#Give me more prompts please?

[stealingyourbones]

After one too many times having to work for the Joker and getting his shit rocked by the bats as a goon, Dash becomes a rat. He tells the GCPD about the attacks that the rogues that hired him have planned. His snitching goes well for a year, becoming an asset to the Bats, when he gets found out. This makes him go into Gotham's version of witness protection: Being watched 24/7 in a safe house by the Bats.

[darkeneddawning]

Escaped clone au

You know all those fics where Danny and Damian are twins but everyone first assumes Danny must be a clone? How about an au where Danny is Damian's clone who escaped the League after he was assumed dead. Damian could even have been the one to have "killed" him, back when Danny was a newly created, fully brainwashed clone minion and trying to kill Damian himself.

Danny gets adopted by the Fentons and canon goes on as normal, until Dan. Witnessing what would happen to the world should he turn evil really drove home to Danny how dangerous he is.

Even if he was confident he could be trusted with his absurd amount of power (which he isn't), what if the League of Assassins found out about him? Does he still have programming triggers from his evil assassin clone conditioning?

So, Danny does the responsible thing: he goes to Batman to turn himself in.

Cue Danny showing up on Bruce's doorstep with ghost hunting equipment, intel on the afterlife, and an almost unbelievable backstory. Somehow he still managed to be more well-adjusted than Damian.

More thoughts under the read more

Here's how I'm thinking Danny leaving the League went down:

After surviving his wounds but failing his mission, Danny (then an unnamed potential Damian replacement) knew there was no point in returning to the League. As a failure, he was meant to be disposed of. He even thought of simply allowing himself to perish, since that was what the League would do.

But he couldn't help but feel as though that would be a waste of a resource. Surely he could be of more use to the League alive than dead?

That tiny bit of rebellious logic is what caused Danny to go into hiding, only living on based on the off chance he would find opportunities to further the League's goals. Obviously, that mentality didn't last long after being exposed to the real world and meeting one Jazz Fenton.

Being adopted by the Fentons was the best cover Danny could have asked for, since any odd behavior he couldn't hide while he was learning how to be "normal" was totally overshadowed by the sheer bizarre eccentricity of his new parents. He was still the neighborhood weird kid, but even that was a major upgrade from disposable tool, so Danny considered it a win.

Anyway, if anyone likes this idea, please feel free to have at it! Interpret it as you please :)

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

a slightly scribbly Eddie for @akemima's promptlist, day one - cool outfit! well, i don't know if its Cool, but it sure is an outfit!

[minty364]

DPXDC Prompt #61 Part 4

Danny woke up to a stream of sunlight on his face. The room was just as rich as he remembered, he stood up and stretched a bit before he heard a knock at the door.

It was Alfred bringing him a change of clothes, “Breakfast is ready, Master Danny. You can find the dining room down the hall to the left.” the old butler smiled at him. 

“You don’t have to call me Master, Alfred, I’m not your Damian.” Danny said, turning around to address him.

“Ah, yes, however you are still Master Bruce’s son, even from another world.” The butler gave him a cheeky smile.

Danny shrugged and headed to the bathroom to get changed. Once he was decent again, he headed down to the dining room. 

The room was just as fancy as the rest of the house with a chandelier and ornate vases. 

Danny noticed Damian and a few others already seated at the table. Damian wore what Danny could only assume was his rich kid school uniform. He sat across from Damian who made a small ‘Tt’ and turned away from him. 

Next to Damian was Tim who put away his laptop once Danny sat down. Tim was wearing a business suit, a dark red colored one. “Ah, you sleep much longer than Damian does, you must have been tired.” Tim smiled at him.

Also seated at the table and wearing a navy blue suit, was Bruce himself. He was drinking coffee and reading a newspaper.

“Stop comparing me to him, Drake, I’m nothing like this imposter.” Looks like Damian still thought he was a clone. 

Whatever, he shrugged it off and filled his plate. 

“I don’t really have a lot of free time,” was all Danny said before he started eating.

Tim kind of watched him for a minute, he looked kind of shocked for a second, “You’re eating meat??” 

Ah so that was another difference between them, “again, I’m Danny, I’m not Damian.”

Damian scoffed, “So that’s what you call yourself, imposter.”

Danny gave Damian a tired sigh, looks like the him of this universe was a lot more prideful than he was. Danny went through way too much to carry the same, dying and being crown prince of the infinite realms wasn’t exactly something he was born into. Danny was a bit jealous if he was being honest with himself. 

“Damian, please at least attempt to be friendly. Danny is our guest for the meantime.” Bruce said, putting his newspaper down. He then turned his attention to Danny, “I know it isn’t ideal but I think it’ll be best for you to stay here until we can get you to your own world. I’m planning a trip to the Watchtower tomorrow so I can speak with some of my colleagues about the situation.” 

Danny sighed but nodded his head, “I get it, you can’t have two of us running around.”

“Quite, you’re more than welcome to go around the mansion and the grounds, I’d also like to invite you along to the Watchtower but we’d need to come up with a disguise for you, secret identity and everything.” Bruce continued after taking another sip from his mug, “Alfred will still take you out today to get some basic necessities for you. We’ll get you a proper disguise so you're able to go with him.”

Danny nodded again and continued eating. He thought things over as he ate, he technically had a disguise they could use for the Watchtower but Danny was still on the fence on what exactly he’d tell everyone here.

It wasn’t exactly an easy conversation to have, thankfully some more people arrived for breakfast.

Master Post:

Last:

Next:

[wandixx]

I have an idea that includes two person love square because identity shenanigans are always fun, but I have no idea what they should do, despite having fun dynamics between them, like:

"Of course they're dating" said Public Opinion about Miss Martian and Phantom, right after she broke his heart a bit by telling him she was in love with someone else (Megan's long distance best friend, Danny). Before this happened, Phantom was overly flirtatious to both Miss Martian and Megan, so she asked Danny what to do about "This one guy in my sports team" and his advice is to tell him to "Fuck off". She does exactly that, without quite understanding the weight of the word and Phantom is stunned into obedience (and he understands that no means no)

Anyway, I need help with actual... plot. Situations I put them through, because I'm determined to write it. They would be cute together imo.

[risingmoonyue]

I think it’d be funny if, instead of post-antidote Shinichi and Ran having trouble and trust issues with secrets and angst and all that, with him not wanting to tell her about Conan or having issues after that, it’s just. Well.

He physically cannot keep a secret from her anymore. It just. Blurts out. Because he has spent over a year of his life keeping secrets and lying, two of the things he detests doing the most - especially to Ran - it is such a relief when he finally doesn’t need to keep such a huge secret anymore that he just spills and. Doesn’t stop. It’s such a burden lifted off of him and the thought of keeping secrets from her again just makes his skin crawl.

The first thing he does as soon as he’s completely cured and the BO is taken down is go over and confess everything, every heart wrenching moment of anxiety and paranoia, every thought process, every moment he almost spilled the beans, the moment he went from barely being held back from telling her to actively hiding, everything. And in the process everything else he couldn’t tell her but was holding onto for various people (now that there are no longer any covers that can be blown, well. No reason to keep them from her.)

He can keep it until the relative safety of his (her, their, whatever) house, and then it just. Pours out like a waterfall. Ran very quickly realizes she doesn’t have to worry about Shinichi keeping secrets from her anymore because if he so much as has to keep a spur-of-the-moment gift store keychain from her, he gets these puppy eyes and she can see him struggling to not just. Blab right then and there. He starts fighting, she can see him visibly catch himself as he looks like he’s about to cry. If someone asks him to keep something from her he might actually cry.

He can’t do it y’all. He just can’t.

In the middle of a case? Sure. He’ll keep things from the culprits. But soon as he’s done the police don’t have to worry about him writing a report, because they just need to have someone nearby with a tape recorder because he’s giving they play-by-play of every minute detail to Ran because she may not have realized what he was thinking at exactly minute 34.25 of the case. It gets to the point where Ran has a tape recorder at home and she has a designated three hours she calls “spill time” where Shinichi tells her every case detail and vague secret he’s kept (or thinks he’s kept from her) that day.

Shinichi getting ready to propose? Literally takes everyone involved and their mothers to get him to not just straight up text and ask her the second he makes up his mind to ask (luckily not when he’s in front of Ran), everyone is running a truly unbelievable amount of interference, and honestly, Ran figured it out half an hour in but he’s trying so hard to make it special, she’ll let him have it.

Everyone becomes resigned to the fact that if you tell Shinichi something, Ran will guaranteed know by the end of the night.

(Agasa ends up making them ultra durable and ultra encrypted phones and tiny, portable white noise generators because Shinichi was about to have a meltdown one time when Ran was out of down and he couldn’t blab to her, and that other time they were both out of town but could only find a shady hotel to crash in)

(Yeah, there’s still issues on both sides, such as Shinichi’s lingering PTSD and paranoia and her own coming to terms with the Conan situation, but Ran thinks he’s kinda cute like this and despite everything, it’s nice to know that he genuinely hated keeping all that from her, even if it hurt her.)

[team-118]

chemical override

2.4k words, buddie, buckley-diaz family, first kiss, getting together (for realsies this time!), rated t

With blonde curls and sparkling blue eyes over a criminally well-fitted red suit, he could almost be mistaken for Buck, if not for the way he takes Eddie in, slow and savoring it. When their eyes meet, Eddie’s mouth goes dry.

Two strangers meet at an LAFD celebration themed as a masquerade ball. They already know everything about each other.

read it on ao3.

for @prettysophist from the halloween prompt list for the prompt 'masks'

Despite what recent events might lead you to believe, Eddie does actually know that he's attractive. He's never really leaned into it, but he’s not unaware.

Unlike Buck, who is unaware. Buck who broke up with Tommy alarmingly quickly once Eddie quietly mentioned his sexuality at breakfast with the 118 two weeks ago. Who had dinner warm and waiting on the table when Eddie flew back from El Paso, Christopher in tow, one week ago. Who kissed Christopher's forehead and hugged him as tight as Eddie had as soon as he saw his son again, who met Eddie’s gaze over Chris's disgruntled head. For a split second, Eddie had almost let the thought in. Maybe Buck…him and Buck…and then the moment passed, and then a week passed, and nothing happened.

And listen, it's been two weeks. Actually, it's been at least six months. Well, if he's honest, it's probably been something like seven years, and if it isn't going to happen, Eddie will get over it. If Buck isn't attracted to him - if Buck doesn't want him - that doesn't actually change anything.

At least, that's what Eddie tells himself as he takes a razor to his mustache, gentle but vicious, and gets himself dressed. Sharp line of his shoulders, deep red shirt complementing his skin, and Carla even helps him out with his hair, because she's better than Eddie could ever compensate her for.

Stepping back to admire her handiwork, she holds her hand out for a high five from Christopher. “Not bad, hm?” she asks him.

Eddie poses with his hands out, eyebrows raised.

“Don't do that,” Christopher says immediately. He hands Eddie the masquerade mask that matches his suit. “And don't forget this.” Chris leans into Carla, returning her high five before fixing Eddie with a stern look. His smile gives him away, though. “Win something cool, Dad.”

“Yessir,” Eddie salutes, and then it's hugs and kisses and out the door.

🎭 • 🎭 • 🎭

Buck wishes Eddie were here. Doesn't matter how cool the staff events at the LAFD get (ha), they're always better with his best friend next to him. Buck got tickets way late, though, and he’s sure Eddie is busy with Chris tonight anyway. After Eddie came out, after El Paso, Buck didn't see the point in lying to himself anymore. He thought…well, if there was any time for them to finally fall together, it seemed like the right one. But Buck wasn't going to pressure Eddie into anything, especially on the heels of the summer they just had. And when Eddie didn't make a move, Buck tried to get it through his head: he doesn't want you. He doesn't.

But Buck wants Eddie. Buck wants Eddie smiling over dinner, wants him sitting across from Christopher, wants him next to Buck at staff events, wants him everywhere and every way he isn't.

So he slips into a suit he hasn't even seen since poker with Eddie, he spends entirely too much time on his hair, he pulls the masquerade mask over his eyes and challenges himself to thirty consecutive seconds of thinking about literally anything except Eddie for the night.

It's not going well.

🎭 • 🎭 • 🎭

It's almost impressive how quickly Eddie gets used to the mask. Then again - he contemplates the last twenty something years of his life and almost wants to laugh, morbidly - maybe it isn't. Unlike the one he's been wearing his whole life, though, this mask is freeing. He could be anybody, in a crowd of anybodies - but he's Eddie, and he knows it so well now, sees the full picture so clearly. He catches his reflection in the doorway, and he feels powerful.

The LAFD's Recognition of Excellence awards are held in some lavish building in downtown LA this fall. Eddie thinks the masquerade ball theme is kind of cheesy, but he does have to admit that the crowd showed up and showed out. Light refracts through crystal and bounces off the metallic masks packed into the massive ballroom, making everything feel brighter.

“Damn, if I'd known the competition was this steep, I'd have tried a little harder,” a voice drawls from behind him.

Eddie turns, looks the man up and down. With blonde curls and sparkling blue eyes over a criminally well-fitted red suit, he could almost be mistaken for Buck, if not for the way he takes Eddie in, slow and savoring it. When their eyes meet, Eddie’s mouth goes dry.

“No competition here,” Eddie replies evenly. Then he takes a deep breath, lets himself say what he's thinking. “And if this is low effort for you, I'm in trouble.”

Red Suit's smile turns a little wicked. “You can have as much effort as you'd like.”

Fucking hell. Eddie clears his throat. “You're a firefighter?”

“What, you think I snuck in?”

Even his laugh sounds like Buck’s, but darker, coloured by whatever the hell is happening between them right now. Eddie’s so fucked. “Just trying to judge how hard I'll need to work to impress you.”

Red suit gets closer. “Stick with me tonight, let's find out.”

What the hell. Eddie grabs his hand and pulls him to the bar.

🎭 • 🎭 • 🎭

Buck spotted the guy the second he walked in - the lethal cut of his pants, shoulders set with the easy confidence of someone who knows he belongs. When he turns at Buck's words, Buck blinks away the image of Eddie. He drinks in the warm brown eyes and feels himself slipping into a comfortable, old stance. Someone Eddie never had the chance to meet. Thirty fucking seconds, he reminds himself, and lets himself be dragged to the bar.

Brown Eyes is a remarkably good distraction, so long as Buck doesn't let himself think about why the first guy who caught his attention could be Eddie’s identical twin. He keeps pace with Buck, pushes and pulls deliciously until all Buck can feel is the warmth of the lights, the crowd, the brown eyes on his body. He pops another button loose. Sue him.

“Craziest call,” he challenges, leaning forward to keep that warm gaze on him.

He's met with a huff, an exasperated kind of laugh. It sounds like Eddie’s. Buck loves it. “There was that plane landing on the highway last month.”

“No shit?” Buck asks. “We were there, too.”

“Yeah? Maybe we passed each other by.”

“Talk about fate.”

Brown Eyes snorts. “Half the LAFD was there.”

“And you're the only one here now.”

“Arguably, half the LAFD is here, too.”

This guy. Buck laughs, despite himself. “Let me have this, man.”

“Oh, sure,” his new friend smirks, and Buck wants to bite the corner of it. “Take what you want.”

“Dangerous words.”

When the stranger looks up, his eyes are dark and a little wild under his mask. His cheeks are flushed, and it matches the mask so well. Buck wants to know if it extends under the mask. If it extends anywhere else. There's a little mole under his eye. Fuck, when did they get so close? They're nose to nose. Buck can hear his own heartbeat.

“I'll risk it,” the stranger breathes, and he hesitates for a second longer, opening his mouth to speak.

Buck kisses his next words right off his tongue.

🎭 • 🎭 • 🎭

Eddie’s already pushing Red Suit up against the pristine marble bathroom counter by the time his brain comes back online.

As far as ideas go, he's had better - making out with a colleague whose name he hasn't bothered to learn at the edge of a staff event probably doesn't make the top ten. But then broad hands are covering his shoulders, pulling him close, and when long legs hook around Eddie’s hips he kind of forgets to worry about it.

The man under him gives as good as he gets. Eddie pulls back to study his partner’s face, black masquerade mask striking against the thin ring of blue surrounding his blown irises. His lips are spit-slick and shiny, panting. He looks so much like Buck - the thought appears again - and Eddie’s stomach does a fucking somersault. Eddie pulls him in closer by the sides of his face, brushing the fluffy curls off his forehead briefly. He catches a tiny glimpse of pink.

“Take this off,” Red Suit groans, tugging at Eddie's buttons.

Eddie laughs. “Easy, tiger,” he placates, reaching up to get his partner's suit off first. He pulls the jacket off, revealing a tight black shirt to match the mask, sleeves rolled to the forearms. Red Suit reaches for Eddie, gets his shirt unbuttoned enough for the chain around his neck to slip out.

And then three things happen in quick succession.

“Wait,” Eddie says, hands going still as he recognizes the black band tattooed on the arm under him.

“Oh, fuck me,” Buck breathes as Eddie’s St. Christopher pendant lands on his half-bare chest.

“...for extraordinary partnership and exceptional teamwork in times of duress, Eddie Diaz and Evan Buckley!” Chief Simpson’s voice booms over a microphone in the distance. There's a smattering of applause, fading into confused silence.

Eddie stares into his best friend’s wide eyes - his best friend, whose tongue was just recently down his fucking throat - and his mouth drops open. “I,” he starts.

Buck gapes back at him. “You shaved your fucking mustache?”

“Buck,” Eddie tries again. He can't remember how to make words form.

“Without telling me?” Buck screeches.

“Eddie Diaz and Evan Buckley,” Chief Simpson calls over the microphone again. “That's weird, I have them both RSVP’d,” comes quieter.

Eddie reboots. “Oh my god,” he gasps. He pulls at Buck’s jacket helplessly, trying to tug it back over his shoulders. “Oh my god, Buck, we have to get out there.”

Buck’s still frozen. “But when did you…?”

“Buck!” Eddie grabs his face, looks him square in the eyes. Buck’s breath stutters. Eddie releases him just as quickly, cheeks burning. “Put your jacket on. I am not facing half the department like this.”

He watches Buck’s vision clear, sees him come back online. “Oh, shit.”

As they stumble out the door, Eddie catches a glimpse of them in the bathroom mirror. Hair wild, eyes wilder, shirts rucked up and wearing matching blushes, there's nothing inconspicuous about them.

Eddie grins so wide his cheeks hurt as he pushes his best friend onstage.

🎭 • 🎭 • 🎭

Buck bites the inside of his cheek to make sure he isn't having some kind of fucked up hallucination-nightmare-dream, and then there's a mic in his face and a spotlight in his eyes.

“Thank you, Chief Simpson,” he says like his heart isn't in his throat. “Eddie and I have spent years building and strengthening our partnership. We are forever grateful to our LAFD family for their part in…”

Honestly, he blacks out a little, after that. He adds some stuff about the 118, pulls something out of his ass about taking pride in their work, and tries not to make his heart eyes too obvious. He doesn't look at Eddie, but he is so incredibly aware of him.

Buck stumbles off the stage, who knows how many minutes later, and by the time he’s outside the venue he's dizzy. He looks around, but he can't find-

“Buck.”

He whirls around. “Eddie.”

They sit heavily on the cold stone steps in front of the building. Their shoulders are inches apart. Buck’s never felt further from Eddie.

“Listen,” he starts. “We can just- I'll Uber home, and we don't have to talk about it again, I'll just-”

“Buck,” Eddie says, soft but firm. He turns, goes to put his hand on Buck's shoulder, then keeps reaching up.

“Man,” he laughs lightly. “Can I take this thing off?”

When Buck nods, Eddie lifts Buck’s mask over his eyes until it rests on top of his head. Eddie tugs his own mask off, too.

“Come home with me,” Eddie tells him.

“Eds-”

“It wasn't an accident, Buck. I mean, if I'd known…” he trails off. “I just didn't think you were interested.”

Buck laughs incredulously. “‘Cause I've been so casual about it?”

Eddie's smile is wry. “You've never been as forward as you were tonight.”

“I was trying to give you time,” Buck says weakly, pulling his knees under his chin. “I didn't want to scare you off.”

“You could never. Buck, you could never.” Eddie promises. “Not after this long.”

“I just - I thought you wanted -”

Eddie gets his finger under Buck’s chin, tilts it up towards him, and Buck loses his breath again. Framed by the stars and the sparkling building behind them, cheeks flushed from the cold, Eddie’s so fucking beautiful. He’s Buck's best friend. He’s Buck’s whole life. “What do you want?” Eddie asks.

“This,” Buck whispers. “This, forever.”

Eddie smiles. He's everything, he's fucking everything.

“What about you?” Buck says, braver. “What do you want?”

And oh, that's easy. “You,” Eddie grins.

When Eddie leans in again, Buck watches his brown eyes melt until his own flutter closed. Without the masks in the way, the kiss burns Buck to his core, warmth spreading through him like hot chocolate. Eddie’s in his veins.

It takes them ten minutes longer than it should to get home, because Buck keeps kissing Eddie senseless at the red lights.

🎭 • 🎭 • 🎭

Carla greets Eddie with a hug and Buck with a kiss on the cheek.

“Come by more often,” she insists, and Buck grins.

“I think I will,” he tells her.

“You two stayed out of trouble?” She asks Eddie on her way out.

“Don't we always?” He replies, innocent as ever. She laughs all the way down the driveway.

Eddie kisses Buck once more, chaste, just to see him turn pink. He laces their fingers together and pulls him towards Chris's room.

When Chris says to come in, he's already in bed, lights dimmed and Percy Jackson book hastily pushed under his pillow.

“Better not be reading ahead without me,” Buck says, kissing his forehead and pulling the book away.

“Hey, Buck,” Chris smiles. He doesn't look surprised to see Buck, but then again, why would he? “I was rereading, I swear.”

“Uh huh.”

“Did you win something cool, Dad?”

Eddie laughs, kneeling next to Buck. “Sure did, bud.”

“Good,” Chris yawns. “Tell me tomorrow.”

“I will.”

“Night, Dad. Night, Buck,” Chris manages, and then he's out like a light.

Eddie steps out and closes the door behind them. Buck starts for the couch, but Eddie grabs his hand.

“Come on,” Eddie insists. He pulls them into his bedroom, Buck trailing behind.

Eddie stops in his tracks. “Shit, wait,” he says, and Buck freezes.

Eddie reaches into Buck’s jacket pocket and pulls out their two masquerade masks. “Okay, all set,” he smiles brightly.

“Oh my god,” Buck pushes him into the bedroom, muffling his laughter in the nape of Eddie’s neck. He kisses the giggles and half-baked defenses out of Eddie’s mouth - and then he spends the rest of the night figuring out what else he can elicit from Eddie.

[myficprompts]

there’s probably already a fic like this but i need 15 where they’re at the conservatory ball and lady danbury is looking for where anthony ran off to so she can introduce him to the sharma family and she spots him through the window in the ballroom and whoops who’s that he’s speaking to?

anyway she goes outside and hears his “so you find my smiling pleasing?” comment and right when kate goes to leave, lady danbury comes around the bend of the bush and is like “well miss sharma, i see you’ve made your own introduction to lord bridgerton”

let the chaos ensue in which kate does all to discourage his pursuit of edwina while lady danbury does all to push him and kate together instead and it’s like a three way battle of wills lol

part of me wants to be like ‘lady danbury forces them to get married because of them being alone at the conservatory ball’ but i think she’d give anthony a few warning shots with her cane in reality and a lecture about propriety with a warning that the next time is marriage

[sysig]

Growing closer than expected (Patreon)

[greenerteacups]

Hi! I am an ardent fan of your writing, and I hope to be as sorted and planned as you some day in my own writing journey.

My question is: you have a keen eye when it comes to planning character personality, dynamics, and such. I've also been wading through your ask replies, and your insights into how you write people and how you make them play off of each other is so wonderful to read. If it's not too personal a q, how did you learn how to write like this? Did you go to school for writing, does it come from years of observing people, do you have reading list recs for "how to write real people and real interactions"?

Thanks! This is a really flattering question. I'll try to answer it honestly, because I wish someone had been brutally honest about this with me when I was a young writer.

I didn't go to school for writing. I started doing it when I was about nine years old. It sucked very badly. I kept writing throughout high school, and it still mostly sucked, but some of it was occasionally interesting. ("Interesting" here does not mean "good," by the way.) I took a break in college, and then came back. I've been writing ever since. Sometimes, I feel good about it. A lot of the time, I don't!

I hate giving this advice, because I remember how it feels to get it, and it's the most uninspiring, boring-ass, dog shit advice you can get, but it's also the only advice that is 100% unequivocally true: you have to write, and specifically, you have to write things that suck.

I do not mean that you should make things that suck on purpose. I mean that you have to sit down and try your absolute hardest to make something good. You have to put in the hours, the elbow grease, the blood, sweat, and tears, and then you have to read it over and accept that it just totally sucks. There is no way around this, and you should be wary of people who tell you there is. There is no trick, no rule, no book you can buy or article you can read, that will make your writing not suck. The best someone else can do is tell you what good writing looks like, and chances are, you knew that anyway — after all, you love to read. You wouldn't be trying to do this if you didn't. And anyone who says they can teach you to write so good it doesn't suck at first is either lying to you, or they have forgotten how they learned to write in the first place.

So the trick is to sit there in the miserable doldrums of Suck, write a ton, and learn to like it. Because this is the phase of your path as an artist when you find what it is you love about writing, and it cannot be the chance to make "good writing." This will be the thing that bears you through and compels you to keep going when your writing is shit, i.e., the very thing that makes you a writer in the first place. So find that, and you've got a good start.

Some people know this, but assume that perseverance as a writer is about trying to get to the point where you don't suck anymore. This is not true, and it is an actively dangerous lie to tell young writers. You are not aiming to feel like your writing doesn't suck. You are aiming to write. You are aiming to have written. Everything else is dust and rust. And of course, you'll find things you like about your pieces, you'll find things you're proud of, you'll learn to love the things you've made. But that little itch of self-criticism, in the back of your brain — the one that cringes when you read a clunky line, or thinks of a better character beat right after it's far too late to change — that's never going away. That's the Writer part of you. Read Kafka, read Dickens, read Tolstoy, you will find diary entries where they lament how absolutely fucking atrocious their writing was, and how angry they are that they can't do better. A good writer hates their sentences because they can always imagine better ones. And the ability to imagine a better sentence is what's going to make you pick up the pen again tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that.

Which is what I mean, and probably what all those other annoying, preachy advice-givers mean, when we say: a good writer is just someone who writes every day. It's that easy, and that hard.

[theautistichalflinghole]

CRINGETOBER PROMPT 1: heterocromia

Is the focus of this art on her eyes at all? No. But I could pick no one else besides the archon of cringe fused with the biggest girl fail in headspace for this prompt

Ref and prompt list below the cut

[justarandombrit]

Uhhhhhhhh I have an entire Google doc of Startinwrecked shipfics based on prompts that I haven't uploaded anywhere. I don't actually know if anyone wants to read them so. Poll!

Extra info in tags!

[s0domizer]

please someone give me mgs prompts to draw .. im trying to finish my sketchbook quickly :( (featuring the sketchbook in question and a cute lil spread i did today)

[mono-socke]

hi everyone, yet another riverway edit bc i was bored

you'll get art soon again (hopefully)

[hailsatanacab]

Wip Wednesday babeeyy

eyy I've finally remembered that wip wednesday exists!! here's some proof that i'm working on something, and that something is the follower milestone gift i said i was going to do and i promise i'm doing it! i'm doing it it's happening i promise! so here's a little taster!!!! and here's Part One if you want a refresher!

And then the kid just vanishes.

In the blink of an eye, in the time it takes for him to look down, screw his face up because this is all confusing as fuck, and look back up, he’s just gone. There’s nowhere to hide, there’s nowhere to go, Jason can see everywhere around him—but he can’t see Danny.

“Well… shit."

“What, what happened?” Dickybird hisses in his ear, the unsaid, exasperated “now” very clear in his voice. 

As much as he loathes to admit it, Jason is feeling very much the same way right now. What was meant to be a simple case of “investigate the potential child abuse and put an end to it” has instead become something… less simple. When is it ever simple in his life?

Still. If working with supers, metas, vigilantes, whatever, has taught Jason anything, it’s that just because you can’t see someone doesn’t mean they’re not there.

“Hey, kid… Danny. Listen, I’m not here to hurt you and if you’re still here, if you can still hear me, then, I don’t know, do you want to get a bite to eat or something? I just want to talk. I just want to figure out what’s happening.”

Jason doesn’t hold his breath. 

Okay, no, that’s a lie. Jason holds his breath, but he swears he’s holding it so he can more accurately hear if Danny is still around. That’s all it is, he’s not attached to this kid already. He’s not.

When no answer comes—not even a whisper of a breath or the scuff of a sneaker on the pavement—he suppresses a frustrated growl and opts instead to breathe deeply and pinch the bridge of his nose.

“So…” Tim begins, drawing out the word.

The urge to growl—hell, the urge to pull out his comms and smash them on the floor���grows.

“The kid’s a meta, then. Potential powers including but not limited to: invisibility or teleportation. You think he’s still there?” There’s no reason for the kid to still be around, not at all. If it was Jason, he’d have scattered as soon as he realised the stranger impersonating his dad wasn’t the guy he thought was impersonating his dad, and honestly, wasn’t that extra fucked up? That someone impersonates people in this town often enough that it’s not a surprise? The way Danny spoke about him… What was his name?

Amorpho. Amorphous. Without shape. 

A shapeshifter?

Whatever. It’s a mystery for another time, because there’s still a more pressing mystery in front of him.

Or,. rather, not in front of him.

Yes, there’s no reason for Danny to still be here, but…

Jason sighs. 

“I’m going to Bat—Nasty Burger. Really? Is that the best burger joint here? Nasty Burger? Whatever, I’m going to get some fucking fries.”

Jason feels fucking stupid talking the air like this. He must look fucking stupid, too, but the thing is… There’s a prickling on the back of his neck, a rolling taste of green on his tongue when he glances through his peripheral, the vague weight of an unseen eyes on him. 

Call it wishful thinking, call it a hunch, call it something else, but Danny’s still here.

“There’ll be a burger waiting for you, too, if you want it. My treat.” Jason turns in a full circle, examining everything in his surroundings. Nothing seems out of place, nothing screams wrong to him. “I just want to talk.”

He waits for a full minute with no success, which makes Jason feel even more stupid, before clicking his tongue and making his way to the, hopefully ironically named, Nasty Burger.

[vinnigami]

for ryoji prompts, mayhaps ryoji with a pokemon of your choice...? 🥺💛 have a very nice mochizuki monday!!! ✨

HAPPY MOCHIZUKI MONDAY!!!