#have another idea instead for a new WIP

[potatodotpng]

[loonsmoons]

Fuck, does he love them.

“James …” He tears his gaze away from Regulus and peers up at Lily through his eyelashes from where his head is resting on her lap, one eyebrow raised in question. Forehead wrinkled a little in concern at her careful tone. “Don’t freak out now, but-” “What do you mean don’t freak out now?!” “Calm down, mon beau, she won’t break up at picnic ..” “Break up?! I wasn’t even thinking about that possibility!” Lily glares at Regulus as if to say: is this your way of helping? But he only shrugs, huffing something about Sirius’ dramatics rubbing off on James. “I’m not breaking up. It’s just …” “What is it, love?” James encourages, immediately more relaxed at that. “There is a spider in your hair-” “WHAT?!" No longer relaxed. “BUT I will take it out! Stop moving so much, I’m trying!” He dutifully drops his arms, squeezing his eyes shut while she comps through his curls, hopefully getting rid of it, before it lays its eggs in there. Or whatever it is they do … “There we go, all done” Lily eventually croons, the way doctors talk to children after giving them an injection. James carefully opens his eyes again, blinking away the spots, to find her smiling at what probably is the spider crawling around the palm of her hand. He scrunches his nose in disdain, moving from where he was comfortably lying to sit a few metres away. This earns him an overdramatic huff from Regulus who is moving closer to Lily, peering at the monster in her hand. “You insist on watching the spider-man movies every couple of months, but get scared because of this little lad?” Regulus leans in closer, to get a better look at it. “Do you know what kind it is?” “I reckon it must be an orb weaver, based on …” James drowns their conversation out, but he does continue staring at them, a smile plastered on his face. Fuck, does he love them.

(Words: 333)

Pssst, this is based on this!

[writingmeraki]

kiss the shit out of you — k.mg drabble.

❝ in which you thought there'd never be a time when you would experience first-hand jealousy but turns out you aren't an exception to this emotion.

( or in which your boss seungcheol loves to find new ways to push your buttons. and push you towards mingyu too. you might just punch him or thank him. )

pairing: secret!agent mingyu x secret!agent reader, established stage. genre : fluff, angstish. warnings : jealousy, mentions of bars and drinks, death threats, no actual kissing guys im sorry

a/n : pri comeback with another secret agent mingyu drabble. who cheered. not a full on comeback but hey i picked this up from my abandoned clusters of wips and welp this is how it turned out, let me know what you think !! also urm if the writing is a lil yk wonky pls bare w me it's been a long while <3 also the summary probs sucks my bad g again it's been aaa whileee :DDDDDD

word count : 1.8k

“I want to kill you.” 

You glared at Cheol as you clenched your fist to your side resisting the urge to punch the shit-eating grin off his face. 

Not an ideal sentence to tell your boss but the situation he’d kept you in was going the way he predicted and not how you thought it would. 

It started earlier in the day when he called Mingyu and you along with Chan and Seokmin in to do a mission which would require disguises and putting on an act. It was simple really he said, you all had to attend a gala, which had the member of a gang you’d been trying to catch attending as well. 

Butter him up, a few drinks later and he’d let the information you seeked slip out with ease. This particular member was one who caused a lot of mishaps, knowingly or unknowingly, he was hard to track but this was a sure tip as his name was also on the guest list.

It all seemed okay until he told you the twist. You would be the servers along with Chan and Seokmin. You looked at him in confusion wondering if he forgot Mingyu was also called in and was right beside you also wondering something similar. 

“What about him?”

“Oh right. He’s going to be attending as a couple with Yura.” He said it nonchalantly while looked towards you,

“It shouldn’t be a bother to you right? Considering it’s just a few hours and most importantly for the job.” He had a smug look on his face to which you slowly narrowed your eyes at him. Mingyu was going to oppose, but you shushed him. 

“It’s for the job Gyu, it wouldn’t matter to me.” You knew he had more to say but he just frowned and nodded at your words.

You knew what card he had been playing, you could remember him asking you that what if there came a time your partner would have to act as a couple with someone else would you have gotten jealous and you also remember you scoffing at him saying, it would be for a mission only anyways, why would you be? He protested saying it was natural to feel jealous but you told him that then you would need to get a grip instead of being unprofessional. 

Now you could feel your words bite you back as you tried not to glare at the way she seemed more than excited to be with ‘the most sought out’ agent.

You scoffed at yourself, feeling an even worse guilt at being jealous. The kind where you trusted him, but you couldn’t help the ugly emotion to rise up and as time went it seemed to rile up.

It was going to be one of the rookies, her first big assignment being this. Her name was Yura, from what you recalled. 

Your relationship with Mingyu was not exactly public. Again it was your idea. It seemed all your ideas were eventually coming to bite you in the back. Maybe this was your karma for something.

Eventually looking away from the couple, you sighed as you sat down by the bar.

“Oye, you aren’t supposed to sit, you’re the server here.” Before he could speak further, Chan elbowed your boss to which he glared at him but eventually gulped a little when he saw the look on your face. 

Now, Choi Seungcheol was no coward. But he knew better than to already fuel a fire that might just burn him alive. Quite literally. He thinks he’s spoken enough when he sees your stare harden.

“Haha, or not, yeah um…continue to sit as you wish, besides we’re just back up here…I’ll uh, I’ll go finish the um…cleaning the glasses.” 

“Get me a drink. Strong.”  

And as your pretend bartender colleague made you an actual whisky on the rocks — training required prior days to mission — your eyes automatically once again drifted off to him. 

Your partner, your boyfriend, highlighting the your factor harshly in your thoughts as you looked at the pretend couple. 

Jealousy, you learnt that day, is an ugly emotion but a fascinating one too. It might slowly chip away at your self esteem and build on a pile of undeserving guilt but it somehow helps in emphasising just how much one means to the other. 

It was a horrible pit at the bottom of your stomach but an unflattering brush in the depth of your heart. Both making you more confused and therefore, anger being the only emotion that would make sense. 

You could hear her giggles as she leaned in closer to his side, her arm practically cushioned between his and you clenched your molars in the assumed anger. 

It was as if he could sense your gaze. He always could, since a long time actually. As though his mind seemed to embed you, your presence right into his unconscious to the point he could practically feel your gazes on him. 

Maybe an exaggeration but he thinks when it comes to you, it all seemed to fall less.  

His eyes flickered to see where you were directing yours at, and immediately he had to put in his all to not just move away. He was trying his all honestly, the reason he accepted was because he was sure you were also okay with it. 

Professionally. Of course.

Emotionally? Personally? 

You may have just been on the edge of punching someone. Seungcheol, you wish. 

The way you were looking seemed nonchalant but this was the man that loved – loves you. Of course he knew when you were anything but. 

Before you could even move your attention to him from where it had darted to – Yura subtly moved her hand above Mingyu’s. It was so subtle but you were very observant, unfortunately in this case, hand clenching around the now almost empty glass of alcohol. 

It seemed in a flash, he abruptly pulled away, murmuring an excuse of getting another drink and you rolled your eyes at the pet names that smoothly rolled out of Yura’s tongues for him. You could feel your sanity level drop at that point. 

Taking a deep breath, you reminded yourself as you shut your eyes for a second, that this was a mission. A job. You couldn’t, shouldn’t fuck this up because you can’t keep your newly acquired emotions in check—

A hand on top of yours was the next thing you felt. And even before you opened your eyes to face the owner of the hand, you already knew. 

“Hey.” Minyu softly whispered, facing affront while you turned your head in his direction. He was close but not enough to seem suspicious, hand being hidden from the view of the others at the table. 

Even though it was just a small touch, he kept it there as he spoke out to Chan. Mumblings of the drinks, a few details about the information he managed to get. 

Yet all you could focus on was the warmth that radiated from his hand above yours. The way his hair was styled, the way his longer strands stood out perfectly, the way his pinkish lips moved as he spoke, eyes briefly shifting to yours when he did and it seemed he noticed your blatant checking out as one corner of his lip rose up. 

Dammnit, his suits were always your weakness. 

“Hi” He tried again, briefly shifting his head in your direction which seemed to snap you out of your daze as you blinked a few times.

“Hey.” You turned your hand that was facing down, and he briefly looked over and intertwined his fingers through yours.

Chan hastily looked over as he made the drinks, deciding he could probably slow down making the few drinks, and not like he was an expert at being fast anyway.

“Be careful.” He whispered to your pair, to which you looked at him and rolled your eyes but gave a short nod. 

“Are you alright?” As Mingyu asked, you froze up for a moment, wondering if your obvious discomfort was already known to him. 

Gulping, you nodded because it seemed easier to nod than to let your words out in fear of stumbling over reasons for your discomfort. 

Jealousy, was again, odd. It made you ashamed, a lump in the throat due to feeling like perhaps you were just overthinking it all.

You didn’t even realise you were blatantly showing your nervousness, eyes looking at anywhere but his and mulling your bottom lip. 

“You don’t need to worry over anything, ‘s going fine okay?”

“I can see that.” 

The words came out sharply than intended, and he blinked owlishly, eyebrow raising at you with an emotion that seemed familiar to both confusion and wonder in his eyes. 

“You don’t seem okay though.” He bit the bullet and told you his actual thoughts. He would have even said his assumptions but he did not want to tread too far. 

“I’ll be fine, stop worrying about me. Your girlfriend wouldn’t appreciate that.” 

Aha. There it was.

He scanned your face. The scoff was prominent as you narrowed your eyes ahead.

“You know you're the only one that matters to me right?” And even though he was tempted to tease you at the moment, he figured he'd save it for later. 

His hand squeezed yours, as if to amplify his words, their meaning to you. How much he truly meant them, he hoped that it would somehow reach to you through the simple motion of squeezing your hand tighter.

And somehow, he knows it did when the crease between your brow slowly disappeared, when the scowl on your face dropped and a seemingly exhausted sigh escaped you.

Jealousy was…tiring.

“Yes, I know.”

Without thinking, he leaned in closer to you, mouth grazing your ear as he spoke, the sudden warmness of his breathing so close making you shudder slightly.

“Tell you what baby? You can simply kiss the out of me when we get back. You know, remove all your anger, I heard it's a great exercise.”

The abruptness of the statement made you pull away and you couldn't help but giggle at his words, feeling a lot lighter than previously. A warm feeling spreads on your cheeks at the thought of his pink lips captivating yours. 

And of course, no one in this world could surprise you the way Kim Mingyu does. 

Well two could play at this.

Leaning in closer, your eyes gleamed with an equally mischievous flair to his, you whispered, only for his ears.

“As if I need permission to kiss the shit out of you, I hope you know I can and will do it anytime, anywhere.” 

His smile turned into a smirk as he glanced back at the table, seeing how his colleague was occupying the others, knowing he could go off for a few.

Looking at you determinedly, he stood up, pushing his hand forward,

“Bathroom break?” 

And of course, anywhere Kim Mingyu would go, you'd too. 

Placing your head in his, you nodded with a chuckle at how unserious this was getting,

“Sure.”

Lucky for the both of you, it seemed you were good at keeping your words. And kissing of course. 

perm. taglist ( open ! ) : @mansaaay ; @gyuguys ; @toplinehyunjin ; @cherrylovescheol ; @stagefrjghts

( if you want to be added just send an ask/reply to this !)

all written works as well as images and edits (unless credited) belong to pri. do not plagiarise, repost, re-edit or claim as yours. pics mostly found on pinterest.

writingmeraki Ⓒ 2024

feedback is always appreciated 💌 !

links : main navi ! | svt masterlist ! | info !

[lets-try-some-writing]

I have observed several types of fic writers, and so for kicks and giggles, here they all are. Each of them scares me for different reasons.

The Prepared And Ready To Publish™:

Several documents dedicated to worldbuilding, planning, cross referencing, character lists & traits, plot twists, and then the actual fic document.

Dedicated to the max to creating a rich world. Probably knows more about the niche thing than you ever will. 100% could have written a thesis and chose to do fic instead (or did both at the same time).

Created a masterpiece and promptly vanished off the face of creation before coming back in with another banger to crush souls and save fandoms.

Their arrival is akin to the birth of a new era because they never fail to somehow make a niche ship popular, make a headcanon fanon, or otherwise give so much depth and interest to a character or setting that whatever they have devised is largely accepted as gospel by their readers.

They either use a high end writing program or wordpad. There is no in-between.

Mysterious. Very mysterious. Reasons for this mysteriousness vary between fics and authors.

100000/10 would be friends with them if I could. Legendary writers. But also they scare me because ??? What void offered you such power ?????

The Baby Writer:

All vibes and loosely strung plots.

It may not make the most sense, but good gracious the dedication is there.

Notable lack of comprehension when it comes to characters and places, but it's bad form to not leave a kudo because it takes guts to post anything in fandom.

They are still figuring things out and their grammar or formatting (possibly both) is probably a mess, but they've put heart into their work.

Sweetest rays of sunshine who want to be involved and are eager to learn the ropes.

The fandom's young ward or despised new arrival (depends entirely on fandom popularity and age).

8/10 would happily offer advice to them. Just can't read their work for too long without wanting to throw it into grammarly. The fear factor comes in the form of the miraculous misuse of fandom terminology. (Yeah it's tough bud, the fanon is wild. But goodness that term/canon word does NOT mean what you think it does.)

The Smut For Your Soul:

Meticulously plans the smut with all the loving care of a sculptor.

Somehow plot got involved.

Miraculously, they managed to not include an iota of plot and it has somehow managed to work.

Headcanons abound and cuteness and or angst lurks merrily behind every corner.

The tags mean everything and nothing at the same time. They are but faint guides to the fae wilds ahead. Tread lightly.

Has a mountain of unfinished WIPs that will follow them to the grave or emerge ten years after conception to grace whatever fandom spawned the idea.

The fandom thanks them for their service, although often that praise is late or hits like a freight train.

???/10 I personally avoid smut but I have friends who write it so it really depends. Terrifying because you never know who falls into this role of writer. It could be anyone. Normalcy is a mask poorly adorned for the sake of conforming to The Great Machine.

The Angst Lord:

Has a million slightly different ways to hurt their blorbo. Each are somehow more horrifying than the next.

The embodiment of the iceburg videos seen all over the net. Ask one question and you shall unravel and scheme of torment so great you shall regret having dared to speak up.

Has dozens of WIPs or unwritten ideas that they claim they will return to.

They are controlled by passion and emotion and can and will insert their own complicated situation into a fic.

Almost nothing is off limits.

Arrives to the fandom ready to brawl and somehow ends up respected or feared. They often stare in bafflement as they end up unscathed and watch angry comments fly toward the arguably innocent shippers.

Generally some of the nicest people who happen to enjoy inflicting The Horrors upon someone fictional.

'10/10 would befriend and promptly regard like a wild racoon. Offerings of angsty ideas yield delightful commentary. But also I need to prepare myself for anything they say because O U C H my SOUL.

The General Writer:

Fluff, cuteness, possibly a delightful touch of angst and pure unbridled creative simplicity.

They may not have the most brutal or soul wrenching tale, but they always manage to write something that someone, somewhere, desperately needs.

Devastatingly underrated and deserves far more praise for their contributions to the fandom.

Produces some of the softest of scenes and the most touching of interactions between characters in a contained, careful crafted, tale.

Introducing new ships or family dynamics in such a tasteful manner that brain chemistry can easily be altered.

Arrives to the fandom as a lurker and shows their appreciation through their work. Oftentimes, they are very quiet and go unnoticed.

INFINITE/10 Love these writers, honestly a gift to fandom. The sheer level of dedication to producing fluff is astounding and scary all at once.

The OC X Canon:

Has so many ships and headcanons that it's astounding.

The lore development rivals IDW and Lost Light combined. All the kudos to them for putting their souls into their characters.

The dedication is mind boggling.

They put up with so much crap they could be in MMA Wrestling if the verbal assaults translated into physical strength.

Has so many adjustments to lore and whole AUs devoted specifically to creating a perfect world.

Skilled in the extreme (or not) at integrating their ocs into canon.

Arrives to the fandom not intending to make ocs. Leaves with seventeen leashes for their new abominable creations. Is loved or hated by literally everyone, sometimes for no reason.

6/10 perfectly lovely people but very niche in their interest and thus not everyone's cup of tea. Scary because that level of sheer willpower is meant for demi-gods.

There are more types of writers, but these feel like the big overarching ones. Which kind of writer are you? :D

[suzukiblu]

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

“Yeah,” Billy says after a moment. “I’m not gonna make you do stuff like that. Um, well, like some normal chores and following your curfew and taking your phone with you when you go out, I mean, but not like–um. Yeah.” 

Lynn doesn’t say anything. He just keeps looking into the living room. Billy looks too, but doesn’t see what he’s looking at. His line of sight’s too high to be looking at Tawky, and the TV’s off, and–

Oh. Actually . . . 

Is he looking at the windows, actually? 

Huh, Billy thinks again. 

Lynn stops looking at the windows, or maybe just the living room, and then goes and opens the oven and stares blankly into it for a moment. Then he reaches in bare-handed and–

“Oven mitt!” Billy says quickly, zipping over to him and grabbing a pair of them off the hook they’re hanging on on the way. Lynn stares at him just as blankly as he was staring into the oven, and also just as blankly as he’s been staring at him, and probably he’s thinking Billy is stupid because he’s, like, invulnerable and all, but the thing is–“Secret identity,” he clarifies, and holds the mitts out to Lynn. “You gotta be careful about doing stuff baseline humans can’t, even if you think you’re alone or only around people in the know. And like, you have to make it a habit to do stuff baseline humans would have to anyway, or you might forget to when you aren’t alone. Also Batman didn’t install the new windows yet so I’m not sure if these are privacy ones, honestly, so somebody could maybe see from across the street anyway?” 

Lynn stares at him for another moment, then flicks his eyes down to the oven mitts. Billy feels awkward and kind of like a worrywart, but it is important. He definitely doesn’t turn into Captain Marvel when anybody else even might be watching, and also if Lynn’s keeping those habits from the start it’ll be easier for him in the long run, right? Or at least, Billy thinks it’ll be easier? Like–probably? 

He fidgets a little and tries not to look nervous. Lynn glances at his face for a moment even though his own expression doesn’t change at all, then takes the oven mitts and . . . well, he uses them more like potholders than actually, like, putting them on, but still counts, Billy figures. Lynn takes out all the pans and puts them all on top of the stove, and then closes it and sets aside the oven mitts and turns it off. 

“. . . thanks,” Lynn says more in the oven’s direction than Billy’s. Billy feels a little relieved, because “don’t do stuff baseline humans can’t when it’s not safe to” is a pretty important thing, so far as secret IDs and all go. 

“Sure!” Billy says, then peeks curiously at the food. “So, um . . . is it done?” 

“. . . it has to rest for five minutes,” Lynn says, and then turns away abruptly and walks into the living room to bring back the plates, which is, um, probably something Billy should’ve remembered was gonna need to happen before he took them out there, come to think. 

Whoops. 

Well, he guesses they could use serving dishes, probably, because Batman bought them way too much everything and there are so, so many serving dishes, but that’s more dishes to wash so yeah, Lynn’s definitely taking the right approach here, Billy decides. 

Though he has no idea why dinner has to rest. Like–what does that even mean, “rest”? It’s food. 

“. . . why?” Lynn asks, and holds up Tawky’s little plate with a faint frown. 

“Oh, Tawky doesn’t need as much to eat as you do,” Billy clarifies. Tawky only needs a lot to eat when he’s being a full-sized tiger, and he’s being an stuffed animal the same way Billy’s being a dad right now instead of just Captain Marvel, so he won’t have the stomach space for big meals until, like, the next time they have to save the world, probably. Or a mission. Or something like that, anyway. “Or as much to eat as you probably do, since we’re still figuring that out. But probably not, either way. Like–I don’t need to eat either, I mean, but like, different-sized stomachs and all, sooo . . . bigger plate, I guess. Sorry, is that rude, do you think? I wasn’t trying to be.” 

“. . . uh,” Lynn says slowly, frowning at Tawky’s plate instead. “Okay.” 

Well, it’s not exactly an answer, but Billy guesses he can double-check with Tawky later. It’s kind of more important what Tawky thinks anyway, since it’s him he’d be being rude to, and also he really shouldn’t be expecting Lynn to really get, like, manners and intent versus affect and that kind of thing yet anyway. Although either way having a full-sized tiger in the apartment would definitely not be great for the secret identity thing, even just for mealtimes, so they’d have to figure something out there. 

Well, he guesses they could just go to the Rock of Eternity for dinner, actually? Like, cook in the apartment but pack themselves dinner-picnics or something. Actually, that sounds kinda fun, he’d like to show Lynn what it’s like and maybe explain a little more about what accepting a share of his powers would mean, if he did, and– 

Focus. He definitely needs to work on his focus. That’s way more important when he’s being a dad. He doesn’t want Lynn to ever think he’s ignoring him, for one. 

“I’ll ask him later,” Billy says. Tawky’s probably still reading anyway; he was while Billy was setting the coffee table. He had the biography of Nikola Tesla they’d picked out, which is pretty normal reading fare for Tawky, really. He likes nonfiction a lot, especially the historical stuff. Billy doesn’t really get it, personally.

[wip]

Please make it possible to hide users' posts without blocking them. Like, in cases where a person hasn't done anything wrong to be blocked, but you just don't like their posts.

Answer: Hello, @deithwen!

As it turns out, we’ve received this feature request a lot over the years. Usually, it comes in as wanting the ability to “mute” other blogs on Tumblr. While we would love to build it, we’ve balked at it a bit because of its technical and product complexity. Let us explain what that means:

In terms of technical complexity, our current blocking feature is closest to how “muting” would work. Our current blocking feature may seem simple, but it’s very complex because of how big Tumblr is. Every time we fetch a list of blogs for you or anyone on Tumblr, we have to also fetch the list of who you’re blocking, and who’s blocking you, and filter out anyone with that block relationship. This mapping of who’s-blocking-who is stored in a directional way right now, so the “cost” of loading that list gets higher the more people you’re blocking and the more people who are blocking you. If you’re blocking 1,000 blogs, we have to check that list a lot. If you’re being blocked by 1,000 blogs, that’s another big list to check against.

In technical terms, this is a “many-to-many” relationship, which is almost always incredibly difficult to manage while not degrading the experience of using a platform like Tumblr. The more people who are blocking, the harder it is to store those lists in a way that’s easy to check, but we’re working on making it smoother. The vast majority of people don’t block many others, if at all, so it’s never been a huge problem. But the outliers who block thousands of others (or are blocked by thousands of others) can degrade performance for everyone over enough time.

Adding muting would throw on top of that yet another list of blogs to check, increasing the complexity of something that’s already pretty complex. It helps that muting would be one-directional and not bi-directional (as in, it doesn’t matter who’s muting you), but, as that list of muted blogs grows, your experience may degrade further. So we’d need to solve for that, which is definitely doable. It would just take time—and lots of it.

And, as a product, Tumblr is already pretty confusing to people trying to figure out what “blocking” means already, as well as our other filtering options. Up until fairly recently, blocking was almost entirely one-directional, the opposite way you’d expect: blocking made it so the blocked person couldn’t see you, not that you couldn’t see them. We’ve been updating blocking to work both ways instead, which is more common on social media these days. Similarly, the options to filter tags versus content cause a lot of confusion because they don’t work the same way as each other.

So if we wanted to add another filtering option to that mix, “muting” blogs, we’d need to be conscious of how all of those options work together—and are confusing in context with each other. We should really clean up that experience to be more streamlined and simple, not more complex. And I didn’t even mention the oddity of how different settings apply to your primary blog versus your sideblogs if you have more than one blog!

Taken together, it is a great idea for us to clean all of this up, improve our existing options here, and add “muting” for even more control and granularity. Sadly, however, it just isn’t high enough on our list of priorities to tackle anytime soon. We don’t want to simply tack on muting for the sake of doing it—we want to do a better job than that. I hope that makes sense!

Thanks for your question. It was an important one to address. If anything should change here, you will get news through the usual channels: here at WIP, or at @changes. 

[writingquestionsanswered]

how does one cope when mid-way through they realize they are writing a tragedy and there is no possibility of a happy ending? especially when that was not the original intention? i'm absolutely gutted by this realization and i hate that i feel wedded to it.

Upset Because Story Went Off the Rails

You're a Writer, Not a Marionette - Long ago, I bought into the believe that characters and stories have minds of their own... that it was beyond my control if my character did X when I wanted them to do Y... that there was nothing I could do if my happy meet-cute story decided to be a dark tale of horror. It can be kind of fun (and freeing, honestly) to believe we're just helpless vessels through which some greater storytelling force speaks, but that's not the case at all. There's no magical entity pulling the strings beyond your control. If your character does X and you wanted them to do Y, you did that, not your character. If your happy meet-cute turns into a tragic horror, you did that, not your story. You're the writer, and you're in control of everything that does or does not happen in your story.

Does It Make the Story Better? - Human brains are incredible things, and sometimes when your character does X when you intended for them to do Y, it's because some part of your brain realizes that's the better choice. Maybe it's more believable or more natural. Maybe it just works better with what you're laying out. Maybe it's just more interesting. So, the trick is to look at the unintended thing that happened and ask yourself if it makes the story better. Make a list of pros and cons... what are the ways the story is better if you stick with X rather than Y. What are the ways it's worse? Ultimately, if the change truly makes the story better, it's worth following through.

Beware of Story Parasites - Parasites are organisms that invade and thrive inside a host organism, at the host organism's expense. When you're writing your WIP and it takes a massive shift in tone, genre, or direction, sometimes that's because a whole new story idea has bullied its way into this one and is now feeding off this story to survive. If the unintended thing doesn't make the story better and leaves you feeling upset about the direction things are heading, you've probably got a story parasite. In which case, the best thing you can do is write the idea down as generally as possible, and set it aside to work on another time. Treating this invasive idea as something distinct from your WIP can help you move on and keep your story on its intended path.

What To Do When the Change Has to Stay - Very rarely, you may find that story's original direction just isn't working, and that this new (and vastly different) direction makes for a much better story. In that case--if you're absolutely certain this is the right path--it's worth making a list of all the reasons this idea will be better. Try to imagine what the story will be like if you stick with the original plan, versus if you make the drastic change. Can you think of anything that excites you about this new idea? Can you find reassurance in the many ways that this story shines versus the original idea?

Ultimately, It's Up to You - If your story takes an unexpected and upsetting turn, and you're certain it's the superior course, and that there's no point in pursuing the story's original path instead, it's worth really taking a look at why it's so upsetting if it's the right thing to do. If you're disappointed that your original plan didn't work out, spend some time trying to figure out how to make the original plan work better than the new idea. If you're upset because this idea is too personal or triggering, set it aside and see if you can come back to it later. You're not obligated to keep working on a story if it shifts in a direction that makes you unhappy or uncomfortable. You can set it aside or figure out a way to keep it in your comfort zone.

I hope that helps!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[ahotmesswithprivilege]

Never Alone

paring: Bradley Bradshaw x female!IC!reader (callsign Nike )

wordcount: ca. 3700 (only because this will be a multi-part thing XD)

synopsis: When Bradley stumbles out of the Hard Deck with a pretty tag chaser he has a plan for the night. Take her home, fuck her, kick her out. Not that this was something he did often but with the stress at work he needed to let off some steam. That is until he hears someone crying and his night takes a turn he hadn't expected at all.

note: I initially intended to post the whole thing (currently at almost 12000 words 🤯 ), but I really wanted to post a new piece and since I started a lot of new WIP instead of finishing something I thought this would be a good idea. Also, my Rooster debut so to speak (you can thank @mynameismckenziemae for this one. The fact that Rooster is the hero in this one is kind of on her 😅 . Thanks for helping me decide and for listening to my rambles on the regular. I am really thankful for the support) and I hope you all like it. And you know that navy inaccuracies are a given with my stuff, but this time I went a bit more ham than usual. The role of IC (Incident Commander) is existing in crisis and natural disaster management but fuck if I know if some work for the Navy. I made all of that up for the sake of the plot. Don't like that, please skip this one. And last but not least, yes this is yet again very self-indulgent stuff and it will get only worse with the next part, so if you don't like it, click off 😘

Trigger Warning(If I forgot something or you want me to add to the list, my inbox is wide open. You are responsible for your media consumption, so proceed with caution, you know the drill): plus-size!reader, military/navy inaccuracies, non-canon (not even sure if this is canon compliant so, take that as you will), allusion to trauma/dissociative episode, written by a non-native speaker

|| Masterlist ||

divider by @sweetmelodygraphics banner by @firefly-graphics gif by @jensens-ackles

!!!Minors do not interact! I block blank blogs/without age/Minors!!!

When Bradley stumbles out of the Hard Deck with a pretty tag chaser on his arm he knows how this is gonna end. Take her home, have some fun and then kick her out. He wasn't one to indulge often, but considering how Maverick had been on his ass during training all week, he really needed to let off some steam. His arms were wrapped around her waist, lips wandering over her neck as he manoeuvred her back towards his Bronco until he stopped in his tracks.

There it was again. He had almost missed it with the busty brunette giggling into his ear, but he was sure that he heard right. "Hey Casanova, I am down here", she puts a hand on his cheek to pull his focus back to her," You wanted to show me a good time, remember?" But Rooster couldn't focus on the way her hands were roaming his body or the way she began to kiss his jaw, leaving a trace of lipgloss in her wake. "Didn't you hear that? Someone's crying" "That's just a girl who got what you promised me", she retorts, but it only makes him cringe. If this is how she imagined the sound of a consenting couple, he sure as fucking hell didn't want her in his bed.

Untangling himself from her limbs he walked over to the dark place next to a huge palm tree. The curled-up figure was barely visible in the shadows, but the sniffling was getting louder the closer he walked. "Hey what about me?", the woman whines, stomping her high heel sandal-clad foot on the ground. "Go in and find yourself another set of tags", he growls back annoyed, regretting the tone of his voice and the volume the moment he sees the figure flinch.

This was bad.

For a moment he wondered if he should call Phoenix or even Penny to make sure he wasn't doing more damage than good, but then he saw how a ring caught the light from the Hard Deck entrance. He knows that ring. The silver laurel branches that are winding around a delicate finger. He has seen it more than once.

"Nike?", he freezes for a moment unable to compute the situation. He had been at the Hard Deck all night and was sure he would have spotted you in the crowd. Not to mention that you weren't one for bars. You said as much yourself whenever one of the others had invited you for an evening out. "Hey Nike, it's me. Rooster", he tries to make himself small as he approaches, not wanting to intimidate you, voice soft and gentle. "Are you...", he begins before he stops himself. Was he really just about to ask you if you were ok? It's so goddamn fucking obvious that you are not, so he settles for something else. "What happened, Nike?" You were still sitting there, legs pulled close to your body, head resting on your knees as you cried. He moved another step closer when you suddenly looked up at him as if only now you realised that someone was there. "Rooster?"

Your chest was heaving, your fingers nervously drumming on your kneecaps while you tried to focus on him, clearly struggling with the situation "Yeah. It's me. Shall I call someone?", he asked and as soon as he mentioned the call you began frantically shaking your head, reaching a trembling hand out to him to grab the wrist of the hand that was about to reach into his pocket. "No, please don't" He pulls his hand back out of his pocket and lifts it up in the air to signal surrender. "Ok, I'm not"

Bradley only knows you as IC. The woman for the impossible jobs and who you call when shit hit the fan and you need someone to fix it. A woman tough as nails and level-headed who always has a backup plan for the backup plan to make sure you got your people home safe and you were fucking brilliant at it. They named you after the goddess of victory for a reason. Whenever he was on a mission you were responsible for he felt a lot calmer and he knew he wasn't the only one. People trusted your competence and your judgement. They trusted you.

Hell, you were probably the only person on planet Earth to tell Admiral Simpson no if you thought something was a shitty idea and lived to tell the tale.

"Then say what you need Nike. Please?", he pleads feeling completely helpless. He has never seen you so utterly terrified and there is a feeling rising in his chest that makes him want to knock on the door of whoever left you so scared and very impolitely beat the shit out of them. You loosen the grip on his wrist and let your hand glide down his arm until yours is in his and he gives you a reassuring squeeze. Even with his fingers wrapped around yours, he can feel the trembling. When you finally answer him your voice is barely above a whisper. "A place to stay"

He didn't need to hear anything else. He just nodded and pulled you up by the hand that was still clinging to his own. Your feet were wobbly and the heels didn't make it any better. His eyes wandered over you, assessing whether there was any injury that he had to be mindful of before he let go of your hand for a second, the terror lighting back up in your eyes immediately. "It's ok, Nike. I am here", his voice is low and raspy as he places one hand on your back and bends down, placing the other under your knees to pick you up bridal style. He felt the way your body seemed to relax in his hold, face buried in his neck as he rested his head on yours before he murmured into your hair. "Let's get you home"

At a red light on the drive to his place he looks down where your hand is still holding his, his thumb gently petting the back of your hand while your head rested on his shoulder. In all the years of knowing you, he's never seen you so close to someone else. You usually prefer to keep people out of your personal space. It was something everyone on base respected and that makes him wonder.

You were so strong, so resourceful and intelligent. You had seen so much shit in your life and 9 times out of ten they called you in when it already hit the fan, so you were no stranger to working under immense pressure, the lives of people depending on the shots you were calling. How could someone bring you into a position where you would be so utterly terrified that it'd push you into a state that looked like a full-blown anxiety attack?

Considering the pretty dress, the heels and your by now smudged make-up it was likely you'd been out today and since bars and clubs are not your scene, he figures it must have been a restaurant. The thought that someone treated you so badly was infuriating him. You had dedicated your life to protecting people, making sure that they get back home to their families and loved ones unharmed. To treat someone like you bad enough to send you spiralling called for a grade-A asshole and a part of him hoped you'd tell him the name later. He would gladly pay that asshat a visit and he would bet, the rest of the dagger squad would happily tag along.

It's not much later when he puts the Bronco in park in front of his house, feeling the way you instantly stiffen next to him. "I'll go ahead and open the door", your grip around his hand tightens even more. You are holding on to him for dear life. Bradley Bradshaw was your lifeline right now and to be someone you trusted so much filled his heart with pride. He only wished he would have found out under different circumstances.

"I'll be right back, Nike", he hears you stifle a sob while you tremble. Whether it's the chill night air or your fear, he is not quite sure and so he leans to the side to press a gentle kiss on your forehead. "You tell me when you are ready", he adds, pulling you into an embrace as the two of you sit here in his car. He'd stay here with you for hours if you needed it. "Promise you'll come back" "I promise", he looks down at you and you nod. Letting go of his hand so he can get out of the car. Brad cannot remember any other time when he ran up the steps to his house this fast, unlocking the door and grabbing the quilt from his couch before he gets right back to you.

Seeing the way your eyes light up when you see him as he opens the car door makes his heart soar and ache at the same time. "Told you, I'd come for you Nike", he steps closer and gently places the blanket around your shoulders and when he picks you up again he feels how you instantly melt into his embrace. "I'll always come for you"

He tried to kick his front door closed as quietly as he could to not spook you even more and kept the lights off too as he made his way to his bedroom. From there he goes into the en-suite and sits you down on the counter. "Blanket on or off?" "Off" He nods, taking the colourful patchwork off of your shoulders and throwing it in the corner where he usually stores his dirty laundry. He could deal with that some other time. "I'll turn on my bedside lamp in the other room. Close your eyes and I’ll tell you when to look”, he was looking for any sign that you needed another moment but you nodded.

So he turns around and walks into his bedroom, turning on the lamp and throwing the next best piece of fabric over it to dim the light. It was enough to see something but not too much on your eyes that had probably gotten used to the darkness outside. "You can open your eyes", he says, turning back to look at you, eyes wandering over you for a moment to see if there was any injury that he had missed in the darkness outside the Hard Deck but he couldn't find anything. On his way back to you he rummaged around in his drawer, finding a Phillies jersey that could fit you if the dress wasn't comfortable enough for you to sleep in.

"I'm back", he announces himself and sees how your entire body relaxes, shoulders lowering and fingers no longer playing nervously with your ring. "I'm gonna take your shoes off first" He throws the jersey over his shoulder before he goes down on his knees, unlacing your oxford heels, every move slow and deliberate, before he places them down on the floor under the cabinet, to get them out of the way. He is looking up at you from his crouched position. He wants to seem as non-threatening as possible for what comes next.

"Do you want to keep your dress on or change into a shirt?", he asks, taking the jersey from his shoulder and showing it to you. He sees the way you are contemplating for a long while, brow furrowed and teeth sinking into your lower lip before you reach out for the worn-out material. It's soft and you are digging your fingers into the material and holding onto it the way you'd been holding onto his hand. Holding on for dear life.

"Want me to stay or wait outside?", he asks, not wanting to put you into a worse situation than you are already in. Damn, he wished you would have allowed him to get Phoenix or Penny, then this would have been not as bad by a long shot. You are quiet for a while and he wonders if you've drifted off again the way he found you in front of the Hard Deck, but then your gaze finds his and you take a deep breath. "Can you help with the zipper?" "Of course"

He gets up and watches you jump off the counter, your stance much more stable now that the heels are off. It's more the look he's used of you and it gives him the feeling that he's at least doing something right here. You turn around, his jersey still pressed to your chest, looking down at the washed-out red and white fabric as if it gave you some form of solace. Bradley takes a step closer, his eyes searching yours in the mirror to make sure you know what would come next and when you give him a nod he reaches out his hand, gently pulling down the zipper. Underneath the fabric is some sort of underdress all laced up with a pretty bow. Fuck. He would have never taken you for the corset-wearing type of gal.

You let the dress slide down to the floor before you pull his jersey over your head. He wants to help you to smooth it down your body but you shake your head and his hands are off immediately. "Sorry" "No...Can you untie...?" This time he's the one nodding, letting his hands glide under the fabric, pulling at the laces to undo the bow and then loosening them enough so you could let it glide down your body too and step out. The pile of fabric, tulle and boning is on the floor and he sees that you attempt to lean down, your hand on the counter for balance in order to pick your clothes up but he's faster. "Thank you" “I can put this on a hanger for you”, he nods over to where he usually stores his drying shirts. “There are loops...”, you start and he easily finds them, placing them on the hanger's hooks before he puts them on the clothes rail. As his eyes wander over the dress, he's wondering for a moment who you had met to doll up like this. "Anything else?"

He sees the way you are thinking, fighting with yourself "Whatever it is, if I can do it, I will" "Can you help with the stockings?" You don't meet his eye, probably embarrassed to make yourself vulnerable in front of a coworker like this but right now Rooster doubts that there is anything in this world he wouldn't do for you.

So for the second time tonight, Bradley Bradshaw lets himself fall onto his knees, feeling your hand on his shoulder for support while both hands are smoothing up your calf to your knee and under the jersey, feeling where the nylon ended so he could pull it down for you. His eyes are glued to the ground to make this at least a little less awkward for you. Once the fabric is gone, he switches to the other side and repeats the same movement before he looks up at you, the bunched-up material ending up under the sink next to your shoes.

"You good, Nike?", he asks, eyes searching your face for any sign that he's overstepped but all he finds is that gentle expression of fondness on your face, not quite a smile but considering the circumstances, Bradley would settle for this. You give him a small nod, hand moving from his shoulder closer to the crook of his neck, fingers lingering on his scars and Brad couldn't help but close his eyes at the gentle touch, willing his body to stay perfectly still to not destroy this moment of peace. Not for you and not for him. "Thank you Rooster", he's had your voice in his ear so often, assertive and commanding, but now your voice was gentle, as much a caress for him as your fingers. "For you, always", he looks up at you and for a moment he feels like the world stops turning and he wonders if given another chance at a different time, you would return to his home and allow him to prove to you that there were men out there who could treat you right.

When you finally pull back your hand he slowly moves up to stand before you, towering over you but you don't flinch. Bradley Bradshaw doesn't make you feel you need to and he cannot help but feel a pride rising in his chest that of all people, you chose him to put your trust in. "Now let's get you into bed", he steps to the side, letting you walk past him with his hand hovering over the small of your back. His hand wants to touch, but he doesn't want to push. Not after the night you had. That is until he realises that you are walking towards the door.

"Where do you think you are going?" "Couch" Fuck no. He would not make you sleep on that thing that was short and so worn out that it'd surely break your back. But what was even worse than the idea of you on his couch was the fact you believed that he would allow, let alone want that. Getting his hands back on you he picks you up bridal style and carries you back over to the bed. "You take the bed" "Rooster..." "No" There is a small smile playing on his lips. It reminds him of the first time he met you way back when.

You had just finished the mission briefing when Hangman suggested a change to the plans and your only reply was: "No" "What no?" "No", you looked Hangman straight in the eyes, pretty brow arched, and everyone in the room could feel the fury start to simmer in Hangman's veins at the way you're dismissing him and his points so easily. "No is a complete sentence, Lieutenant Seresin. Considering your reputation as base casanova I was hoping you'd understand the concept" That was the moment Rooster knew that he liked you.

Rooster was a navy guy and could sleep wherever, even on the hardwood floor if he had to, but you needed some proper rest. He lays you down on the bed as gently as possible and when he straightens his back he sees the expression on your face. It's such a wild swirl of emotions that are washing over your features, ever-changing like the ocean, that he doesn't know what to expect next, but it sure as hell wasn't this. "I'm scared of being alone"

He knows that this is far more than a simple statement. It is your way to ask for him to stay, to have him around for your comfort. It's not like he doesn't want to, but there is a part of him that wonders if this would be something you'd come to regret the next morning. He had always known you as someone who loved her personal space, avoiding even handshakes whenever you could. He had his hands all over you tonight and he didn't want to push his luck, but then he saw your pleading eyes and he smiled down at you. "I'll just get into some comfortable clothes and then I'm right back", he leans down and presses a soothing kiss to your forehead. He couldn't remember the last time he had been this soft around someone and yes, the circumstances were shitty at best, but there was a part of his heart that revelled in the gentleness of these moments. "Thank you, Bradley"

He has to stop himself for a moment, eyes wide with surprise as he looks at you. Never before have you used his first name. It was always Lieutenant, Bradshaw, Rooster or a combination of those three, usually depending on how pissed you were at him for fucking around with your meticulous mission plans. There was a flicker of fear that washed over your face as the realisation hit you what you just said but he reached out his hand, gently resting on your cheek, thumb caressing your skin. "No need to thank me, Nike. I am glad if I can help"

He allows himself another moment to enjoy the feeling of your soft skin against his before he pulls back and turns to grab some fresh clothes to sleep in and heads to the bathroom. His movements are hurried, almost frantic while he gets out of his clothes and ready for bed. All the while feeling a fear creeping up on him. He closed the door, to make sure to respect your boundaries but now he regretted it. It meant he couldn't check in on you, couldn't make sure that you were ok and not spiralling. Throwing his worn clothes over to the hamper without caring if he actually hit or not he just pulls on his sweat pants and opens the door, muscle shirt still in hand as he walks into the bedroom and pulls it over his head.

When he reached the bed where you had curled up already, he crouched down to be on eye level with you. “Tell me what you need from me", his voice is soft and quiet as he talks, pushing a strand of hair out of your face and behind your ear. He sees how you try to sink even deeper into the pillow as if you wanted to hide from him and that makes his heart ache. "Remember Nike. Whatever you need as long as I can make it happen, you'll get it" "Can you...", your voice is barely above a whisper and when he tries to meet your gaze you turn around and scoot over on the bed to make room for him. "I just really don't want to be alone"

You feel the way the mattress is dipping under his weight but you cannot bring yourself to turn around and look him in the eye. "You are not alone Nike", his voice is close to your ear and you can feel the way his breath is fanning out over your cheek and neck. And then you surprise him when you reach behind him and take his hand to place it over your waist, your fingers interlaced with his as your thumb drummed a nervous rhythm into the palm of his hand. "You are never alone"

Part 2

likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated as always

If you want to read more you can find my masterlist HERE

[pixelnrd]

What’s up?

I thought I’d share an update on what I’ve been up to/where I’m at now that the Langston Legacy is over.

Tbh I’ve felt a bit lost without the drive to forge forward with a Legacy! I miss just playing the game for the sake of playing. I haven’t bought Life and Death yet but have considered it just for a reason to play the damn game.

But to cope with the end of something so big, I’ve thrown myself into new projects - both sims and non-sims.

In dot point form, here is what I got going on:

I got a new PC! My partner surprised me with a proper gaming PC for Christmas and it is beautiful. Incredible speeds and quality, and I can’t believe how much my poor laptop was suffering by comparison - honestly it was off putting to play on because of the load times and lag.

Since getting new PC, I have finally started work on my long-planned project of an Australian decades challenge. I’ve built the world, all the lots, and created the population and main family. I might share some images soon because I’m super proud of how they’ve turned out. I’ve already got the prologue mapped out and have been working on shooting! But still tweaking how I want to story-tell this new Legacy and how I want the format of it to work between imagery and dialogue. Bit of a WIP still.

I’ve created my own custom ReShade preset just for my new Legacy. It was a labour of love but I really learnt a lot. I wanted something that really looks like the setting of my Legacy, southern rural Australia in all its barren, dusty, ochre glory.

In saying all that, if they re-release the Sims 1 or 2 as part of the 25yr anniversary I’ll be yeeting myself into the void to play those for a while and pretend I’m a kid again.

Outside of sims, I’m working on finding new outlets for creativity in my own personal life and seeing where that takes me. I’ve come to realise that creativity is necessary for my sanity, and I have so many ideas I want to work on but instead I’m stuck in the rat race of life working a full time job that I don’t like. I’m going into this year with the mentality that it’s time to be brave and take some big steps to live the life I want to live, one that allows me to be creative on a daily basis and spend more wholesome time with the people I love.

And to top it all off, I’m also baking another real life nooboo 🐣 just one this time, not two!

Anyway what was the point of this dump? Just to let you all know where I’m at, what you can expect from me, my desire to stay here in simblr and still be a part of this community.

If you’re new around here, please feel send me a message and I’ll check out your stuff - I feel very out of the loop these days with fellow simmers and a bit lost at sea, but I’m still very much a historical simmer at heart who loves the cosy vibes of creating historical drama with friends ❤️

[batri-jopa]

"Currently"

Since I've already been tagged by both @figuringthengsout and @notasapleasure I should finally do something about it🫡

favorite color: recently it's yellow💛💛💛 Juicy mango type of yellow the most. Often combined with black and white because I enjoy looking like an oriole:

last song: Tina Turner - GoldenEye

last movie: Mask (1994) (and maaan how I never suspected I would look at Stanley Ipkiss as a relateable character when I grow older...😅)

currently reading: Romans na receptę - another one of few books by Monika Szwaja that my mum borrowed in our local library. I like her style and it breaks my heart that she died being only 65🥺 There's always so much hope and friendliness and support in the world that she's depicting. And, fascinating enough, there's usually AroAllo woman representation somewhere and depicted in the positive way! Of course it is not called "aromantic" by a polish writer born in 1949, more likely for the main male character to call that "AroAllo" woman character a "robot" who "uses him as as a sex toy"🤭 - BUT nevertheless even the male protagonist really likes her, appreciates her skills as loyal assistant, treats her as good friend to confess his problems to and genuinely wishes her all the luck!👍 In other books you can expect other queers occasionally too (like a teenage son who turns out to have a boyfriend), but it's always in sympathetic and realistic yet bringing-back-faith-in-humanity kind of way🫠

currently watching: umm... nothing actually (I feel like a weirdo😑 Like maybe I should start watching sth finally just so I could fill in the meme next time around? I do have a lot of series on my "to watch list")

currently craving: MANAGE TO GET SHIT DONE!💪 seriously I need either only 2 working days a week instead of 3 or... better time organisation😩 (so what that I have 4 "free" days a week now when there are emails to answer and books to read, and my pictures to make into album, and family members to visit, and all the new pictures' ideas to draw, and new tumblr posts to create, and those fic-WIPs waiting for so long already, and... I wonder if scheduling everything in precize days and hours would help me to feel more organised somehow?🤔 or only feel more remourse for not being able to follow the schedule?😑)

tea or coffee: Oh, so glad you asked! Tea please, black, strong, no sugar, no milk. Lemon appreciated but not necessarily. Thank you!🫖☕️

Tagging: @zorilleerrant , @chrisoels , @swordoftheseeker , @kaiaprax , @imaginatorofthings , @parttimereptile , @corey-m13 - some of you won't play probably so I'm just saying a friendly "hi"👋

[daffi-990]

✨ Inspiration Saturday ✨

So instead of working on the WIPs I already have, my brain decided to think up a new one 😅

Current working title is LA Lonely and here is a mood board and a rough little summary:

Buck meets Eddie and they hook up. Buck feels an instant connection but doesn’t pursue it because he’s only good for one night, no one wants him for keeps. Cue him running into Eddie almost everywhere he goes, like the universe keeps putting Eddie in his path. And Eddie is kind and never makes their interactions feel awkward and the way he smiles at Buck has something warm fluttering to life inside him. Eddie eventually asks him out on a proper date and Buck is so confused because no one wants him for more than a fun time. They don’t want to keep him.

(snippet under the cut)

“Buck!”

Buck turns towards the voice calling his name to find none other than Christopher from the class field trip at the station last week walking towards him, red crutches click clacking against the floor.

“Hey Chris! What brings you here? Another school field trip?”

Chris scrunches his face up, looking at Buck like he’s grown a second head.

“It’s Saturday.”

“Right. I knew that, I was just checking to see if you did.” Buck says as he points his finger at Chris causing the boy to giggle.

Buck scoots over on the bench making room for Chris to sit down beside him.

“Are your mum or dad with you?” Buck asks as he scans the room behind them for a frantic parent.

“My mum’s dead.”

Oh. Well. Buck has no idea what to do with that.

“Uh, I’m sorry buddy, that’s uh- that’s rough.” He looks around the room again. “What about your Da-“

“Christopher!”

Buck’s head whips around to find a man striding towards them. As he draws closer, Buck's eyes widen in recognition and disbelief because shit, Buck knows him - has seen him naked, felt his body pressed against his own as the guy shoved his cock so deep inside Buck he swore he could feel it in his throat. The memory of their encounter is still fresh in Buck’s mind a week later because it was that good.

“Dad!” Chris says happily, smiling bright and big and holy fuck his hot hookup who gave him one of the best orgasms of his fucking life has a kid.

And is standing right in from on him.

Buck scrambles to his feet, his hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck as he smiles nervously at Eddie. “Uh hi.”

Eddie looks shocked to see him but it quickly melts away, his eyes softening. “Buck, hey.” His mouth quirks up in a small smile and Buck remembers exactly why he brought Eddie home last weekend. He’s so fucking pretty

No pressure tagging: @diazsdimples @hippolotamus @spotsandsocks @wikiangela @puppyboybuckley @exhuastedpigeon @wildlife4life @watchyourbuck @elvensorceress @eddiebabygirldiaz @evanbegins @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @athenagranted @rainbow-nerdss @rewritetheending @shortsighted-owl @steadfastsaturnsrings @thewolvesof1998 @try-set-me-on-fire @theotherbuckley @tizniz @devirnis @disasterbuckdiaz @fortheloveofbuddie @giddyupbuck @hoodie-buck @homerforsure @honestlydarkprincess @jeeyuns @jesuisici33 @lover-of-mine @ladydorian05 @loserdiaz @captain-hen @bekkachaos @nmcggg @monsterrae1 @missmagooglie @mellaithwen and as always, anyone else who wants to share something -> consider this your official tag ❤️

[tgmsunmontue]

Season to Taste - 33/42? WIP

Explicit Hangster - Celebrity Chef Bradley and Naval Aviator Jake Seresin who have a relationship spanning the globe before they realize how tightly bound they are to one another. Heading into this little world.

PROLOGUE/ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN (interlude) ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FORTEEN FIFTEEN SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN NINETEEN TWENTY (interlude) TWENTYONE TWENTYTWO TWENTYTHREE TWENTYFOUR TWENTYFIVE TWENTYSIX TWENTYSEVEN TWENTYEIGHT TWENTYNINE THIRTY (interlude) THIRTYONE THIRTYTWO

(And we have an estimated final chapter count!)

CHAPTER THIRTYTHREE

              “My partner is in the military. He brings me home odd foods from his deployments and then makes me try and make a dish out of it. Keeps me on my toes. Keeps my ideas fresh.”

              “This is the first we’re hearing of a partner. That news is going to make many of your fans a little broken hearted…” Bradley snorts but covers it up with a polite laugh, because he’s aware that most of his fans are female and are also aware that he’s gay. “Is it serious?”

              “We’ve been together nearly two years, so yeah, I’d say it’s pretty serious.”

…           …           …

              One of the benefits of the little video is that his mom begins to remember them all. She doesn’t remember that they’re related to her, but either she has good days where she does remember everything, or she knows them all as Leo’s boyfriend’s family. Or Bradley Bradshaw’s. Whatever. He doesn’t care, because what it means is regardless of when he goes to visit, she greets him with his name and a wide smile rather than a confused blank look. He does have to exchange a quick call with his dad to ensure she’s either watched the video, or remembered Leo all on her own. And because his boyfriend is the best person in the world there are letters and postcards from him to his mom as well, and he never thought his mom would make friends again, but he’d like to think her and Leo are friends.

              Of course, he’s now receiving care packages from Silvia and Leandro as well, which has made him even more popular wherever he’s deployed, getting a reputation for having people at home that care about him enough to keep him in a steady supply of baked goods. The fact that he doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth and shares most of it also helps, although some people he deliberately doesn’t share with, because they’re bigger assholes than he is.

              Right now though his usual routine is broken, his arrival in New York not featuring Leo at all, who is in California of all places, but he’s going to be meeting Jake in Texas in two days. He doesn’t know what’s in California exactly, knows it’s not a new restaurant, because he had asked and Leo had said he’d tell him when they saw each other next, which he’d had to settle for. Instead he’s travelling with Vi, who is jittery beside him; which also isn’t usual.

              She wants to talk to his dad, which is odd in itself. He’d suspect an ambush or surprise party except there is no significant birthday or celebration other than the fact that he’s home after being away seven months. It’s been five months since they’ve seen each other, the longest they’ve gone without seeing each other what with whatever thing it is that Leo has to deal with in California important enough to stop him from meeting up with Jake during his last two shore leaves. So to say he’s looking forward to seeing Leo is something of an understatement, and the fact that his cousin is going to be staying isn’t going to be any type of deterrent, considering she’s usually around.

…           …           …

              Bradley hasn’t read so much fine print in his life. Fortunately he’s had plenty of time to sit around while waiting for Ice’s chemo sessions to end so he can then drive him home, sharing some of the load with Mav. Their relationship is… well. He’s reminded of the phrases walking on eggshells and treating each other with kid gloves; both of them careful not to irritate each other, especially with Ice’s health requiring more attention and effort. He hadn’t been prepared to be given full power of attorney for them both, but he’d accepted. The paperwork had been overwhelming but he’d gone through it carefully, glad for Vi’s experience and also the fact that he has his own lawyer.

              He hasn’t stayed with Ice and Maverick, not comfortable enough. After nearly eighteen years he’s treating Maverick as a stranger he wants to get to know better.  It’s working for the most part, when he reminds himself that Maverick didn’t mean to be malicious by pulling his papers. That he was simply more loyal to his mother than he was to Bradley. He can’t find fault in that, because that loyalty he understands better now, his roots tied deeply with the entire Gallo family, and if he had to chose between Maverick and them, he would chose them in a heartbeat. He’s lived more of his life without Maverick in it now than with him in it, so it is an adjustment.

              It’s a complete role reversal when he steps into the arrivals lounge; Jake standing there looking so damned good. Pair of his worn jeans that Bradley knows will be soft under his fingertips, light grey tank that’s so thin in places it would be indecent if Jake wasn’t wearing a short-sleeved checked shirt over the top, grin wide as he watches Bradley approach.

              “Hey there…”

              “Hey…”

              “Hi. Damn you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

              “Mmm. Could say the same about you.”

              They simply lean into each other, soft and gentle and tired. He has plans to tell Jake about Maverick and Ice this week, but right now he wants to go home, glad that they have a place here he can call home. Call theirs, even if Jake calls it a ridiculous for just two people. Part of Bradley agrees, a six bedroom house is two big for the two of them. However they have their own bedroom and Vi has her own for when she needs to come down for work to check on Tartaruga Violet.

              So while they might not stay in it very much he knows Jake’s family use it, hosting family and friends when they come to town. That and the swimming pool is very much appreciated during the summer months. When he walks through the front door he experiences a sense of homecoming, because it’s theirs and there is evidence absolutely everywhere. Hand drawn pictures attached to the refrigerator with magnets, weird hand-made bowl sitting on the side table that they drop their keys into as they remove their shoes, photos of family all over the walls courtesy of Vi and Jake’s sisters.

              He lets Jake gently bully him into the shower, not that he really needs to be convinced to get naked and wet. The sex is slow and sweet, unhurried while they reacquaint themselves with each other’s bodies after the months-long separation and he swears to never let it go that long again, murmurs as such into the skin of Jake’s neck and peppers little kisses over his answering grin. They fall asleep entwined and he looks forward to waking up in bed with Jake in the morning.

…           …           …

              The next day is dreary and damp, too warm and it reminds him of monsoon season in Malaysia. They’re having an early lunch with Jake’s parents, one Vi has asked to come along to because she wants to ask Chuck some questions. She won’t give him any more than that and he’s learnt his lesson long ago that if she doesn’t want him knowing something there’s no way for him to find out until she decides it’s time. The morning is languid and slow, he makes them breakfast and then takes Jake back to bed, earning him an eyeroll from Vi. After three years he knows she doesn’t really care, just likes winding them both up.

              Then they’re showered, dressed and opening the gate to Chuck and Jenna’s house, Vi carrying a satchel he hasn’t seen before and which she refuses to say anything about when he raises a questioning eyebrow. They sit through a light lunch and then Maria turns up to take Jenna for a ride around the farm and he realizes that Vi has organized this so that she can talk directly to Jake’s dad. He suddenly feels a little worried about whatever it is she’s going to say.

              “Mr Seresin… Giacomo…” Vi starts, correcting herself, because Chuck has told her to call him Chuck multiple times. They’ve compromised on Giacomo, his given name and it always startles him a little when she uses it.

              “Sir, do you know the name of your Grandfather?”

              Chuck laughs and shakes his head.

              “I should think so. I have the same name…”

              “I knew it… oh mio Dio…”

              “What do you mean? What did you know?”

              “I should have just come straight here. Would have saved me some time. So, I’ve been doing some digging, and I wanted to be absolutely certain, but once Silvia and Leandro met Jake and then saw video of your sisters and your dad they knew…”

              “Knew what?” Bradley and Jake says at the same time, while Chuck just looks bemused.

              “You’re great-grandparents and my great-grandparents were siblings.”

              “Uh…” Bradley’s brain stalls, trying to do the mental gymnastics of how that would work.

              “Oh, cazzo. No. That’s not right. Hold on, I have a family tree…”

              Then she’s pulling out pieces of paper, except it’s not pieces of paper but one piece folded smaller and she unfolds it out, spreads it over the table and smooths it down before pointing at the top.

              “My great great grandfather. He was a Seresin. He had four children. Giacomo, Ariana and Andrea, who were twins… and then Bella.”

              “Holy shit… so we’re related?” Jake asks with a laugh.

              “Yes. But even tighter than that, because Giacomo ran away to America with his pregnant girlfriend, Francesca Gallo. Your grandmother?” Vi asks Chuck for confirmation and he nods, looks a little shell shocked and Bradley can’t say he blames him. “Yeah. So. That’s not the weirdest part. Both Andrea and Ariana married brothers of Francesca Gallo, Luca and Giovanni.”

              Bradley has to admit he’s lost, but she’s pointing at the family tree on the table, and he can see Leandro and Silvia there, all of Vi’s sisters and cousins, aunts and uncles, the huge sprawling Gallo family he considers himself a part of and yet here is Jake, actually part of it. His entire family. Fuck. He remembers feeling like Jake’s family had its similarities to the Gallo family and now he knows why.

              “You’re the missing branch of our family tree…” Vi states, sliding the massive piece of paper toward Chuck, who is donning his reading glasses and peering at where Vi has written in pencil Jake’s family.

              “Holy shit…” Jake says under his breath and Bradley wraps an arm around him, because this isn’t bad in any way. Jake has already met so many of them.

              “Did… how long did this take?”

              “Well. I only started working on it properly after Jake’s little impromptu visit. Leandro did a double take when he saw him, because apparently you’re the spitting image of Giacomo Senior. So I pulled up the video and that’s all it took to convince Leandro and Silvia that you were related. But I wanted to have… evidence. I’ve got birth certificates, marriage certificates and ship manifests showing that Francesca started using Seresin before she got to America. But do you know what really convinced me?”

              “What?”

              “I gave Nonna a bottle of Seresin’s sauce and she said that those were Seresin tomatoes. That Giacomo must have taken seeds with him…”

              “He did. I remember him telling me stories about growing the early plants… how precious they were to him. He talked about his family sometimes. I have some photos…”

              “I would love to see them,” Vi says, and Bradley can tell she’s close to tears.

              “Huh… do you see the name of our great-great-grandfather?” Jake asks, and Bradley isn’t sure if he’s talking to him or Vi.

              “Um, what?” Bradley asks.

              “Leonardo.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 14

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. 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: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Pretty sure I'm getting another sinus infection.

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.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You realise a little too late that you have no idea if you should do more than pour the brew into a mug. You recall Frigga mentioned Mr. Laufeyson took his tea black but was it the same for coffee? You never drink it so you wouldn't know better. You hate to presume.

So you find a small tray, setting the mug on it with the dish of sugar and a little porcelain milk urn. You balance is all and climb the staircase tremulously, the task made heavier by the dread nipping at your ears.

You come down the hall and stop before the study door. Your hands are occupied so you gentle tap with your toe. Without an answer, you try again. Still, you're met with only silence.

"Mr. Laufeyson?" You call through, "I have your coffee--"

The door a few feet down opens instead and you turn to face the dour occupant. Mr. Laufeyson beckons you wordlessly with a curt gesture before he disappears behind the door frame. You follow as you let a breath slowly out your nose. Inside, he sits at the writing desk, the laptop open as he tilts his head at it. He has your notes open, shamelessly perusing your reminders.

"Here you are, Mr. Laufeyson," you put the tray on the desk.

"There we are," he accepts tersely and sits back, swiping up the paper from atop the gold and white folder. He eyes the estimate left by the carpenter with your signature at the bottom. "So, what are we to do about that infernal thing?"

You fold your hands and wait for his answer. You realise he does not want one from you. He sniffs and slips the paper over the keyboard, letting it drift slightly over the edge. He sits back and look at you.

"It is the last of your worries, surely," he says flippantly, "firstly, this..." he taps the laptop, "you leave it here. As if you do not care."

You purse your lips. You won't argue. If he wants you to take it home, certainly you can, but you don't have wifi or a need for it beyond these walls.

"What if something should happen? You would want to have access to all your..." he eyes the screen, "clutter."

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson. Noted."

"Noted?" He scoffs and unfolds his arms, "right."

He moves the paper back to the folder and types swiftly, much quicker than your chicken pecking. He sits back proudly and once more sets his sights on you. You clutch your hands tighter and await further remonstrance. This is his vengeance. You can't help but feel you deserve it.

He reaches for the mug, disregarding the milk and sugar, and blows over it. He watches you as he sips.

"Mm," he considers the double-walled cup, "bit strong..."

"Mr. Laufeyson, I could try again--"

"It'll do," he dismisses, "as I said, other concerns. And as I also said, several times, and how you know I do hate to repeat myself, this..." he points at you, flicking his finger up and down, "attire."

You look down at yourself and shrug. The clothes aren't that bad, only plain. Maybe not to his standard but you don't see how they're so wrong.

"Mr. Laufeyson, I don't know--"

"You don't know much, do you?" He challenges, "well, you better catch up." 

He pauses to take another sip, cheeks straining as his throat tightens. He can barely choke down the coffee, making you feel even worse. Is it that bad?

"Are you not curious why I've returned early?" He sets the mug down as he leans forward.

You're quiet. It's not that you don't care, you just wouldn't dare ask. Not after last night, you wouldn't want to bring up bad feelings.

"I see you had my return marked in your calendar," he continues, "I suppose I spoiled your plans, hm?"

"No, Mr. Laufeyson," you assure him.

"So you are happy for my return?"

Your cheek twitches. It's an odd question. One that has no right answer. A trick.

"If you're happy, Mr. Laufeyson, then I am too."

He seems surprised by your answer as his brows arch and his lips part slightly. He closes his mouth and narrows his eyes as he watches you. He chortles and stands.

"How..." he struggles to find a word, "foolish."

You're struck equally by his response. The threat that underlines it and the rebuke in his tone. You dip your head down.

"Call the carpenter," he orders as he retrieves the bill, "I'll sign off on the repairs."

He struts by you as you stare at the tray and his unfinished coffee. Another to-do: you'll have to figure out that machine. 

🧹

It isn't until you sit down to work that you realise the door is still open. The one adjoining the library to Mr. Laufeyson's study. You can hear the subtle tap of keys as he sets to work. You hunker down to do the same, overly mindful of each little noise.

You'll make your call to Ronan elsewhere so you don't disturb the silence. You go through your list, marking down what can be done today in your phone. You get up and slowly move towards the door.

"Sneaking off? You are so good at creeping around? Like a little cat," Laufeyson intones before you can let yourself out. You look back as he stands in the other doorway, "I have an appointment shortly. You will let them in when they ring and show them up."

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson," you agree.

"So you won't stray far."

"I won't."

He waves you off lightly and disappears into the study once more. You turn and quietly shuffle into the hallway. You go downstairs and pace as you dial the phone. Your nerves are a swirl. Mr. Laufeyson is suffocatingly observant.

"Ronan Carpentry," the voice comes from the speaker.

"Oh, ach, hi," you nearly choke on your tongue, "hi, um, I'm just following up on an estimate."

He asks for your name, you give your own but add Mr. Laufeyson's as he would be the leaseholder. The air is static as the man is silent on the other end. He hums and finally speaks again.

"So you would like to go forward with the work?" He prompts.

"Yes, sir."

"When would be best to begin?" He's straight to business. You can appreciate that.

"Hmm, well, I could do most days except Wednesday but the owner would be here."

"Would he be handling this or would you?"

You trace a fingernail with your thumb, "me, I guess."

"Thursday works for me," he confirms, "if it suits you, miss."

"Great," you sigh, "yeah, Thursday works."

"Nine good?" His deep voice is smooth like syrup as it drips through the phone.

"Nine," you confirm with a squeak, "thank you, sir."

"Of course. Have a good one."

You eke out a 'you, too' and hang up. You exhale out your nerves. You're even more jittery and you don't know why. Usually getting phone calls out of the way is a relief. 

You do your best to focus, working down the list until the doorbell buzzes. You jump, taking a moment to recall the expected visitor. You rush out the front door and down the steps. You come up to the gate but find a car waiting by the bigger door. You hit the button so it rolls open and lets the brown vehicle through.

The man that gets out has gray hair and pale blue eyes. He looks around curiously as you cross the lot back to the house. He gives you a friendly smile as you approach and offers his hand, "Loki hanging around here?"

You daintily shake his hand, a gesture you're unused to. His grip is firm but not harsh.

"Mr. Laufeyson is upstairs in his study, I can show you in--"

"Mr. Laufeyson?" He repeats, amused, "in his study? I can find my way," he lets you go, "he didn't tell me he had a lady friend."

Your mouth forms a surprised squiggle, "I'm the house manager."

"Ah, house manager," he clucks, "interesting. Well, can't keep him waiting, I'm already late."

He shoots you with a finger gun and rushes past you. You frown as you turn to watch him. He's not what you expected. You don't see Laufeyson as tolerating someone like that, not that he puts up with much.

As you enter the house, you hear the man's voice upstairs. You're not used to signs of life. His gregarious greeting is soon smothered behind a door. You carry on.

At one, you take a short break in the garden to have your peanut butter sandwich. You thought of eating at the counter as you usually do but being inside is starting to feel oppressive. You chew the dry bread and thick spread, staring at the foliage without seeing.

Your eyes are drawn up as you sense movement and you find curtains being drawn back on the second floor. A figure lingers behind the pane before backing away. You're certain it's Mr. Laufeyson. You hope he's not bothered by you being out in the garden.

You finish the crust last, your stomach mulching up the food violently, and you dust off your fingers. You take out your phone and check the list. No time to waste. You had your ten minutes. You can get through a few more hours.

🧹

Tuesday comes and goes in a similar slog. Your hours are whittled away as you find yourself under the omniscient eye of Mr. Laufeyson. Each time you think you're alone, he appears. He looms but doesn't speak, lurking and waiting, for what, you don't know. At the end of the day, you still don't know. You go home, just as you do every night, without a farewell.

Home sees you just the same. Leslie's finishing up as your father sits over a new puzzle. It's been ages since you've seen him so consumed by anything besides his cigarettes. You sit and have dinner at the nurse's insistence and bid her off. 

Your father stays up as you go up to shower and settle into bed. The last six days hang off your shoulders like sandbags and needle in the muscles between your shoulder blades. You lay down and fall asleep almost as soon as your head meets the pillow. You've never been so exhausted in your life.

You wake up, less refreshed than groggy. You make yourself get out of bed, wanting to get stuff done on your singular day off. After you have your tea and get your dad his coffee,  you get to the chores that you couldn't do throughout the week. Mopping and vacuuming, then laundry.

As you work on the second floor, your father sits with his puzzle. He's fidgety as he hunches over the table. You watch him as you sweep the floor around the couch. He catches you as he glances up. He scowls and shakes his head.

You gather the dust and dirt into the pan and dump it out. You check the time. It's nearly lunchtime. You wash your hands and check the cupboard. There's a can of tuna leftover from your last grocery trip. You'll try to do another on your way home from work tomorrow.  You take out your phone and add it to your reminders.

You go back to the living room as your dad holds a handful of pieces and tosses them one at a time onto the wood as he searches for a particular shape.

"Are you hungry at all?" You ask.

"I want a fucking smoke," he growls.

"Well, I'm sorry, I don't have any," you tuck the phone in your pocket and push your hands behind you, clasping them tightly. The weight of it presses against your thigh.

"Don't be a fucking smartass," he throws the pieces left in his hand at you and they scatter on the floor. "Maybe if you got off that phone , eh?"

You kneel down to gather up the pieces. He snarls and hits the table. You pluck up the last few and set them on wood as you stand.

"Where'd you get a phone like that, huh? Expensive? You been buying yourself all this nice shit and I'm sitting here on a stinky fucking couch rotting away," he accuses.

"It's for work," you say, "I'm gonna make tuna sandwiches."

He sits back and huffs, swiping up the remote and jabbing it through the air towards the television. He sets the volume on blast so your eardrums pulse. You step back as he jams his thumb into the buttons.

“Makes me wonder what kinda job affords you a fancy phone like that?”

“Huh?” You grimace.

“Well, you got no schooling, got no skills,” he sniffs, “only got one thing of use.”

He can't mean… that. You're his daughter. Your eyes sear and gleam as you shake your head.

“I… I'm a house manager,” you croak, “dad–”

“Sure,” he guffaws, “what kinda idiot would want you managing their house? They probably haven't seen this dump.”

“Please, I'm trying–”

“You always gotta fucking yammer!” He barks and a hot pain bounces off your arm. 

You grunt and look down as the remote hits the floor. You rub the tender spot as you let out a shocked ‘ow.’

“Go fucking cry about it. I can't hear the TV over your whining.”

You hold back the wall of tears and pick up the remote. You set it by his puzzle and back up. Yo wiggle your nose as you sidle out of the room. hiding your face.

You move tentatively like prey avoiding the vicious eyes of a hunter. Your arm throbs as you feel a welt forming. It's better to hide before you get more.

You forget about the tuna as your hunger evaporates. You can only think of the pain that goes much deeper than flesh. That rent in your heart that can barely contain your despair. It splits wider as the stress of the week threatens to overflow.

You retreat to your room as the salty tears begin to stream, catching along your nose and dripping off your chin. You close the door and hurtle yourself towards the bed to bury your face in the pillow. A hard shape presses into your leg, a corner stabbing you bluntly.

You lift your hip and fish around in your pocket to free your phone, tearing your pocket inside out. As you go to put it on the nightstand, you notice the timer in the corner. Didn't you lock it before you shoved it away?

You sit up and gulp back sobs, shaking as you stare at the ongoing call. Mr. Laufeyson's name is blazed across the screen. You put it to your ear and whisper, “hello?” You swallow and make yourself speak louder, “hello?”

The line clicks and you pull the screen back. The call's ended as the option to return the call pops up. You blacken the screen and turn the phoje face down, dropping it onto the night table.

Did he hear all that?

[blues-sues]

I'm working on crackships I swear... 😭 Have some art in the mean time!

These are some mew twos! Basically testing how a more mewtish 'two would look but I couldn't decide exactly how to go about it.

I ended up really liking the brown one in the second image as well as the one to the left of it... But also very much enjoying the one in the first image in the top left XD decisions... 😭 They were meant to be ADOPTS!!!!!!! Why do I do this to myself

@phlurrii actually now owns the spotty one in the second image! They clicked with it and I didn't so X3 I think it's a much better home hehe

If anyone's interested in my process for these specific kinds of designs, I saved two wips XD

Anyway! Most recent art is a mirage mew because we watched the special in a call! (I feel violent towards it when it makes noise grrr)

A design I have yet to finalize 😢... Sometimes when I'm about to sleep, I'll get sudden inspiration or a sudden design idea so I'll get up and very hastily draw a sketch and give a rough coloring (usually I wait until after lineart to do coloring at all even for new designs... maybe I should do concept sketches first more often instead of just one shotting XD)

noodel,,, why him so nakey,,, put on pants,,, pls,,,

Another spur of the moment middle of the night drawings. This one is meant to be a Rayquaza! I'll finish that eventually

Anyways,,, bye bye

[creekwritersblood]

Making your Character suffer or not?

Yeah, I will admit it, I am one of those writers who LOVES drama in their characters’ lives. There is a reason for it?

Don’t know honestly, but I think it helps make our Characters less boring and unpredictable, having a different background helps a lot in the story in my own opinion -some others think the opposite, and is good because it means we all like to be different-

I’m used to being inspired by the real world: I’m Used to reading newspapers - I hate TV news- and usually, I take inspiration from the Topic I’m reading about. I remember a few times ago, thinking last year, I read about something on Friendship, how it is formed, what are the first steps to it, and so on; so I took that topic and wrote some background for my character using that. -It’s still in my WIP But soon it will come out

Usually, I avoid topics too delicate like Crime, but is a personal preference.

I’m also used to being inspired by Games, Movies, and other books: There are some Movies or Games with delicate topics, but I don’t know why I find more easy take inspiration from topics used there instead of the real world, maybe because they are less Incisive and affect me in another way. -I am a bit strange -

Add my touch to it: There is nothing bad in finding inspirational other stories, on the contrary, I think they can help give you a better idea of what you want to write about and How your character will build up along the way in each word you will write, remember to add you touch to it and this doesn’t mean copy and change few words, it means let your fantasy grow on a completely different project.

Make them suffer: Suffer is human and also inhuman, everyone suffers at a certain point in life, it doesn’t need to be a huge sufferance, but also a little one will make us change a few things about ourselves in Real life, the same goes for your characters, having a little sufferance will give them that touch of realness your reader is trying to find out.

Let them grow: Something I’ve learned recently is how to make a character grow with each page, I used to have a background to follow, without changing in the middle, and it was good, but adding that bit to my writing made them better, because the reader finds himself getting attached with a Character and maybe also find it a bit more relatable to its self.

Whether you want to write a background static or dynamic, you will always have the satisfaction of seeing readers loving your writings, your characters, and your stories, so keep on writing fellow friend, and live your dream!

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for Derpsheep; a fake cryptid and a real romantic. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“I think I suck at making nests,” Robin mutters sullenly in his mostly-real voice, his arms folded on his knees and face buried in them. He apparently doesn’t care that the tattered feathers of his suit are getting everywhere, but Steph figures that’s his cross to bear or Rubicon to cross or what the frick ever. Robin is definitely the type of guy to smother himself in his own feathers instead of, like, lifting his head like half an inch. 

“Oh my god, what does the Batman have you doing now?” she demands from her seat beside him, leaning forward on her hands. They’re both perched on the edge of a Gotham skyscraper in full costume–all the tattered layers and feathers and hidden secrets of Robin, and the trailing purple shadows and blank face and lamplight-bright eyes of the Spoiler, and also enough Batburger and mix-your-own froyo to make them both sick. “Or is this just another weird idea you got into your head about being a better Robin or something?” 

“This is not about the Batman, okay?” Robin groans into his arms. “I don’t even wanna think about the Batman right now.” 

“Why?” Steph asks skeptically, wrinkling her nose. 

“Because he’s embarrassing,” Robin grumbles, lifting his face just enough to sulk at her. He’s still wearing his mask, because he’s always wearing his mask, but the sulking is not subtle. Like, at all. 

Actually, he might be pouting by now. Geez, that was quick. 

Alright, then. 

“Embarrassing?” Steph repeats, still skeptical. “You never think he’s embarrassing, the only time you said that was oh my god you have a girlfriend. How did you not tell me you got a new girlfriend?! Asshole!” she fumes, thumping him in the shoulder. 

“I don’t!” Robin lies protestingly, throwing his hands up in a cross between a defensive gesture and surrender. Steph thumps him again for good measure. “Ow!”

“You deserved that,” she accuses him. “You got a girlfriend and didn’t tell me!” 

“I didn’t!” Robin insists, somehow managing to look mortified without a face. He definitely sounds it, if nothing else. “I just–I’m just bad at making nests! I tried really hard, but it sucked and it’s not gonna work and I’m the worst bird in the world!” 

“. . . Robin,” Steph says slowly, lifting up her own mask to eye him. The Spoiler’s lamplight lenses will not do right now. “Did you not tell me you got a girlfriend, or did you lie to me about not being a weird cryptid thing like the Batman?” 

She wouldn’t put it past him, considering, but also she really thought they were past that. Like, he’s not actually gonna let her see his real face even though he’s basically her best friend these days, fine, whatever, but she thought he had a real face and if he doesn’t and he lied to her about it for some dumb Bat-reason or even dumber Robin-reason–

“Neither, okay?” Robin groans, hiding his face in his wings, feathers split just enough for him to half-see her through. “Just–last week Superboy kidnapped Catwoman for me and made me a diamond.” 

“. . .” Steph says. 

“A really big diamond,” Robin stresses. 

“. . . . . .” Steph says. 

“With his hands. While sitting in a volcano,” Robin says. “And, like, then he cut it with his TTK. Do you know what the TTK is, actually, he talks it up a lot but I don’t know how closely you follow any of the Supers so–”

“ROBIN WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL,” Steph yells at him.