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Part Eight: Team-building With Creatures
Creature companion characters suffer from either being the most memorable thing about a book or the least: Either they are fully developed and make a huge impact on character, plot, and the audience, or they are the often-forgotten and accidentally mistreated travel vehicles. This post series has been in hopes of helping writers remember all the varieties of ways these creature companions can become more, more than stock, more than cardboard, more than tropes, more than convenient, more than cute and funny. These can be real, heartfelt characters. One more step in the direction of memorable characters is making sure you’re aware of how your creature develops, maintains, and demonstrates relationships with others.
We’ve talked about creatures capable of speech and how that will influence their characterization, but clearly it will also help for building relationships given that speech will remove a lot of the ambiguity of interpreting behavior, however those behaviors are key for your creatures that don’t speak. Consider cats for a moment. I’m a bit of an unofficial cat whisperer, and it’s not uncommon for people to say to me that their cat is the incarnation of evil and often fights them with claws and teeth. I’ve met a few of these cats–absolutely the sweetest things, but they clearly have their own boundaries that their humans don’t respect because they don’t know or understand their own cat’s behavioral warnings. Take my own cat for example, Ye Old Man. He’s starting to exhibit symptoms of pain in his hind quarters, likely from arthritis, and increasingly dislikes being scratched at the base of his tail. There’s a minuscule moment where he’ll twitch his back out just a fraction of an inch from where you were rubbing, and if you don’t stop, he’ll turn his head and yell at you, and if you still don’t stop, he’ll swat you. However, if you stop immediately at the first movement, he’ll come around with his head for more cuddles and is perfectly content to keep going. That twitch is infinitesimally small, and if an owner were petting mindlessly, they’d absolutely be subjected to teeth and claws. These small actions and hints our animals give us are crucial to how we develop and view our relationships with our non-human-language-speaking friends.
For your audience to leave the narrative with a strong impression of this creature, you’ll need to focus as much as you can on their relationships with the rest of your group. They decided to trust these other individuals for a reason, but if you want them to become a true part of the group, they’ll need to become friends with the humanoids. What will lead them to trust the others? What moment did the creature decide, “Yes. That one. They are my favorite.” How do they show that affection? Head rubbing? Sleeping closely? Bringing in food in an effort to try to take care of this individual? How willing are they to be injured to protect the person (or people) they trust and love? Are they more the lone-wolf type that doesn’t particularly care about the others but wants them to succeed because it means they themselves also succeed? How does that translate to their actions? Do they sleep by themselves but are extra combative in a fight? How does stand-offish look for them?
Your relationships between creatures and humanoids will need to develop in similar ways to your humanoid-to-humanoid relationships: in an arc. If they’re new to each other, there’ll be that period of indecision and deciding if they really like each other or can trust one another. If they’re already well-known to each other, there’s going to be shared history to explore there. Your humanoid may already know what kinds of treats the creature enjoys most, or know when a creature has had enough, or the behavioral tics that indicate the creature has found something relevant or could contribute something.
Just as you would build in moments for characters to have interaction with each other to illustrate the growing bond between them, romantic, platonic, as a teammate, or otherwise, give your creature companions the same courtesy. Have scenes where your creatures share meals and show affection; where humanoids are learning what the creature likes or doesn’t like or where the boundaries are and what behavioral tics illustrate what. Have scenes with the creature as the focus where they decide to do something, find something, play a trick on someone, or otherwise contribute in some way. Even your creatures like horses a character has had for a long time can become fond friends in the eyes of the reader if you are able to demonstrate that the creature both has a personality that isn’t so bland as to be forgettable and also has a relationship with your characters.
Creature companions who are more antagonistic should be handled similarly. Don’t forget that their relationships are just as important to show on-screen. Build those snarky, slightly mean creatures by showing what their relationships with others are like and then explore a little bit of the why–their personality or backstory. Just like so many antagonistic characters wind up flat and simple, your antagonistic creatures can be in danger of falling that way, too. Be sure you pay attention to them so you can be sure to round them out beyond their tropes.
See, the first time that Newt got lost in Asclepius’ hospital and ended up in Graves’ highly warded highly secret room, he could chalk it up to a strange set of coincidences. An accident, maybe. He took a few wrong turns, a couple of wrong staircases, somehow got an overly pushy snidget soft toy foisted on him by an insistent gift shop, and ended up explaining his theory of flight magic to a comatose director for… a while? He kind of lost track of the time. The charmed window had rolled over to a balmy sunset by the time the door reappeared and the snidget chivvied him out of the room, but Newt hadn’t thought it was that long.
But that’s beside the point. The first time it happened, Newt thought it was an accident. A one off at the very least - he was hardly in the habit of visiting the hospital and wandering off by himself. He wasn’t, in fact, anywhere near the hospital, and Graves wasn’t on his mind, and the door leading out of the gents on MACUSA’s third floor was not supposed to lead to a familiar room with a familiar occupant in the single bed.
The snidget - Steve, it was a stuffed toy but it was a remarkably animated stuffed toy and it deserved a name - wormed its way out of his pocket and chirrupped hopefully at him. He looked over his shoulder but without much optimism; the door he had just walked through was, indeed, gone.
“My apologies, Mr Graves,” Newt said to the sleeping figure. “I won’t be a moment, sorry for disturbing you.” He ushered the snidget away to the furthest corner and lowered his voice.
“Now, listen,” he told it as sternly as he could manage. “You can’t make a habit of kidnapping people like this. I can’t make a habit of being kidnapped like this. I got in enough trouble last time, thank you, so take me back.”
“Back, Steve. I’m not leaving my case in the Auror department by itself.”
Steve gave a low, despondent whistle and landed back on his shoulder, but at least the door rematerialised. How, exactly, it managed to drop him off halfway across the city at the Woolworth’s building Newt didn’t know, but it seemed petty to question it at this point.
He quashed the feelings of guilt about leaving Graves behind. The man had the best care MACUSA could give him, and really, Newt was a complete stranger. He shouldn’t be interfering. What he should be doing is reporting the hole in the wards to Tina or at the very least working out exactly what magic was powering Steve and how it was connected to the hospital. Somehow Newt was never very good at doing what he should, and somehow it was strangely difficult to put Graves out of his mind and focus on the various forms and legislation Tina needed him to run through.
Somehow he wasn’t surprised that walking out the door an hour later with his coat on and his case in hand did not, in fact, lead him to the apparition point.
“Hello again, Mr Graves,” he greeted with a feeling of cautious relief. He’d hoped to be able to come back, but it never did to count on such things. “I’m sorry for leaving so suddenly earlier, but I’m free for the evening if you don’t mind me staying.” He slipped his coat off and hung it on the hook that materialised from the wall and walked over to his chair by the bed without needing prompting. Steve, whizzing in lazy circles around his head, looked insufferably proud.
“I brought my notes this time,” Newt said conversationally as he opened his case. “I won’t be a moment.”
It was… nice, would be the best way to describe it. Newt had his notes, had Steve trying to make a nest out of his hair (and Newt really needed to check on Steve’s animation charms, this was getting ridiculous), Pickett sat on his shoulder and fussily untangling Steve’s work, and Graves’ sleeping form as his patient audience. He was mostly in the editing stage by this point, condensing entire notebooks of research down into a short entry for each creature he’d come across -
“ - but I was thinking, maybe, of leaving this one as a sort of quick reference encyclopedia book and writing more in depth books on each species, what do you think? Or maybe not each species but maybe the groups of them, each continent perhaps - no those books would be too big. Maybe I should just make the entries longer and stick to one book. One giant book. I could put expandable charms on each section so you could tap your wand to the creature’s name and get a whole chapter dedicated to them, how amazing would that be? A mite impractical, but maybe for special editions… “
It was nice to talk it over with Graves. It helped Newt organise his thoughts, and let’s face it, he liked talking about his creatures. He just very rarely found someone who would listen, and maybe it was a bit unfair to be taking advantage of Graves like this but… Well. It was nice.
So the first time was an accident, the second time lasted all of a minute, and the third time went long into the night before the sleepy snidget started tugging Newt towards the door. He left reluctantly, still juggling papers on lethifolds and wondering whether to include the eyewitness account he’d been given or stick to his own research.
“Oh stop fussing, I’m going, I’m going - I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr Graves, have a good night - good grief Steve calm down - “
The door closed behind him with hurried but silent force and Newt blinked owlishly at the deserted alley he found himself in. It seemed to be one of the back exits to the MACUSA building; the sunken cellar door behind him was layered with enough muggle repellents to give him a headache just standing there. He peered suspiciously at Steve. “How, exactly, are you managing this?” he asked the stuffed toy. If it even was a stuffed toy. Steve tucked himself into Newt’s pocket with Pickett and refused to answer.
He didn’t answer the fourth time, when Newt stumbled through a door in his flat and arrived in Graves’ room half dressed with a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, or the fifth time when Newt carried a steaming mug of tea and a sandwich through to what should have been his living room. By the sixth time, Newt had started keeping his notes shrunk in his pocket rather than his case; times seven and eight he’d added an expansion charm, a thermos of tea and a portable cooking stove and regaled Graves with stories of misadventures in local cuisine as he put together a basic stew. Chili, that’s all Newt was saying. Entirely unreasonable quantities of hot chili.
“You know,” he remarked, somewhere around time ten - eleven? - that he’d set up camp in the corner of Graves’ room, “I think I spend more time here than in my actual flat. Between here and the case, I do wonder why I’m paying the rent on it.” He lent forward, chin resting on his knees and wrists loosely crossed over his ankles. Graves was - as ever - still and silent, but Newt had managed to add a few bits and pieces. Weightless charms, to reduce the risk of bedsores. Tweaks to the lighting charms on the ceiling, to better mimic the sun and the rhythm of the day. A bit of a breeze. Smells, outdoor smells - people tended to overlook smell, but it was one of the most important senses. If Graves was even a little aware of his surroundings, Newt thought he should have some better smells around than sterile hospital linen.
He could do more, if he wasn’t worried about tripping the monitoring wards. Turning artificial spaces into natural habitats was what Newt did, what he was good at, and Asclepius’ hospital was all but overflowing with ambient magic that existed to heal - Newt could have turned the cramped room into open Savannah plains if he could convince the hospital it would help Graves. He itched to, occasionally; maybe not plains, but maybe New York? Maybe Graves would prefer the feel of his city, the sounds of busy streets and the rumbling grind of daily life. Newt would like to ask him.
Steve perked up suddenly, interrupting Newt’s thoughts as he took wing and hovered by the door that melted out of the wall. And there, ultimately, was the only thing stopping Newt from moving in: the irregular check ups from Graves’ doctors and guards. Technically, Newt wasn’t supposed to be there. Even if he was eighty seven percent sure that it was the hospital itself that kept dragging him back, Newt doubted that the aurors would take kindly to his intrusion.
“I’ve got to go,” he told Graves regretfully as he moved over to the anchor stones he’d placed around the bed. A wave of his wand collected them and cancelled the atmosphere charms he’d been running, and he felt the walls sigh as Asclepius’ resettled the usual window illusions and wards into place. “We need to talk about your sentient buildings when you wake up though, because I’m starting to lean towards your hospital being possessed. In a good way - did I tell you about the Lares spirits I met? You’d like those, I think.”
He stopped for a moment, staring at Graves and wondering if Graves would, in fact, like them. Newt knew nothing about Graves. He could infer a lot from the auror’s near devotion to him - from Tina’s devotion - and from the harsh persona Grindelwald had pulled on to impersonate him, but.
Graves was pale, in a way that said he was usually tanned but had been kept away from the sun for too long. His hair was dark brown, not black, and it fanned around his head on the pillow. There were furrows etched into his forehead and the beginnings of crows feet at the edge of his eyes, and Newt pushed a stray strand of hair back and wondered if they were from anger or stress. If you worry you suffer twice, but even Newt can’t help but worry when his creatures are in danger and if what Tina said was true - well, maybe Graves worried for his aurors the same as Newt did for his creatures?
“If you’d only wake up,” he whispered, allowing his fingers to rest in Graves’ surprisingly soft hair, “I could ask.”
Steve flittered urgently at the door. Newt couldn’t hear the footsteps on the other side of the wall, but he knew better than to push his luck. He picked up his case and slipped through the door and into an innocuous back street just as the wards peeled back to allow the aurors into the room.
(English Script) Mafumafu’s new “Slime-Making” video
Mafumafu posted a new live-action “cooking” video so I translated the whole script! Again, I can’t add subs to his channel because he doesn’t have community contributions enabled, so you’ll have to read it in text form, sorry ;; I tried to break the lines up by “scene” in my usual script format, but Mafu is the only “speaker” in this video, so I apologize if it’s hard to follow or anything. You can watch the original video through the link above. Enjoy!
(Btw no, he never said who was filming this whole thing, if you were wondering~ Also if you catch any references or anything that I may have missed since I don’t play Dragon Quest, please let me know! )
Please do not reprint these translations without permission or use them to upload subbed versions of the video to any site.
(A table of contents is available. This series will remain open for additional posts and the table of contents up-to-date as new posts are added.)
Part Eight: Knowing the Outer Family
Family is typically thought of as being those individuals contained within the nuclear family scope: parents, siblings, and the character. Individuals outside of that core take up the title of extended family. This could include grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, n-th-removed individuals, and great- individuals. How well a character may know their extended family will depend on quite a few things, not the least of which is the relationship between the extended family members and the character’s parents, as well as the society’s kinship system and their understanding of what is required of extended family.
Establishing Family Ties Outside the Nuclear Family:
All extended family will have some relationship with the character’s parents, whether it’s direct bloodline such as an aunt who is the sister of a parent, or whether it’s through marriage such as step-grandparents. Despite that there are these ties that connect each of these individuals, your character may or may not have any knowledge of them. What they know of each other, how well they know them, and how well they all get along boils down to having a good grasp on your character’s parents. You must know what kind of people they were and what kind of relationship they fostered between their own siblings and parents in order to best assess how your character relates to their extended family, but you also need to assess how important history–specifically family history–is to each of those people, and to the family as a whole. The more interested someone, or a couple someones, is to remembering that history, the more likely your relatives will be to keep in contact. Of course, it helps as well to consider family values and whether certain individuals have irrevocably broken those values, but that should be determined on a case-by-case basis.
Taking my own family as an example again, our ties are very close: My grandfather’s cousins regularly attended family functions such as high school and college graduations and weddings for my sister and I despite my family frequently not living a convenient distance from them. I still consider my deceased step-grandmother’s daughters my aunts, despite not being related at all except for a few years of being married into the family. My mother’s cousin’s children are still points of interest in my life. This expanded knowledge of … let’s be real, pretty much the entire extent of my extended family all boils down to two things: Good and friendly relationships between my parents and their families, and a shared family passion for history and maintained knowledge.
What does this mean for your characters? Well, it means that you can choose all kinds of complex backstories for your characters without having to completely cut out family! You may be able to build relationships within the extended family that are stronger for your character than the relationships built between the nuclear family members, a new take on family for literature that’s not all that uncommon in our own world. You can also choose to introduce conflict to your story based around these extended relationships if there are members the character’s parents didn’t get along with. With large and complex families, there’s even the possibility for both! The current trend for stories is for characters to gain their support systems around and beneath themselves from the individuals they gather along their journeys, but you may find that if they bothered to reach out, there’s a grand opportunity within their own family.
Expectations of the Extended Family:
The relationship between your character and their extended family members is automatically different than the relationship between themselves and their nuclear family solely from the fact that they weren’t raised day-in-and-day-out with each other and the extended family isn’t responsible for the discipline of the character. You have an opportunity to establish relationships with your character from an adult perspective, without the strictness of the parent-child relationship. Where parents are trying their hardest to keep a child safe and make sure they go down a good path in life (whatever that equates to), an aunt, uncle, or even so far as a great-uncle can give advice to a character without as much fear of the backlash that often accompanies a parent’s attempt.
In many kinship systems around the world, aunts and uncles are afforded what’s termed a joking relationship. This type of relationship allows for teasing and mocking–making jokes–with or at the other individual, and is often used to diffuse situations, teach lessons through playing tricks, or as an emotional outlet. Individuals in joking relationships generally don’t take offense at the needling of the other since it’s expected and made in good faith. These types of relationships often help establish trust since the adult family member is free from the responsibility of discipline or judgment. They’re free to sympathize–and can sympathize if it’s an issue arising in the character’s life from their parents, since they also have dealt with many of the same things at various times from the character’s parents. Thinking specifically of aunts and uncles, these were the siblings of your character’s parents, and can probably very easily understand the frustration caused by a pushed button, having pushed it themselves several times. There’s a shared history through the character’s parents between them, and that history can create strong bonds–and usually safe bonds as well. Extended family members generally care in a way that holds both investment–the family line–but also an objective distance–not their nuclear family–that allows them to guide and comfort in a meaningful way.
Something else to keep in mind is the cultural idea of what extended family members are responsible for in their niece/nephew/nibling/etc.’s life. Some systems give the aunts and uncles the spiritual lives of their niblings to look after, while others place birthday celebrations for their niblings solely in the hands of the aunts/uncles/piblings, and out of the parents’ hands entirely. Perhaps that’s why the Strange Uncle who’s always traveling turns up only for birthdays, who knows, but the idea that the responsibilities of family members and extended members don’t have to align with those listed by modern interpretations of kinship is an important factor to consider. How can you use that to your advantage within your story?
The Fender “Dragon” Telecaster. It was a gift from Jeff Beck to Jimmy Page when he was yet in The Yardbirds. It’s a Fender Telecaster 1958, originally white.
Page added eight reflective circles, it is said as a tribute to Syd Barrett. But in early 1967 he completely painted guitar, drawing a dragon himself on the wood.
The guitar still exists but with a different look because a friend of Jimmy Page deleted the dragon while he was on tour. Upon returning, his friend told him that he had made “a gift” but found that the new finish was not to his taste and the paint had affected the functioning of the entire circuit and the bridge pickup. Jimmy Page dismantled the mast to install it in its Fender Telecaster B-Bender brown. The Fender “Dragon” Telecaster was used for the last time May 2, 1969.
Dialogue tags are as common as mud. We all know them; we talk about them all the time; any time somebody talks about dialogue, there they are. I’m not going to keep slapping that water. What I actually want to talk about are the parts of sentences we add on to the tags. Now, I have a degree in publishing; my Chicago Manual of Style lives in a special place on my bookshelf; I edited stuff, screened stuff, so really I should know the answer to this, but I’m not going to lie. I don’t know what these are technically called, but I’m going to call them remainder sentences and no one can stop me.
A standard dialogue tag generally looks something like this:
“You can’t stop me,” she said.
Plain and simple, nothing more or less than what’s required for the situation. Sticking with the basics is great for moving the story along, and there’s nothing wrong with keeping it simple. If this is all that’s needed, no problem.
Sometimes, however, there are other things we need to convey, and sometimes the best place to put them is right with our tag.
Timing of events is perhaps the most important of the uses for remainder sentences and dialogue tags. Where we place them in relation to our speech and how they’re structured as a whole can tell an audience all kinds of things.
Simultaneous action: Sometimes, we talk and do all in the same moment. To signal that timing to the audience, it’s common practice to use the “-ing” ending to a verb; following standard sentence convention, a comma appears after the tag, before the verb:
“You don’t want it, fine,” she called, dropping it in a water trough.
By containing both the words and the action within the same sentence, we signal to the audience that these happen simultaneously.
We can also play with this idea when actions happen while a character is speaking, but the character doesn’t realize they’re going on:
“Shey–” I started, but she’d gone.
Combining the actions into the same sentence as the dialogue cues the reader into the simultaneous nature of the two moments, while the use of interruptions in the dialogue and the conjunction ‘but’ lets your audience know not just the timing but also how another character reacts to that action or not.
Simultaneous action can also be shown through insertion of a tag or remainder line into the middle of a sentence:
“How would you know that if it’s taken twenty years for these–” she tugged on the foliage, “–to grow since they last used it?”
The implication here with the em-dashes is that the character pauses to perform the action, but that doesn’t have to be the case. You may also choose to use commas all the way through, indicating that the action takes place while the character speaks:
“How would you know that if it’s taken twenty years for these,” she said, tugging on the foliage, “to grow since they last used it?”
Pre- and post- actions: Sometimes, actions and speech are dependent on each other; an action prompts a line of dialogue or something someone says prompts someone to do something. If the actions and dialogue are closely related, it makes a lot of sense to combine them by making your action a remainder sentence to the dialogue:
Sheytana leaned an ear against the door again, then whispered, “I can hear movement but it’s muffled.”
By using ‘then,’ the audience is aware that the action took place very distinctly prior to the speech, rather than at the same time. The opposite can be conveyed to readers by placing the tag and remainder line at the end of the dialogue for actions that take place after the speech. In the above, it’s also interesting to note that the action and the dialogue are performed by the same character. Sometimes, different characters perform those two things, which must be clarified within the remainder line and dialogue tag:
We recovered our footing, I snagged his hand, and I hissed, “Grab the girl. Let’s go.”
The above has a list of actions taken, including the dialogue tag at the end. This could be restructured so that the first item–”We recovered our footing.”–appears alone, as its own sentence, however, due to the pacing of the scene, these three components occur together, but two of them are only participated in by one person–the narrator. Be sure to clarify your ambiguous pronouns on sentences like these so the audience knows exactly who’s speaking. You wouldn’t want to say, “We recovered our footing, and hissed, ‘Grab the girl,’” because then all those included in the “we” would be speaking, too.
Tonality: Another thing we can convey to our readers through remainder lines is how something is said. Yes, dialogue tags do this too, especially when a writer chooses to use tags other than “said,” but the way a sentence is constructed with its tag can also speak to the way it’s spoken:
“Sir,” he drawled. “Don’t see you here often.”
Scenes are made up of beats, and dialogue is not different. The pauses characters take are just as important as what they do. By ending the tag with a period and not connecting through with a comma, the implication is that the character takes a beat and pauses before saying his last line. By comparison:
“Sir,” he drawled, “we don’t see you here often.”
This structure implies a different tonality in the way it’s spoken, all at once rather than taking the significant pause given to the previous line by the period.
Length: The length of a remainder line is crucial. By having a remainder line at all added to your dialogue and dialogue tags, you’ve already built a complex, compound sentence. The more complex the sentence, the more difficult it can be to follow–especially depending on the punctuation and structure you give it. Keeping your remainder lines short will help with clarity and flow. Separate out any sentences you can into their own entities. If your remainder lines are more than about 20-or-so words, you’re probably verging on too long. Remainder lines may be your first place to stop, examine, and rewrite if your story starts to feel off in terms of pacing and flow.
// does burning instant ramen get you a spot on chopped champion sign me up
- He’s okay at cooking, prefers take out though– But if he had to cook he can whip up something edible.
- But you are just so adorable when you try to cook honestly, does it work? no. does he love watching you try and make it work? yes.
- If it tastes bad hE’S SO NICE ABOUT IT he’ll honestly eat it anyways no matter what because he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings
- in the name of love, for MC, he will eat your liquified mash potatoes and severely burnt stir fry.
- but as soon as you mention doing something for dinner he whips out the old “ oh don’t worry babe I already have something all planned out! ”
- narrator: he did not have something all planned out
- His cooking is SHIT
- Only thing he’s okay at is pancakes. He doesn’t make them very sweet though, you have to eat them with strawberries or powdered sugar to make it work.
- So he’s just kinda.. Same.
- Assures you to just let the chef do the cooking, MC, please those potatoes didn’t deserve to be turned into liquid what did they ever do to you
- He won’t eat something if it’s looks even remotely gross he’s picky like that so.. good luck getting him to eat your food
- Recommends cooking classes for the both of you guys because he’s interested in it, and if you’re going he’s going with you ride or die
- He is the ultimate control freak in the kitchen and watches over you like a hawk
- Comments on everything up until the point where he’s basically doing all the cooking and you’re just kind of watching
- Yeah.. don’t try to cook in front of him if you’re not very good. He’ll swoop in and take control of it all
- He’ll TRY your food but if it tastes bad he goes full bore Chef Ramsay on you look out
- What are you? An idiot sandwich
- She’s actually not bad at cooking, just doesn’t really have time to do it. Mainly picks things up from the convenient store or take out.
- So she’s excited when you say you’re cooking dinner tonight, it’s been so long since she’s had a home cooked meal
- But then she sees.. that, and right back to take out she goes
- Won’t eat it if it’s bad, very honest too. But gives you pointers when she has time until eventually you start getting a little better at it. Proud girlfriend once you’re able to make something that’s edible :’)
- Can’t cook. At all. Microwaves potato chips.
- So honestly your food compared to his is amazing. Manna from heaven. A feast made for gods.
- The ULTIMATE trooper. He will eat it. God Seven-Zero-Seven never backs down from a challenge. He might feel sick later on, but it’s worth it.
- Recommends his book to you, 101 ways to serve chips. You’d learn a lot from it if you read it!
- Someone give this man an award for chef of the year because he can cook like nobody’s business
- Knows exact measurements too without needing cups or spoons just out of the package he knows like how do you do this
- So he actually finds it nice you don’t know how to cook. He’d love to teach you if you let him.
- Always very kind when you mess up, practice makes perfect. He’s mainly the one making dinner on most nights, but when you make an amazing dish be prepared for him to act like he hasn’t eaten in days and chow that shit down while telling you how good it is. So proud, so blessed
- cannot cook do not let him near a kitchen unless you have insurance and 911 on speed dial
- He’s the most honest and will tell you if it tastes bad immediately. He won’t eat it, not a trooper like Zen.
- You guys end up getting in a fight about whose the worse chef. Eventually having an all out showdown to prove who’s the worst. Saeyoung is the judge.
- They both taste like shit but you win and Saeran is pissed saying how he added eight table spoons of pure sea salt to that brownie how is he not the worst
- This is stupid and totally rigged for you to win he’s out
Character(s): Patrick Sullivan and Ashley Wright (original female character) Summary: Ashley joins the rest of her colleagues at the bar. Word Count: 2,652 Author’s Note: Things are heating up! Also, the bar’s name “Molly’s” is from Chicago Fire, so I’m taking the idea that all the firefighters/paramedics/cops spend their time at that bar like it does in Chicago Fire. Enjoy!
Ashley slept in during her day off.
She was sore and tired, but the thought of spending time with the rest of the
firefighters outside of work excited her. She was going to see Patrick in a
normal setting rather than the firehouse or a burning building. So, throughout
her day, she cleaned around her apartment, waiting for nighttime to arrive.
She didn’t know what she was
supposed to wear, but it was a bar. More than likely, she would share a few drinks
with her colleagues and she highly doubted that there would be a dance floor at
this particular bar. Besides, Ashley was aware of Molly’s. It was the home for
many first responders varying from firefighters to paramedics to police
officers. Ashley felt as if she was being welcomed into this prestigious club.
The day went by quickly and as the
sun set and the moon rose in the night sky, her phone buzzed from the
nightstand. It was Larry, making sure that she was still going.
a high school Frank smut where he’s like super dominant and fucks you somewhere in the school please
I was at my locker, picking out my biology books. I hated biology. I was fairly good at the subject and made good grades, but I was stuck with the most obnoxious person in the entire world for my partner.
His name was Frank. Frank had quite a reputation at school, throwing raging parties, hooking up with any girl with blonde hair and big boobs, and not backing down from anyone. Despite his short height, Frank has never lost a fight. Ever. He knew everyone was scared of him or wanted to bang him and he was very proud of it.
I hated him with all my heart, he never failed to make me want to rip my hair out. He would tease me, hit on me, knock my books on to the floor, purposely spill water on my notes, whatever he could to get a rise out of me.
The bell rang and I groaned, slamming my locker shut. I started walking towards class, going as slow as possible. I pushed the door open and walked into class. He was already there, leaning against his seat at the back of the class, flirting away with the girl who sat in front of him.
He had his shirt pushed all the way back against the wall, making it impossible for em to get to my seat unless I jumped over him.
I rolled my eyes and stopped at my desk, waiting for Frank to get up and let me slide past him. I eyed him up and down, scoffing at how he had just enough buttons undone on his shirt to show off his new tattoo and his crooked tie, has navy blue jacket slung over his shoulder. He made eye contact with me and winked at the blonde, telling her that they’ll talk after school. He looked up at me, an arrogant smirk etched on his face.
“Hi,” he said cockily.
“Can I please sit down?” I said sarcastically.
He shrugged. “I don’t know, can you?”
I huffed and turned around, before you bent your knees and tried to slide into your seat. I felt my ass brushing his crotch, before I landed on my seat. I smiled at him triumphantly and opened my notebook, preparing for class.
Frank adjusted his belt,, clearing his throat The teacher came in and after he greeted the class, he started writing a new lesson on the whiteboard.
I jumped up when I felt a hand on my knee. I looked at Frank who was looking straight at the board, copying everything that was being written on it in his notebook. His left hand was under the table and I could see a corner of his mouth fighting to stay down and not curl up into a smirk.
I shook my leg, but his large hand traveled up to my thigh. I cursed the school for being so strict with our dress codes and forbidding me to wear anything but a skirt.
His fingers brushed my crotch and I felt my core tingle. I liked it, but I couldn’t let him know that.
The teacher turned to me and asked me to read a paragraph from the book. I started reading about stem cells and muscles, when I felt his fingers brush past my clit. I stopped abruptly, collecting myself and trying to focus on the words and not how his fingers were brushing my panties off to the side.
I coughed and tried to concentrate on the sentences in front of me, almost choking when his index traced patterns up my inner thigh. MY hands were on the book, so I couldn’t shove him away. My voice trembled when his fingers slipped into my panties.
I finally finished the paragraph, sighing in relief and leaning back in my chair. Now it was Frank’s turn to read. He shocked everyone by starting off at the right spot immediately after I finished, since he usually argued with the teacher about it until he either got sent to the office or gave in and read the paragraph. He smirked as he read, rubbing my clit with his index finger, his palm pressed against my pelvis. I bit your lip and tried to keep a straight face since everyone’s eyes were on Frank.
Frank’s voice was two tones deeper and husky, smirking and chuckling to himself throughout the whole reading.
“Thank you, Mr. Iero,” our teacher said impressed and turning back to face the board. Frank’s whole hand started rubbing circles against my clit and my clamped shut.
“No.”, he whispered and after he made sure the teacher wasn’t looking, he leaned down to my ear. “Do you want me to finger you Y/N?”, he whispered hotly and tugged at my earlobe.
I bit my lip and nodded, spreading my legs wider.
“Good girl.”, he chuckled and turned to the teacher who called his name to pay attention.
His fingers stopped moving and i was beginning to get impatient, slowly caring less and less about who might see us. Frank was writing in his notebook and i did the same, his hand still pressed against my center.
I almost broke my pen when I felt his middle fingertip teasing my entrance. He ran his finger up and down my slit whilst his right hand came to my notebook and scribbled something on it. I looked down at it, my vision blurry from the pleasure.
you’re so wet baby
He was right.
I moaned when his finger entered me unexpectedly. Everyone’s heads turned to look at me in confusion.
“Is there a problem Miss Y/L/N?”, the teacher asked.
Frank sped up his pace and I gulped, shaking my vigorously.
“Nothing just…I hit my leg.”
A few people snickered or rolled their eyes, turning back around to do their work.
Frank’s finger kept pumping in and out of me, making me sit at the edge of my seat. His warm skin was pure bliss and i never thought something could feel this good.
His thumb pressed against my clit and he started doing eights. He added another finger, a moan threatening to escape my lips.
His fingers scissored inside of me as I bit lip, feeling close to my release when he curled his fingers up to my G-Spot.
My mind was hazy and I clenched my walls around him, emitting a low growl from him. I spotted the tent in his jeans and I grinned.
I clenched my walls again and right when I was about to release, he pulled his fingers out of me. I held back a sharp remark and shifted in my seat uncomfortably. I was hot and bothered and that’s exactly how he wanted to leave me.
I watched him place his left elbow on the desk, his middle and index finger in the air as he kept writing, bringing the fingers to his lips and sucking on them.
I felt aroused by the sight of him. He licked his lips after he licked his finger and the bell rang, making him stand up. He winked at me as he packed up his stuff.
“That was hot baby, I knew you always wanted me,” he smirked. Usually, I would have flipped him off for such a comment, but I simply giggled and lightly pushed his shoulder.
He chuckled, smacking his gum loudly before leaving the classroom. I leaned down to grab my note book, noticing a few numbers written on the top corner.
I sat down and curled myself into a ball, trying to roll myself around the core of my pain. Nothing mattered any longer, and I sobbed my heart out. His hands on my shoulders raised me, enough to see his face. Through the haze of tears, I saw the look he wore in battle, of struggle that had passed the point of strain and become calm certainty. “I believe you,” he said firmly. “I dinna understand it a bit—not yet—but I believe you. Claire, I believe you! Listen to me! There’s the truth between us, you and I, and whatever ye tell me, I shall believe it.” He gave me a gentle shake. “It doesna matter what it is. You’ve told me. That’s enough for now. Be still, mo duinne. Lay your head and rest. You’ll tell me the rest of it later. And I’ll believe you.” I was still sobbing, unable to grasp what he was telling me. I struggled, trying to pull away, but he gathered me up and held me tightly against himself, pushing my head into the folds of his plaid, and repeating over and over again, “I believe you.”
At last, from sheer exhaustion, I grew calm enough to look up and say, “But you can’t believe me.” He smiled down at me. His mouth trembled slightly, but he smiled. “Ye’ll no tell me what I canna do, Sassenach.” He paused a moment. “How old are ye?” he asked curiously. “I never thought to ask.” The question seemed so preposterous that it took me a minute to think. “I’m twenty-seven … or maybe twenty-eight,” I added. That rattled him for a moment. At twenty-eight, women in this time were usually on the verge of middle-age. “Oh,” he said. He took a deep breath. “I thought ye were about my age—or younger.” He didn’t move for a second. But then he looked down and smiled faintly at me. “Happy Birthday, Sassenach,” he said. It took me completely by surprise and I just stared stupidly at him for a moment. “What?” I managed at last.
“I said ‘Happy Birthday.’ It’s the twentieth of October today.” “Is it?” I said dumbly. “I’d lost track.” I was shaking again, from cold and shock and the force of my tirade. He drew me close against him and held me, smoothing his big hands lightly over my hair, cradling my head against his chest. I began to cry again, but this time with relief. In my state of upheaval, it seemed logical that if he knew my real age and still wanted me, then everything would be all right.”