisted. You were secretly convinced that she was loaded anyway.

“You two got a lot of food.” Kisame handed you your fillet burger. Temari hummed, taking one of her backs and folded it behind her.

“One’s for my boyfriend,” she said, and before Kisame could get out a snarky comment about how Temari could ever land a boyfriend, Shino answered,

“I just usually eat all at once. Can’t usually grab dinner while doing night labs.” You all grimaced to yourselves. You knew the feeling of skipping meals because of your schedules.

You looked out at the city. Your school sat on a hill just outside of the twinkling lights. You found comfort in the blinking that came from below and your surroundings made the atmosphere feel completely still.

“You know, if we have a choice, we should just stick together for the rest of the semester.” Shino’s monotone voice cut through the air. You turned to the rest of them. Temari shrugged.

“It’s less of a gamble since we know each other, I suppose. I know that most of you won’t mess up our assignments…” You and Kisame nodded along, both stuffing your faces with french fries.

The decision was unanimous.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed and otherwise supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: 

Shino’s lab coat was in with his regular supplies which is technically a hazard when working in chem and bio labs since lab coats should be sealed. 

Not all fast-food places well take your order without a car, but if you block the line they’ll give in (that’s what I did). Don’t blame me if you get arrested for doing that though. 

"I'll have two number 9s, a number 9 large, a number 6 with extra dip, a number 7, two number 45s, one with cheese, and a large soda."– Melvin "Big Smoke" Harris

#kisame x reader #shino x reader #temari x reader #kisame #shino #temari #naruto headcanon #naruto headcanons #naruto imagines #naruto imagine #naruto scenarios #naruto scenario #x you #x reader #reader insert #naruto #naruto x reader #naruto x y/n #naruto x you #college au

[bookwyrminspiration]

hello! just curious, how do you plot out your stories? (for example, what have you done to plan out the wings au? do you have it all in your head? do you plan it out on paper or in a doc specifically for it? do you just go with the flow? sorry if this is a lot of questions lol i'm just trying to convey my point-)

hello, synonym!! lovely to see you again! I'd love to share my process!

as I explain my personal methods (again, personal, just how I do things!), I'll use the wings au as an example because i know you've read it and it'll just be easier over all. but essentially, yes to all of the above, just with different parts of the story!

my progression is: chaotic doc, background (as needed), basic written plot, expansion on the plot, any other details needed, and then just write things! but don't worry, I'll provide more detail, i say as if i'm capable of being concise

(putting below a readmore for simplicity)

chaotic doc: so, the very first thing I do when i have a story is open up a doc, and write down everything i know about it in little bullet points and rambling sentences, just basic information with no organization. the organizing can come later, right now I just want to get as much of what's in my head onto the paper as possible.

I type out the basic premise of the story or the few things I know about how I want it to go, the things I know I want to remember later, things I'd need to think about to set it up, etc. for the wings au, this was details like everyone's wings (things to remember later), how they got those wings and a sentence or two about what the world was like now (things I needed to think about to set it up), a little blurb about where the story would start. this is less writing details about the story, and more noting down the details I want to figure out later in the expansion. i find it works best to type this out because i'm a much faster typer than I am at physical writing, which allows me to follow the flow of my thoughts a lot better and go back and change things.

background: background prepares me for the next step, but the amount of effort I put into this section depends on how complex my story is. it basically means write down (we've moved to pencil and paper now, but this could be digital too if you prefer) anything you need to know in order to set up the rest of your story. what do you need to know in order to tell the story you need to and to get you where you want to be? for the wings au, the background was that the world had been overrun with monsters and everyone was living underground now. the neverseen had been defeated, or so they thought, coming back later. all these things that essentially prepared me to get to the plot. it told me where the story was happening and the emotional/physical environment everything else would happen under. if you have a more worldbuilding heavy world, this step might be a little more complex, or if there's something very specific with the characters you need as context beforehand.

sometimes the readers will be aware of pieces of the background, and it's even necessary for them to know--for example, you all knowing the elven world is in the middle of a monster apocalypse and living underground; if you didn't know, the rest of the story wouldn't make any sense. but there may be things you write down that are just for you to know, personal notes. for example, I have notes written about how the monsters came to be, more specifically, that you all haven't been made aware of and may never be. planning this out is for you, so if there's something you want to remind yourself to keep in mind while writing, this could be a good place. but now that we know the world we're writing in, we can move on

basic plot: for me, I struggle to figure out where to take a story, and if I don't have the basic concept laid out before I start writing, I ended up with really weird stories that completely deviate from what i wanted (I say this from experience). so I break it down into the bare essentials. literally as basic as I can be. there are five crucial parts of a plot: exposition, rising action, climax, falling action, and resolution. just those five. for each of those, i write--writing, because it takes more time (allows me to think) and feels more organized to me, but you can do it differently--just the general idea I have for each section. just as few words as possible. detail comes later. for the wings au I literally wrote "they get wings" for rising action. having read the wings au, you know just how simplified that is.

one things that might help is consider how you would explain this idea to someone in one or two sentences. you just want to make sure you have a beginning, middle, end, and the transition between them. from there you've got the skeleton of your story, and everything else can fit itself into this idea.

expansion: now that you have the skeleton, it's time to fill in some of the more essential anatomy. this is where you add the specifics. for me, i write this physically in bullet points in a journal of some kind. I take the first section, and write down how the story is going to start. where am I going to begin this journey. for the wings au I wrote "beginning: sneaking into breeding facility to destroy monsters. problem: caught/monster breaks loose." if you remember this is essentially the events of the first chapter but in two sentences. I'm giving enough detail that I know what I'm going to write, but not so much it's going to be stifling to follow my exact notes when I actually get to writing. this will be different for different people, so you may want more or less detail than I provided, I'm just giving an example of how I did it.

I continue this for the rest of the plot, but that doesn't mean every single little detail that will ever happen is planned out. I'm not patient enough to be super thorough with every little thing, so I go long enough until I have a solid understanding of what I'm going to start with when I'm writing, or just until I'm bored and can't deal with planning anymore. for me, that meant I was more detailed when planning from the mission in the facility to them getting to the abandoned gnomish village, as those would be some of the first things I would be writing about. after that, I got more vague and just touched on some of the key part of each of those five sections. I take those two/three words and turn them into two/three bullet points. I also didn't want to be too specific with the later details, because I knew i'd be influenced by things as I wrote and would be inspired to fill that out.

any other details: this is kind of any afterthoughts you might have or details you need to keep i mind that aren't necessarily plot. you may have a lot of these, or you may have none. for me, this was where I wrote down what kinds of wings and other animalistic traits each of the characters had (yes, I wrote them down again). it's not strictly plot, but it does affect the rest of the story. this is also where I write anything I forgot to when going through the first time, and then i can draw a little arrow pointing towards where it fits in to the rest of the story or is relevant (which is part of why I like the writing aspect, but this is entirely achievable on a doc). another example from the au is me writing "domestic" to the side and pointing it back to my notes about the gnomish village, because while it wasn't essential to moving the plot forward, i wanted to touch on some aspects of domestic live with the ten of them while they were there.

just write things: now that you have all this planning done (good job, you!) you can get into the writing aspect. you've already decided your beginning and know where you want to go, so this is the part where you just starting putting words on the page. it can be pretty daunting to just look at a blank page, so if you'd like, start a paragraph in. skip the first paragraph and just start in the middle of something else--you can add back what's missing later. I personally note things that I want to come back to inside [brackets like this], and that can be words, sentences, entire paragraphs. i use the square ones specifically because I don't use them in my writing unlike (these parentheses), and then I can search the document for them all at once and see all the places I need to go back.

this is also where the "just in my head" and "make it up as I go" part comes into place. you have a pretty good idea of what you're doing, but you're going to have ideas as you write, so sometimes you just follow the flow of your brain and write things you could've never even planned for. and if you're interacting with others as you're going (like I'm talking about theories with you all while writing future chapters) then you may be inspired by them to add things to the story. originally, I wasn't going to even have any messages from Bronte or Oralie, but now because I saw what some of the people reading it were picking up on, I realized the potential there and added them in on a whim

and sometimes when you get stuck, the best way to get yourself out of that is to just add something random, which can spiral off and affect the rest of the story. I've said it before, but the dragons were not planned. I'd actually seen a piece of writing advice months ago that if you're stuck, change the weather. so I was stuck and made a sudden rainstorm, but then I needed an explanation as to how things got so wet so fast because I'd mentioned clear skies earlier. so in my attempt to explain it, dragons came to exist. writing is a process, so don't limit yourself to everything you've written. you'll be inspired along the way, so try to take it in stride.

one final note: as much as you plan, this is not going to be a definite map for how the story will go. maybe something makes sense as you're planning it out, but when you get to actually writing it makes no sense as all and you need to change things. that's fine! this kind of a plan is just to get you prepared and keep you afloat amongst this ocean of words trapped in your head that you want to transcribe. if something isn't working, change it! in my original written plan for the wings au they weren't going to run away for a few weeks, instead sneaking out for an hour or two at a time over those few weeks because they couldn't stand being underground anymore, until Linh was actually the first one to make contact with a creature and realize it didn't immediately want to kill her. but because she's not the narrator of this story, I couldn't write it the way i wanted, so I gave that to sophie in the tree.

this is just my approach to my more complicated stories! for some of the really quick ones, I just open a doc and start going. this kind of thinking keeps me organized so that I'm doing the idea the most justice. but just because it works for me doesn't mean it'll work for everyone. if it does work for you, great! but if there are parts you need to modify for yourself, you are more than encouraged to do so. personally, if I could only chose one part of this process to rely on, it would be the basic plot. that's the key to everything for me, but for others it might be something different.

I hope this helps with whatever it is you're writing!! I wish you luck and look forward to seeing whatever it is (should you chose to share it, no pressure)!! if you'd like more of my process on how I write it consistently and update on a schedule, I'd be more than happy to talk about that too!

#all of this took up about three pages in a 4.25 by 8.25 dotted journal #but I have very small handwriting so keep that in mind #also you might just be more/less detailed then i am! #this is just the framework I use #so use it if it helps! #this is also usually spread out over multiple days so I can think about the idea in between #and also because i don't want to do this much work all at once #I get distracted #but i did have a very specific approach when writing the wings au #so I'm very excited to get to talk about it! #i have written several other stories without planning and they always end up veering off into random things #like 'what happened. to the original plot. of the movie??' vibes #ah seli (an oc whose name I might change yet again)...I did you so dirty... #kotlc wings au #writing #writing advice #story planning #quil's queries #synonymroll648 #writing tips

[spnfanficpond]

Alpha Reader Program - March 2021

Things are going well with our Alpha and Mentee from February, and we can’t wait to read the story they created! Now, however, it’s time to set up for next month.

Our alpha reader for March is @salt-n-burn-em-all​!

If you are a Pond member and are interested in working with this month’s alpha reader, everything you need to know about signing up is below the cut!

Click here to find out exactly what an alpha reader is!

Here’s how the program works.

(Everything is subject to change as we go if we find things that aren’t working out. If you have any suggestions, let us know!)

Below, you will find information from the alpha for this month. This information should help you determine if this month’s alpha is someone you could work with.

If you are interested in working with this alpha, you will fill out this application form. (Pond members only. Joining is easy! Check out the Start Here link!)

Only the Pond admins will be able to see your username. The alpha will not know who you are. We hope this brings together people who maybe wouldn’t otherwise find each other, so this application process will be blind.

Based on the application information, the alpha will pick a mentee. Only after the mentee is chosen will the alpha know who they have chosen.

The pair will decide if they want a list of prompts to choose from, or if they want to work on a story idea the mentee has had on the back burner.

Together, they will create beautiful words.

The mentee will post their work on their own blog and submit it to the Pond for posting and to be added to the Program masterpost.

If there are any questions or concerns throughout, @mrswhozeewhatsis​ will be the point person/mediator!

Story requirements/parameters:

Must be SPN fan fiction.

All ships/pairings/kinks/genres allowed. The only restrictions are those set by the alpha and the mentee.

Use a Keep Reading cut if your story is more than 500 words.

Tag your story with the appropriate trigger warning tags and list them in the author’s note.

Our preferred header format is here.

There is no minimum or maximum word count for this. We don’t expect a novel, but hope for a one-shot.

The story idea MUST be something the mentee has not written or posted, yet. Ideally, to get the most out of this experience, the mentee will only have a couple of sentences about a vague idea, at most. We will provide a list of prompts if you like.

We would prefer that this not be Part 1 of a series. We don’t want to ask the alpha to commit to something larger than a one-shot. If the idea turns into more, and the mentee is willing to continue without the alpha, or the alpha is willing to continue working on the story after the month is done, then that is up to the alpha and the mentee.

Use the hashtag #alpha reader program when you post your story and tag the @spnfanficpond, your alpha reader, and @mrswhozeewhatsis​.

And now, a bit about our alpha for this month:

What is your username?

@salt-n-burn-em-all​ ​

Are you a writer, yourself?

Yes

Are you an experienced beta? (Have you beta read for more than five people, reading more than one story for at least 1 of them?)

Yes

What is your turnaround time for a typical one-shot? (This will not be a typical situation, but this answer will give everyone an idea of how long to give you after they send you something.)

2-3 days

On a scale of 1 to 5, 1 being “English is my second language,” and 5 being, “I have a degree in English or professional editing experience,” how confident are you with your grammar skills?

5

What time zone are you in?

Eastern US

Is there anything you won't read? Ships/pairings, smut, non-con, dub-con, slash, AU, etc.

Not a Cas/Dean/Destiel fan. I do not mind any trope except scat. Only RPF if it’s an AU.

On a scale of 1 to 5, 1 being “Please don’t make me drink the demon blood again,” and 5 being, “Easier than Dean’s pie,” how comfortable would you be checking for story elements such as continuity errors, characterization, and canon compliance?

5

Brainstorming ideas will require you both to be free at the same time. When is the best time for you?

Early morning-I get up at 4:30 AM.

How long of a story are you willing to read for this project?

No limit.

Do you use Google Docs?

No. I use Word.

Please write a couple of sentences to give writers a feel for your style and approach to alpha reading. For example, what is your main focus when it comes to storytelling (i.e. details, feelings, actions)? Are you willing to help with flow or pacing? If a writer is having trouble with a certain sentence, are you willing to offer rewording/restructuring suggestions? Do you feel comfortable offering notes on the story if you feel like something is missing or needs more work?

I’m a picky reader. I am always willing to help an author find their words and do not have an issue with letting them know if something doesn’t add up or is out of place. I’m a professional editor, so expect that I will make suggestions or point out continuity errors as well as correct grammar, punctuation and spelling. I’m doing this for fun 🤩

What do you feel your weaknesses are when writing or alpha reading? For example, do you have trouble with dialogue or action scenes? Is there a particular grammar aspect you have trouble with?

None of the above 😁

Is there anything else you'd like to add?

Not at the moment, no.

There you go! If you are interesting in working with our alpha this month, go fill out this application here and we will let you know if you are chosen!

If you have any questions or suggestions about the program, please send an ASK to the inbox or a private message to @mrswhozeewhatsis​!

#alpha reader program

[corishadowfang]

Forest Child - Original Fiction Big Bang

My piece for @originalfictionbigbang!  I was paired with @cecilsstorycorner, and they created an amazing illustration for the story; visit their blog to check it out!  (Link)

Summary: Nobody goes into the Forest at the edge of town.  People say you’ll go missing if you do--that’s what happened to Mary’s Uncle Ian, after all.  But after briefly entering the Forest on a dare from some friends, she realizes there might be more to it than she thought.

Trigger Warnings: Child abuse as a major story theme; some instances of body horror and general horror elements; brief instance of alcohol-induced anger towards the end.  If you think these will be triggering, then please stay safe and skip this one.

Story is under the cut.  Or, if you’d prefer, you can read it on the Google doc here.

           “Look at this!”

           Mary, much like the other students near her, started at the sudden exclamation.  She’d been drawing, absorbed in trying to get a bird’s wings just right, and hadn’t even noticed one of her classmates excitedly bouncing into the room with something cupped in his hands.  Now the boy proudly presented the item—a small stone—to a group of surprised fifth graders.

           One snorted. “That’s just a rock, Blake. What’d you do, pick it up during recess?”

           “It’s not just a rock,” Blake protested.  “Look closer.”

           Several of her classmates glanced at each other, as if deciding whether or not it was worth risking the embarrassment.  Mary found she didn’t really care much about the risk, and so she leaned forward, squinting a little.  “Is it glowing?”

           Blake beamed. “Yeah!  It’s easier to see if it’s dark.”

           Someone shouted, “Get the lights!”

           The student nearest the door flicked the lights off, and suddenly everyone was crowding closely around Blake and his find.  The rock glowed a very faint purple, the color spreading out across Blake’s hands.

           Mary’s fingers itched to draw, and she scooped her sketchbook into her hands, fumbling for a purple pencil.

           “Where’d you get it?” someone asked.

           “From my brother,” Blake said, and then, in a conspiratorial whisper, “and he found it in the Forest.”

           Mary’s pencil skittered across the page.  “He actually went in?”

           “Uh-huh!  He wouldn’t tell me how far, though.  Said he saw these weird glowing lights and felt like they were drawing him closer.  Before he knew it, he was suddenly standing underneath eerily dark trees, with something moving in the undergrowth.  Ran out of there as soon as he realized!  The stone got caught in his shoe, so he gave it to me.”

           “Right,” said one of their classmates.  “I bet he just painted a rock with glow-in-the-dark paint.”

           “It’s true!”

           Mary asked, “Can I see it?”

           Blake clutched the stone tightly, giving her an almost-suspicious look.  After a few moments he relented, tipping the stone from his hand to hers.

           Mary stared at it for several moments, running a finger over the stone and watching as the purple glow painted the tip.  She scratched at the surface with a fingernail.

           “Hey!”

           “No paint’s coming off,” she said, and gave the stone back to Blake.  “I think it’s real.”

           “See?”

           “I still think you’re lying,” one of their classmates said.  When Blake opened his mouth to retort, she continued, “Or your brother’s lying.  Nobody goes into the Forest.”  She paused, then amended.  “Well, nobody goes into the Forest and comes out.  That’s why people keep disappearing around town, right?”

           Blake opened his mouth, closed it, and then frowned thoughtfully.  “Well,” he said slowly, “there’s one way to find out.”

           A few moments of silence passed before someone hissed, “Dude, seriously?”

           “You can’t really be thinking about going into the Forest, right?”

           “If you go missing, do I get your stuff?”

           “I’m serious,” Blake said.  “I mean, come on!  Hasn’t everyone thought about going in there at some point?  You guys are just scared.”

           Mary’s breath caught, and she clutched her sketchbook to her chest.  The town was filled with stories of the Forest, most of them some degree of frightening, but the ones she most remembered were the ones told by her Uncle Ian, a man she mostly remembered for his soothing voice and exciting tales.

           “Sometimes it just looks like a normal forest—maybe a little darker than average, but nothing out of the ordinary.  But then—then you see these things at the edges.  Great big, monstrous things that look like they’d tower over the trees if they stood upright.  Birds with too many eyes, covered in glowing feathers.  Things that might’ve been deer, at one point, but are so covered in moss and vines that they look more plant than animal.  And the lights—those are what get you.  Bright colored things that hop and bob and mesmerize anyone who stops to look.  If you’re not careful, they can lead you into the woods without noticing.  And then—bam!  You’re trapped there.  You become part of the Forest.”

           “Is it real?”

           “Well, see, lots of people around town don’t think it’s real.  They think someone’s inside the Forest, doing something to make all those people disappear.  But you and I?  We know better.”

           Before she really had time to consider what she was saying, she breathed, “Can I go, too?”

           The class went quiet. “You?” one of her classmates asked. “Isn’t your dad, like, really strict?”

           “I-I—well.  We don’t have to tell him!”

           “Getting rebellious, huh?”

           “I-I’m not!  I just—I just don’t want to worry him, that’s all.”

           Blake snorted. “Sure,” he said, “you can come.  Anyone can come.  We’ll go to the Forest this Saturday around lunch.  Anyone who’s not a chicken can meet up there.”

           The lights flicked on.

           Everyone whipped towards the front of the room.

           Their teacher watched them with a skeptical look.  “So,” she said dryly, “I hate to interrupt your weekend plans, but I have a class to teach.  And besides that, none of you are allowed to go anywhere near the Forest unsupervised.  It’s dangerous.  I’m sure your parents have all told you this already.”  She gave Mary a pointed look.

           Mary shrank in her seat.

           Blake tried, “But we just—”

           “No buts,” their teacher interrupted.  “If I hear any more of this, I’ll have to inform your parents.  Clear?”

           Mary caught her breath, and found herself blurting, “Please don’t.”

           Someone murmured, “Knew she’d back out.”

           Mary flushed.

           Her teacher just gave her a long, tired look that, if Mary stared at it long enough, might’ve been read as sympathetic.  Then she said, “Pull out the homework from last night.”

           Class passed in the usual manner, but Mary found her mind drifting, a nervous, fearful excitement bubbling in her chest at the thought of stepping foot in the Forest.  No one’s ever gone too far in, she thought.  Nobody’s come back to talk about what’s in there.  What if I’m the first?  It could be like—like an adventure!  I could draw pictures of all the strange things in there, and people would talk about it forever.

           Maybe it’d help stop people from disappearing, too.  Like Ian did.

           The intercom came on, startling Mary out of her thoughts.  “Good afternoon.  Baseball practice has been cancelled tonight due to rain…”

           The rush of students shoving things in their desks and packing their backpacks overrode the sound of the intercom.  Their teacher shouted, “Wait until announcements are over!” to very little success.

           Mary sat at her desk silently.  She closed her sketchbook, slowly, ignoring the nervous tension ticking through her shoulders.

           The announcements ended with, “Teachers may now dismiss their students.”

           “Now you can go,” their teacher said.  “And Mary?”

           Mary looked up at her.

           Her teacher sighed, looking resigned.  “You know the drill.”

           Mary nodded, tugging her backpack on.

           “Sucks to be you,” someone said.

           Another shouted, “See you later, Mary!”

           Blake said, “Saturday, if you still want to come.”

           Mary gave him a weak smile, but didn’t dare reply with her teacher still watching.

           The school emptied and went quiet.  Mary walked slowly to the office.  She hated this part; hated the waiting, hated that she couldn’t go and play with her friends after school, hated the tension that built in her chest as she sat in those hard plastic chairs.  But she knew Papa wanted to check on her grades, and make sure she made it home safely, and that he was really just worried about her wellbeing, and so she tolerated it, settling into one of the chairs to wait.  She didn’t know what to draw, this time, but the conversation about the Forest was still buzzing through her skull, and so she found herself playing with one of her bird sketches, adding eyes and strange, curling plants.

           Her homeroom teacher showed up a few minutes later, looking as tired and disgruntled as always. Mary gave her a weak smile and went quickly back to drawing.

           The entryway doors opened.

           Mary’s shoulders rose, just a little.

           Papa looked intimidating, sometimes; she didn’t know if he meant to be, but he always had this serious, stern look on his face that made her wonder if she’d done something bad. He studied her carefully for a few moments and, seemingly satisfied with his findings, turned towards the teacher. “How was she today?”

           Her teacher flattened her lips.  “She was fine, Rick.  As usual.” Her teacher seemed to hesitate a moment, and then continued, “She talked about going to visit the Forest with some friends—”

           Mary sent her a panicked look.

           “—but I put a stop to that and explained why it wouldn’t be a good idea.”

           Papa said nothing, but he did turn, slowly, to look at Mary.

           She couldn’t quite meet his eyes.  “I-I didn’t—we weren’t really going to—it’s just, Blake’s brother found this rock, and—”

           “Thank you,” Papa said, curtly, and it took Mary a moment to realize he was talking to the teacher and not her.  “I’ll make sure she understands not to go there.”  He reached for Mary’s arm, grabbing it tightly as she tried not to flinch backwards.  “Come on,” he said, dragging her to her feet.  “It’s time to go home.”

           “Rick,” Mary’s teacher called.

           Papa paused.

           “I don’t think these meetings are necessary anymore.  Ian disappeared years ago.  Mary hardly seems to remember it.  It certainly hasn’t affected her grades or performance.  What might affect her is being unable to spend time with friends outside of school.”

           Papa didn’t answer for several long moments.  “Thank you for the input,” he said, “but I’d like to keep up with this, for now.”

           Mary’s teacher made a disgruntled noise.  “I agreed to this as your friend, and out of concern for both of you, but Rick—I understand you’re still grieving, but you have to move on—”

           “I’m fine,” Papa said, “and my daughter’s fine.  We’ll keep up the meetings.”  And then he was dragging Mary, again, out of the school and to the car.

           Their town wasn’t particularly large; it had a few small convenience stores, the school, a gas station and a diner.  Beyond the edge sat the Forest, equally small, but strangely separate from everything. Mary tried not to look at it, slipping her sketchbook slowly into her backpack.  Papa didn’t say anything to her, but she could see the furrow of his eyebrows in the rearview mirror, and so she turned her head to look, firmly, out the window, and tried hard not to think about the pit in her stomach.

           They pulled into the driveway too quickly, and Mary fiddled with her seatbelt, unbuckling it slowly.

           Papa stepped out of the driver’s seat and slammed the door.

           Mary flinched.  She found herself caught between moving quicker and dawdling.

           Papa decided for her, opening her door roughly and catching her arm; she’d just barely gotten free of the seatbelt when he dragged her free, corralling her up the stairs and into the house.

           It was very quiet, for a while.  Papa turned to look at her slowly, expression downturned, and Mary found herself desperately trying to fill the space.  “Papa, I—”

           “What have I told you?” Papa’s voice was low, rough, just on the edge of angry.  “You don’t go to that Forest.  You don’t even think about going.  You understand?”

           Papa’s grip was too tight around her arm.  She pressed on his hand a little, trying, “Papa—”

           Papa grabbed her other arm, his hands still too tight, and shook her roughly.  “Do you understand?”

           Mary swallowed and nodded.

           “This is for your own safety.  That Forest is dangerous.”

           “I-I know, Papa.”

           “You’d best remember it.” Papa let go, finally.

           Mary didn’t rub at the handprints on her arms, instead holding her hands tightly at her side. Papa liked to keep her in his sight—wanted to make sure she never got into trouble—and she knew, if he was already mad, it’d be a bad idea to leave before she was dismissed.

           His eyes softened, just a little, and the tension eased out of Mary’s shoulders.  “Go change out of your school clothes,” he said, “then come down for dinner.”

           She nodded, then hurtled down the hall to her room.

                                                             ~*~

             -Mary almost considered not going to the Forest on Saturday. Almost.

           She didn’t want to make Papa worried—or get scolded again—but the Forest was still a fascinating subject, filled with mysteries she was aching to solve.  Something inside her tugged her towards the tree line, and a part of her desperately wanted to follow that pull, even if it meant getting in trouble with Papa.

           But she couldn’t just walk out the front door.  She’d have to sneak out; Papa didn’t like her going anywhere without him.

           She worried her lip, debating.  He usually likes to come and check on me if I’ve been in my room for a while.  Her door didn’t have a lock, so she couldn’t keep him out.  Her eyes darted to her dresser.  She slid off the bed, opening a drawer and pulling out some clothes. She shoved them underneath her comforter, arranging them as best she could to make it look like she was just sleeping underneath.  It didn’t look much like her, but she hoped it would be enough that Papa wouldn’t notice she’d slipped out.

           She hesitated before moving to her window.  If I do this, she thought, then I’ll be disobeying Papa.  If he finds out, I’ll get in a lot of trouble.  She glanced nervously at the door.  He doesn’t have to know, she decided.  I won’t be in the Forest that long. Just long enough to try and see something cool.

           Mary gripped the bottom of her window and worked it open.  It made barely a sound, and she hesitated for just a moment longer, glancing uncertainly at the door.  Then she grabbed her sketchbook and a pencil and slipped out the window.

           Her feet hit the ground with a quiet thump.  She stood there, eyes screwed shut, half waiting for someone to come by and yell at her. When they didn’t, she opened her eyes a little.

           She was outside. She was outside, and Papa didn’t know, and no one was saying anything.

           Mary just suppressed a giddy laugh, her shoulders shaking a little.  She was out!  She was going to the Forest!  She was going to see things no one had seen before!

           She just barely remembered to pull her window closed before darting away, sock feet slapping against the ground as she hurried towards the edge of town.

           The other kids were waiting there already, hovering near the tree line.  Mary lifted her free arm to wave, shouting, “Hey!  Hey, wait for me!”            

           “We didn’t think you’d show up,” one of the kids said—Henry, she thought.

           “Of course I was coming,” Mary said, skidding to a halt, lifting her chin and trying not to show her nervousness.  “I want to see what’s in there, too!”

           Blake snorted and turned towards the Forest.  “So,” he said, “who’s going in first?”

           All of them swiveled to stare into the darkness between the trees.  They remained very quiet, and in the silence, Mary strained her ears, trying to see if she could hear something from within the trees.  She caught no birdsong, no rustling of the undergrowth—nothing.

           “I think Blake should go,” someone said.

           “What?” Blake protested. “Why me?”

           “Because it was your idea.  What, too scared to go in now?”

           “I am not!  I just—I just think someone else should have the chance.  You know, since I already have that cool stone.”

           “Don’t be such a baby—”

           “I’ll go.”

           Mary hadn’t even entirely realized she’d spoken until the group turned to look at her.  She clutched her sketchbook a little closer.  “I’ll go,” she repeated, more firmly this time.

           Blake recovered first, looking at the other kids and saying, “Hear that?  She’ll go.”  He turned to give her a scrutinizing look.  “So?”

           Mary turned back to the Forest.  For a moment, it felt like it was just her and the trees, the group of students fading to background noise behind her.  A breeze stirred the leaves and ruffled her clothes.  The darkness stretched in front of her, deep and thick enough that she wondered if she’d feel it when she stepped inside.

           Mary took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and took a step forward.  Then another.  Then another. She hesitantly stretched out a hand, and didn’t stop walking until her palm brushed rough bark.

           Her hand rested against a normal-looking tree, the bark chipped and peeling away, a couple of bugs skittering out of holes in the wood.

           Mary’s shoulders relaxed marginally.  She turned back to the others, who were still watching warily from the Forest’s edge. “Come on!”  She hurried into the trees.

           The darkness deepened, and she slowed a little.  She wondered if the trees were the ones blocking out the sunlight; she squinted at the tree tops, but couldn’t see well enough to tell.  The darkness made her shiver, but she stuffed it down, calling, “Hey, why do you think there aren’t any animals here?”

           “Don’t know,” Blake said, closer to her ear than she’d expected.  She yelped and jumped, scrambling to keep her sketchbook from falling. Blake snorted; in the dim lighting, she could just barely make out a dryly amused expression.  “But we need to find something cool.”  He moved towards one of the trees, feeling around the trunk curiously.

           “Isn’t coming in here enough?” one of the kids asked.  “I mean, we all did it, right?  It’ll be something to talk about at school.”

           “No,” Blake insisted. “I want to find something else like my stone.”  He reached up and tugged on a branch.  It came free with a crack, and he stumbled, almost falling off the root he was standing on. “See anything weird about this?”

           The kid leaned forward. “Dude, it’s just a normal branch.”

           He tossed it aside. “There has to be something.”

           The bushes rustled.

           Mary jumped, whipping towards it.  The leaves shifted, and for a moment, Mary thought she could see a flash of eyes. “Um.  Guys?”

           Blake and the others didn’t pay attention to her, moving towards some ferns and cautiously shifting through them.

           The bushes rustled again. Hesitantly, Mary inched towards them.

           The thing inside them moved.  It flicked its attention to her, and for a moment, the creature seemed to glow, two sets of eyes blinking up at her.

           Mary started backwards.

           The thing disappeared into the undergrowth.

           Mary braced herself against a tree.

           A branch creaked overhead, and something whispered through Mary’s ears, more impression than sound, almost forming words that sounded like, What is it?

           The whisper echoed with the rustling of another bush, with a brief flutter of bird wings overhead, or with the quiet creek of the trees:

           What is it?

           What is it?

           What is it?

           “Guys,” Mary asked, voice sounding unusually loud, “are you the ones saying that?”

           “What are you talking about?  Hey, do you think this leaf is glowing, or am I just imagining things?”

           Humans, the whisper voice said again.

           Humans.

           Humans, danger.

           Breaking, breaking, breaking—

           Something landed overhead.

           Mary whipped towards it, stumbling away from the tree.

           A faintly-glowing bird perched on a branch.  Flowers wove through its feathers and gathered on its back, leaves raising like plumes on its head.  Its glowing eyes flickered as it leaned closer.  It opened its beak, and the whisper-voice pressed, more insistent, into her mind, words a flurry of quiet trills and a ruffling of feathers: I know you.

           Mary’s mouth opened and closed several times as she stared at the bird.  It took her a moment to realize there had been confusion in the voice—the bird’s voice?—and that made her still.

           A sharp crack sounded behind her.  Blake yelped in alarm, then shouted, “Nope!  That won’t work!”

           The bird whipped towards the noise almost as quickly as Mary did.  It let out an ear-splitting screech, and Mary rushed to cover her ears. The bird took flight, swooping low over the others’ heads, nearly brushing Blake’s hair.

           A low rumble went through the Forest, shaking the ground.  The trees suddenly seemed like they were leaning in, closer, closer, pressing until the branches dipped too low.  The whole Forest suddenly came alive with noise, and between the rustling leaves, the buzzing, the hoof beats, Mary could barely make out something that sounded like words:

           Breaking breaking breaking get out stop breaking leave go leave leave leave—

           “What is that?” someone whispered.

           Another turned and sprinted out of the Forest.

           Blake didn’t move right away, standing frozen, staring blankly into the trees.

           “Blake,” Mary hissed, starting towards him.

           Something split from the shadows.  It reared, dark, above Blake.  Glowing patches seemed to ripple across its back, and its mouth stretched just a little too wide as it roared.

           The sound shook Mary, and for a moment she wanted to clamp her hands over her ears, the pressure beating deep inside her mind.  Her legs shook and she wondered, very suddenly, if she should’ve snuck out at all.

           Blake seemed to break out of his stupor finally.  He screamed, sprinting away from the strange, shadowy beast.

           Mary’s legs moved without her conscious input; she turned and followed Blake, hurrying out of the Forest and breaking into the sunlight.  She stumbled, then fell, losing her sketchbook upon impact.  Her palms scraped the ground, tearing up grass and dirt. She scrambled back to her feet, and then started running again, and kept running until she could scramble back into her room’s window.

                                                             ~*~

             -Mary couldn’t get what she’d heard in the Forest out of her head.  The rest of the day, she wandered around in a daze, a part of her half-focused on the creatures that had emerged to terrify her and her classmates, the rest focused on the strange words.

           I know you.

           “You’re distracted,” Papa said, and it started her out of her thoughts.

           “I-I’m fine, Papa!” she said, forcing a grin.

           “You should be focused on finishing your homework,” he said.  His scowl deepened, and he said, “You should have finished that Friday night.  Or earlier today, when you were in your room.”

           “I-I know, Papa.” She leaned over the paper, but her mind drifted.  She found it hard to focus on math equations when her mind still pounded with the words, over and over again.  I know you, I know you, I know you—

           “Papa,” she asked before she could think better of it, “what happened when Uncle Ian disappeared?”

           Papa stiffened.

           “I-I just—did he disappear because, um—”  Because something in the Forest spoke to him? she wanted to ask, but couldn’t quite get the words to form.

           “I’m not going to talk about him,” Papa said, voice harsh.

           “I-I, I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to—”  She trailed off.  “I just wanted to know.”

           Papa was silent for a long moment.  “Go finish your homework in your room.”

           Mary knew better than to argue.  She just nodded, scooping up her papers and scampering to her room.

           She knew Papa would check on her, eventually, to find out whether or not she’d actually finished her homework.  She tried to do it, but her attention kept slipping, flicking back to the window and the Forest, not quite visible, beyond.

           She didn’t want to go back to the Forest.  Not really. She was still curious about what was inside, but her adventure with her classmates had given her a scare.  But—

           (I know you.)

           I left my sketchbook there, she thought.  I should go back and get that, at least.

           She didn’t acknowledge what would happen if Papa came to check on her and she wasn’t there.  She just slid out her window, hurrying across the town in bare feet, trying not to worry too much about how dark it had gotten.

           The Forest was just as dark and silent as always.  She noticed a dark shape, pages fluttering a little, on the slope.

           Mary hesitantly lifted her sketchbook.  It’d sustained some wear and tear, the pages covered in dirt, the cover torn a little bit. Mary brushed off what she could, fingers gently running over the pages.  She clutched it to her chest.  I should get back, she thought, before Papa notices that I’m gone.

           The Forest loomed in front of her, dark and imposing.

           (I know you.)

           Mary bit her lip. She shifted a little on her toes, glancing furtively down the hill.  After a few long, agonizing moments, she took a few cautious steps towards the tree line. “Hello?” she asked, her voice coming out as more of a squeak.  She cleared her throat, then tried again: “Hello?  Is, um.  Is anyone there?”

           The trees creaked ominously, but nothing answered.

           Mary fiddled with the edge of her sketchbook.  Maybe whatever it was is mad, she thought, because we were breaking things.

           After a few moments of debate, Mary murmured, “I’m sorry for breaking things.  I won’t do it again.  I just had a question.”

           For a few moments, she didn’t think anything would answer.  Then a low breeze stirred, and with it, a quiet, almost imperceptible murmur: Human human human back danger back they’re back they’re back.

           “Why are you here?”

           Mary jumped, whipping around, trying to figure out where the voice had come from.  It didn’t sound entirely human; it felt almost as if the words had been pressed into her mind, formed between the low wind and the steady creaking of the trees.  “Who are you? Are you that bird?”

           The breeze picked up. Something flickered between the trees.  “I have been called many things by many humans,” came the voice again, making Mary’s head ache faintly.  “You would not understand most of them.  Your people do not have a name for me.”

           “Are—are you the Forest?”

           The Forest didn’t answer.

           Mary caught her voice. “You can talk,” she breathed.  “Have you ever talked to anyone before?  Nobody’s ever said anything about that!”  She took a half-step forward, suddenly excited.  “Is it because of magic?  Can you—”

           The wind picked up, blowing past her so strongly that it almost knocked her back.  Something growled from the shadows.  Danger, a cacophony of voices seemed to whisper.  Breaking breaking breaking—

           “I-I—”  Mary’s voice caught in her throat, and she backed up a little, not quite leaving the edge of the trees.  “I’m sorry.  I d-didn’t mean—I won’t do it again.”

           “Humans say many things,” the Forest said, “and rarely do they mean them.”  The murmur quieted, fading to low chittering sounds, then silence.

           Mary’s shoulders hunched a little, and she couldn’t help the guilt that bubbled in her chest.  “I just had a question,” she murmured, “about something you said.”

           The Forest didn’t speak, but she thought she might have heard the fluttering of wingbeats overhead.

           Mary steeled herself and said, “Y-you—you said you knew me.  B-but I’ve never been here.  How?”

           The Forest was silent so long that she didn’t think she’d get an answer.  “I don’t know,” came the quiet response, like a whisper of a bug against her ear.

           “Oh.”  It was almost disappointing, and she felt a little silly for even trying to ask.  “Okay.” She took a couple steps backwards. “I guess—that’s all I wanted to ask.” She started to leave, then paused. “I—I really am sorry.  We just wanted to see if what we’d heard was true.  Honest.”

           The Forest didn’t respond this time.

           Guilt flickered in her chest for a moment.  I wouldn’t like it much, she thought, if someone hurt me.

           (Papa never apologizes.)

           The guilt solidified into something a little more solid and actionable.  She squared her shoulders and, an idea forming in her mind, made her way back to town.

                                                             ~*~

             -Mary stood outside the Forest with her backpack slung over her shoulder, decked in her overalls and heavy boots and her coat. Papa hadn’t noticed her sneak out the window, and she hoped he wouldn’t come looking for her just yet.  I won’t be long, she thought.  I just need to do this.

           The Forest was very, very quiet.  Mary squinted, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t see more than a few feet into the trees.  “Um. Hello?”

           She waited a little while for a response, but when she didn’t get one, she let the backpack slip to the ground.  She unzipped it and pulled out one of several water bottles, hesitating at the Forest’s edge. “Um.  Is it okay if I come in?”  When the Forest didn’t answer, she took a deep breath, and stepped forward.

           Darkness shrouded her, and she blinked.  The dim lighting made it difficult to see, but one hand reached out to brush the trunk of a nearby tree.  She twisted the cap off the water bottle, opening it with a quiet crack.  She poured the water onto the roots of the tree, humming a quiet song to herself as she tried to look further into the woods.

           Something rustled behind her.  She jumped, then held her breath, but nothing moved again.

           She finished pouring the water and darted back into the sunlight.  Her chest rattled with a few deep, shaky breaths.  After a few moments she bent, grabbing the next water bottle and hurrying into the Forest.

           She’d made it through three bottles and was well onto the fourth when that same strange impression of a voice asked, “What are you doing?”

           Mary was so startled that she lost her hold on the water bottle.  She tumbled backwards with a quiet oomph!

           Things stirred inside the trees; vague shapes she couldn’t identify, tall gangly things that looked like they were bent out of shape, the gleam of eyes that were clustered too close together for comfort, the twitching of tree branches that seemed to move all on their own.

           Mary took a shuddering breath.  Her hands shook a little, but she managed to keep her voice steady as she said, “Watering you.”

           She didn’t think she was going to get a response for a moment.  Then the voice came again, brushing around her like a breeze: “Why?”

           “Be-because! Um.  Because I want to make up for the other day.”  She stood and brushed off her overalls.  The bottle was empty, now, so she stuck it underneath her arm and listened to it crinkle.

           “I did not require reparations,” the Forest said, in the hurried footsteps of animals, in the quiet whisper of the leaves.

           “Oh.”  Mary bit her lip.  “Well, I’m going to keep watering you, anyways.  Is that okay?”

           The Forest didn’t answer.

           Mary nodded decisively. “Okay.  I’m going to get more water.  Um, please don’t do anything to me?”  She started back towards the Forest’s entrance, then paused. “Oh!  Um, by the way.  My name’s Mary.”

                                                             ~*~

             -It became a routine, of sorts.

           Mary didn’t know how much she owed the Forest—wasn’t sure if she’d repaid it after giving it a few water bottles—and so made a game out of bringing it things she thought it might be able to use.  She planted some seeds, near the edge; stole bird food out of the feeder; brought table scraps for some of the animals.  She made sure to stay close to the Forest’s edges, always wary of going too far.  (Of going missing, and of no one coming to find her.  She wondered if Papa would grieve like he did for Ian.  She wondered what that would look like, with no one else around.)

           It was fun, almost; it felt like she was getting away with something exciting and new. Papa would pick her up after school, and she’d wait a while, then duck out the window and run to the Forest, some new item stuck in her bag, ready to see if it was something that it would like.

           The Forest didn’t really say anything, but that was alright; Mary had plenty of words for the both of them, and would often talk to herself—as much to keep her nerves down as to explain things.

           “Kevin said he could fit three whole golf balls in his mouth, but I know he’s lying because his mom would yell at him for putting even one in.”

           “I found a feather today! I think it was from a blue jay, but I didn’t see the bird.  See, see, I put it in my hair.”

           “Kathrine says that you can keep frogs as pets.  I want one, but Papa says that we can’t have pets.”

           A breeze brushed across the back of her neck.  “Why do you keep coming back?”

           She stiffened, her hands twisted in the grass as she tried to plant some flower seeds.  “Huh?”

           Lights blinked faintly in the darkness.  Something moved a little, still too coated in shadow to accurately make out.  “Most humans stay away.  Why do you return?”

           Mary fidgeted with her pants.  She rocked back on her heels, careful not to sit.  “Do you not want me to?”

           A long, long pause, before the Forest answered, “You do not do harm.  You can stay.”

           Mary grinned, and surprised herself with her excitement when she chirped, “Okay!”

           An animal (a deer?) started, jumping away into the undergrowth.  A couple of birds took flight, letting out odd, tinny cries. “But you did not answer.  Why do you return?”

           “O-oh.  Um.”  She worried her lip, suddenly feeling very much like she had done something wrong, somewhere, and couldn’t quite figure out what it was.  “Well.  It’s. Um.”  She shrugged, looking at her feet.  “I just want to,” she finished quietly.

           When the Forest didn’t respond, she hurried to say, “Um!  I like—I think you’re very cool!  And, uh, and I still owe you for—for what happened.  And—and you listen.”  She trailed off, hands wrapped around her legs.

           For a few moments, nothing moved.  Mary wondered if she should start heading back; time always moved strangely in the Forest, and she found she could end up staying here for hours instead of minutes, if she wasn’t careful.  (Papa had almost caught her climbing in her window, once, and she’d sat on her bed frozen, expecting to be scolded, or to find her window locked from the outside, or—

           Papa had never said anything, but she hadn’t gone out for a few days, to be safe.)

           A bright glow caught her attention.

           One of the strange birds had hopped down from its perch.  It ruffled its feathers, bouncing closer, head tilted towards one side.

           Mary caught her breath and held it.

           The bird moved just a little bit closer.

           Mary, hesitantly, reached out to pet it.

           Its feathers were unusually soft—softer even than the blankets that were piled on the couch at home. Up close, she could tell that the bird had what looked like flowers twined through its down, long stems twirling round and round its body.  Mary fingered one of them, but didn’t pull, gently running one thumb over a petal. “I need my sketchbook,” she breathed, and got up so quickly that she startled the bird into flight.  “Um!  I’ll be back!”

           Her cheeks ached from grinning as she sprinted down the slope.

                                                          ~*~

             -“Hey, Mary, I’m having a birthday party this weekend,” Helen said, coming up to her with a grin.

           “A birthday party?”

           “Yeah!  You should come.”

           Mary’s grin faltered a little.  “Oh. Um.  Papa doesn’t usually like me going places without him.”  But I go to the Forest, don’t I?  She tried not to think about Blake or the others, sitting not that far from her. “But maybe I can ask!”

           Helen nodded, appeased, and Mary tried to ignore the nervous excitement buzzing in her stomach. Maybe Papa could come, she thought.  Then he wouldn’t have to worry, and I could still go and hang out with my friends.

           When Papa came to pick her up after school, she asked, “Hey, Papa?  Helen’s having a birthday party this weekend.”

           “I’m sure she’ll enjoy that.”

           “She invited me to come. Can I go?”

           Papa studied her for several long, agonizing moments.  “You’ll have homework to do,” he said carefully.

           “I’ll get it all done Friday night!”

           “You never get it done that early.”

           “But I will!  You can watch me.  Or, or you could come to the party, too.  I won’t get into any trouble, Papa.  I promise.”

           “You’re a child, Mary. Trouble is all children get into.”  He shook his head.  “No.  I don’t think you should go.”

           “Come on, Papa, please. I never get to hang out with my friends.”

           “You spend time with them at school.”  Papa grabbed her arm, roughly, and dragged her to the car.  “You can go when you’re older.”

           “How much older?”

           Papa didn’t say anything.

           “I really won’t get into trouble,” Mary said, something tightening in her chest.  She didn’t know why this bothered her so much, but she found herself pressing, “It could even just be for a few moments!  I just want to—”

           “No, Mary.  I want you safe.  Where I can see you.  This discussion is over.”

           “Everyone else gets to hang out with their friends.”

           “You aren’t everyone else.  I don’t know why any responsible parent would let their kids run around unsupervised—not when so many people go missing.”

           Before Mary had really had time to think about what she was saying, she muttered, “Just because Uncle Ian disappeared—”

           “Don’t talk about him!” Papa roared.

           Mary shrank.  Her heart thundered in her chest.  Very suddenly, she was aware of the fact that they were still in the school parking lot, and that people had stopped to stare at Papa’s outburst.

           Papa seemed to realize this, too, because his attention swept around the observers.  He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.  “You’re not going,” he growled.  “That’s final. I don’t know why you’re putting up such a protest.  It’s unreasonable.”

           All she could do was nod, even as something tightened in her chest.

           “Get in the car.”

           I don’t want to, some part of her thought desperately, but she listened, anyways, sliding into the front seat and trying not to hunch her shoulders.

           Papa got into the driver’s seat.  He started the car, and they pulled away from the school, the worried faces of Mary’s classmates disappearing behind her.

           Something welled in Mary’s chest and clogged her throat, but she bit her lip and shoved it down, some part of her understanding that crying would probably make Papa angrier right now.

           “I’m doing this to keep you safe,” Papa said, breaking the silence.  “You understand that, right?  I can’t risk you disappearing like—like others.”  He stumbled over the words, and his voice was strained, like he was trying hard to keep it level.

           “I-I know, Papa.” Her voice cracked, a little, and she didn’t quite dare look at Papa to see how he reacted.

           Papa didn’t say anything more—not even when they got home—and Mary hurried to her room, shutting the door.

           She hadn’t even had half a second to think about what she was doing before she was scrambling out her window.  Running to the Forest was almost second nature, now, and she found herself sprinting up the grassy slope before she’d really had time to think about it.  Her eyes burned, and her vision blurred, a little, as she hurtled between the trees.  She nearly collided with a sturdy trunk; her hands flew out to brace herself against it, and she just stood there for a few moments, shaking, tears flowing down her cheeks.  She stayed quiet, scrubbing at her eyes as she tried to get the tears to stop.  It’s stupid, she thought.  I shouldn’t be so upset.  It’s just a birthday party.

           “Your face is wet.”

           Mary started, despite herself.  She pulled away from the tree.  “Y-yeah.”

           “Why?”

           Mary rubbed her eyes fiercely.  “B-because I’m crying.”

           “Crying?”  The Forest’s voice trailed off into a breeze, the word picked up by various creatures inside.  After a few moments, an answering murmur came: sad upset overwhelmed too much emotion—

           “You are hurt.”  It wasn’t a question, and there was something almost angry underneath it.

           Mary flinched backwards, because for a moment all she could hear was Papa’s voice, and she hadn’t come here because she wanted to be yelled at again—  “Don’t be angry. Please.”

           The whole Forest seemed to suddenly go quiet.  “You are hurt,” the Forest repeated, and this time it sounded vaguely uncertain, “because of anger?”

           “I’m not hurt,” Mary said stubbornly.  “It’s stupid.”

           “Mary,” the Forest said, and for a brief, fleeting moment, she was reminded of Uncle Ian, gently soothing her after she’d fallen and scraped a knee, just before picking her up to tell her a story.

           (Papa had told her stories too, once.  When had that stopped?)

           When the Forest spoke again, its voice was back to normal, and she could believe she’d imagined the whole thing.  “It is understandable,” the Forest said.  “Humans often hurt others when they are angry.”

           “H-he—he just wants to keep me safe.  He’s just worried.”

           “But you are still hurt.”

           “I don’t want to talk about this,” Mary said quickly.  “I just—I don’t want to think about it.”

           The Forest went silent again.

           Mary stayed silent, pressed against a tree, until something fluttered near her foot.  She blinked, lifting her head.

           A bird had fluttered closer.  Its faintly-glowing feathers illuminated the ground around her.

           Something shifted in the undergrowth.  A creature that vaguely resembled a fox emerged from the bush, lifting its head to press against her hand.  Mary’s fingers curled into the animal’s fur, and it curled up against her.  Mary giggled, the sound wet, as more animals emerged, gently pressing against her.  “Thank you.”

           A low hum went through the Forest as a response.

                                                              ~*~

             -The Forest asked, “Why do you talk to me?”

           Mary stopped pouring the water for a moment, startled by the unexpected question.  “I, um.  Do you not want me to?”

           The nearest tree creaked. “It is simply strange.  Humans do not often talk to me.”

           She wasn’t sure how to take that—as a reprimand, as a statement, as a question.  She tried to answer, anyways.  “Well, um.  It’s because I like having someone to talk to.”

           “You do not have humans to talk to?”

           “I do!” she hurried to say.  “I have Papa, and the kids at school, and lots of other people!  But, um.  They maybe don’t listen as well?  But it’s okay!  I know they’re just busy and have lots of other things to worry about and I’m just a kid who makes them worry and causes trouble and—”  She paused for breath, and found she wasn’t sure how else she could continue, so she just fell silent instead.

           The Forest waited.

           Mary whispered, “It’s lonely, sometimes.”

           The trees creaked. The wind echoed between them, making the whole Forest sound strangely hollow.

           Mary asked, “Is it lonely for you, too?”

           Birds fluttered overhead; vines twisted a little around the nearest tree trunk.  “I have never talked to anyone before.”

           “Is it because of the stories?  Because if it’s the stories, then—then I can make them stop!”

           A wingbeat fluttered near her ear.  “I do not know the stories,” it answered.  “I have never had need to talk to anyone before.”

           “Oh.  How come?”

           “Everything within my borders is connected.  The trees,” the trunks leaned forward, “the birds,” one rushed overhead, “the stones,” a couple pebbles bounced down the path.  “I can see, and hear, and feel everything that is connected to me.”

           “Even me?”

           “No.  You are not a part of the Forest.”

           Mary tried not to think about how strangely empty that made her feel.  “But you know I’m here.  You can hear me.”

           “Yes.  Through the ears of the birds, and the mice, and the deer. I can see you through the eyes of the ants and the rabbits and things humans have no name for.  I can speak through the voices of the wind, and the leaves, and the stones, and you will hear because of your presence within my boundaries.  I am many and one at once; I have no need to talk to others.”

           “Oh.”  Mary scratched a finger in the dirt.  “But, um.  Then.  Um.”

           The Forest waited, silent save for a bird call, somewhere in the distance.

           Mary chewed her lip, then took a deep breath.  “There are stories about people disappearing when they come here.  I thought maybe, um—maybe you were taking people because you were lonely?  But if you don’t need to speak to anyone—and it’s silly, anyways, I’m being dumb, because if people disappeared then you would’ve taken me and Blake and it’s just a silly superstition, anyways.”

           Something soft brushed against Mary’s legs; when she turned, it had already disappeared, eyes gleaming in the undergrowth.  “Sometimes,” the Forest said, “things from the Outside enter my boundaries.”

           Mary cocked her head.

           “Some find their way out. Others stay, and become a part of the Forest.”

           “Become a part of you?”

           “Yes.”

           “But, um, how does that—how does that work?  Do they build homes here?  But then why don’t they come back to see their families?  Dad had a friend—he thought he came here.  They never found him.”

           “No,” the Forest answered, in a long burst of wind that was more like a sigh.  “You do not understand.  They become a part of the Forest.”

           Mary frowned.

           “I can show you.”

           Some warning rang in the back of Mary’s mind, then; some instinct that told her that she should leave, that she would not like whatever she was about to see.  But she didn’t move, her legs too stiff, her eyes wide as she stared into the too-dark depths of the Forest.

           The undergrowth rustled and shifted.  A nearby tree creaked and cracked, loudly, and it took Mary a moment to realize it was turning, the roots tugging free of the ground and shifting.  Small lights flickered from the grass and popped around the tree’s trunk.  A large, bulbous growth had formed on the side of the tree, half-covered in bark and moss; the layers peeled back slowly with a cracking, snapping sound to reveal what lay underneath.

           The thing might’ve been human, once.  It looked vaguely human-shaped.  The arms were twisted above its head, almost completely subsumed by the trunk.  A large branch curled through one shoulder, sprouting several large, faintly glowing flowers.  The legs had elongated into something that almost resembled roots, toes breaking through shoes that had half-decayed.  Moss patterned the lower portion of the person’s face like a beard.  Its eyes were half-lidded, glowing white and pupil-less in the dark.

           A jumble of emotions Mary couldn’t quite parse apart fluttered in her chest.

           Then the maybe-person’s mouth moved, and spoke in a voice that rasped with disuse.  “This is what I mean,” it said, and the words seemed to be echoed by the birds, by the leaves, by every single thing around them until Mary felt too hemmed-in.  “They are transformed by the Forest.  They become a part of me.”

           Suddenly it felt like the unnatural darkness of the Forest had lifted, and Mary couldn’t help gaping.  Each tree seemed to have something else attached to it—a deer skeleton, threaded through with vines, or a fox that still seemed mostly alive but was covered in mushrooms, or nothing more than a vague face that had been trapped in the hollow wood.  The mouse that skittered across the ground carried fungus on its back; the deer that pranced, just in view, had antlers that had twisted out of shape, greenery growing along its chin and neck, legs too long and too many. A many-eyed thing blinked at her, long claws trailing through the undergrowth.

           Mary didn’t know when she’d surged to her feet, nor when she’d started running, nor when her breath had gotten caught in her throat.  All she knew was that she needed to get out, out, out, back to light and safety and away from that thing in the tree—

           She burst into daylight, tripped, and fell, skidding across the grass and scuffing her palms. She lay there a few moments, shivering, hiccupping, waiting for something to step out of the Forest and follow her.

           Nothing did.  When Mary pushed herself onto her knees, the Forest was as silent as always.

                                                            ~*~

             -The man in the tree wouldn’t stop staring at her.

           She saw it whenever she blinked, or looked in a mirror, or caught something out of the corner of her eye.  She couldn’t stop seeing it, those glowing eyes boring deeply into hers.  It made her chest clench, and her breath shuddered.

           “Mary,” one of her teachers said, voice just on the edge of concern, “are you doing alright?”            Mary looked at her teacher, and for a moment, she thought his eyes were glowing.  She blinked, and it was gone.

           (I know what happened to the missing people.)

           Mary forced a smile and said, “Fine!”

           “I can call your father. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind picking you up if you’re not feeling well—”

           “No!”  Mary took a deep breath, then continued, “I’m fine. I don’t need to worry him.”

           The teacher didn’t look convinced, but he let it go.

           The day passed in a haze. One moment, she was sitting in class, staring at a worksheet.  The next, the end of day announcements came on, and she was wandering down the hall towards the office.

           Papa came to pick her up and speak to her homeroom teacher.  She couldn’t really focus on what they were saying; she kept staring at Papa, wondering if she should tell him.  (I know what happened to Uncle Ian.)

           Papa tugged her towards the car, and she didn’t protest, allowing him to usher her into the seat. Ask, a part of her whispered.  Ask me what’s wrong. Please.  I need to talk about it.

           Don’t ask, another part of her hissed.  I can’t do it.  I can’t say anything.  I don’t want you to be mad at me.

           She didn’t even realize how silent the ride home had been until they pulled into the driveway. Papa pulled her, roughly, from her seat and dragged her into the house.  He shut the door, but didn’t let go of her arm.

           Oh, she thought.  He’s noticed.  He’s going to ask now.

           “Mary,” he said, and for the first time she noticed how hard he was working his jaw, and how harsh his voice came out.  “One of my coworkers said they saw you running out of the Forest yesterday.”

           Mary’s heart dropped like a rock into her stomach.  That’s not what I wanted to talk about, she thought, desperate.  That’s not how I wanted this conversation to go.

           “What did I tell you,” Papa asked, “about going to the Forest?”

           Mary knew she was supposed to say something, here, but she froze, Papa’s image overlapping with that of the man in the tree.

           “I told you,” Papa growled, “not to go back there.”  His voice lifted, rising to an almost hysterical pitch.  “I told you not to go to the Forest!  You could get hurt!  Do you want to disappear like all those others?  Is that what you want?  To disappear and leave me alone?”  He shook her, roughly, and her head spun.

           Maybe it was the disorientation, or Papa’s words, or the desperate attempt to get attention off her. Maybe she just didn’t know how to keep it in anymore, because she blurted, “I know what happened to Uncle Ian.”

           Papa suddenly went very, very still.

           “H-he—the Forest—it’s magic.  He became a part of it.  He’s still there.”  Mary looked at Papa desperately.  “I’m sorry.”

           Papa didn’t move for several long, long moments.  When he did, it was to hit her, sharply, across the side of her face.  Mary would’ve fallen, had Papa not still had such a harsh hold on her.  “Don’t talk about Ian,” he shouted, and he hit her again.  “He made his own choices.  It’s his own fault he’s gone.”  And again.  “I won’t let you make the same mistakes.”  And again.  He was crying, now, his voice near hysterical.  “I’m doing this for your own good.”  He hit her again.  “Don’t go back to the Forest.  Don’t go back there!”

           “Papa—”  Her head throbbed.  She was crying too, she thought, but her world was spinning, and she was having trouble focusing.  “Papa, please—”

           She woke up on the floor, with the house dark, and Papa gone.

                                                            ~*~

             -Mary hadn’t intended to go back to the Forest.  Not really; not after seeing—

           Eyes glowing, moss coating its chin, Mary wondering desperately if this was how the Forest knew her—

           But she was tired, and lonely, and hurt, and she no longer knew where else to go.

           The route to the Forest seemed longer than before.  She wondered, absently, if Papa would notice that she left and come after her.

           (Did it matter, if she didn’t come back?)

           Mary dragged herself up the slope; she shook, a little, her heart thundering in her chest.  She pulled herself inside the tree line, but didn’t make it very far before she collapsed, curling up against the trunk of the tree.

           The Forest was silent. That was good; Mary wasn’t sure what she would’ve done if something had come to see her.

           She stayed curled against the tree, shaking and silent, for a long time.  “Is Uncle Ian here?” she whispered.

           The Forest didn’t respond, save for a quiet wind that, if she listened closely, she thought might’ve whispered Ian’s name.

           “It’s just—he went missing.  Like a lot of people.  Him and Papa were really close.  They used to tell me stories—Ian was really fascinated about the Forest, you know. But then he disappeared, and Papa stopped telling stories.”  Mary pulled her knees to her chest, but it couldn’t quite stop her shaking.  “Why?” she whispered.  “Why do you take people, and—and—”  She couldn’t quite bring herself to say the words; she didn’t know what she might’ve said if she did.  “Can you let them go?” Mary asked instead.  “I-if Uncle Ian were—if he came back, then maybe Papa would change back, too. Maybe he’d stop—”  She broke off, a fractured part of her brushing against another thought she didn’t really want to have.  “Please let him go.  Please.”

           The Forest was silent for a long moment before something gentle brushed her shoulder.  “I can’t.”

           “Why not?”

           “They are interconnected to my magic.  They are part of the greater consciousness.  I do not know if their consciousnesses can be unwound.”

           “Oh.”  Mary leaned heavily against the tree.  “Do you think,” she asked tiredly, “I could become part of it, too?”

           The Forest went still.

           “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered.  “Papa’s always angry or worried or—he’s not happy.  A-and I don’t—he scares me.  I don’t want him to scare me, because I know he loves me, but he does, and it’s—!  And I keep thinking about the—the person in the tree, and I can’t sleep, and Papa won’t listen because he’s just mad that I went into the Forest, and I’m tired!  I don’t want to go back, and I don’t want to think about—about what happened to Uncle Ian, and I don’t want to be alone anymore.”  She didn’t know when she’d started crying, but once it started, she couldn’t stop.  She shook and heaved, great shuddering sobs rattling her chest and she pressed herself against the tree trunk.  “If I disappear into the Forest,” she whispered, “then no one would mind.  Papa would be sad for a while, but then he wouldn’t have anything to worry about anymore.”  Her words died out slowly, and she just sat there, a heavy sense of exhaustion weighing down on her chest.

           The silence went on for a little longer.  Then, in a voice so quiet she might not have heard it, had it not been magic: “I hurt you.”

           Mary curled up tighter.

           “I hurt you,” the voice repeated, and it sounded so strangely human that Mary couldn’t help thinking about the person in the tree again.  “I am sorry. I am sorry, I did not mean—I only wanted to explain—I should not have showed you that.”

           Mary shrugged, shoulder scraping the bark.  She winced, but didn’t move away.

           “If I hurt you,” the Forest asked, “why did you come back?”

           Mary didn’t know how to answer that for a long moment.  “Papa hurts me, too.  But he does it because he cares.  I—I know you didn’t mean it.”

           “That does not make it okay.”

           Why do you sound so human now? Mary wanted to ask, but didn’t, almost afraid of the answer.

           (A part of her wondered if it was because of the people who were a part of the Forest’s consciousness; if they gave the Forest a way to understand what humans were like.  She wished it had worked a little sooner.)

           “What can I do?” the Forest asked, the trees creaking.

           “Just let me stay here. Please?”

           The Forest didn’t respond, and Mary took that as an affirmative.  She stayed, curled against the trunk of a tree, until faint sunlight started to peek through the tree line.

           She knew she should leave, then.  She didn’t want to.

           (Didn’t want to go back. Didn’t want to stay.  Didn’t know what she really wanted anymore.)

           Eventually Mary stood, her legs stiff.  She hesitated just inside the tree line.  A part of her thought of turning and running deeper; going so deep that she’d be lost in the Forest forever.

           (She wondered if that was the reason so many people went missing; if they had just gotten so tired of living in the town that they’d decided leaving for the Forest was better.)

           After a few long moments of deliberation, she took a step back into the sunlight.

                                                              ~*~

             -Mary made it back to her room as the sun was coming up, tumbling into her bed and falling asleep almost as soon as she’d hit her pillow. Papa came to wake her up barely a moment later.  He didn’t say anything; he just ushered her along, shoving her school clothes at her, driving her to school in silence.

           (Mary didn’t want to go, but she didn’t want to stay.  The car felt suffocating with its silence, and she practically held her breath until they reached the school building.)

           The whole day seemed to pass in a sleep-deprived haze, but that was alright; it meant she didn’t have to think about Papa so much, and about his reaction and what it meant.

           But she did think about the Forest, her mind twisting in useless circles as she tried to make sense of her feelings.

           (She liked the Forest. She liked that it listened, and she liked the mystery, even if it scared her.  But she didn’t like that it took people, and that they ended up like the thing in the tree, and that maybe there were other people out there like Papa who—

           But the Forest had been upset to find out it had hurt her, and it had apologized, so maybe—

           Papa never apologized.)

           She hiked back out to the Forest after school, tired but determined, and set foot into the tree line with a mission in mind.

           The Forest spoke, much more quickly than she’d anticipated, the ferns lifting to brush her legs, lights flaring in the darkness.  “You’re back.”

           “Y-yeah.”

           “You did not have to come,” it said, “if I made you distressed.”

           “I-I know,” she said. “I wanted to.”

           The Forest didn’t say anything to that, and Mary gathered herself, trying to find the words.  “What is it like,” she asked finally, “deeper inside?”

           The Forest was silent for several long, long moments.  “Are you sure you wish to see?”

           Mary steeled herself. “Yes.  I want to know if—if there’s anything—I just need to know.”

           “I hurt you last time. I do not wish to hurt you again.”

           Mary smiled, despite herself.  “I-it’s okay. I’m choosing to do this, this time.”

           “That does not—” The Forest broke off, and Mary was struck again by how strangely human the sentiment was.  “If it is too much, then please say so.  I will guide you back out.”

           “Okay,” she said, voice shaking a little.

           Carefully the trees pulled back, inching along the ground, dragging their roots from their places until there was a long, grassy path into the darkness.  Lights flickered along the edges, guiding Mary inward.

           For a moment, Mary remembered the stories about those lights, and how following them could lead to a person getting lost forever.

           But she also knew that the Forest wouldn’t mind if she chose to turn and walk out, instead.  Slowly, hesitantly, she edged forward, walking carefully along the path.

           The pathway was bright, lit by brightly glowing balls of light that kept the darkness in the rest of the Forest at bay.  Trees and stones and animals continued to move out of her way, extending the path further and further into the Forest’s center.  She wondered if she could keep walking and come out on the other side.

           (She wondered if Papa would come looking for her, or if he’d just stay in his empty house and grieve.)

           The trees stopped moving, and Mary stepped into the center of a large, dark clearing.  She blinked, trying to peer through the darkness, willing her eyes to adjust.

           Lights flickered in the clearing, a rainbow of blue and pink and yellow, flooding the grass and the trees with brilliant, fractured hues.  The long strands of grass shimmered with dew, waving in the slight breeze.  A massive tree grew in the center of the clearing, trunk twisted so that it looked like it was made up of dozens of smaller trees.  Bird nests filled the upper branches, protected by a thick canopy of leaves.  Tiny hatchlings peered out of their nests at Mary, feathers still dull, but scattering small bursts of light as they ruffled their downy wings.  A larger bird flew overhead, gliding towards one of the nests and perching to feed one of the chicks.

           Something emerged from the trees, and Mary gasped as a large stag walked towards her.  Its antlers looked like gnarled branches, chipping apart in areas to reveal bursts of color.  Its neck seemed too long, its legs too spindly, and when it huffed, it breathed mist.  Mary was almost afraid, until a doe and fawn stepped out behind it.  The fawn looked much like its father, if a little more proportionate, but had a pair of extra legs it bounced on.  It jumped towards Mary, curiously lifting its head and nuzzling at her hand.  Mary giggled, stroking its velvety fur.

           “Being part of the Forest is not always death,” the Forest said, and it took Mary a moment to understand it was coming from the stag.  “There is life, too.  One is given power and care through life, and when they pass, they become a part of the Forest again, to help support life.  It is the way of things.”  A pause. “But I should not have shown you the man.  It distressed you.  That was wrong.”

           Mary knelt, scratching the fawn under the chin.  “You didn’t know.  You, um. You hadn’t interacted much with humans before.”

           “It was still wrong. I should not have hurt you.”

           A bird fluttered near her, and the Forest shifted, voice coming from it, instead of the stag.  “I do not always understand human morals,” it said, “but I understand harm.  My concern has always been whether or not harm has been done to those that are a part of me.”

           “Y-you said that’s why you chased us out before.”

           “Yes.  I allowed you to stay because you did not cause harm. I should not have then caused harm to you.”

           Mary stood.  A couple more birds fluttered around her, stirring her clothes and making her giggle.  “It’s beautiful,” she admitted.  “I wonder if that’s why people stay here, sometimes.”

           The Forest went quiet, suddenly.  “They get lost,” it said after a long, long moment.

           “They can’t find their way out.”

           “Sometimes. Sometimes, they are lost in their minds, rather than in the physical world.  They stay here and do not leave.”  A pause.  “I do not want that to happen to you.”

           “But you can always guide me back out.  Right?”

           “Yes.”

           “And—and you can guide others out, too?”

           A pause.  Lights flickered, lighting up a path.  “If they choose,” it said finally.

           “Good. Because—because I don’t want—I don’t want people like Ian to go missing anymore.”

           The Forest stayed silent for a long time.  Mary didn’t mind; she let the silence grow, absently petting the fawn until it felt like things had grown too late.  Then she stood, letting the Forest guide her back to the edge, lights flickering along the path.

           The Forest stopped her briefly with a whisper of, “Mary.”

           She cocked her head.

           “You are always welcome here,” it said, “if you need refuge.”

           Mary smiled, a small thing that felt more real than anything she’d given over the past several days.  “Okay.”

                                                             ~*~

             -Mary hadn’t really meant to talk to anyone about the Forest—at least, not until she had a better plan.  She didn’t know how to explain what she’d learned (didn’t think anyone would listen), and so cautiously hoarded the information to herself, going back to the Forest when she could in order to speak to it and learn more.

           But then it was the weekend, and Papa was having people over from his work, and they’d gotten into the adult drinks and gone red in the face and started hollering and laughing in the living room.  Mary knew that she wasn’t supposed to go in there—wasn’t sure she wanted to, really—but she’d heard one of Papa’s friends say, “All those stories about the Forest are bullshit.  Mark went in a couple days ago, and he came back out, perfectly fine.”

           Mary paused, hovering close to the doorway.

           “Maybe he just—maybe he just got so lost that he came out the other side.”

           “Nah, nah, I’m telling you—he said he saw these colored light things.”  The words were slurred, but Mary couldn’t help her grin, and she pressed her hands tightly to her mouth to keep from giggling.  “Said they led him right out.”

           Papa said, “You shouldn’t tell such stories.”

           “Oh, come on, Rick, lighten up.  It’s all in good fun.”

           “You shouldn’t—you shouldn’t talk about stuff like that.”

           Something in Papa’s voice made the hairs on Mary’s neck stand on end.  She peered cautiously around the doorway.

           Papa was leaning forward in his recliner, bottle clasped in his hands, his expression distant and haggard.  “Ian talked like that,” Papa said.  “Ian talked about that all the time, about his—about how the Forest was magic, and how he’d go see it one day.  Nobody believed it.  People just—just fucking ran away.  But Ian believed in those stupid fairytales, and he wouldn’t stop looking.  He believed them so much it killed him.”

           One of the men laughed, and slapped Papa’s shoulder, and said, “Right, a story’s what killed him.”

           Papa shoved the man’s arm away.  “He wouldn’t leave it alone!  He kept—he obsessed over it until—until there was nothing left.  He’s dead, now.  Maybe if people didn’t talk about those damn stories—”  He shook his head and took another swig from his bottle.

           Mary stepped into the living room, and without truly pausing to think, she said, “But they’re true, Papa.”

           All eyes were very suddenly on her.  She quailed under them, suddenly wondering if she should run back to her room.

           “Look at this!” one of the men said, pointing at Mary.  “Kiddo’s going to join us!  What’ve you got to say, kiddo?”

           Papa stared at her, a dark look on his face.

           (Mary remembered telling Papa about what happened to Ian.  Papa had been so angry, then.  She wondered if it’d be different now, with friends around.  She wondered if it mattered.)  “I-it’s true, though.  The Forest—people disappear because they become a part of it.  But it’s not trying to!  It’s because of the weird magic stuff.”

           “Weird magic stuff,” someone repeated, laughing.

           “Yeah!  It’s not all scary, though.  Some of it’s really pretty, too.  A-and we worked out a way to maybe keep people from disappearing? That’s what those lights were.  I talked to the Forest about it the other day, and—”

           “You went back to the Forest?” Papa asked.

           The room suddenly went very, very quiet.

           Mary took a hesitant step backwards.  Papa’s scowl had deepened, his eyebrows so low that they cast his eyes in deep shadow.

           Papa stood.  He stumbled, a little, and nearly dropped the bottle.

           Mary scrambled back further.

           One of the men said, “Hey, Rick, maybe you shouldn’t—”

           “I told you,” Papa said, low and quiet and fierce, “not to go back to the Forest.”

           Mary’s eyes darted towards the door.

           “Look at me!”

           Mary whipped towards Papa, who had come much, much closer than she’d expected.  “I-I’m sorry.”

           Something sharp stung her cheek.  She fell and sprawled across the floor, hands scraping roughly against the wood.

           “Rick, hey!”

           “Why did you go back there?” Papa snarled, and the way his face contorted made him seem more like the not-human from the Forest, rather than the Papa she’d known as a child. “I told you not to.”

           “I’m sorry!” Mary said, scrambling backwards.

           Papa lifted his hand again.

           One of his coworkers caught it, hissing, “Rick, I think you’ve had a little too much—”

           “Let go of me!”

           Mary scrambled to her feet and ran.

           Papa roared behind her, but she didn’t look back, crashing through the door, sprinting bare-foot through the darkening streets.  She wove through the houses, and after a while she heard an angry shout of, “Mary!” from behind her.

           Papa was chasing after her.  Papa was far away, now, but he could catch up quickly.

           (What happens when he catches her?)

           (“I will give you refuge, if you need it.”)

           Mary stumbled from between the houses and onto the field, the Forest looming dark and silent ahead. She hurried up the slope, chest rattling, breathing heavy, scrambling up, up, up, one hand reaching frantically for the trees.

           Heavy breathing and footsteps sounded behind her, and she’d just made it to the tree line when Papa grabbed the back of her shirt.  She stretched an arm, frantically, towards the Forest, but Papa dragged her backwards, lifting her like a disobedient cat.  “Where are you going?” Papa asked, shaking her, and it hurt.  She fumbled for his arm, and she shook her again.  “Huh?  You think you’re going back there?”

           Mary choked on a sob. “Help,” she said, and it was more a sob than an actual cry.

           “Help?”  Papa snarled. “I am helping you, I’m keeping you from ending up like Ian.  You should be grateful, but you never know how—nothing but trouble.  We’re going home. We’re going home, and then you’re going to—”

           A harsh wind echoed between the trees.

           Papa stopped.

           Mary dangled, the tips of her feet touching the ground.

           (“He has caused you harm,” something that sounded eerily like the Forest whispered in her mind.

           He’s protecting me.

           Is he?)

           “You aren’t helping me.”

           The world went very quiet, and it took a long moment for Mary to realize she’d said anything at all. When Papa responded, his voice was low and dangerous: “What?”

           Mary swallowed, but continued, one hand reaching to grab Papa’s arm.  “You’re hurting me,” she said. “A-and I know it’s because you’re scared, but—but—but I want you to stop hurting me!”

           “I’m trying to keep you safe.”

           “Then why do I feel safer in the Forest then with you?”

           Papa’s face contorted into a snarl.  He shook her, roughly.

           Mary grimaced, her head spinning, one hand silently reaching back towards the Forest. Something brushed against her fingertips.

           Papa growled, “We’re leaving.  You are not to come back to this Forest.  You are not—”

           And then the Forest spoke, long and low and rumbling, like it was shaking the very earth. “What are you doing?”

           Papa froze.  His grip loosened, just enough so that Mary could drop to the ground, coughing and sputtering.

           Rough hands—almost like wood—gently touched Mary’s arm.

           Papa’s voice came, low and broken and uncertain: “Ian?”

           Mary blinked up, and for a moment she saw Uncle Ian’s face as it once had been, soft and friendly with a twinkle in his eyes.  Then it shifted, a little, and she noticed the rough, cracked edges of his face and the bushes along his back.  He lifted Mary carefully and turned towards Papa, face contorting into a scowl.

           The trees leaned forward ominously.  “You have done harm to the child.”

           Papa took several steps backwards, eyes too wide.  “I’m protecting her,” he said.  “Ian, I’m making sure she doesn’t get hurt.  I’m trying to keep her from ending up like you.”

           “This is not protection,” the Forest rumbled; Uncle Ian’s chest reverberated with the words, and things moved behind him, large and dark and intimidating, gnashing teeth and snarling loud enough that the cries seemed to blend together.

           “Sometimes,” Papa said, but his voice was wavering, “sometimes you have to hurt people to protect them.  Ian, you have to understand.  Sometimes—”

           The wind roared through the trees, moving so quickly that it stirred Mary’s clothes and nearly knocked Papa off his feet.  “No,” the Forest said.  “You have done her harm.”

           Papa’s expression contorted, into something angry and feral and frightening.  “What do you care?” he snapped.  “You’re not really Ian.  You’re not really here. You’re just some sort of—some sort of crazy hallucination.  Just a bunch of trees.”

           “I have many names, and none at all,” the Forest boomed, and it sounded like the thunder of falling stones, of countless animal cries and the crash of waterfalls.  “I have been here since time began, and even before. I have seen humans far stronger and braver than you.  I have seen love, and life, and death and pain.  I have survived throughout the ages, and I shelter those who would take refuge within my trees.  And I will protect my own.”

           A creature lunged from the depths of the Forest, massive and snarling ferociously, covered in bark-like armor with long claws that stretched like shadows towards Papa.  He scrambled backwards, panicked, as it swiped at his chest.  More appeared, wraith-like and warped, a mass of long fangs and claws and eyes.

           Ian’s fingers curled tighter around Mary, and she lifted a hand to grip his shoulder.

           Papa looked at Mary for a moment, then to the wall of darkness that snarled at him.  He stumbled a step back, and then another, and then turned and bolted back to the town.

           The creatures stayed where they were for a few moments, waiting until he was out of sight until, one by one, they moved back into the trees.

           “Are you alright, Mary?” the Forest asked, Ian carefully setting her back on her feet.

           Mary hiccupped and shook, but she said, “Y-yes.”

           The Forest did not answer, and she found herself admitting, “N-no.”  She sat, and hugged her legs to her chest, and tried not to think about how much her neck hurt.  “I-I can’t go back.  I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”

           “Then stay here.”

           Mary’s head whipped up, but she had no one to look at, save the empty expanse of the Forest. “I-I don’t—I don’t want to end up like—”

           Ian stretched out a hand, slowly, and reached to gently touch the space above her heart.  Light flickered through his fingertip, warm and bright and alive.  “I cannot stop that from happening, if you choose to stay here permanently,” the Forest said, and for the first time it sounded pained.  “But I can give you refuge, when you want it.  I can guide you to the edges, so that you won’t be lost for so long that I overcome you.  I can provide you with a piece of my magic, so that even if you travel, you will have my protection with you.  But,” and its voice went whisper-quiet, “only if you want it.”

           Mary touched Ian’s hand, gently.  “You’d look after me?”

           “Yes.”

           Mary grinned, then laughed, and though the tears still stung, they didn’t feel quite as bad anymore. “Okay.”

                                                              ~*~

             -Most of the time, nobody goes to the Forest outside of town.

           There are stories, though; of a young woman who lives within the Forest, who can do strange magic and plays tricks on travelers, who has traveled through the world herself. They say that she was the daughter of someone who lived in the town, once, and that her parents died, or moved away and left her there, or were stolen away by the Forest itself so that it could have their child.

           Sometimes people claim to see her—a wild-haired woman in hiking gear or a mismatched dress or heavy winter clothes, sitting in the trees or talking to animals or yelling at travelers when they get too close.  She’d guide people out of the Forest, sometimes, and those people talked about the fantastic things they saw within—about fairy lights, and unusual creatures, and shifting trees.

           Most people don’t believe the stories—a forest is just a forest, after all.  But every so often, someone gets curious enough to go to the edge and look in.  And, when they do, they sometimes find her grinning back at them.

#original fiction big bang #forest child #my writing

[arsenicpanda]

coming from an amateur writer, do you have any tips on writing smut?

ngl, I’m an amateur myself, having not finished much smut and still not written the actual act of sex from the perspective of one of the people experiencing it. So idk why you came to me, but I am flattered. I'm not great at advice on the act of writing, but I’ll do my best to talk about process and shit.

1. Read smut. Read lots of it, read varying qualities and varying lengths and as soft-core and hard-core as you’re up for. Read it for fun, just taking it in, and then read it with a critical eye. What works? What doesn’t? Are there any tropes (general, character-specific, or ship-specific) that you like or dislike? Why? What’s especially hot? What makes you cringe? What kind of language do you like? And so on and so forth. Ask questions and answer them.

2. What’s your setup? Like, which characters, which ship, which universe? If it’s an AU, how does the AU change things from canon (especially important if you’re doing ABO, which is its own can of worms I’m not getting into here)? What’s the relationship between your characters and what’s the situation in which they fuck?

3. How do your characters feel about sex in general and with respect to the ship you’re writing? How horny are they in general, for the other character(s) in the ship, and in this specific situation? What are they into and not into? What are their previous experiences (or lack thereof) with sex and romance? What experience do the characters have with each other? Are there specific experiences they might remember and use or is there certain knowledge they do or don’t have about their partner(s) (For established ships, I like to mention previous experiences and knowledge of what the POV character’s partner(s) are into as a way to show that there is real history there. For unestablished ships, I like to include that figuring out process some and the reactions to experiencing stuff for the first time, either in general or within the specific ship, to show that newness of the relationship. Maybe there’s mention of a certain preference the POV character already knows about, or maybe the POV character makes note of a preference they learn during the fic. Stuff like that.)? How loud are they during sex? Are there any sex acts that this ship would engage in no matter what (e.g. I maintain all smut with Jughead that isn’t a quickie should include him giving some amount of oral sex)? How many times can they orgasm? How sensitive are they? What’s their refractory period? And so on, and so forth. Note: once you come up with answers for this section for your ship once, the next time you write smut for them, you’ll really only have to make adjustments according to the universe you’re in, so that’s nice.

4. What kind of fic are you writing? Is it pwp? Smut within plot? A character or relationship piece? Basically, are there any arcs to get through, what are they, and how are they going to relate to the smut? How explicit is the smut? What language do you want to use to refer to genitals and orgasms and such? What POV are you writing in? How much do your characters talk? How “realistic” are things? Are they practicing safe sex, including safe oral sex?

5. What’s actually happening? I like to plan out a smut scene ahead of time so I know how it starts, where they are physically, what the characters are doing (hand, mouth, genital, etc location and movement), how one sex act moves into another, what can be seen/heard/felt/etc based on POV, what’s physically possible at all times, if there are any accessories or toys I need to explain them owning and where they’re kept before the smut, and how it ends. It also helps me make sure the smut doesn’t significantly overlap with something I’ve already written or am planning to write. I also write an outline, which you don’t have to do, but does help if you ever go weeks or months between working on it because then when you come back you don’t have to strain to remember what the plan was. You can also just go with the flow and just write, but definitely keep location of body parts and what the POV character can actually see/hear/etc (for example, if your POV character is blindfolded or bent over, they can’t describe their partner’s face) in mind as you do.

6. Write it. Vary your sentence structure. I find good smut includes not just physical action, but emotion and especially sensation, but you might disagree. If you're struggling with repeated words and shit, maybe look for lists of words to use when writing smut. Probably look up tips for writing smut in general, ask people for advice (which you already are, so good for you!), etc. Draw upon your own experience if you have any, and if you don’t, maybe look into people’s accounts, sex tips, etc and check if any questions you have about sensation have been answered online anywhere, e.g. on reddit. But don’t try and make it perfect all at first; just write it. One approach that’s often effective is to do writing "sprints", that is, sit down for fifteen minutes and just write; you can continue for another fifteen minutes when you're done if you want, but you'd be surprised how much you can get done in fifteen minute segments over multiple days. Also, I recommend writing in google docs with the setting of “Add space after paragraph” (go to Format, then Line & paragraph spacing) for ease of transferring to AO3. Actually, here's a good guide on working from google docs an moving to AO3; look at it before you start. Google docs is also useful for when you have a beta because it lets them make suggestions instead of straight-up changing things themselves. Also, take note of where you use italics and non-italicized punctuation together (this will be useful when you need to publish to AO3).

7. Read it carefully and with a critical eye like you would someone else’s fic up in #1. Make sure that you can follow the action based solely on what you wrote and that nothing impossible or contradictory happens (e.g. teleporting body parts, a single hand in two locations at the same time, people twisting or reaching in physically impossible ways). What do you think is missing, where, why, and how might you fix it?

8. Revise it.

9. Repeat 7 and 8 as much as you desire until you’re satisfied, or at least as satisfied as you can be without peer review.

10. Send it to beta. Like, seriously, send it to beta because, if nothing else, your beta won’t know what’s supposed to be happening in the scene, so they can tell you if you’ve successfully conveyed what happens. If you have anything in particular you are uncertain about or want help with, ask your beta to pay close attention to it. Seriously, betaing is going to be much more effective if your beta knows what they should be focusing on most.

11. Repeat steps 7 and 8.

12. Title it and write a summary. Feel free to ask your beta for help here.

12. Congrats, you’re done! Transfer it to AO3 from google docs and save it as a draft. AO3 by default puts a space between italics and non-italicized punctuation, so go through your list of those combos and manually delete the extra spaces. Now add your title, tags, and summary. Don’t tag side pairings/pairings the fic doesn’t focus on in the relationship section; if you need to warn readers of them, put them in the additional tag sedition. If you’re writing an ot3+ that isn’t an established, feel free to tag the pieces of the ship involved (e.g. Betty/Jughead/Tabitha would also tag Betty/Jughead, Betty/Tabitha, and Tabitha/Jughead). But if the ot3+ is already popular within fandom, only tag the ot3+. Don’t tag characters who aren’t central to the story. Tag all warnings and kinks involved especially.

I think that’s it? I guess I might have overly walked you through, but that’s the process I recommend. I mean, I don’t always follow all the steps (While I get the gist of character/emotional arcs before I start plotting the smut, I often really nail them down after I’ve decided on the events of the smut because the latter is generally what has me writing the smut in the first place and I tend to get ahead of myself. Things would probably be easier if I didn’t do that though), but they’re good guidelines, I think? Regardless, I hope this helps!

#asks #anonymous #writing #smut

[jason-the-mommas-boy]

SFW Alphabet with Jason Voorhees

Summary: What the title says! The SFW alphabet with Jason and his S/O (that’s you!) 

Word Count: 3k

A/N: This has been in my google docs for awhile and I’ve been trying to finish up all of my drafts, so here we are! Hope you enjoy these <3

A = Affection (How affectionate are they with a s/o?)

Whenever you and Jason are free for a while, all he ever does is be affectionate! Don’t be surprised if he keeps you in his lap and just cuddles you there (with mask nuzzles included!) for as long as time permits him to. 

Jason tends to be very affectionate to make up for the fact that he can’t say “I love you” since he lacks a voice. It’s also his way of showing you how much he appreciates you!

Your daily tasks are usually interrupted by Jason just picking you up for a hug! He loves hugs the most..

Whenever he comes home, he drops everything to just spend at least a good 10 minutes in a cuddle session with you.

Honestly, if he could, he’d spend the rest of his days by just sitting by a fire with you in his arms. 

B = Breath (What could their s/o do to take their breath away?) 

Going to be completely honest, you will not need to do much at all to take Jason’s breath away

Wearing makeup or something cute? He’s finding himself dead in his tracks because he’s so in awe!

Calling him a pet name or giving him something? He’s on the verge of crying or completely flustered! He’s already thinking of ways to show you his thanks and what he could give you in return! There’s no such thing as giving Jason Voorhees a gift and not getting one back within a few days.

Literally doing anything that’s considered kind? His heart is melting and he’s at your mercy. He’s very attention/touch starved, so anything sweet you do is usually completely new for him.  

C = Cuddling (Do they cuddle? If they do, how and when do they cuddle?)

This is a big yes!!! Of course Jason loves to cuddle with you, it’s one of his favorite pastime activities. 

Typically, Jason would enjoy having you sit in his lap so he can wrap his arms around you and hold you there. 

When it comes to little-spoon and big-spoon cuddling, it’s up to what you want to be. He’s fine with being either and doesn’t necessarily have a preference. Anytime spent with you is cherished either way.

Evenings and nights are usually the times you both cuddle, as Jason spends his days walking around the camp, on search for any trespassers, and resetting traps and all the like. As much as he loves you, responsibilities come first. 

D = Dream (What do they dream of doing with their s/o?)

Jason dreams of not having to worry about teenagers, tourists, and just plain dumb people who didn’t listen to the warnings from the townspeople. He wishes to not have to kill and kill again just so he can spend all of his time with you! 

He just wants to help you, make your day easier by doing your chores, and then shower you with gifts and love. 

E = Effort (How much effort do they put into a relationship?)

To say it easily, Jason gives a 20/10 when it comes to his relationship with you. 

You said you liked this thing? Even if it’s not easy to get, especially when he gets most of his things from campers, he’ll find a way to get it for you!

Feeling blue? He will bring you your favorite food, get a blanket, and bundle up with you. If you tell him what’s wrong, he’ll listen and try desperately to fix the problem. Just need comfort? He understands and has your back. 

Always thinking of you! This outfit that he stole from a camper fits your fashion sense, so he’ll definitely bring it home. 

You want to start a project? Okay! As long as it doesn’t involve you getting hurt or walking around on your own, he’s totally for it! He’ll try to get you everything you need.

He’ll listen and follow your command unless it’s against his wishes. Your happiness is his number one priority.

F = Fear (What do they do if their s/o is scared? How do they handle it?)

He’ll have to understand what you’re scared of to truly really know how to help.

Jason will remain calm to the best of his abilities and assure you in the only way he knows that you’re fine, he’s here for you. 

If you have a fear of anything scary like wolves and such, he’ll try to explain that there’s no need to be scared. He’s the scariest thing living in the woods and you’re brave enough to sleep by his side every night! But to make sure, he’ll take extra precautions and shoo away any unwanted animal visitors around the cabin.

If you’re scared of thunder, he’ll try to find something that he could play or get you to read a book with him to take your mind off of the storms outside. 

If your fear stems from trauma or memories, by god does he understand. He will try his best to avoid whatever stirs the reaction from you just as you stay clear from the dock at the lake. 

G = Gifts (What type of gifts do they give their s/o? Do they want a gift in return?)

Jason will give all kinds of things to you! Cool rocks he finds, the pretty flowers in his garden that remind him of you, stolen clothes that he thinks that might fit, and anything you’ve shown interest in!

Sometimes he’ll do grand gestures, such as building you a little tree house to stay in if you’re ever too cramped in the cabin. He’s ensured that it’s 100% safe and free from accidentally stepping in any bear traps.  

Jason will never ever expect anything in return. Giving you gifts is no trouble to him at all as your reaction and a ‘thank you’ is good enough for him.

But, if you’d insist on getting him a gift, expect this poor boy to be completely flustered. He’s definitely not used to getting stuff from other people. 

H = Hugs (Do they hug their s/o? How often?)

This is the most obvious yes I have to put here. Jason loves hugging you and will try to do so daily.  

I = Intimacy (How romantic are they? Do they have problems with intimacy?)

At the beginning of your relationship, Jason will be extremely hesitant and cautious to do anything in fear of upsetting or scaring you away.

You would have had to initiate a lot of things at first to show it as a sign to him that it was okay! Yes, he can give you hugs and yes, he can hold your hand. 

Jason will try his best to be romantic based on what he knows. He’ll take you out to see the sunset, for example. 

A lot of things that he does he won’t see as romantic, such as giving you support whenever you need it and showing you a lot of affection, or y’know, leaving you gifts. 

When it comes to intimacy, Jason would be...very hesitant. He has a lot of self image issues, which is understandable, he was bullied for his looks. He doesn’t want you to have second thoughts if you saw him entirely, he doesn’t want you to leave..

He also doesn’t know much about being intimate. He sees teenagers have crude sex, but he doesn’t pay attention to what they’re really doing.

After driving over many small bumps in the road, Jason is yours to teach and make love with. 

J = Jealous (Do they get jealous? How do they act when jealous?)

Jason really isn’t the type to get jealous...often. 

If he sees you talking or even walking with someone that is camping on his land, he’d be mad at the trespasser and be more worried for you instead.

The times he does get jealous, don’t expect him to really act on it besides an occasional pout and maybe be extra clingy.

Don’t get him wrong, though. He is extremely protective over you. 

K = Kiss (Are they a good kisser? Do they like to kiss? How often do they try to kiss you?)

Jason is an incredibly inexperienced kisser. In fact, you were probably his first kiss! 

Jason doesn’t like to take his mask off often unless asked to do so, so you’re getting the mock kisses he gives you. 

He tends to give you forehead kisses the most, no matter what the height difference is between you two. 

Don’t expect him to initiate actual kisses, he’s shy..

But his kisses are generally very...teeth-y. He doesn’t mean to nibble or bite, but he can’t help it sometimes. 

L = Love (When do they say they love you? How often do they say it? Do they prefer to say or show it?)

Jason can’t literally say it, he’s a mute, but damn him if he didn’t try to convey that he loves you all the time!

If you’re going to teach him American Sign Language, that’s the first thing he wants to learn! 

He loves showing you little acts of affection to let you know that he loves you. It’s the simple things of just sitting you in his lap and enjoying the moment for what it is. He doesn't need words to let you know that he loves you so much. 

So, essentially, he’s a puppy. Sitting at your feet and lapping at whatever attention you give him. 

You can tell you that this man would break the earth for you if you so much as asked. 

M = Marriage (Do they want to get married? If so, what kind of ceremony?) 

It’s something that doesn’t cross his mind unless you show interest in wanting to get married.

But he’s totally up for it if you bring it up! It’s definitely something his mom would have wanted for him, or at the least, wanted to see. And, obviously, because he loves you. 

He’d love to hold the ceremony outside/out in the woods! He’s such a sucker for nature, it would be a crime to not have nature included in some way. 

Sadly, it wouldn’t be an official marriage, but it’s definitely the thought that counts here. 

N = Night out (What type of dates do they like to go on? How often do they like to go on them?) 

Jason just absolutely adores taking you out to see the sunset or sunrise. There’s something so beautiful about it that he just wants to share the view with you by his side. 

He also prefers little nature walks in the forest, teaching you the paths that are safe to walk and point out where the traps were. View the wildlife, befriend them maybe. Jason was a natural when it came that, he did have a bit of that disney princess inside him after all. 

Honestly, if you guys don’t have anything planned personally, he’ll take the time out of his day to take you out, sometimes even for dinner! Whatever you prefer, really. 

O = Out of the Ordinary (What’s something they don’t normally do with/for their s/o?) 

For as often as I write about it, Jason does not take off his mask and clothes very often. He is much too self conscious and has to be assured that he has no reason to be ashamed. 

He’s typically just happy with the little kisses he gets on his mask, and he’s never been one to care much about sex, so taking off his clothes hasn’t been that much of an issue. Unless forced to get him to wash up or clean his clothes, of course. 

P = Playful (Are they playful in a relationship? If so, how do they play around/mess with their s/o?) 

Usually, Jason is very straight forward in his relationship with you. And usually the one being playfully teased.

But every now and then, he’ll definitely play up the killer act to give a little spook to you if he’s in the mood. 

Or give very playful eyerolls or head tilts to silly questions, but maybe that’s about it. 

And...maybe, if his darling S/O (that’s you!) doesn’t listen to his set rules for an amount of time, he’ll set up a playful punishment. 

Q = Questions (Do they ask their s/o their opinion on things? Do they share theirs?) 

Jason is very old fashioned and was born in a time where there wasn’t a lot of technology, so of course he has questions and wants to know what you think about stuff!

I’m sure something as simple as you pulling your phone out to take a selfie with him is enough to make him tilt his head and point a finger at the cellular device, as if to say what’s that? and so on. 

R = Random (How spontaneous is their relationship? Do they do things on the spot or plan ahead?) 

It’s not really spontaneous to expect Jason to do something special maybe once a week after the day is over. 

He’s a busy man! He has a camp to watch over and take care of, and his mother’s memory to keep up. He has many little chores to do and can’t really make room out of his schedule, especially when it’s summer. 

But in seasons like Winter, he will devote his time to you and plan many dates. Typically, though, you usually don’t know about them until he carries on with what he wants to do, so his relationship with them can be spontaneous, but also expecting. 

S = Sleep (How do they sleep with their s/o?)

Jason has no need to sleep while he’s out and about. The only time he really does is when he goes into hibernation mode if his body desperately needs to regenerate/heal. 

So, while you two share a bed, he does not sleep. Instead, he spends the night cuddling with you and watches you. 

Don’t expect him to stay long in the morning, though. He is completely restless and needs to get out and about on his morning routine. He can only handle laying down for a certain amount of time.  A perfect killer can’t get tired, after all. 

T = Trust (How much do they trust their s/o?) 

Oh, jeez, if you can somehow capture the Killer of Camp Blood as your boyfriend, he has put his 100% trust into you to show this sweet side of his. 

I mean, the townspeople don’t call him Killer of Camp Blood for nothing. He’s a murderer with a messed up and heartbreaking backstory. 

To date you, he has full trust that you won’t tell the police where he resides. To let you in on the truths of his legend, to see how vulnerable he really is, and just let that inner puppy of his to shine. 

So, all he asks is that you don’t break his trust, be honest, and love him back. 

U = Unique (What makes them unique as a s/o?) 

Big slasher boyfriend who could probably lift 4x your weight with ease. 

Jason is also basically an undead zombie roaming around a really old camp that resides in the woods and is a momma’s boy!

He’s a good listener, very respectful of what you want, and will treat you like royalty just because! 

Everything about this giant guy is unique!

V = Vulnerable (How long until they can be vulnerable around their s/o? What are they like in this state?) 

It will...take a lot of time for Jason to even become close with you.

It will more than likely take months for him to finally trust you to not judge him, and then he will maybe open up. 

Essentially, someone could assume as an outsider, that Jason being soft and sweet is the exact definition of vulnerable for a killer. And they wouldn’t be wrong. 

To allow himself to be, well, himself! Not have to be scary and brutal, to be allowed to have a break and just confide in you. 

W = Wild Card (Get a random domestic headcanon of the character of your choice) 

Jason knows how to sew! 

He usually makes clothes for himself when he needs to get new ones. And seeing as he’s monster size, he can’t usually come across clothes that naturally fit. 

But, as a gift, he will start to learn how to sew hats and other types of clothes that you show interest in! He definitely wants to make you things and see your reaction! 

It’s probably a once in the blue moon thing as Jason doesn’t take much pleasure in sewing (his fingers are much too big to get much done), but he knows its worth it if you enjoy the present! 

X = X-Ray (What would they do if their s/o got injured?) 

Panic. 

Maybe panic a bit more, but then he’ll search the area to see what caused the injury. Some asshole campers? They’re dead in a heartbeat. Tripped or got cut against a corner? He’s baby-proofing everything possible. The last thing he wants to see is his S/O hurt. 

He will then try to locate where the injury is and take care of it to the best of his abilities. He naturally regenerates when he’s hurt, so he’s not the best educated on this topic. Of course, with each little injury comes a mock kiss and bandaid. 

If he can’t do anything to help with a first aid kit, he will have to take a bite off his ego and pride and sneakily bring his S/O to the closest house so the owners can take them to a hospital. He can only hope for the best then. 

Y = Yuck (Do they have any pet peeves about their s/o? Are there any habits that might bother their s/o?) 

It’s not so much as anything he finds yuck, but maybe upsetting. He hates seeing you leave the cabin without him. It's an awful habit he dislikes because you’re risking yourself getting hurt! He has bear traps about everywhere in and around the camp, and you could even run into intruders! Much too dangerous and risky.

Z = Zeal (Are they passionate as a s/o? Do they want or like passion?)

Jason is very passionate when he wants to be! He definitely craves the attention and is definitely willing to give it back! 

So, this is probably the second biggest yes I’d have to put in here! Treat this pup right, he definitely deserves the love (:

#jason voorhees #friday the 13th #jason voorhees x reader #jason voorhees imagines #slashers x reader #slasher x reader #slashers fandom #slasher #slashers #sfw alphabet #narrator's writing #500+ #1000+ #1500+ #2000+ #2500+ #3000+

[salty-ironstrange-shipper]

Being Known Is Being Loved

being known is being loved

“i know your pizza order” “you have freckles on your ears” “you make this face when you’re tired” “you order green tea on a good day black on a bad day” “you always make that face before you try something” “the tips of your ears turn red when you’re angry” “i knew you’d say something” “you must be exhausted to miss the class” “your favorite pie is pumpkin, right?” “i know your phone number, don’t worry” “you miss me, i can tell” “you fiddle with your pens when you’re bored” “you don’t like converse unless they’re high tops” “your favorite cereal is cinnamon toast crunch and you first ate it when you were 8”

being known is being loved.

(@natasharxmanov) (post since deleted, see here and here)

(read on ao3)

“You do that thing with your tongue when you’re curious or excited.”

Tony stopped, feeling air brush against his stomach where his tank top had ridden up. His hands carefully caressed the new arc reactor model, even as the rest of him focused his attention on the man sitting on the workshop’s sole couch. “Huh?”

Stephen’s ears turned red, as though even he didn’t know why he’d spoken. “I said, you do that thing with your tongue when you’re curious or excited.” He gestured at Tony’s mouth, trying to replicate the little tongue-rolling gesture.

It didn’t really work, but Tony smiled anyway. “I never noticed.”

“Yeah, well . . .” Stephen shrugged before looking away almost snappishly, returning his attention to the research he had open on his laptop. “I noticed.”

*

“Because they’re your favorite flower.”

“You can’t blame me!” Tony insisted, trying to defend himself as Stephen wrestled the urge to laugh. “I thought it was a good idea!”

“How was sending me flowers that I’m allergic to a good idea in your head?”

They were standing against the railing on the Brooklyn Bridge, looking out on the East River. They’d finished their Chinese takeout as the sun set, and now they were enjoying the display of white and gold lights on the blackened water. Tony had his back to the river, speaking with grand, sweeping gestures of his hands as he tried to justify himself to a laughing Stephen, who was leaning over the metal bar as though daring the water to rise up and take him.

“Because, they’re your favorite flower.”

Stephen shook his head, brow scrunching. “What?”

Tony nodded insistently. “They are! Whenever we walk by a flower shop, or a store with flowers in it, you stop to look at the lilies.” He paused before adding. “I know remember that it was usually from a distance.”

Stephen tilted his head, trying to think. He guessed that was true. He’d always thought they were pretty, particularly the stargazers like the ones Tony had sent to his office at the hospital. And he wasn’t even the type to care for flowers or other naturey things like that. He definitely hadn’t thought Tony had cared to notice.

Tony had his head tilted back, looking up at the few stars that managed to shine in the light-flooded city. “Maybe I can get someone over at R&D to look into making a new strain . . .”

“Or you could just buy plastic ones,” Stephen suggested, smiling despite himself. “Instead of inventing a new flower.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Stephen chuckled. “My mistake.”

*

“You prefer a peppermint stick in your coffee in winter.”

Tony held his hand out, frowning when Stephen ignored him. “Doc? Coffee?”

“Hold on.” Stephen awkwardly held up the cardboard drink tray with one hand while the other fished around one of the pockets in his long, dark-blue wool coat. His eyes, grey today, lit up when he found what he was looking for. “Got it.” He held out a small paper bag. “Take one.”

Tony arched a brow. “There better not be something gross in there.”

“What gross thing would I be carrying around?”

“I don’t know. Brains? Figure they have to go somewhere after you take them out.”

“That’s not what my job is.”

“Sure.” Tony did, finally, reach into the bag, surprised when he pulled out a red-and-white striped candy. “Ooh. Have I earned a treat?”

Stephen rolled his eyes. “You prefer a peppermint stick in your coffee in winter. Thought it would be a good idea to stock up.”

“Man after my own heart,” Tony said blithely, ignoring the warm feeling that stirred in his stomach. He took two sticks, pulling the lid off of his cup when Stephen handed it to him and dropping both inside. It took a few minutes for the flavor to seep into the entire drink. When he finally took a sip, he couldn’t help the not-so-tiny moan that escaped his lips.

Stephen smirked. “Enjoying yourself.”

“Obviously.” He took another long drink before grabbing the front of Stephen’s coat and pulling him in for a kiss,  smiling when Stephen’s tongue ran over his. “Doc, if you wanted a taste, you could get your own candy.”

Stephen stepped forward and away from him as though nothing had happened, enjoying a draw if his own burning hot mocha. “Bold of you to assume I’m sharing again.”

“Oh, that’s just evil.”

*

“You always listen to this album when you’re thinking about your sister.”

“You always listen to this album when you’re thinking about your sister.”

Stephen didn’t bother to look at him, keeping his eyes steadily trained on the water pouring outside their window, the sound of thunder rumbling in the distance, not quite drowned out by the Nirvana soundtrack playing in the bedroom. Everyone now and then, lightning cut through the sky.

“I know.”

Tony nodded as though this was the answer he’d expected. Then he started walking across the room, shutting the door behind him, and crawled into the bed arms opening instinctively to wrap around Stephen’s shoulders as the doctor silently nuzzled his chest and neck.

*

“You always play with your phone so you don’t have to pay attention to this scene.”

“I do not get emotional—”

“Yes you do! You always play with your phone so you don’t have to pay attention to this scene!”

“It’s. SAD, STEPHEN!” Tony snapped back. “The mother whale tries so hard to save her baby, but in the end the goddamned . . . killer whales . . .” Okay, maybe he DID get a little bit emotional when they watched nature documentaries. It wasn’t his fault the circle of life was brutal.

Stephen sighed as Tony completely failed at not being emotional, shaking his head slightly before holding his arms open. “Come here.”

“Thank you,” Tony muttered later as Stephen dutifully fast-forwarded through the scene.

“Don’t worry about it.”

*

“Don’t worry, I know your order.”

“Goddamn—” Stephen pulled his ringing phone out before absently glancing at his fiancé. “It’s work. Do you mind?”

Tony shrugged absently, looking down at his menu. “Don’t worry, I know your order.” He looked up. “The special butternut squash ravioli, right?”

Stephen smiled before leaning forward to brush a kiss against his cheek. “You know me.”

*

“You’re always losing this, so I put a label on the drawer.”

“C’mon . . . where is it . . . I know I left it . . .” Actually, he had no idea where he left it. Giving up, he leaned back on his knees and away from the open compartment. “Jarvis, do you know where—”

“Here,” Stephen said, slipping down from his stool and walking over to a completely different set of drawers on the other side of the room from where Tony was searching. “I’ve got it.”

“You don’t even know what I’m looking for—”

He stopped as Stephen pulled out the exact thing he’d been looking for, a laser cutting tool he often used when making repairs to the armor. Stephen dropped it into his hand as he explained, “You’re always losing this, so I put a label on the drawer.”

Tony couldn’t help the amused expression that crested his lips. “That’s the nerdiest way to say ‘I love you’ I’ve ever heard.”

“Are you complaining?”

Tony scoffed before leaning forward to “innocently” nip at his ear. “No.”

*

“These gloves are easier on your hands, right?”

Stephen stared at the offering in Tony’s fingers, the soft black leather that he knew would be lined with devastatingly soft white fur repurposed from one of Maria Stark’s old wraps. His throat tightened.

“Steph?” Tony said cautiously. “These gloves are easier on your hands, right?”

Forcing himself to move, Stephen nodded sharply before taking them, his own fingers shaking. “Right. Yes.” It took too long to pull them on, but once it was done, it was as though a burden had been lifted, his scarred hands stilling some as they adjusted to the comfortable warmth. “Thanks.”

Tony nodded once before starting to walk away. “Don’t worry about it.”

Stephen stopped him with a gentle hand on his elbow. Tony froze in place as Stephen stepped forward, leaning his forehead against the nape of Tony’s neck. “Thank you.”

Slowly, Tony reached back, pulling one of Stephen’s hands around so it was resting on his stomach then covered it with his own.

*

“You smell different.”

“You smell different.”

Tony paused, looking away from the small herd of children running around the lake house or playing on their phones to face his husband. “Is that a come-on or some kind of sick way to tell me to take a shower?”

Stephen shrugged. “Neither. You’re just . . . different.” He learned forward, being far too open with the fact that he was sniffing Tony’s neck in plain view of everyone. “Are you wearing a new cologne?”

It took Tony a moment to think, somewhat preoccupied by the (annoyingly innocent) feeling of Stephen’s lips brushing over his neck. “Um . . . yeah, actually. I, uh, started using a new one a few years ago. After you, you know.” It was perhaps not the most graceful way to refer to someone being dead for five years, but hoe was he supposed to think with Stephen practically draped over him like this?

Stephen nodded, sitting back slightly. Tony fought the urge to pull him right back. “That’s probably it.” Then he went right back to sitting a respectable inch away from him, watching the children to make sure they didn’t get too close to the water.

Tony hesitated, watching him. “I could . . . go back to using the old one.”

Stephen glanced at him from the side before allowing a small smile to grace his cupid-bow lips. “I’d like that.”

*

“I made sure to get the pens you like.”

“I made sure to get the pens you like,” Tony said casually, passing a paper shopping bag over to his husband, who looked through it with mild interest.

When Stephen looked up, his eyes were mildly amused. “Yeah? And which pens do I like?”

“The blue ones. Inky, so if you hold it still for too long you’ll make a huge mess all over the paper.”

“My favorite.”

“Told you.”

*

“Your arm must be giving you trouble after today.”

Tony winced as he sat down on the bed, head aching as surely as his shoulder. It took a few minutes for him to even start removing the metallic arm for the night.

“Do you want me to run you a bath?” Stephen asked, suddenly appearing on the other side of their bed, even though Tony was sure he hadn’t even been in the house a moment ago. “Robots in Toronto . . . your arm must be giving you trouble after today. The hot water will help.” His hands twitched at his side, as though reminding Tony how his husband knew that.

Tony smiled softly despite himself. “You always know just what I need.”

Stephen returned his gaze, pale eyes soft. “Do you want a bath bomb?”

“Vanilla and rose, please.”

Stephen shook his head good-naturedly. “Pampered little rich boy.”

“Gold digger.”

“You know it.”

“That tub’s big enough for two, right?”

*

“You’re always starving after a trip like that.”

“I’m late,” Stephen said, gritting his teeth as he stumbled through a portal into the dining room. “I know I’m late . . .”

It was immediately obvious that everyone else had gone to bed — but Tony was still there, hunched over the table as he read something on his starkphone. He looked up when he heard Stephen, smiling. “Hey.” The oven light was on. Tony stood, opening it and pulling out a still-warm lasagna, though only half of it left in the (frankly, huge) pan. “Made sure there was plenty left for you. You’re always starving after a trip like that.” He glanced over his shoulder, removing his oven mitts. “When you go all extra-dimensional and all.”

“That’s not really what it’s called.” But Stephen went ahead, feeling the Cloak of Levitation detach itself from his back as he sat down. He smiled as Tony set his plate in front of him. “Thank you. For waiting up.”

Tony smiled that too-bright smile of his, dark eyes almost glowing. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

*

“You have forty-eight freckles on your shoulder.”

Tony shifted in bed, not turning around, but just moving his head enough to catch sight of Stephen tracing lines along his back. “Come again?”

Stephen’s hand, tired and shaking, traced gentle constellation along Tony’s tired back and arms. “You have forty-eight freckles on your shoulders. I must have counted a hundred times by now, and it’s always the same, summer or winter.”

“It’s a universal constant,” Tony said thoughtlessly.

The corner of Stephen’s mouth edged up in a smile. “I hope so.”

*

“Your eyes are always blue in this light.”

Around them, the beach was nearly deserted, a tiny bubble of solitude. They could hear Pepper and Christine corralling the children in the distance. The sun was setting, drops of gold splashing upon the watery horizon. Tony leaned back on his metal red-and-gold arm, gazing at Stephen, who was meditating beside him. He spoke without thinking. “Your eyes are always blue in this light.”

Stephen looked over at him, eyes instinctively opening. Tony smiled. “Yeah. Like that.”

#incorrect-ironstrange #ironstrange #tony stark #stephen strange #fanfiction #ironstrange fanfiction #ironstrange fic #oneshot #fluff #soft #romance #ao3 #from the top #being known is being loved #ironstrange fanfic #ficlet #my fanfiction

[wickedobsessed101]

Fanfic Writer Asks

[SOURCE: criminal-minds-fanfiction: Most of the writer ask posts I come across are only like ten or so questions long so I thought I’d try to make a longer one because we like talking about our writing! Feel free to reblog!]

I’m answering all of these b/c I love Q & A’s about my writing, both for my fics and other things.

1) How old were you when you first starting writing fanfiction? It was 2013, so I was 14 years old. I’m now almost 23.

2) What fandoms do you write for and do you have a particular favourite if you write for more than one? I’m mostly in the Wicked Musical fandom, but I like to read for other fandoms, like Harry Potter, Percy Jackson, Chronicles of Narnia, ect.

3) Do you prefer writing OC’s or reader inserts? Explain your answer. OCs, but I’m more than willing to create an OC for someone based on characteristics they give me.

4) What is your favourite genre to write for? I love me some fluffy romance and hurt/comfort, but I also love some angsty drama.

5) If you had to choose a favourite out of all of your multi-chaptered stories, which would it be and why? OMG, don’t make me choose! They’re all my babies! I love all my children equally! They all hold special places in my heart.

6) If you had to delete one of your stories and never speak of it again, which would it be and why? Goodness, most of my stories prior to 2017, because I was in high school and had no idea what I was doing because I was just getting my feet wet with writing.

7) When is your preferred time to write? Anytime really. The latest I’ve stayed up writing a fic was 4AM. *Glares at ‘Threads of Truth’*

8) Where do you take your inspiration from? Where ever it happens to come up. I’m not picky. Movies, music, people I’ve seen on the street, random thoughts that enter my head, anything.

9) In your xxx fic, what’s your favourite scene that you wrote? In ‘Threads of Truth’, it’s a tie between Villy’s first date, and an argument that happens in an upcoming chapter. And that’s all I’m saying about that.

10) In your xxx fic, why did you decide to end it like that? Did you have an alternative ending in mind? In ‘Play The Game’, I liked the epilogue ending that I gave Elphaba with her family, even without Fiyero. I like writing her with kids. Another ending would be with the Fiyeraba still together, but I’m satisfied with the ending it has.

11) Have you ever amended a story due to criticisms you’ve received after posting it? I’ll go back and fix typos that are pointed out, but I don’t change plot stuff. Like, I wrote what I wrote and I will amend my technique in future stories.

12) Who is your favourite character to write for? Why? Other than my OCs, because I get to fully create them and my lowkey babies, I’d have to say G(a)linda. She has so much potential and she’s so much fun.

13) Who is your least favourite character to write for? Why? Boq. Not because I hate him (I don’t!), but because I don’t normally know what to do with him. If he’s not with Nessa, he’s literally just standing there like a brick wall. No offence, Boq!

14) How did you come up with the title for the xxx? - You can ask about multiple stories. [Ask me about a specific story(ies)]

15) If you write OC’s, how do you decide on their names? I usually change consonants and vowels to already existing names, or add unnecessary letters because... reasons.

16) How did you come up with the idea for xxx? [Ask me about a specific story]

17) Post a line from a WIP that you’re working on. “Hopefully, this will soak up any more leaks.” (Upcoming Wicked fanfic)

18) Do you have any abandoned WIP’s? What made you abandon them? Yes, 2. Both of them are a few years old and I’ve grown as a writer since then. Maybe one day, I’ll edit them and repost, but not anytime soon.

19) Are there any stories that you’ve written that you’d really love to do a sequel to? Not everything can have a sequel, y’all! XD

20) Are there any stories that you wished you’d ended differently? Yes! Around 60% of them.

21) Tell me about another writer(s) who you admire? What is it about them that you admire? @vinkunwildflowerqueen @raven-curls @mylittleelphie @weaselspeedfanfic Ultimate Queen of Cliffies

22) Do you have a story that you look back on and cringe when you reread it? This goes back to Question #6; most of what I posted prior to 2017.

23) Do you prefer listening to music when you’re writing or do you need silence? Silence. I need to focus.

24) How do you feel about writing smutty scenes? I can’t write it. They’ll make out, and then be pregnant in the next chapter. Y’all can do the math for yourselves.

25) Have you ever cried whilst writing a story? YES! Yes, I have! Both sad tears and tears of joy. I’ve also cringed from second-hand embarrassment at the things the characters do and say. I’m not in control of their actions all the time. Sometimes they tell me what they’re gonna do, and I’m like, “Well, alright, then.”

26) Which part of your xxx fic was the hardest to write? [Ask me about a specific story]

27) Do you make a general outline for your stories or do you just go with the flow? I write bullet points of things I want to happen in a chapter on the Word Doc, or in the story as a whole, and I try to keep those bullet points in order. And the Notes App on my phone holds a lot of my ideas, and sometimes full scenes.

28) What is something you wished you’d known before you started posting fanfiction? That I’d become obsessed with writing and continue doing it for almost ten years, as well as expanding to writing plays and musicals.

29) Do you have a story that you feel doesn’t get as much love as you’d like? Yeah. I’m not gonna say which one, but just know there’s one... or a few.

30) In contrast to 29 is there a story which gets lots of love which you kinda eye roll at? Yes, and I’m still not gonna say which one(s). I want all the love!

31) Send me a fic recommendation and I’ll post it for my followers to see! (The asker is to send the rec, not the answerer) Yeah, sure!

32) Are any of your characters based on real people? Yes. Villy Doiir from ‘Threads of Truth’ is based on 4 people I know in real life, all mixed together into one wholesome, mother figure/ mentor. Perhaps that’s why I like writing her so much.

33) What’s the biggest compliment you’ve gotten? All reviews keep me going, no matter the length. But I love it when people review saying that they picked up on little references that were really just for me. It makes me feel like we’ve shared a moment.

34) What’s the harshest criticism you’ve gotten? A guest reviewer once said, “You tend to write Fiyero as an abusive person”. It wasn’t harsh, just... NOT TRUE. Especially for the story they were reviewing.

35) Do you share your story ideas with anyone else or do you keep them close to your chest? Close to my chest. I’ll share it with the world when I’m ready.

36) Can you give us a spoiler for one of your WIP’s? NOPE! You’ll just have to wait and see! LOL!

37) What’s the funniest story you’ve written? I... really don’t know. My stories all have their funny moments.

38) If you could collab with any other writer on here, who would it be? (Perhaps this question will inspire some collabs!) If you’re shy, don’t tag the blog, just name it. I’m very busy, and collabs aren’t really my thing, but I’m always willing to lend an extra pair of eyes pre-posting.

39) Do you prefer first, second or third person? I’ve written one story in the first person and it was fun to get into the character’s head, but I love third person, cause I like knowing what everyone is thinking. Second person makes me feel a certain way and that don’t really like.

40) Do people know you write fanfiction? IRL, no. It’s not something I bring up over dinner. I’ll talk about my plays and musicals, but not fanfiction. I like keeping my fics for the online peeps and my more personal writings for the RL peeps.

41) What’s you favourite minor character you’ve written? My OC, Princess Hannalyn, from ‘A Royal Romance’. She was so much fun!

42) Song fic - What made you decide to use the song xxx for xxx. I haven’t done a song fic.

43) Has anyone ever guessed the plot twist of one of your fics before you posted it? Not fully, but they’ve had little inklings, but certain details were still a surprise. And I’m not mad about it.

44) What is the last line you wrote? “I don’t want this to be the last time we see each other.”

45) What spurs you on during the writing process? When I’ll have one idea, and it spirals into many others, and when the characters write themselves. It makes it so much easier for me. Sometimes they tell me that they’re about to make a bad decision, and I just go along with it. They need to learn and grow somehow.

46) I really loved your xxx fic. If you were ever to do a sequel, what do you think might happen in it? [Ask me for a specific story]

47) Here’s a fic title - insert a made up title. What would this story be about? [Ask me]

48) What’s your favourite trope to write? I love a good Royalty AU (not fully AU ‘cause of our princey-prince, but still) and Holiday AUs. And I’ve never written a Coffeeshop AU, but I LOVE reading them. I’ll read anything. I’m not picky, and I love to see what ideas others have.

49) Can you remember the first fic you read? What was it about? Yes, and both of them were Gelphies: 1 - “Easier Said Than Done” by mecelphie - It’s part of a long, wonderful series of Elphaba and Glinda together at Shiz and how their lives evolve together and has many lovable OCs. 2 - “The Thropp Diaries” by denpa wave chick saki - It’s first-person Elphaba POV of the book. It expands on lots of mentioned moments and we get to journey through Elphaba’s thoughts.

50) If you could write only angst, fluff or smut for the rest of your writing life, which would it be and why? I’d have to say fluff, so I can get my escape from reality. But it’s hard to write pure fluff without a little bit of conflict.

If you wanna read my stories, they’re all right here: Fae’sFlower

#wicked the musical #wicked #wicked fanfiction #fiyeraba fanfic #faesflower #Q & A #Fiyeraba #gelphie #Elphaba #Fiyero #Glinda #Galinda #fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction.net #let me tell you about my writing and my stories #writer #Q & A with Nia

[erisbaek]

Stucky Fic Rec [Part One]

So I decided to split the fic recs up into parts because they will be too long otherwise. In each part I will link the Google Doc that I am typing them up in, which is where I will constantly update as I read.  Within these fic recs, they’re mostly my preferences, so very few (if any) Shrinkyclinks, and ABO fics will be within them, as well as shorter fics, since I actively seek fics out that are longer than 10k (and completed)!!

The Google Doc Link: https://docs.google.com/document/d/10wqr5s-CzkFzLidQgt-y4-cjudHWwVeVPWCedMjK7t0/edit?usp=sharing

The first part is formatted under the cut, if you’d prefer to stay out of the doc!

Lightning in a Bottle 

    Word Count: 63k     Rating: Explicit     Notable Tags: Shrunkyclunks, Road Trip!AU, Angst with Happy Ending     Warnings: Smut, Smoking     Synopsis: The problem, Steve thinks, isn’t so much his motorcycle giving up the ghost on a lonely stretch of highway through a lonely stretch of the country. He doesn’t mind stretching his legs or the prospect of hitchhiking. The problem is the roiling black blanket of storm clouds slowly spreading itself over the landscape headed his direction… Steve Rogers is looking to hitch on a highway abandoned by everyone smart enough to avoid a looming storm. Bucky Barnes is the professional storm chaser who offers him a ride.

It gets more complicated from there.

Perspective and Truth

        Word Count: 16.7k          Rating: Teen and Up         Notable Tags: Bodyswap!AU, Emotional Hurt/Comfort        Warnings: None        Synopsis: Bucky and Steve end up swapping bodies and learning a lot more about each other in the process

Carbs and Conversations

         Word Count: 48k          Rating: Teen and Up          Notable Tags: Hockey!AU, No Powers          Warnings: None          Synopsis: Bucky was just looking for a chance. A chance to get on the ice and play. A chance to escape from Hydra. A chance to redeem himself. He didn't include 'A chance to be friends with Steve Rogers' on the list. That would be ridiculous. Lucky for him, Steve seemed determined to be ridiculous.

So Loud and So Clear

           Word Count: 26.6k            Rating: Mature            Notable Tags: Get Together, Slow Build            Warnings: None           Synopsis: Bucky had been careful, after all, leaving no trace of his comings and goings. It was horrendously disappointing to know that Rogers had found him. Bucky was a lot better than getting caught by a guy who wore the American flag as a onesie. He just really was. “Don’t you – Bucky – Bucky,” Rogers started, and to Bucky’s growing horror, it looked like Rogers was on the verge of some type of emotional eclipse. Anger, sadness, something, and Bucky wanted nothing to do with it. “Hate to break it to you, bud, but I don’t remember ever living here and I don’t remember you.”

A Loyal Viewer 

           Word Count: 36.1k            Rating: Explicit             Notable Tags: Camboy!Steve, Punk!Bucky, No Powers, Long Distance            Relationship            Warnings: Smut            Synopsis: At almost exactly eight thirty in the evening, Steve settles on the bed before his camera and the computer. He signs into his account on Chaturbate and clicks the button that starts his stream.

In My Conditions, Love’s the Best Physician

             Word Count: 9.1k              Rating: Not Rated              Notable Tags: Shrunkyclunks, Pharmacist!Bucky, Russian!Bucky              Warnings: None              Synopsis: ”This situation is a little more delicate because I don't even know if he speaks English and I'm tired of going down to the pharmacy for constipation medication and allergy pills when I haven't sneezed since 1941.” Steve shouts. The room falls silent, and he turns back around to find four pairs of stunned eyes watching him. Tony, as always, speaks first. “He?” - Or the one where Bucky is a hot pharmacist and Steve keeps making up bullshit reasons to go see him.

Rare Is This Love (Keep It Covered) 

               Word Count: 66.7k                Rating: Explicit                 Notable Tags: Shrunkyclunks, Mechanic!Bucky, Slow Burn                Warnings: Smut, Canonical Character Death                Synopsis: It's 2014. Captain America has been out of the ice for three years and is trudging along, saving the world and trying to get used to living in the future. Steve thinks he knows how the rest of his life is going to pan out – a life of duty, which he chose when he signed up to be Erskine’s science experiment. But then, he meets Bucky Barnes: the out-of-this-world-gorgeous mechanic and war vet, who turns Steve’s life upside down and makes him question everything he thought he knew. Slowly, Steve comes to realize there is more to life than duty and punching Nazis. Just one problem though: how on earth does a 96-year-old virgin who only just realized he may not be entirely straight make the transition from crush to relationship? Cue healthy amounts of self-doubt, awkward flirting, pretty blushing, existential crises, emotional growth, and maybe, possibly, a sexual awakening.

Looking For A Place To Hide

                Word Count: 33.3k                 Rating: Explicit                 Notable Tags: Endgame Fix-It, 2012!Steve                 Warnings: Smut                 Synopsis:  It's 2012 and all Steve knows is that another version of himself said Bucky is alive. Steve will do anything to get his friend back, even if it means time traveling to 2023. He expects Bucky to be happy to see him, but instead he's wary, hurt. Turns out his Steve had left him for Peggy. How? Why? Steve can't believe it. Now he'll have to find a way to make sense of it all, and convince Bucky that it's the two of them to the end of the line.

The Wolf and the Sheep

               Word Count: 50.5k                Rating: Teen and Up                Notable Tags: Shield Agent!Steve, Winter Soldier!Bucky                 Warnings: None                Synopsis: Steve Rogers is a SHIELD agent who is recruited for a secret project: Becoming a handler for the Asset. Steve’s world is thrown for a loop when he discovers the Asset is an actual person and he needs to figure out who he is and what he’s going to do.

All Those Little Pieces

                 Word Count: 40.5k                  Rating: Mature                  Notable Tags: Alternating POV, Post CATW                  Warnings: Smut, Panic Attacks                  Synopsis: Steve has never forgotten Bucky Barnes. Not their childhood together, not the horror of the moment Bucky fell too far for him to reach, and not the way he's loved him all the while. Bucky has forgotten everything about Steve, at least at first. But there's still a feeling there, warm in his chest—and maybe now that he's found his way back to Steve Rogers and his sunny apartment, there's a chance it might turn into something more.

My Dear

                   Word Count: 29.9k                    Rating: Explicit                     Notable Tags: Post CATWS, Recovery                    Warnings: Smut                    Synopsis: The Soldier stares down at the floor, breathing hard through his nose. “And you still wanna fix me,” he says. Steve shakes his head. “There’s nothing to fix, Buck. I just want to bring you home.”

Living On My Own

                    Word Count: 26.1k                     Rating: Mature                     Notable Tags: Vigilante!Bucky                      Warnings: Blood and Gore                     Synopsis: James Barnes is back in the world and finds that not only has there been 1) an alien invasion, but 2) Howard Stark had a kid. One that dispenses unsolicited life advice, no less. Oh, and 3) Captain America is alive again, after getting himself killed by his own recklessness in a move so stupid only Steve could have come up with it. In which James learns to do laundry, turns into an accidental neighborhood vigilante and makes Tony Stark a happy grease monkey, all while he figures out where to stake his claim.

Chase the Lighting From the Sky

                      Word Count: 39.4k                       Rating: Explicit                        Notable Tags: No Powers, Age Gap, Farm!AU                        Warnings: Smut, Past Character Death, Animal Death                       Synopsis: If Bucky has to be stuck doing this ridiculous summer work program before his senior year of college, on a ranch in the middle of nowhere, then at least he’s got a hot as hell cowboy for a boss and host. Steve Rogers, owner of the Truth & Justice Ranch, is what Bucky’s completely theoretical but very imaginative bisexual fantasies are made of. Steve’s a widower though, and a nice guy in need of help, and no doubt 100% straight… so Bucky’s gonna work his ass off and keep his head down. But neither Bucky nor Steve are prepared for the friendship that forms between them as they work side by side. And they certainly aren’t expecting the budding feelings, confessions, and passions that summer heat and the loneliness of the great open plains stirs in each of them. What rages to life between them will shake each man to his core and will linger long after the storms and the summer have passed.

Cinder and Smoke

                       Word Count: 51.7k                        Rating: Explicit                        Notable Tags: Sheriff!Steve, Blacksmith!Bucky, Old Western                        Warnings: Smut, Period-Typical Homophobia, OC Death                        Synopsis: “They say there’s no law in Parasapa. Is that true?”

Art Thief, Heart Thief

                       Word Count: 58.8k                        Rating: Mature                        Notable Tags: FBI!Steve, Thief!Bucky Barnes                        Warnings: Smut                        Synopsis: Agent Steve Rogers is facing a series of art thefts that has him stumped, and looking for a break in the case. Convicted art thief and general high end criminal Bucky Barnes wants to make parole and happens to know all of the right people who could make Steve's job easier. So they strike a deal, mutually beneficial and entirely business. But a few days undercover, an undeniable growing chemistry, and some ill-timed Feelings entering the mix, and all bets are off.

Laws of Thermodynamics 

                       Word Count: 14.6k                        Rating: Explicit                         Notable Tags: Post CATWS, Recovery                         Warnings: Smut                        Synopsis: He never had to relearn how to love Steve Rogers. It might be the one thing he never forgot.

Abstract Art

                       Word Count: 26.6k                        Rating: Teen and Up                        Notable Tags: Friends to Lovers, Artist!Steve, Ex Sniper!Bucky                        Warnings: None                        Synopsis: They survive almost a year of torture together, cells side by side, banter and teasing and stories. They keep each other alive. Then everything changes. They tell Bucky that Rogers's been killed. He tries to piece his life together, to move on. Steve owns an art store. He's given up looking. It's over. Except it's really not.

We Discovered Gold

                       Word Count: 18.7k                        Rating: Explicit                        Notable Tags: Post CACW, Fix-It, Wakanda                         Warnings: Smut                        Synopsis: “So you got these safe houses scattered all over Russia?” Steve jokes into the soft hair over Bucky's temple, not pulling away, “Or did we just get lucky?” Bucky shakes his head and then replies, “Got myself a few. It’s been a long two years.” “Yeah pal,” Steve nods, burrowing further, “I hear that.”

Never Mind to Hold 

                      Word Count: 21.6k                       Rating: Mature                       Notable Tags: Soulmate!AU, Not CACW Compliant, Soulmarks                       Warnings: Brief Suicidal Ideation                       Synopsis: Steve didn't know the name of Bucky's soulmate. He wasn't even sure when it had appeared across Bucky's heart. But Steve knew it wasn't his name hidden under that patch.

Where There’s Smoke 

                      Word Count: 95.1k                       Rating: Explicit                        Notable Tags: Firefighter!AU                       Warnings: Smut                       Synopsis: Steve is a Brooklyn firefighter who is about to be saddled with a new, rookie crewmate. James Barnes is that rookie, just looking for a fresh start at a new station. Steve's friends think they know what's best for him...start dating his new crewmate. Steve thinks they're crazy...or possibly right. But events from James's recent past may pose a threat to any designs they have on each other.

Let Them Eat Cake

                    Word Count: 31k                     Rating: Explicit                      Notable Tags: Shrunkyclunks, Pastry Chef!Steve, Sommelier!Bucky                     Warnings: Smut, Drug Use                     Synopsis: Steve picked up the piping bag and returned to the ramekins. Bucky left, though not without shooting one last look at Steve's wide back. Bucky could already tell Steve Rogers was trouble, not even counting the near-religious experiences he inspired among the staff. It wasn’t that Bucky didn’t appreciate him as well; he did. He just tended to appreciate people he found attractive from afar, because explaining the metal arm was hard, and because he didn’t really know how to handle letting someone in close. But that wasn’t why Steve was trouble, not really. Bucky wanted to know why their new pastry chef had gun calluses on his right hand.

Adrenalize Me 

                  Word Count: 58.5k                   Rating: Explicit                    Notable Tags: Vampire!Steve                   Warnings: Smut, Blood                   Synopsis: Leaning against the side of a wall, taking an indolent drag of a cigarette, there he stood. Watching Bucky with an inscrutable gaze. Staring at Bucky for long seconds, the blond seemed to consider him before breaking the silence. “You know, nice guy like you walking alone at this hour – people might think you were looking for trouble.” Trying not to shudder at the sound of that voice, which wrapped around him like smoke, Bucky managed a smirk, lifted a brow. “Well, if I was, it looks like I found it.” Two strangers meet in a dark club. One just happens to be a vampire.

The Change in Us 

                 Word Count: 23.4k                  Rating: Explicit                  Notable Tags: N/A                  Warnings: Smut                  Synopsis: “I’ve found your BFF,” Stark says without preamble. “My… what?” “James Barnes. Winter Soldier. Bucky. I don’t know, I don’t care, but right now he’s perched on the roof of the next building with a gun on me, and it’s not so much my idea of a relaxing afternoon, so could you get down here?” Steve hangs up and starts running.

Things That Go Bump in the Night

                  Word Count: 38.2k                   Rating: Explicit                   Notable Tags: Shrunkyclunks, Ex Army!Bucky                   Warnings: Minor Smut                    Synopsis: Many an odd critter and item have ended up on the front porch of the property Bucky house-sits in the Middle Of Nowhere, but a bleeding blond man is a first. A short inspection reveals the man to be none other than Steve Rogers; ex-Captain America, vigilante, and a wanted fugitive. Steve’s stay of a few days of recovery is prolonged, under instructions for him to lie low until the Avengers can sort out the mess that has become the Sokovia Accords. Bucky is pretty sure that he’s committing an act of treason by providing Steve a place to stay. He is also pretty sure that lengthy interaction with Steve makes one prone to impending headaches and possibly ulcers. And he is certain that he is, very assuredly, in danger of falling in love with Steve.

The Soldier’s Revenge

                 Word Count: 76.4k                  Rating: Explicit                   Notable Tags: Canon Divergence, Enemies To Lovers, Slow Burn                  Warnings: Smut                  Synopsis: Bucky Barnes turns himself in to SHIELD two years after dragging Captain America out of the Potomac River. He was deprogrammed in Wakanda and has been hunting down Hydra ever since, but he needs help if he wants to take proper revenge on his captors. He turns to his old enemies: SHIELD and the Avengers, but it'll take more than a few words to win their trust after the Winter Soldier brought SHIELD to its knees not long before. Now at SHIELD's mercy, the only thing that stands between Bucky and his revenge is the approval of Captain Rogers: a self-righteous asshole that Bucky barely knows.

The Best Way to Wake

                  Word Count: 42.2k                   Rating: Explicit                   Notable Tags: Canon Divergence, Slow Burn                   Warnings: Smut                   Synopsis: James Buchanan Barnes lay in a glass pod in the middle of the table, frozen since he fell. Steve’s hands were on the glass before he realized he’d moved. “Wait, Captain!” “Get him out,” Steve whispered, his hands searching for a clasp, a keypad, something. “Captain, we need to keep him in stasis—“ “I said get him out!” In which Bucky Barnes lay frozen in the Alps for seventy years only to be woken up a year after Steve Rogers was uncovered from the Arctic.

Latte Art and Slow Dancing in the Dark

                    Word Count: 89.5k                     Rating: Explicit                      Notable Tags: Age Difference, CIA!Steve, Barista!Bucky, Sugar                            Daddy!Steve                     Warnings: Smut                     Synopsis: Bucky is a somewhat well-adjusted former army sniper that got his shoulder blown out. He took his discharge and went home to finish school and is working on his international relations masters. His best friends and roommates (Nat & Clint) are CIA agents and tip him off that their local Sbux is hiring. He gets a job there and meets none other than the hottest guy on earth. So how does one get a date in the most top secret government location in the US? What happens when that guy is more than just a hot dorito and wants to give Bucky everything he wants? Bucky is going to have to figure out his shit and fast. That's what's up.

Laughter Lines

                   Word Count: 100.2k                    Rating: Mature                    Notable Tags: Bodyguard!AU, Slow Burn                    Warnings: None                    Synopsis: Bucky Barnes is a rising Hollywood star with a tragic past and a reputation for driving his bodyguards away. Steve Rogers is a veteran with the same tragic past and the need to get back out in the world. The two of them have been estranged since they were teenagers, so when Steve joins SHIELD as a bodyguard, he is less than thrilled when he finds out that Bucky is his first assignment. But how bad can it be? They're both professional adults, right?Wrong.

From Hydra with Love

                   Word Count: 21.2k                    Rating: Mature                    Notable Tags: Spies!Steve and Bucky                    Warnings: Smut                    Synopsis: Captain Steve Rogers is one of the best spies in the world - a marksman, a martial artist, an expert in strategy and tactics. There's not a lot he can't handle. Heck, he's even saved the world once or twice. So why does every run in with the mysterious Winter Soldier leave him feeling like the Bond Girl?

Goddamn Electric

                Word Count: 67.8k                 Rating: Explicit                 Notable Tags: Bodyguard!Steve, Musician!Bucky                 Warnings: Drug Use, Alcohol Use, Smut                 Synopsis: Steve Rogers works for a discreet private security company and gets assigned to James Barnes, a musician who takes the idea of 'sex, drugs & rock 'n roll' just a little too seriously.

There Was Something About Steve Rogers

                Word Count: 46.7k                 Rating: Explicit                 Notable Tags: Post CATWS                 Warnings: Smut, Panic Attacks                 Synopsis: The Winter Soldier knows Steve Rogers has deep feelings for Bucky Barnes, and decides that he can use that to his advantage to gain protection from the Hydra agents still trying to find him. What he didn't bargain for was actually starting to care about the man they call Captain America, or the strength of Bucky Barnes' memories as they begin to resurface.

Through the Mist

                Word Count: 14.5k                 Rating: Teen and Up                 Notable Tags: Soulmate!AU, Post CATWS                 Warnings: None                 Synopsis: He usually kept it covered. Whether it be with long sleeves, a cuff of some sort, or make up Natasha skillfully showed him how to apply. He didn’t cover it up because he was ashamed or because he was one of those people who didn’t like others knowing who his soulmate was- no. He covered it up out of respect. Respect for his fallen partner, and respect for himself because he knew looking at those swoopy lines of James B. Barnes on his wrist always made him crumble like his legs were kicked down. When he crashed into the ice all those years ago he thought he was going to see Bucky again- he thought he was finally going to be with Bucky without people giving them ugly looks and throwing slurs their way. He thought he was going to be happy again.

Take Me Home 

              Word Count: 78.1k               Rating: Mature               Notable Tags: Shrunkyclunks, Veteran!Bucky               Warnings: Smut, Torture, Referenced Suicide               Synopsis: “I’m so sorry, I’m gonna help you I promise, just don’t move, fuck, I ran over Captain America–” the man apologized, over and over, and all Steve managed to say was, “You’re really attractive,” before passing out on the guy’s lap in the middle of the road.

Where the Circle Ends

               Word Count: 29.8k                Rating: Mature                Notable Tags: Zombie Apocalypse!AU                 Warnings: Smut, Gore                Synopsis: In which the world has gone to hell in a zombie apocalypse handbasket and, in the middle of it all, Steve finds the one person he never thought he'd see again. Angst and feelings (amongst other things) ensue.

Our Souls (They Were Made to Last) 

               Word Count: 53.8k                Rating: Mature                Notable Tags: No Powers, Veteran!Steve, Doctor!Bucky, Ghost!Bucky                Warnings: None                Synopsis: Dr. James Barnes is too busy saving lives to actually have one of his own. When he finally agrees to go on a blind date, he gets into an accident that will change his life forever. Retired Army Captain Steve Rogers is depressed, and when he moves into his new apartment he finds it already occupied....with the ghost of its last tenant. To make matters worse, the ghost is adamant that he's not dead. As they navigate their way through their new living arrangements, can they save each other, before it’s too late? Or have they missed their one shot at a happy ending?

By Any Other Name

                 Word Count: 36.9k                  Rating: Explicit                  Notable Tags: Assassins and Hitmen!AU, Spies and Agents!AU                  Warning: Smut                 Synopsis: Steve was a good spy. It turned out one good spy didn't stand a chance against a rival security firm, a contract killer, and his own heart.

#stucky #stucky fic rec #stucky fic #stevebucky #stevebucky fic #starbucks #wintershield #steve rogers #james barnes #bucky barnes #the winter soldier #captain america #marvel

[cescalr]

9 and 23 for the ask game please 😊

9: Are there any fics you'd love to see but don't want to write yourself? What are they?

Ooh, um... I'm not sure! Something substantial for Cursed 2005, maybe, like a crossover with buffy or teen wolf or something, with jimbo as the pairing from cursed and idk just something interesting (please no b*angel or st*rek or st*dia), or a time travel fic for Supernatural that involves Dean as the POV but absolutely zero, nada, nothing of (even hints) De*tiel or winc*st, that's 100% a fix-it fic (bc my mans deserved a lot better than that ending smh. And so did Jo, and Anna, and Lisa and Ben and Charlie and Benny and- ).

23: What's one piece of advice you would give to anyone who wants to start writing or posting their writing online?

Hmm... Just go for it? Like, write whatever comes to mind and post it. And keep doing that. Over and over again, because it's all the same thing - practise. If you can't think of an idea, there's no reason not to go trawling for prompts. I've got this list of 200 prompts, can't remember where I found it, but it's really useful if I'm stuck. But yeah. Find some time, any amount of time, whether its 5 minutes or five hours, and write what you can, as much as you can, whether it's ten words or 10,000, or more or less, it doesn't matter. Just get words on screen (or on paper, if you prefer.) And then... post it. If the main issue is getting the courage to post it, don't read back over it. That's when the nervousness rears it's ugly head. Just post it. Straight up. Type right into the Ao3 doc and hit post if you have to, just... find a way to minimise the amount of time you give yourself to get all worked up about whether it's 'good enough' or not. It won't be perfect the first time you write something - nothing ever is. Everything requires practise. And each time you post something, you get better at it. It gets easier. If proofreading is the bane of your existence, just post it and come back later to fix any issues. If titling it is a problem pick a random word or a song lyric or hell, a sentence from the fic, anything at all. 'Working Title | Stiles POV All Human AU Stira Fic', even. Just. Anything. You can always change it later. Summaries an issue? Grab the first paragraph. Grab the first sentence. Put 'Stiles POV all human au, stira focus.' as the summary. Who cares? You. Can. Always. Change. It. Later.

That's the great thing about fic. Changing everything later is possible. Nothing here is permanent. If you aren't happy with something, that doesn't matter. So long as it's out there, you can get feedback (because often, we don't know why we aren't happy with something - outside help is always invaluable). Being scared of criticism is half the problem, for a lot of people... but - not to sugar coat - it's necessary. And, just to note, in my 10 years of fanfic writing, I have never, ever, gotten a single malicious comment. Not. Once. It's much rarer than people think it is. And even if you do, you can always delete it. Put comments on moderation, turn them off, if it's the main issue. Gather your confidence at your own pace - but don't forget feedback is necessary for improvement. Eventually you will need to accept it's going to happen - it's not an attack on you. It's an attempt at help. We're taught in school to consume media critically, and those who internalise that will comment constructively. English class can leave an impression - the worst thing is to take any of it personally. Having a negative mindset (they hate it) versus a positive mindset (they want me to improve at this thing I enjoy doing, they're trying to help, they're being supportive) can make all the difference.

Eventually, you'll need to turn those comments back on. But you don't need to take anyone's shit, hence why moderation is a thing. There is a difference between constructive criticism and hate - but it's rare you'll get the latter. Tone is hard to convey in text form; benefit of the doubt is the best way forward.

Make sure you've got friends/mutuals you can ramble with about your fics. it's genuinely the most helpful thing. Give them snippets, do the whole cheerleader routine for each other. It's great. Brainstorm with each other. Not necessarily doing collaborative fic (though you might find that's what works best for you!) but just, geeking out with each other. It makes a huge boost for your ego, and that's useful for your confidence when it comes to posting things. But also, if you trust them, it makes taking their advice easier.

Sometimes, it might feel like two steps forward and one step back. That's great! It's still a step forward. Go at your own pace. The worst thing you can do is rush yourself and burn out. If it takes you a year to update, it takes you a year. I assure you, the readers will still be there, and they'll be happy to see the update. Nobody's going to hate you for taking your time. Prioritise your health. I promise it makes your work better if you're in a good place, and you don't have too much on your plate.

Though, having said that, if you find you work best with about twenty wips all at once updated every week, then go for it! Like I said; your own pace. If a schedule helps you, have one. If it doesn't, don't. I don't have a schedule. I have about 40 wips posted, and a few that aren't yet. It can take me a year to update, or I'll do four in a week. People are pleased either way - what matters is that you wrote something, and it exists, and other people can read it. Isn't that awesome? You've made something. You've made a mark. Someone's happy because of you, because you wrote something they like. Who cares if there's twenty typos and you use the wrong you're* (*or equivalent in your language, ofc) - you can fix that later. And it didn't stop that person's enjoyment of the first fic you ever posted, which might not be as good as your future fics, but it's still special. It's still yours.

Prioritise the thing you want to prioritise. Plot, relationships (of any nature), whatever. Prioritise that. The rest will fall into place. Personally, I prioritise characterisation. interpersonal dynamics follow, part and parcel of character exploration, then plot, as an extension. Do what suits you. And people don't tend to mind very much about any of these. If characterisation matters to you not one whit, just put OOC in the tags and be done with it. Plot doesn't matter? Perfectly fine! You don't want to write ships? Nobody's forcing you. Do what you want. It's just fanfiction. That's kind of the point. There's no need to feel pressure to write a certain thing. I'm in a lot of fandoms with a lot of very large ships. I'd get a lot more readers if I wrote st*rek, or d*stiel, or whatever, but I don't, because I wouldn't enjoy it. Write what you want to see. What you want to read. That's the best advice I can give. If you cry at your own fic, perfect. If you laugh at your own fic, brilliant. If your own fic leaves you all giddy like, grinning wide, amazing. It's gonna give someone else that reaction, too.

Hits, kudos, comments - they're not everything. Ao3, for harry potter, has 5000 pages of fic, with some of the tags I don't like excluded. It's not a case of people not liking your fic - it's a case of people not finding it. Don't worry. Recognition will come with time. Also, the ratio for fics is kind of awful, anyway. Comments and kudos vs hits is always poor; 2%, 5%, 7%. Don't worry too much about it. If people read it, it's likely they liked it. A lot of people are just lazy, and don't press the kudos button. A lot of people are incredibly nervous, or don't know what to say, so they don't comment. Another thing; some of your fics are going to be more popular than others. This is normal. Fandom size, fandom activity, content of fic, tags - prevalence of fic type, etc etc. One of my fics has around 15k notes. the rest are all below 6k. the runner up is a whole 10k below that fic. This is to be expected, and it's nothing to tear your hair out about. Write, first and foremost, for yourself. The rest, as always, comes later.

Really, tldr; you can always fix it later. the rest comes later. recognition comes later. the best thing to do - the first thing to do, the only thing to do - is just start. Post something. Anything. And go from there however you wish.

In 2016 i had zero subscribers on Ao3. I've got 72 now. These things just take time. In 2016 i'd written 30k words. I've written 1.2 million now. These things just take time. Through fandom, mostly fanfiction, I've gained people I'd consider friends. I think it's a really cool endeavour, and I think - for your confidence, peace of mind, and social sphere - it's also a really positive one.

#me; motivational speaker? no. but I try. #thanks!!! #these were really interesting ones :D #ask game