#guess I have a lot more wips than I thought

[beastsovrevelation]

Our love is made of teeth, and it will rip us to shreds

[bmpmp3]

the patient needs to finish her wips. NO finishing her wips will kill the patient. she needs to start more SVPs to live

[pheedraws]

girl help she's having blorbo thoughts again

[cvnntagious]

♱ ⋮ 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐛𝐨𝐲!𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⸝⸝

all my fratboy!chris blurbs, fics, and wips : here

fuckboy!matt ver. here

⇢ SFW

✱ fratboy!chris who, of course, met you at a party his fraternity threw and instantly decided you were comin' up to his room at some point, even if it wasn't gonna happen that night

" y'look good "

" me? "

" yeah, you— wa's y'name? "

✱ fratboy!chris who's known all too well by girls at boston university, though, despite contrary belief, he doesn't actually entertain most of them... guess you got lucky?

✱ fratboy!chris who's BU's resident dealer, known by every fiend on campus and more

✱ fratboy!chris who doesn't fuck with relationship labels whatsoever

✱ fratboy!chris who doesn't mess with anyone else, and doesn't want you to either, even though you guys aren't really 'dating'

✱ fratboy!chris who has no problem letting everyone know you're his with pride

✱ fratboy!chris who would rather focus on his lacrosse career than "some shitty college romances", or at least that's how he explains it to you

" and why are you telling me this? "

" jus' thought y'should know... i'on want you gettin' any funny ideas about what we got goin' on here "

✱ fratboy!chris who avoids any conversations about the future, or anything that requires him to even think about committing

✱ fratboy!chris who constantly needs you with him, whether he's just lounging around, at practice/games, or out making moves. ironic, isn't it?

✱ fratboy!chris who doesn't call you anything but mama, not even ma, no matter the occasion

" y'see how crazy you're bein' right now? mama, m'jus sittin' here, see? can't stand when y'do allat whinin' shit "

" don't call me mama right now, chris, i'm done with all your fake nonchalant ass games "

✱ fratboy!chris who, even with being admired for his outgoing and charming personality, has such a rotten temper, especially when things don't go his way

✱ fratboy!chris who always says what's on his mind - to you, his friends, random people, anyone - even if it's completely unnecessary

✱ fratboy!chris who absolutely relishes in the respect he has from not only his peers, but the staff as well. humble's simply not a word in his world

⇢ NSFW

✱ fratboy!chris who's big and knows how to use it

✱ fratboy!chris who favors doggy, but can also get down with some rough missionary

" nah, s'okay mama... we'll switch it up tonight, don't worry "

✱ fratboy!chris who likes giving, but loves receiving. the image of your lips wrapped around his length is what helps him to sleep at night

✱ fratboy!chris who's a huge hair puller and thigh slapper (as well as occasional cheek squeezer)

✱ fratboy!chris who will take any opportunity he possibly can to either roll up or puff his joints while you use him

✱ fratboy!chris who makes sure to leave marks. usually where only you two can see, but if he feels like a guy's paying too much attention to you, he'll mark you on your neck or something for him to see

" chris, it's so obvious. how am i even gonna cover this up? "

" don't cover it. i'd like to see m'try an' get in your pants again when he sees allat "

" he literally asked for the material in our class..? "

✱ fratboy!chris who's almost always down for trying something new, but isn't usually one to suggest it

✱ fratboy!chris who loves when you praise him, even if it's unintentional. simple things like "so big," or "so good," really get him going

" yeah, s'good? y'wan more of that good shit? "

✱ fratboy!chris who, to no surprise, is horrible at aftercare.

a/n : i fear this took a lot longer than i thought it would to make... but i'll be making at least one of these for each of my au's since a) i'm unmotivated/don't have time to actually write, and b) want to develop the characters (and some of their pairings) further

-love, grandma cvnty ☆!

[evilyodastwistedworldofevilness]

So you guys ever heard of Will Wood? Yeah me neither.

It was a whole new sound and now it's in Lego form! I finally made another Lego Will Wood set after a year and 5 days! This probably took like a few weeks to make however i am a professional procrastinator so whoops!

More photos and a whole lot of text under the funny line!

Wow look at those guys go! I had a lot of fun designing this though unfortunately i don't really think this set could exist in the real world without some real major changes like most of these parts just straight up exist (no brick modified 1x2 with masonry profile in very light gray!?! what ever shall we do!?) however Studio 2.0 does a button that converts most of the non-existent pieces into real pieces

and it allows you to see how much the set would cost and let me tell you this thing would cost a pretty penny at $1095 dollars and 74 cents. Yowzers that's def a lot of money. My guess is that the minifigures are mostly responsible the huge price. (41 dollars for some olive green pants with black boots!?) Also the fact this set is made up with about 2987 pieces. That also might be partly why.

Anyway here's some more stuff

You can see the top two images as tiny photos in the Better than the Alternative room. Originally the third image would also be included but I thought that one brick with the screaming old man was really funny so Normal Will got left behind. Originally the therapy scene from the Love Me Normally music video would've been part of the main build but I couldn't really find a good spot to put it in so it was scrapped.

i dont remember why Memento Mori Will is sideways. I know it was an intentional choice.

I could only find one version of the night mic logo so I decided to recreate it but really quickly i decided to put my own spin on it instead of trying to make an accurate version. Since it's Lego and stuff I tried censoring it a bit but y'know uhhhh

yeah

I also had the idea to include the documentary crew from the Real Will Wood movie but I had the idea like realllyyyy late so I didn't really have a spot for them so I just opted to include Chris Dunne on the Love me normally section

actually typing this out i probably could've included them in like the hallway on the first floor but oh well

okay heres the characters okay im too lazy to write anymore ok buh byeeee

next post will have some wip photos n stufffffff ok weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

[stevieschrodinger]

So what if like the thing that makes Alpha and Omega pairs, true mates or whatever, is like a detectable thing that they can test for. And like, everyone has their little blood test at birth and then on say, their 18th birthday, the Alpha gets informed as to who their omega is.

Obviously it's a bit of a sexist deal and lots of Omega and their supporters are trying to get it changed so that both parties are informed, to make it fair, and that is getting some traction but right now, the Alpha gets told and the Omega has to wait for them to show up.

Except when Eddie, fucking excited as all hell to meet his Omega finally, opens his envelope to find Steve Harrington's name starring back at him and Eddie just. He just can't. Steve's one of the biggest bitches at Hawkins high. And even if Eddie can, sort of, get past that, Steve's a snob. He lives in a fucking mansion and has a nice car and preppy clothes and yeah...Eddie is going to get rejected stone cold and that would be fair because he doesn't have a single thing to offer and Omega like Harrington.

Eddie burns the envelope.

And yeah, he can't help but watch Steve a little more now that he like, Knows, but he does his best to put it behind him.

And Steve gets into a fight with Nancy wheelers new Omega, when Nancy gets her envelope, and it's not Steve's name inside and it looks like Jonathan came out on top and Steve...well, he looks beaten and sad and that nearly makes Eddie cave but...no. no.

Right up until he has Steve under his hands, pinned to a boathouse wall with a bottle to his throat and Eddie's been thinking of Steve has his Omega for so long it just kind of slips out. Eddie whispers it, 'Omega' and the bottle drops to the floor and shatters more.

And Eddie has to watch it play out from close range on Steve's face, dawning realisation. Deep hurt. And then anger. An angry shield that comes down as he pushes Eddie off.

"Dustin explain to Munson what's up, I'll be outside a minute.". And Steve just stomps out and there's fuck all Eddie can do about it.

And then he kinda gets distracted by hell dimension stuff. For a bit. And Steve's clearly fucking angry with him and Eddie, well, what the fuck is Steve expecting Eddie to do, right? Steve would never have wanted him in the first place. So Eddie is fucking angry. And it comes out spiteful, calling Steve 'big boy' like he knows it'll rile Steve up. Throwing his jacket at Steve so he will cover up, because he can't bare to look at all the skin Steve is showing, especially with fucking Wheeler hanging around. And if it got something of Eddie's on Steve, well then, it doesn't fucking matter does it? Doesn't mean anything.

And it's not until it's all done, and Eddie wakes up fucking high as a kite on pain meds, with non other than Harrington sitting by his bedside that it all slips out, "what are you doing here?"

Steve shrugs, won't look at him, "waiting to see if my Alpha dies, I guess."

And he just sounds so...bereft. so broken.

"Steve, I just...look-"

"Doesn't matter. You've made it clear. It's fine. And you're going to live I guess so I'll just-" and he's standing, turning to leave.

And Eddie knows Steve now. Sees him with the sheep. Knows he isn't a bitch. Knows he's just...a good guy. Knows he isn't any of the things Eddie thought he was.

"You grew up in a fucking castle." Steve pauses, sitting back in the chair to frown at Eddie.

"What has that go to do with-"

Eddie clears his throat, it's dry and scratchy and hurts but he has to do this. "You grew up in a castle. Nice car. Both parents. Preppy clothes, fucking, shitty fucking jock friends. Steve, you would have rejected me in a heartbeat. I live in a fucking trailer and sling drugs on the side I'm not- I couldn't do that to you."

And Steve just, he just starts crying. He nods, wipes his eyes, "I might have," he admits finally, "I don't know what I would have said...but I needed you. Since then I needed you so much and," he sniffles, wipes his pink nose .

"And I didn't know. I couldn't have and I am so sorry but could we just, now, can we just-" and it hurts like fuck but Eddie bites it down because Steve is half clambered into the bed next to him and yeah. Yeah, that's perfect.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Meet the Family 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your boss needs a last-minute favour for the holidays.(petite!reader)

Characters: Lloyd Hansen

Note: I'm feeling very Little Lies about this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

"So this is the reason you missed Thanksgiving," a butter knife jabs in your direction as you poke at the white turkey meat; this? You look up then at Lloyd as he nearly chokes. 

"Uh, yeah," he coughs behind his fist and swallows, "we were out of the country..." 

"Yes, why would you bother to stay. No use in seeing your mother at the holidays, or the rest of your family," she reproaches. 

"Mom," he groans. 

"For ten years," William adds from his wife's side. "Now you show your face and you look as if you're eating rotten apples." 

"No," Lloyd argues. "It's just... I'm busy and I don't get a lot of time away from work." 

"We all have obligations," Gwenyth argues. 

"Well, I took her away so I could propose," he explains as he presses his fork into the whipped potatoes. "And it worked out perfect, right? Cause now I can bring her to meet everyone." 

Gwenyth hums flatly, "I suppose." She clicks her tongue and takes a healthy gulp of wine. 

"So, Pixie," Lillian drawls from further down, "what do you do for work? Oh let me guess. A librarian?" 

You don't let the suggestion bother you. You don't see it as an insult even if she says it like one. You shake your head. 

"No, I--" you begin and Lloyd stomps your foot so you bite down on your voice.  

"She is a corporate consultant. International corporation," he explains.  

"Oh, wow, sounds busy," Gwenyth remarks. 

"Yes, how will you have time for children?" Lillian challenges. 

"I'm sure they'll find time to make them," Benson chortles over his snifter.  

"Ben, please," William rebukes. 

"We're focusing on the wedding before all that," Lloyd says. 

You peer around as you chew your cheeks in frustration. You're annoyed by how they speak of you as if you're not even there, and so intimately. Yet, you don't have much to say for yourself. This whole facade is tiresome and you really don't care what they think about a made-up job. Or marriage, for that matter. 

"That will be done with quickly," Gwenyth sniffs. "And she will need to quit that job if she wants to do her duty as your wife." 

"I can handle a job and a husband," you blurt out. 

The table quiets as if stunned that you can speak. You blink and Lloyd puts his fork down and touches your arm, "sweet pea--" 

"I highly doubt you'd be marrying him for any other reason than that nest egg promised to him," Lillian scoffs. "You don't need to play a saint with us, darling. Marriage is a transaction in more ways than one; affection, money, sex--" 

"Lilly," William warns and she laughs. 

"Well?" She shrugs. "You do know, the wedding only guarantees a twenty percent payout. He needs an heir to get all of it." She pets her stomach smugly and smiles. "I can assure you it's well worth it. Once you meet Lorelai, you'll see." 

"Oh? Maybe when you meet her, you'll consider being a mother too," Lloyd retorts. 

"Excuse me?" Lillian snarls. "I love my daughter." 

"Of course you so," he sneers. "I'm sure she feels all that love right now as she enjoys her turkey and carrots with the nanny." 

"I can't have her around adults and alcohol. You can't possibly understand," she snaps. "And maybe it's better that you never do. I could never imagine you as a father, especially when you are such a child." 

"Takes one to know one," Lloyd growls. 

"Enough," William barks. "Both of you." 

Ransom laughs loudly at the end of the table. Lloyd shifts and Lillian rolls her eyes. You sigh at your plate. You miss your family. For the first time in years, you truly miss them. 

"What the hell are you laughing at, Hugh? The only reason you're here is because your grandpappy exiled you." 

Linda gasps, "He's not exiled--" 

"Oh, right, of course not, Lin, that's why you're here breaking bread with the peasants. That's what you called us at great grandmother's wake--" 

"Lloyd, watch your mouth," William snarls. "Better yet, shut it." 

Lloyd recoils in his chair and stiffens. His features sharpen then he lowers his chin and picks up his fork. His jaw is stone as he stirs the gravy into his potatoes. You wouldn't call him humbled, more whipped like a dog. These people make you feel something for him you never thought you could; sympathy. 

"I don't care about money that much," you say. "It can't buy respect. Besides, I would never marry a man without a prenup. Whatever Lloyd has will remain his." You push your shoulders back as a yawn tickles in your throat. "At this point, he can keep you lot as well." 

You stand up and take the cloth napkin from your lap. You fold it neatly, "Gwenyth, you can tell whoever cooked dinner that it was delicious. I appreciate you all having me but I'm going to go find a hotel and some peace." You step around the chair and push it into the table, "happy holidays." 

You turn, your insides jittering. What are you doing? Where did that come from? You could say you're tired and not thinking straight, but honestly, you're just so repulsed by these people that your head could explode. They're lucky they only got a a few pieces of shrapnel. 

You march out without looking back. Your cheeks tinge hotly with self-awareness. You've messed it all up. After years of harnessing your emotions under Hansen's thumb, you finally snapped. You blew it all. 

"What she said," another chair scrapes as Lloyd speaks. "Mom, dad, good night." 

You enter the hall and head for the entry way. You hear him beside you. You're still foggy with disbelief. It isn't until you sit to put on your boots that you notice Lloyd. 

"I know, I'm done. Fired." You pull on your leather booties. "I'll take the severance and figure it out." 

"I didn't say so," he says as he grabs a coat from the closet. 

"Um..." 

"You're completely right. We can't stay here. They're all a bunch of pricks and they wonder why I didn't come home for ten years," he pulls on his coat as he speaks. He pushes back his hair then smooths his mustache. "We're better off at the hotel. We'll sleep better there--" 

"We? Lloyd, please. Stay with your family. I need space," you stand and reach past him for your jacket. "Besides, I booked a single queen and it's Christmas Eve." 

"Queen's big enough. You're tiny--" 

"Okay, no, no," you hiss. "It's not happening. Stay--" 

"But I don't want to," he whines. 

"Mr. Hansen," you say. "You're out of your mind." 

"Well, after your blow up, I don't think I'm welcome," he puts his hand on his hip. "So this is your last chance to save your job. You made the mess, you clean it up." 

"Me?" You exclaim. 

He hushes you and step closer, "Pix, you already made a scene, let's not do the encore. I'm gonna grab my bags, alright?" 

"You can't be serious." You say. 

"Hey, I gotta play the loyal husband--" 

"And why exactly is that necessary? Why couldn't you get one of those Tinder girls?" 

"Woah, woah, come on, someone will hear you," he covers your mouth with his hand and you turn your face away with a blech. "Go warm up the car. We'll talk on the ride to the hotel." 

You stare at him. He watches you, as uncertain as you've ever seen him. In the silence, you can hear the din in the other room. 

"Always was such a baby," Lillian laughs venomously. 

"He could've chosen someone without an iron spine," Gwenyth adds. 

You grimace and throw your hands up, "fine, get your things." 

"You're the best," he grabs your shoulders but before he can kiss you, you put your hand up to pinch his nose. He recoils and rubs the tip, "ow." 

"No more of that," you say as you pull your keys out of your pocket. "Thank god I only had one glass of wine." 

You stomp out the front door. The frigid winter air hits you like a bus. Once one even ground, the swirling snow flecks onto your shoulders and hair. Great, now you get to drive in the snow with an unwanted passenger. 

You get in the driver seat and push the ignition. You turn on the heater and the heated seats. At least Hansen pays enough for the add-ons. Still, you’re not sure there’s any compensation equal to what you just went through. 

You look over as the front door opens and closes. Lloyd rolls a giant suitcase with him, another smaller bag strapped on top, and a third in his other hand. You don’t move as you watch him descend the steps, easing the wheels over the edge one-by-one. 

He comes down the long walk and jerks as his loafers slip on the icy pavement. It would be funny if you weren’t so damn exhausted. You steadies himself and continues on. You should get out and help him. You don’t. 

You pop the trunk with the button. He loads in his bags as you check the rear view. He comes around the passenger side and pulls the door open. He lets out an obnoxious ‘brrrr’ as he drops into the seat next to you. You shift gears as he shuts the door. 

“Ugh, I feel so much better getting out of there,” he says as he adjusts the seat, making room for his long legs. 

“Why?” 

“Um, why not? My family is the worst--” 

“No, why did you drag me into this?” You ask as you lean into the wheel and squint over it. The dark, the snow, the unplowed roads, it’s like the universe can’t stop throwing you obstacles. 

“You want the real answer or the nice answer?” He replies. 

“Mr. Hansen,” you growl. 

“Right, I had no other choice.” 

“No other choice?” You repeat. 

“Look, those long-legged beauties back home, they’re fun, but they don’t got much else going on. I needed someone who could play along,” he explains. 

“Play along?” 

“Yeah, I mean, you’re smart so--” 

“I’m smart...” 

“I wouldn’t hire you if you weren’t--” 

“Jeez, wow, Mr. Hansen, thank you so much. You think I’m so smart, so you should know I’m smart enough to know better than to believe you. You think I’m desperate,” you turn slowly onto the next street. “You think I have nothing else going on.” 

“No, that’s not--” he shifts in his seat. 

“It’s exactly what you think,” you huff. “Well, I do. I have a flight in...” you pause and check the time on the dash, “five hours so when we get to the hotel, I’m going to sleep and you’re going to let me. Then I’m going to catch my flight and the curtain can be pulled on this whole theatre.” 

“Your words, not mine. I don’t think you’re desperate.” 

You don’t respond. You’re tired. He just can’t leave things alone. He always has to say something. You wonder if he was truly left to his own thoughts, if his head would combust. 

“I’m actually impressed,” you says, “you held your own.” 

“Sir,” you utter. 

“It was good. Entertaining. I mean, all these years, you never once talked back to me but wow, that was... majestic, really. You didn’t even wait to see my mother’s face. Or my sister’s.” 

“Your family is weird,” you blurt out. “Sorry, uh, I didn’t mean--” 

“I mean, yeah, we probably are but I don’t really have anything to compare it to,” he says. 

You nod. He has a point. Yet, while that horde of entitled brats might explain his personality, it can’t excuse it. 

The hotel’s marquee shines like a beacon as you steer into the lot. You yawn and shut off the engine. You let yourself out and drag your feet around to the trunk. You take out your carry-on as Lloyd hovers at the other side. 

“All of your stuff, out,” you say. “I’m going straight to the airport in the morning. Checkout is ten so as long your gone by then, I don’t care what you do.” 

He’s quiet but he obeys. He takes his bags out and sets them on the ground. He pulls the rolling bag and slings his smallest bag on his shoulder. You snap the trunk shut and turn, shuffling across the icy tarmac. 

You enter through the automatic doors and cross the desolate lobby. You check in with your ID but as you look for your credit card, Lloyd flicks his between his fingers and offers it up to the clerk. 

“It’s on me,” he insists. 

You won’t argue. You really don’t trust him to leave by checkout. As you head for the elevators, he takes a deep breath. He doesn’t speak until you’re behind the sliding doors of the compartment. 

“You know, I’m still your boss so you can’t just order me around,” he says. 

You glance over at him. “Right, won’t happen again, sir.” 

“It could have been worse, you know? I could’ve actually had you come all the way out here just to drop off some gifts. If you think about it, you got a free dinner and some wine--” 

“Yeah, it was a great time,” you say dryly. “Mr. Hansen, I’m too tired to lie any more. Tonight was one of the worst nights of my life so no, I don’t think it could be worse.” 

The doors open and you stride out. You swipe the card at the door corresponding to the number written in the folio and let yourself in. He follows closely, nearly running over your heels with his suitcase. 

You take your bag to the bed and take out the cotton pajamas stuffed inside just for tonight. You bring them with you into the bedroom, doing your best to ignore your guest. Lloyd wanders along the wall and finds his way to the mini fridge. 

You’re in no rush to change, only to get to bed. You trade your dress and stockings for the cotton two-piece and emerge. You shove your bag and clothes beside the night table and slide under the blankets. You pull them up to your shoulders. 

“They got wine, tequila, beer--” 

“I’m going to sleep,” you insist. 

“The alcohol will help.” 

“No, it will make waking up even harder.” 

“After tonight, I think you need a shot.” 

“Mr. Hansen,” you grumble and cover your head. 

“Fine, more for me.” He snickers. 

You’re happy he can’t see the irritation on your face. You might just be better off to let him drink whatever. Eventually, he’ll have to pass out. At least, you can only hope he does. 

[allastoredeer]

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ WIP WEDNESDAY ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

There was something…off about Lucifer.

Something that wasn’t adding up.

Alastor watched him from a distance. At first it was to get a better read of him, and how long he intended to stay, but the as the days ticked on, an unsettling feeling of wrongness grew in the pit of Alastor's stomach.

It’s the mixer that set off the first alarm.

Lucifer followed through with his promise to get Charlie a meeting with Heaven—now scheduled a few days from then—and he and Charlie were in the kitchen cooking up a celebratory meal.

Alastor hid in the shadows, watching the two bubbling personalities with growing boredom.

“Oh, wow, it’s been a while since I’ve been in here,” Lucifer said, wandering around the kitchen as Charlie pulled appliances out of cupboards and ingredients out of the pantry.

“Yeah, Vaggie and I rearranged a lot of the hotel. To make it new and refreshing, you know?”

Lucifer nodded, as if he understood exactly what she meant. “Well, you’ll have to show me where everything is, I guess,” he laughed, opening a few cupboards. “Because I have no idea where that blasted mixer is. I could’ve sworn it was in here.”

“I’ll grab it, let me just—oh, hold on,” she pulled her phone from her back pocket as it started ringing. “It’s Vaggie. She’s out running errands. Do you mind if I?” She gestured to the door.

“Oh, go right ahead. I’ll get everything ready in here.”

“Thanks, dad.”

She left and Alastor was prepared to follow her example, as there was hardly anything worth watching in the kitchen, but paused when Lucifer let out a deep, happy sigh and turned, walked to a cupboard across the room, and pulled out the mixer.

Alastor frowned.

But it could’ve just been a lucky guessed, he reasoned as Lucifer plugged the appliance into the wall, humming a jaunty circus tune to himself. But then Lucifer opened a drawer close by, grabbed a wire whisk, then hopped a few shelves over for a mixing bowl. The squirm in Alastor’s gut tightened.

For someone who hadn’t been there in centuries, he sure knew his way around.

Still, that wasn’t too strange. Lucifer was an immortal being. A few centuries was probably little more than a week for him. Who could say how his memory matched?

Except…

Didn’t Charlie say she and Vaggie rearranged everything?

His magic, Alastor decided. Divine powers of an angel, and all of that. Surely that would cover finding basic kitchenware.

But even that explanation felt a bit…off.

Something about it wasn’t right.

It was Lucifer’s confidence. The way he strode from cupboard to cupboard without a lick of hesitation or a hint of doubt. No fumbling, no second guessing, no pulling out the wrong drawer, even on accident.

Still hidden, Alastor inched closer, to get a better look.

That’s when Lucifer turned his head and looked at him.

For a split-second, when those red slitted eyes met his, Alastor thought he’d accidentally stepped out of the shadows, because all of the sudden, Lucifer's smile was gone, his humming dropped, and the cadence around him became tangibly colder. Alastor checked himself but, no, he was still hidden. Still covered in shadows in the corner of the kitchen, where the lights weren’t far enough to give away his hiding spot.

But Lucifer didn’t look away. He wasn’t moving. Wasn’t blinking. It didn’t even look like he was breathing.

There weren’t many things in Hell that unsettled Alastor anymore. He’d encountered demons without eyelids, ones who seemed to disappeared when they stopped moving, plenty who didn’t need to breath or eat for days on end.

Lucifer was hardly the strangest, or scariest, thing he’s seen, and yet…

He slowly cocked his head and took a step around the counter. Alastor’s heart jumped. Lucifer still hadn't broken eye contact. He walked slowly, not like he was scared or nervous, but careful and quiet, like a predator stalking through bushes. Trying not to startle its victim.

Alastor figured he may as well step out of the shadows, seeing how his presence was obviously known. Or he could simply leave. Just meld into the darkness and return to the parlor to see if anything interesting was going on at the bar.

But he couldn’t, for the life of him, move.

His body refused to. His lungs held his breath captive in his chest. His heart thumped harder with growing unease.

Deep in the recesses of his mind, a small, intrinsic voice told him to stay still. To keep eye contact. So certain that if the moved, if he took his eyes off of Lucifer for one second, he wouldn’t be fast enough to see him a second time. Before it was too late.

The closer he got, the louder that voice became, until Alastor didn’t feel like he was controlling the shadows so much as the shadows were holding him in place. He was trapped, completely and utterly, and he could. Not. Look. Away.

Lucifer was only a few feet away when the doors flung open and Charlie bounded inside, hauling a load of groceries with Vaggie close behind. His change was immediate.

The air warmed, his dark demeanor disappeared and a wide, happy smile lit up his face. He whirled around. “Char-Char, welcome back! I think I found just about everything.”

“Oh, wow, you did,” Charlie said, looking over the counter. “It wasn’t too much of a hassle, was it?”

“Ah, not at all, kiddo. I found may way around. Ready to get started?”

“Yes! Here, Vaggie got the rest of the things we needed.”

Lucifer walked to her with a pep in his step, but as he rounded the counter, he looked at Alastor again, face impassive and cold, and suddenly Alastor was being thrust away. He stumbled out of the shadows on the third floor, knocking into a hall table that nearly took him off his feet. He clutched it, barely keeping himself from hitting the floor.

He stared at the wall, stunned.

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

I've mentioned that I've wanted to write a dark!Lucifer fic and I got an Anon a while back asking how I would go about writing that.

Well, here's a little piece.

[andhumanslovedstories]

chapter eleven of what feels like the most soap opera ass fic I've ever written and then just a bunch of thoughts about writing it, which contains vague spoilers for my plans:

The inception of the fic basically went like this:

haha lol i'd be fun if sqq got real mad at the state of education

what would need to happen in this fic that doesn't happen in canon to motivate him to do something about it

oh shit he didn't unlock OOC so he has to figure out how to be his coddling indulgent self (which he's in denial about) while also being shen jiu

But the thing that really made the story get so much bigger in scope was when I was reading a fic with yqy coming clean to sj, and sj being like, "GASP. I forgive you." And I was "I simply do not believe that this is how it would happen." And I would have moved on with my life, but then I thought, "but like how would it happen." And more importantly, how could this conversation happen within the canon timeline but still involve Shen Jiu, the person this information affects.

The OOC idea and the need for Shen Jiu to be present in this fight scene came together to be like "what if sqq got sj's memories so he could rules-lawyer his characterization more accurately, and ends up being furious on sj's behalf?"

(This, btw, is why I knew I had to get much fonder of YQY and get a much better understanding of his character. When a pillar of your fic idea is a character getting ripped into for his choices, it is sooooooo easy to for it to come off as the author yelling their personal opinions or for it to be completely flat character bashing. Neither are interesting to read or write! Hence the crash-course in YQY appreciation, so now he gets his own emotional arc too. Everyone gets a goddamn plotline.)

Meanwhile I was also thinking about the implications of downloading another person's life into your head. If you have their memories and their body, are you them? What makes you not them? I didn't know! I sort of just kept writing and posting with the assumption that I'd figure something out, which I've finally nailed down btw. That's a relief! Also kinda the fun of WIPs where you're building the railroad track as you're on the train. I end up fanficing my own fanfic. Once stuff is posted, that's the canon, and I look at it and think, "if this was a book I was reading, what is the way I would extrapolate what's there to make a new but coherent story?"

That's why my outline becomes pretty useless after a while. The big picture doesn't change too much--I know roughly where all the major characters are going to be emotionally by the end of the story--but I discover the path I'm going to take there. Which usually means adding stuff. Liu Qingge wasn't going to get a POV, and now every chapter I'm like "fuck am I building a throuple". Ming Fan will have waaaay more a story line than I originally conceived. Early on, I was like "eh I'm not going to go too far into the brothel stuff," and can you guess what is going to be coming up prominently in the next few chapters? God help me.

Actually, there's only one major part of the outline that I cut: Shang Qinghua. He was originally very prominent early on, but turns out having the literal Word of God in a story about slowly discovering backstory is difficult to reconcile. So sadly, he doesn't get a real role. If you're curious, the original plan for him was that SQQ would realize he's a transmigrator much earlier in the canon, but the System would be like [shen jiu would not tell shang qinghua he is a transmigrator. ooc] which would lead to this series of SQQ trying to figure out how he can communicate around this. SQQ at a peak meeting being like, "do you think these DEMONS are PROUD of having made their WAY to us IMMORTALS?" while SQH is like, "AM I HAVING A STROKE?"

What's some other stuff about this fic? I've got a lot of thoughts bottled up, in part because I'm kinda snobby tbh in how I post. I'm like "*pushes glasses up my nose* the author's takes on the story should not be unavoidably present when reading the text" so I don't like to use ao3's author's notes. It's ridiculous and not a standard I hold anyone else too, but whenever I find myself wanting to address something in the notes, I know I must feel insecure about that part of the story. So either fix it or don't draw attention to it. But this is fine, you have to come here for this. This is DVD commentary.

My favorite part of writing this fic has been balancing Shen Jiu's character. As I'm fleshing out his sad backstory, I've been wary of essentially woobifying him. Reducing him to just someone who greatly suffered is so boring and flat. He NEEDS to suck. Or more accurately, he needs to be a very imperfect victim. Exasperating at his mildest, despicable at his worst. (Truthfully, I do think I can and should make him worse. Luckily this story is nothing but flashbacks to him at his worst so there's plenty of opportunities.)

This whole mental breakdown section has been an interesting balancing act because it's explicitly about how bad Shen Jiu's life was and now how bad Shen Qingqiu's is. It's the point at which I had to decide how torturous his time at the Qiu manor had been (me and Shen Qingqiu really discovered that together). On a scale of 1 to 10 with 10 being the absolute worst saddest brutalist ideas I had for this era in his life, I'd say I settled on about a 7. Most of it is backstage in my head, but once I locked that down, I could start figuring out how much was bleeding through.

Anyway, it's been fun writing the angstfest of the last few chapters, but oh my god am I ready for a tone shift. There's usually jokes in my works, even the saddest bits, but jokes relieve tension which is the opposite of what I was going for. I didn't want any humor in the YQY conversation, then you have to keep not joking for a while to get the point across. There's still a lot of planned emotional shit, but I'm happy to not be wallowing for a while.

AND GOD AS MY WITNESS THIS STORY WILL NOT BE LONGER THAN 20 CHAPTERS. MAYBE IT'LL EVEN BE LESS!! IT IS DEFINITELY NOT GOING TO BE A WHOLE CANON REWRITE. PROBABLY!! IF TIANLANG JUN HAS ANY SIGNIFICANT SCREEN TIME, PLEASE KNOW THAT I HAVE FAILED.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for qwertynerd97 behind the cut; "Billy adopts Conner and it actually goes pretty good!" (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Um,” he says. “I don’t know that one, I think. What was it on?” 

Lynn shrugs. Billy thinks–well, at least Lynn told him about something he liked, so he can at least try to find it, he figures. 

It takes him a slightly embarrassing amount of time to figure out Lynn is talking about literally the “no signal” screen with all the static, but in his defense he totally forgot that was even a thing and also, like, that is definitely not a show or anything. Though also Lynn didn’t actually call it a show, and either way Lynn wouldn’t know it wasn’t a show, probably, so . . . yeah, whoops. 

Billy definitely should’ve figured that one out a couple minutes sooner, but at least he figured it out. He doesn’t get why Lynn wants to watch static, but since most dads have to sit through, like, Barney and Paw Patrol, he figures he’s getting off lucky. He hasn’t watched TV in a while, no, but he definitely remembers how much Paw Patrol sucked. 

Ugh.

Lynn definitely likes the static either way, so it doesn’t really matter as long as he’s happy, Billy figures. Or, um–well, maybe not happy, really, ‘cuz he’s not sure he’s actually seen Lynn all that happy yet, but at least, like, content? Or like . . . mostly content? 

. . . semi-content? 

Billy really, really hopes Lynn at least isn’t unhappy to have gotten stuck with him. Which–like, if he does change his mind about staying, obviously they can figure something else out for him, but Billy just . . . 

He really wants this to work out, and he really wants to take good care of Lynn, and just–like–

He really wants this to work out. He’d just–he’d feel really bad, if he couldn’t take care of Lynn right. That’s all. 

Well–no. It’s a lot more things than just that. 

The three of them eat in front of, uh, “No Signal”, and it tastes–really good, actually. Like–really good. It’s maybe that it’s been a little while since anybody cooked for him, at least kinda, but Billy feels . . . he feels sort of weird about how good it all tastes, and kind of keeps his eyes on his food for most of it. The static isn’t really something he wants to watch anyway, and he doesn’t wanna make Lynn feel like he’s getting stared at or anything. 

It’s really, really good, though. 

“This is so good, Lynn!” he says enthusiastically, beaming over at him, and Lynn–stiffens, briefly, and then stares blankly at him. Billy resists the urge to wince. Okay, uh . . . yeah. Maybe that was a little too much, or too loud or something. “Um–sorry, just–” 

“It’s fine,” Lynn says stiffly, then tenses a little and looks down at his plate. Billy kinda hates that his own kid thinks interrupting him is gonna get him in, like, trouble, but he knows that’s just because Cadmus sucks. So it’s like–it’s something Lynn’s gonna need a minute to learn, probably, but yeah. Just one more thing, he figures. 

“I really like it,” he says, scooping up another bite of the salmon and pretending to be oblivious to Lynn’s reaction to that. He thinks sometimes that’s just better to do with simple stuff, instead of making somebody feel like everybody thinks they’re messing up all the time. “I kinda thought the, um–glaze? I thought the stuff in the glaze sounded kinda weird to put together, honestly, but it’s really good.” 

“. . . it’s balanced,” Lynn says, not lifting his eyes off his plate. His shoulders relax a little bit, though, so Billy thinks he probably did the right thing. Or at least a right thing, since he guesses there’s probably more than one “right” thing to–anyway. Not really the point. 

“‘Balanced���?” he asks curiously. “Like it’s healthier, you mean? Like a balanced diet thing?” 

“Um . . . no,” Lynn says. “It’s–brown sugar is sweet. Mustard’s–sour. Tangy. So it’s not too much of one or the other.” 

“Oh!” Billy realizes in delight. “That’s so smart, Lynn! I wouldn’t’ve even thought about that.” 

“. . .you don’t need to eat,” Lynn says, glancing guardedly at him. Billy shrugs. 

“Yeah, but still,” he says. “I do, like–like to, when I can.” 

“. . . you like to eat?” Lynn asks hesitantly. Billy doesn’t let himself get weird and complicated or think too much about it and just nods. 

“Yeah,” he says. “And this tastes awesome. We should make a copy of the recipe to make again, if you and Tawky like it too.” 

Lynn stares blankly at him while Tawky nods approvingly. 

“You care if I like it,” Lynn says, less like a question and more like a weird, confusing little realization. Billy . . . well. He knows how that feels, so just smiles encouragingly at him. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I mean, you need more food than us anyway, so actually it’s more important that you like it. Also, um, you’re my kid, so I want you to like it more than I wanna like it myself anyway.” 

“. . . why,” Lynn says, which is a question, but doesn’t really sound all that different. They should maybe do a little talking practice when he’s feeling up to it, Billy notes to himself. Like, for intonation and stuff. 

“You’re my kid,” he repeats reasonably. “Plus I already know what foods I like, and you still gotta figure out your favorites and stuff.” 

“‘Favorites’,” Lynn repeats, and then, slower–“Because I’m your kid?”

“Yeah,” Billy agrees. Lynn does not look any less blank, which–right, Lynn really doesn’t know how this stuff works. Or–how it’s supposed to, anyway. “Um, because I’m taking care of you, yeah? Like–people who are taking care of you are supposed to care what you like and what your favorites are and all.” 

Lynn looks blankly at him for another moment, then slants his eyes towards the TV. 

“Is that why you put on No Signal?” he asks.

[letteredlettered]

In an answer to an ask, I was describing a WIP of mine that's about a friend of the protagonist who is completely in the dark about the protagonist's relationship with another friend of theirs. The fic is about the fact that though the friend is very close to the protagonist and thinks deeply about their feelings, they are still not able to see what is going on.

I think the reason I was interested in this fic was I really dislike the tropes like "A/B think they're being sneaky about dating but all their friends know," or "their friends knew A/B were meant for each other before they did" or "their friends try to get A/B together because they know A and B like each other." The fic I wanted to write was sort of the opposite of all of those, where the friend, despite being very close to the protagonist and deeply concerned about his welfare, is wrong about everything.

I think I have a lot of feelings about the tropes I listed, some of which are related to what I think friendship is and should be, others related to what friendship has been for me, all related to how I operate in this world, I think. First of all, most stories that employ those sort of tropes have friends going behind their friend's back and manipulating them. I would hate to find out that a friend manipulated me into some kind of meet-cute or confession instead of just having and open and honest conversation about it.

These stories often also have friends mistrusting their friends and not believing them; the protagonist will say, "I don't like him like that!" or "I don't see how we'd work as a couple!" and instead of taking the protagonist at their word, the friends decide they know the protagonist better than they know themself. And you know what, sometimes your friends do know you better than yourself; it can be very helpful that they do. It can be very helpful when they nudge you in a direction you thought you couldn't go, because you didn't know you could handle it or didn't know you needed it. But in the end, I find it offensive if someone doesn't believe with what I'm saying, if they're not engaging with what I'm thinking, if they're deciding they know better. Because even if they do know better, I still think and feel these things, and I want my feelings to be addressed, not ignored--even if they're wrong sometimes.

Which brings me to how I move through the world. I often feel I move in darkness. I don't know what other people think unless they tell me or make obvious demonstrations. And I feel that way partly because I so often feel misunderstood, because people read my expressions, or my tone, or don't listen carefully to the nuance of my words, and they assume things about me that I don't feel, that don't describe me, that have more to do with them than with me. And then there is so much of me going on under the surface that I don't know how to express in day to day life, things I feel and think about that other people don't guess. Lots of times, other people don't even seem interested.

I've never had people in my life speculate about whom I might be romantically interested in--at least, not to my face, unless they were my wife. I've never been asked if I like someone after middle school. I didn't date for 35 years, and was never asked to my face why, or whether I was interested, or why I wasn't with anyone, except a few times very gently by my mother. When I started dating a woman, no one said anything about me being gay. No one had questions. No one seemed interested in my sexuality or journey to get there.

Throughout my life, I never felt like I have been treated like a person who could have a romance, a person who could have sex, a person who could have a relationship. Was I too ugly? Was I too fat? Was it because I didn't present in a feminine way? Was I too loud? Was I too confident? Was I too intellectual? Was I too weird? Too awkward? Too unlike those around me? Was it because I'd never been with someone? Was it because I didn't talk about wanting it? Was it because I was too content, too happy? Was there something about me that screamed asexual, aromantic, this is someone who will never have a love story?

Around 10 years ago, I was talking to a friend with whom I'd never talked about any of this. We talked about work and our mutual acquaintances, her kids, my theater, and art. But one day she brought up a mutual friend of ours who was in her thirties, wanting to have babies and get married, but was having trouble finding a partner. My friend said something that gave me pause, something like, "Everyone wants to be with someone; no one wants to be alone. She just wants the life everyone has." And I said, "I don't have that life." And my friend instantly said, "Oh, but you're different."

I asked her why, and she couldn't say, only that I just didn't seem to want it. But what made her think that? What was it about me? I could understand if she was surrounded by people saying "I want this" over and over again, and she had never heard me saying that, maybe she drew some conclusions about me. But it felt strange. It felt hurtful--not because I need marriage and babies, but because I am automatically sorted in the category of "different" in this person's mind. They were just one person, but this seemed to also be the case with dozens of other people. Hundreds. Everyone wants this; it's normal--except for you, lettered. You're obviously different.

I know I'm actually very lucky. Many people would love to have my "problem." Many people who are asexual or aromantic, many people who haven't figured it out yet, many people who have been in a series of bad relationships and feel hopeless, many people who can't find someone to date at all, might love to have been in those shoes. They would love to not be asked "who are you dating, when will you marry, when can I expect grandkids?" they would love to escape "why don't you settle down? why don't you have a boyfriend? how can you still be single?" Maybe they would love to be told by my friend, "Oh, you're different, in the world of people we all expect to be paired up with other people, you just don't count."

But knowing that's what other people get asked, knowing that other people get constant questions about their love lives, so much so that it's annoying for them--and then knowing that no one ever asked me (except for my mother, gently and kindly, a few times, careful not to exert pressure) feels bad. Was I the sidekick in some story, the one no one expects to have a love story of their own? Could no one imagine me as a romantic interest? A sexual object? Am I the platonic ideal of a woman, untouchable and perfect in every way? Am I Mary Poppins?

Anyway, the simple answer is probably just that people are mainly self-centered, and if you don't bring it up, it doesn't occur to them. And to tell you the truth, I didn't often bring it up because while I would like to have been with someone, but I really don't need it; I just thought it would be nice. It wasn't a burning interest of mine, so maybe I shouldn't have even felt so bad that people seemed to make assumptions about me. (I'm just glad my wife didn't make assumptions like that; everything changed when my fire wife attacked.)

But since I am already a person who felt largely in the dark about how others feel, and feel that others are largely in the dark about me, this aspect of myself just felt like another facet of a blind operation. I often feel that I'm trapped in my own world, and you are trapped in yours, and we are all groping blindly for things we can never fully grasp, because you can never fully enter my world, and I can never enter yours.

And I recognize that the "friends know about their feelings" trope and the "friends get them together" trope is in some ways wish fulfillment--maybe everyone feels blind, feels unseen, and unknown, and they wish people would see them in this way, and know them. They wish people would step into their world and offer a hand, and lead them to another person's world, where they will never be alone.

But I, personally, find it very comforting to read about that blindness, to know that I'm not alone because we're all blind, and yet we still find ways to reach out to each other regardless.

[eddiebabygirldiaz]

wip wednesday

tagged by @lemmeaskthedevil @rewritetheending @onward--upward

thanks darlins!

post 8x6 fic is finished and undergoing last edits! if you wanna be tagged when it's posted, interact with this post

“Shit,” Buck says when Eddie gives him a reprieve. “Y’re good at that.”

“Hmm? At what?”

“Kissing.”

Eddie giggles. Fucking giggles what the fuck.

Buck wants to bottle the sound. Wants to force Eddie to make it again. Wants to record it and use it as ammo in the future.

“Buck, why do you look mad about that?” Eddie asks, bruised mouth curved into a slashing kind of smile, once that could cut Buck wide open. He sort of hopes it does. Thinks about asking Eddie to try.

But Eddie asked him a question and Buck doesn’t really know the answer. He’s not mad per se, but…He can’t say he expected it exactly. Not that he expected Eddie to be a bad kisser, just–

“I don’t know. It’s just–I don’t know. I’ve kissed a lot more people than you have so I guess I’m wondering how you got this good.”

“Jesus, Buck. Ever thought that maybe it’s not about quantity?”

Buck frowns. “No.”

Eddie cackles, mirthful and amused and probably frustrated too based on the squint of his eyes. “Poor thing,” he croons, curving his back in a way Buck didn’t think possible and nudging their noses together. “Upset that I’m better than you?”

“Okay,” Buck scoffs, “you’re not.”

“Does it matter when you’re reaping the benefits?” Eddie asks, calm and collected though the rich throatiness of his voice gives him away. As does the little circling thing his hips are doing and the sweet little touch his thumb leaves behind Buck’s ear.

tagging @spaceprincessem @shitouttabuck @bigfootsmom @lemonzestywrites @spotsandsocks @shyaudacity @sibylsleaves @daffi-990 @queerdiazs @jeeyuns @exhuastedpigeon @honestlydarkprincess @transboybuckley @try-set-me-on-fire @lonelychicago @bi-buckrights @monsterrae1 @absolutelybifurious @devirnis @colonoscopys @hippolotamus @dr-shortsighted-owl @hotshotsxyz and anyone else who wants to share!

[yourloveaton]

Same anon from earlier who requested the info dump

So does anyone ever figure out who Trickster is??? And what does Snowdin (or wherever he lives) think of him???

His design is so crunchy and squishy and I LOVE IT he’s just a fella ur honor he’s just a fella.

Hrmm !! I still haven’t thought up this far yet, but I did think Gerson could’ve figured it out in one glance at Trickster and he would’ve laughed and joke about it while Trickster’s surprised out of his poor soul when he just wanted to buy stuff from the shop HAHAHA

Other than that, I don’t think many monsters figured his identity out (since he’s very careful with keeping his identity hidden, he uses his mask a lot when there are too many monsters in the area around him) other than some of the dog guards that were on duty at that era, I’d like to think Trickster and the older generation dog guards (maybe some of the the current ut dog guards) had a good relationship with each other and actually worked well together!

For Snowdin, Trickster is a local hero, troublemaker that they don’t know much about but have probably seen him at the distance before, some complain about him, some admire him, some roll their eyes away from him, some just want to curse him but also thank him for the tricks he pulls and the help he gives and hahaha so much more! What’s common is that they all love him in their own way hahaha (I’m still thinking about it, It’s still pretty much a WIP hehe)

I’m glad you like his design! I tried to make him look cool but cozy at the same time, with that mysterious but also mischievous look I guess?? IDK LOL I rlly tried to make him look whimsical at times :’D He’s just a fella fr hehe..

[lqtraintracks]

Writing Interview

Thanks so much for the tag @starquestingfordrarry! <333

how many works do you have on ao3? 337

what's your total ao3 word count? 1,454,047

your top 5 stories by kudos

Right Hand Red (with freakin’ 40,662; sorry, I just noticed that it had ticked over the 40k mark and I’m flabbergasted and so grateful as well <3 )

Hung Like a Horntail

Slip Into My Lover’s Hands

Weeds or Wildflowers written with sdk / @unmistakablyoatmeal

check this hand ‘cause I’m marvelous

do you respond to comments? Er… yes?? Like, very. verrrrry. slowly. But I’ll admit that some will never get answered because I lose steam and then when I start trying again, I start with the newest ones. This might sound horn-tooty, which is not how I intend it, but with the number of stories I’ve written, I get a lot of comments. I’ve found it impossible to keep up, but I do my best, even if my best is sometimes a bit crappy. I do read and appreciate every comment I get though!

what's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending? I don’t really do angsty endings often. When I do, it’s usually a Prongsfoot or something. Of the Drarry fics I’ve written, I have one open ending but it’s still pretty hopeful, and that’s Burning the Ground. 

what's the fic you've written with the happiest ending? All of them. :D My goal in life is to get readers (and myself) to cry with joy at the end of my stories. Some standouts just from memory are Heart Like Neon, Bolts, Take You Home, Jasmine in Bloom, Right Hand Red, Blood and Fire, and The Most Splendid Thing. 

do you write crossovers? Maybe one or two over the last 25 years. So, statistically, not so much. 

have you ever received hate on a fic? LOL of course. :D But I don’t linger on those comments. They’re quite few honestly. 

do you write smut? No, never. 

have you ever had a fic stolen? Yes. 

have you ever had a fic translated? Yes. Quite a few have been. Not even sure how many languages, but I know there are several in Russian, Chinese, and I think both Spanish and Portuguese. 

have you ever co-written a fic? Yes! With the incredibly talented sdk, @the-starryknight, and @nv-md! (And one round robin with like 552 people lol.)

what's your all-time favorite ship? Drarry, my beloved. <3

what's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will? I don’t really have wips. I’m a chronic finisher. I did start something last year for a friend’s birthday and then pooped out. I ended up writing her a completely different pairing months later. And then I took some of the vibes and ideas from that unfinished fic and wrote them into other fics that I *did* finish, so… Cannibalism. Yeah. 

what are your writing strengths? LOL finishing things! :D Also: smut, for sure. Humor. Sort of achy, hot romances? My trademark is writing tenderness and filth simultaneously. I’ve gotten good at pacing things well, so that beats and arcs feel well-rounded and satisfying, I think. 

what are your writing weaknesses? Ugh, plot!!! Specifically non-romance-or-pairing-based plotlines are difficult for me. Heavy angst. Also stakes. I struggle to up the stakes for my characters enough to give a big payoff. I struggle to make my characters change enough or to effectively write that change in a satisfying way. (This applies more to my original writing than to fic, I think.)

what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? I’m not sure what the hot take here is and if there is one I’m missing it. My original novel has a Spanish speaker and he will sometimes slip into Spanish during conversation. I wanted to get that right, so I had a native Spanish speaker (hi @capipuff!) read it to correct my bad Google-translated Spanish. So I guess my thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in fic is, do your best to get it right?

what's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?  If I want to write something, I write it. :D 

what's your favorite thing you've ever written? Oof. Wow. I want to say my original novel, even though it’s also more flawed than my fic tends to be. It’s certainly one of the things I’m most proud to have written. <3 Usually my favorite fic is the last thing I’ve written and that’s true right now as well. I love The Most Splendid Thing. But before that, my favorite was probably Jasmine in Bloom, and before that it was Take You Home. Bolts is for sure in the running. Heart Like Neon is way up there as well. As is My Name in Your Mouth, because I love that Teddy Lupin with all my horny heart. 

Okay I'm going to tag some of you fine folks now: Ali, you're it! Also, @writcraft @shiftylinguini @phoebe-delia @wholahoop @saintgarbanzo @academicdisasterfic @citrusses @corvuscrowned @lettersbyelise and @magpiefngrl

[oneemasan]

"I... don't need a wish today - Being with everyone is enough."

Fairytale soiree event by @angelwishess - congatulations on 100+ followers and thank you for hosting the event, i had a lot of fun!!

this is my first time joining a fan event (and drawing an actual card for erice), design notes & clear file under the cut!

jfdghsfgjjksghfdj i didn't think i would have time to draw erice for the event any time soon, but for some reason i didn't feel like working on any of my wips today so i painted the background to relax a bit (and warm up) aaaand ended up with the card done 4 hours later - well, why not!

at the very beginning i wasn't even planning an actual background, but hey whatever happened happened alright (besides, i planned it as a r/sr, and then realized i was having a lot of fun rendering - but not enough motivation for a dynamic pose... we got an in between, i guess?)

at some point, i added firefly everywhere, and the piece ended up looking SO cluttered..... so i erased all of them except the one she's holding - and i feel like i lost a bit of what i wanted to convey, but it looks better than it did before, so it's fine!

on one side, i wish i spent more time polishing the pose, etc, on the other, damn i wanted this done today

actual design notes fr fr this time

my first thought was the yellow dress, and i was almost sure i'd go with it but still decided to do some other sketches for fun - and in case another idea popped up i don't usually ramble too much about her lore outside of dms, but the thing with erice is that she very likely doesn't believe this kind of outfit/event would suit her - since she's a bit more... brash than she'd like, among other things (read : as much as she wishes she could wear fancy dresses, she definitely doesn't feel comfortable doing so because of her usual temperament/sweet self esteem issues, kind of), so upon wearing such a dress she would probably go "wait, this is wayyyy too delicate for me, i need to change back into my usual clothes NOW"

so, i ended up going for the simple white, knee-length dress thinking it was what suited her the best - and here came another problem : it does look the right mix of formal and simple for her, but it very definitely doesn't look fairy-like, at all... at the same time, i wanted to keep the shape, to keep it simple - to have something she would enjoy wearing that would still fit the theme, so i added a butterfly pattern and transparent fabric over the dress - cute and simple enough that she can enjoy herself without worrying too much about how mismatched she thinks her looks and personality are... my daughter she's so precious to me

while i was drawing the actual piece, i ended up adding a bonus layer to her skirt because it looked a bit empty without it - it also helps making the dress shape look more.... logical lol

[itsmemuffy]

When I published my first post, wanted to keep the momentum going. It was my goal to post weekly and well.... it's been two weeks ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I abandoned all my little drabbles to focus on a full-length fic that is becoming waaay longer than I anticipated. Thought I'd post a little WIP Wednesday to make sure I don't go back into the ether. Can't wait to have this one finished, I've been having a lot of fun writing it.

Contents: Original Trilogy! Logan x fem reader, naive reader, obsessive Logan, suggestive content, Charles makes an appearance

Summary: You keep everything running as smooth as possible in the background while Professor Xavier keeps a very full plate of locating mutants, running the school, and leading the X-Men. A steady stream of mutants come and go through the mansion, but a certain one in particular makes it his mission to nestle his way into your life.

The past few days had been a whirlwind for Logan. He's the type of man that goes where he wants to go- and waking up in an infirmary on a small hospital cot after being round up like some sort of animal was not on his list of things to do that week, to say the least.

For all intents and purposes, his next plan of action was to get away from here as soon as he possibly could and get back to the life he lived on his own terms. His only home and form of transportation was totalled somewhere in the Alberta wilderness, sure, but he already had experience starting over from nothing.

When he first met you, a cute little thing diligently running errands to what was perhaps the one man who could have his answers, you immediately piqued Logan's interest. So sweet and so kind, and Charles put his trust in you?

He had barged in like he owned the place on you and the professor scheduling out the upcoming semester in his office. Charles appeared to have already gotten used to this type behavior from him. "This, my dear, is Logan. He will hopefully be joining us now."

Oh... so is he planning to stick around? You ponder as you bite the inside of your cheek, leaning onto Charles' desk with your hip. Logan immediately came off as brooding and dismissive, and he didn't seem like the type to settle into a place beaming with so much activity. Regardless, you extended your hand out to him as you told him your name.

It took him a second to register the gesture. He only now noticed how lost in thought he was, eyes caught below your neckline. With a clearing of his throat, Logan reached a hand back to you to shake it. The most formal of ways to greet someone, yet the feeling of your delicate fingers grasping his rough palm caused his mind to wander again. He forced himself back to reality.

"I guess I'll be seeing you around" Logan remained aloof in speech, hoping you didn't notice the way he devoured you with his gaze. He decided to promptly remove himself from the room, searching for the privacy to be alone with his thoughts.

A few interactions after your initial introduction, Logan started to feel something beyond sexual curiosity. You made his heart race, you made him nervous.

Not a single detail went unnoticed by Logan. The way your hips would sway, how you parted your hair, the lipstick you wore, the softness in your voice whenever you greeted him, your scent.

Life kept throwing change in Logan's way, morphing his way of living into something unrecognizable to him. For the last however many years (boy, is he ever bad at keeping track of time) he had filled them with isolation and taking whatever cheap pleasures he could find. Now he finds himself surrendering the space in his mind to a woman he barely knew. You brought warmth and light into a cold, dark place.

No, this wont fly, he thought to himself. The fact that he was losing control over the dynamic between you made him very uncomfortable. Logan made it his mission to learn more about you. If he could just figure you out, he could take the reins over again.

The two of you would always acknowledge eachother in a group setting. The tiny smile Logan would throw your way whenever you caught eyes made you weak. You couldn't help but to want to know more about him too. A rugged man who was a stranger not too long ago was showing you consideration? A man who nobody knows where he's been, what he's done, how old he is? It kind of racked your brain, but you tried not to let it trip you up.

Oh, but he would catch you trip up. It wasn't lost on Logan the times you entered a space with him in it, seemingly to forget what you came in there for. Maybe you were a little ditzy- your mind often racing too fast that you couldn't catch up with yourself, but it had happened too many times for it to be a coincidence. At least, that's what he told himself.

He replicated your behavior, scouting you out amongst the mansion. It wasn't hard for him to find you. Your trail had become so much bolder to his senses, overshadowing anybody else that could be in vicinity.

Logan always found what he was looking for. Excuse after excuse slipped easily from his lips. Obvious to everyone else what he was doing, you earnestly took the bait every time without fail. He marked the first time he had a conversation with you alone as a significant victory.

"Hey, didn't see you there. Have you seen Charles around? I need to talk to him." He had cornered you in the library, watching you read for a minute or two before making his presence known.

You flinched up in your chair, "Jesus Logan, don't sneak up on me like that!" The yelp that initially left your lips was definitely a sound he would remember next time he's alone.

"Sorry, doll. Didn't mean to scare ya," he chuckled.

The upset you felt towards him for breaking your flow state lasted but half a second. You couldn't be mad. After all, whatever he needed Charles for must of been important.

"No, Jean and him are off chaperoning a field trip in the city. He should be back sometime this evening."

Logan let out a little "hmph", trying his best sound to sound disappointed. Inside he was estatic he finally caught up to you again. Now with no one else around, his mind flooded with possibilities on how this could go. The odds of you immediately throwing yourself at him weren't zero, were they? If he were to take you and bend you over the table right this very second, there was a possiblility you'd let him... right? God, am I really this desperate? he thought.

After letting a moment hang in the air, he sat down next to you in the ajacet seat. "So, what are you doing here all by yourself? Got nothing better to do on a Saturday afternoon, huh?" Good idea, Logan, change the subject.

"You're one to talk," your focus was now one hundred percent on him. Thighs spread as he lazily leaned back in the chair, rolling his head ro the side. To say he wasn't beautiful like this would be a lie. You've rarely seen him this relaxed. "Aren't you here too?"

"Huh." Logan did not anticipate you to call him out like that, "I guess you've got a point."

An awkward silence sat between the two of you. You pretended to divert your attention back to your book, not letting him escape the corner of your eye. Logan lit up a cigar he fished from his pocket. He desperately needed something to do with his hands.

"This is a library, you know that right?" You chide him after an annoyed sigh.

"Oh, is it now? I thought all these books were just for decoration." His lips sucked in another drag.

"Very expensive books, Logan. There's plenty of perfecly fine places to smoke around here if you just look."

He got up from his seat, "Then why don't you show me around, darlin'? Open my eyes a little." You couldn't quite tell if the pet name was to belittle you or to be affectionate. A hand reached out to bring you to stand. "I'll let you lead the way."