#have another idea instead for a new WIP

[potatodotpng]

[flufftober]

🍀🍂 Hello and welcome to Flufftober's (first) Fluff Bingo 🍀🍂

In our poll, nearly 50% of you voted for a handful of bingo cards to fill the other half of the year with more fluff before we jump right back into the excitement that is Flufftober - and of course, we're here to deliver 😊

Find all the important info, more cards, and all the prompts in writing below the cut.

We hope you like this event and our prompts, and now

Happy Creating 🥳

🍀 Pick your card - we offer:

🍂 one card with 5x5 prompts (as seen at the top)

🍂 two cards with 3x3 prompts:

🍂 three themed cards with 1x5 prompts:

🍂 and as a bonus, a 3x3 card with tasks instead of prompts:

🍀 How does this work?

🍂 our standard blog rules apply and you'll find answers to most questions on our FAQ post

🍂 aside from that, you can go wild: fill these cards however you like, as quick or as slow as you like, as often as you like, and use as many of them as you like. We just want you to have fun 😊

🍂 if there are prompts on the bigger cards you don't like, feel free to use the 1x5 cards as alternate prompts and switch them out

🍂 download the cards and tick them off once you've finished a square; make a post for every square or only once you have a bingo or even a blackout - it's all up to you!

🍂 as with all our events, this one will never close, you can always use these cards. If you need a timeframe/deadline because (like me) you'll never finish otherwise, consider these loose goals:

finish until July 1st when we release the new Flufftober list

finish during October, maybe by combining some of these with the Flufftober prompts

finish until the end of the year so you're ready for whatever event we plan for next spring

🍀 What about tumblr reblogs and ao3?

🍂 tumblr reblogs will still happen but not daily as you're used to during Flufftober. It will strongly depend on how many posts there happen to be at a time and how the modmin team will have time. But as long as you mention us and/or use the tag (and follow the rules, obviously), reblogs will happen

🍂 please use the tag #fluffbingo

🍂 feel free to also add the general #flufftober tag

🍂 please make sure to clearly show the fandom, either in the first few tags or noticeably in the post

🍂 contrary to how we do it during Flufftober, we will only use four tags during reblogs this time: #fluffbingo #fluffreblog #[fandom] #[your user name] - that means we will not tag any ships, characters, or which prompt you're covering

🍂 on ao3, our collection for this event is Flufftober Fluff Bingo

Prompts

We're going left to right, top to bottom!

🍂 5x5 card

Fresh Start

To-Do List

Craft Fair

Creature AU

“This was a bad idea.”

Exploring Together

Plushie

Secret Signal

“You’ll love it.”

Late Night

Hidden (...)

“It’s just so much.”

Free Space

Fake Dating

Carnival

“You’re the best!”

Royal AU

Missing the Other

Never ever, ever

Rainbow

Hanahaki

Pep Talk

“I really mean it.”

Hoodie

Movie AU

🍂 3x3 card I

“Where do I start?”

Famous AU

Traveling the World Together

Enjoying a Lazy Day

Task: Write in a tense you usually don’t write/write less than another tense

“You said you had it handled!” - “Yeah, well, I lied.”

Birthday

“Hey, wait, that’s mine.”

Direction

🍂 3x3 card II

“You’re late!”

Hospital AU

Grocery Shopping Together

Going for a Walk

Task: Write from a POV you usually don’t write/write less than another POV

“Could you not do that, please?” - “Spoilsport.”

Sunshine

“I don’t know, you decide.”

Concert

🍂 1x5 card - Smiles

Secret Smile

Relieved Smile

Honest Smile

Devious Smile

Teary Smile

🍂 1x5 card - Hugs

Soothing Hug

Hug in Celebration

Sleepy Hug

Hug from behind

Desperate Hug

🍂 1x5 card - Kisses

Kiss on the Hand

Kiss to distract

Goodbye Kiss

Forhead Kiss

Kiss on the Cheek

🍂 3x3 card - Tasks

Finish your WIP

Sort all your Ideas and/or WIPs

Edit an entire Chapter or Oneshot

Outline a Story

Work on that hard Scene that is giving you so much trouble it is holding you back

Finish the next Chapter of your WIP

Join in a Writing Event (this card doesn’t count 😉 but the others do!)

Finish a Oneshot

Dig out an old Draft and work on it

Have Fun and Go Wild 🥳

[thewandererh]

what if why we didn’t see the doctor’s primary black-cloaked vessel ingame is because it’s his last resort? what if it’s where his heart is stored? or even where all the last copies of all his vital organs are kept safe?

an active consciousness can still stem from a backup of his brain, which his primary vessel holds. so, after his physical brain goes belly up (literally😭) the network of transmitting consciousness to each of his bots is still active. just transferred to a weaker method.

following the “murder” of dr harley sawyer in chapter 4, perhaps he scrambles back to this old vessel whereever it is. maybe it’s been neglected, a plan B dangerously collecting dust, or it’s sitting pristine in a sterile room on life support. nevertheless, harley finds himself in it after croaking his “last words” mid-transfer, and struggles to breathe. he forgot about this vessel. he’d cast it aside because it held the scars of his initial transfer into machine and the containment that followed. it was his first body. and it was so weak. but now it is his last chance.

however, he’s not properly adjusted to the whole having organs thing, and this vessel needs to be properly taken care of. so with bated breath and the struggle of calming his mind, he summons one of his metal corpses from his brain’s tomb. it takes a few agonizing minutes as it arrives to wherever he is, but eventually it’s close enough that he can actively switch bodies with it. consciousness transferral relies on proximity (this is why we only see the bots around his brain ingame).

revived and disoriented, the doctor must now look after himself. the fact of being reduced to this husk eats away at every atom of his being, but he’s simply too weak. he failed. he failed and he’ll be killed for it. but he’s not afraid.

when the splitting headaches cease and he gets used to being alive he can kill something again.

soon, but not yet.

4/19/25 edit : THIS AU NOW HAS A SIDEBLOG! https://www.tumblr.com/screws-of-sawyer headcanons, fics, art!!

…

…

info ramble & sillies under cut!

au idea, ayo?? early titles are ‘mechanized-mind’ or ‘inside-the-mind-of-harley’ or even ‘dry-bones’ but i’m still brainstorming X]. i love putting my characters through emotional agony <33 but this time it’s an au of an existing character i have to analyze to get right so that’ll be fun. now for the drawing, i really like both medical concepts and making stuff up so maybe only some of the function would actually work, but i do not care. the idea was that harley’s primary vessel had a more meshy, detachable plate in his chest to give room for his heart and probably-disproportionately-sized lungs. here that plate is removed in order to help his heart beat. tons of other tubes are wired into his ventilation vents to keep him running to. my running idea for why the sarley hawyer (clone bot, aka secondary vessel) here doesn’t have a cloak is because maybe he had to take it off due to contamination. or it got snagged on the way here. but honestly i didn’t want to cover up the cool anatomy of my neat design i’ve been playing with, so he is naked once again 😔

this was the big flipaclip harley piece i mentioned in this post while trying to animate something. this idea arose instead, and slowly came to fruition as i found an elaborate way to color while listening to some lethal company and ppt 3 & 4 vids. pen pressure is really new to me and i’m on my knees thanking it for this neat coloring texture and technique i will probably never use again 🛐😌🫶 thank you apple pencil ilysm

anyways, here’s some funny wip shots, and general doctor sillies i found today!! ^_^ it’s been another doctor day

once again, astralspiff is a very cool guy guys 🗣️🔥🔥

but alas. adios amigos 😵‍💫🫡 goedenacht!

[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 !

[evilyodastwistedworldofevilness]

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

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

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

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

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

Anyway here's some more stuff

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

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

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

yeah

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

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

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

next post will have some wip photos n stufffffff ok weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

[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. 

[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

[softlypaintedseafoam]

sparkler

synopsis. on the eve of ace’s 16th birthday, and your second to last new year in your hometown, you suggest trying your hand (or lips) at a staple new year’s tradition.

pairing. portgas d. ace x reader

word count. 3.2k | masterlist

content warning. f!reader in mind (but written gender neutral), pre-relationship, mutually unrealized feelings, first kiss (new year's kiss)

reblogs & interactions appreciated.

my actually planned ace wip still isn't done so you guys get a repost instead. it's a struggle rn because of the tonal shift post intro it might be split into two separate fics that can be read as standalones but are technically connected????? making shit complicated for myself 101. this was actually the first fic i wrote this year although it was posted originally on my older account!

“Well look at that,” you giggle, unsurprised, at how Luffy lays eagle spread on his back. His snores filling the air make up for the lack of crickets. “He’s knocked the hell out.” You poke his cheek, the 12 year old’s head turning with no resistance at the motion.

Ace snorts from his perch next to the window but the moonlight illuminates the softness of his expression. “Coming all the way out here was his idea too.”

“I can stay up all night!” The boy flailed when the idea of awaiting New Year’s Day in the old windmill was proposed. “I’m older now, so I won’t fall asleep!” He insisted the same way he did the previous year when he was 11. And the year before that. And the year before that.

With an amused sigh, you cover the boy with another blanket as Ace continues, “we’ll just have to wake him up. Again. He’ll pout if we don’t.” You make a noise of agreement as you make your way back to your place at the window.

Even this far from the Goa Kingdom’s most remote establishment, you can feel the buzzing excitement of the whole island. Something about the upcoming year does something to the atmosphere. You’re sure even the nobles in High Town are anxious with anticipation in their extravagant attire and even more extravagant parties. Somehow you know those celebrations have nothing on the ones you have with your boys.

Typically you’d be in the heart of Mt. Corvo, watching as the clan of bandits sang and drank. After a raucous chorus of cheers as the clock struck midnight and the distant fireworks roared, a boisterous birthday song ensued once Luffy was shaken away with the promise of food. Dadan would gripe but she’d still bring a cake out the kitchen, the only time she’d let the ‘gremlins living in her house’ eat sugar so late.

It’s a little different being in the old windmill.

The bandits are back home and Dadan said if they’d be out at the windmill all night, then they wouldn’t be getting cake until tomorrow. A worthy sacrifice for the cause. Luffy wanted to see the fireworks this time, so the fireworks you’d see.

You breathe in the crisp winter air, watching in amusement as your breath billows into smoky plume when you exhale.

One more year. Almost, you add after a second. Once it’s midnight, you officially have one more year before you and Ace leave this place. Resting your chin on your arms, you look at the dark-haired boy. Your fingers dig into your palms without your meaning to when you see his profile illuminated by the moon’s glow.

Pretty is the word that comes to mind.

Ace has always been cute. It’s been an objective fact since you were 10 and he was more sour than sweet. In this moment, however, 'pretty’ is the only word you can use to describe him.

Ace is very pretty.

Elbow propped and chin resting on his palm, Ace is truly something to behold. Maybe it’s in how you can barely see his freckles on his cheeks, or maybe it’s in how the quiet breeze caresses his hair.

For a reason you can’t fathom, the corner of your eyes prickle and they feel more sensitive to the cold.

I don’t know why I wanna cry when I look at you sometimes, as if to ground yourself, you breathe deeply and the feeling passes. It’s strange but it seldom happens. Maybe you’re just happy that you’re both still alive and the promise you made as little kids is going to come to fruition.

“I’ll join your crew,” you told him earnestly the winter after you turned 11. Dawn Island was covered in a blanket of snow and in an hour Luffy would stumble into your precious hideout and drop the bombshell of the century. Even then, it wouldn’t matter. Ace’s father could be the devil himself and he’d still be your friend, the captain of your crew. “Then you won’t be alone when the journey’s over because I’ll still be there.”

You’ll both turn 17 and then you’ll head off on a small boat to seas unknown. It’s finally so close to happening. Just one more (almost) year and you’ll leave late spring after Luffy’s birthday. One more birthday before you go.

You don’t realize you’re staring until you see dark brown eyes looking back at you, lips turned in a shy smile. “What is it?”

You blink, suddenly aware of your surroundings again. Your cheeks feel hot in the cool night. “Nothing,” you murmur. You hold each other’s gaze in spite of your words when in any other situation you’d have looked away by now, embarrassed. A wave of silence, save for Luffy’s snores, pass over you again. Like a babbling brook, you can’t help yourself, opening your mouth once more. “You’ve just… changed a lot, I guess.”

“They’re good changes, right?” Ace chuckles sheepishly.

It’s a contagious feeling, your lips curling upwards at the sound. The Ace you know now smiles more than he frowns and looks the most alive in the sun. It’s a stark contrast to the boy you first met. The one who frowned constantly and pushed away anyone who tried to get close, akin to a scared cat. “Yeah,” you nod into your arms, not minding how your cheek presses against your eye. “Definitely good.” So is the fuzzy feeling in your chest; the one always happy when Ace is around.

His smile is a little softer; at least that’s what it looks like. “Good.” Good. “It’s also pretty good I’m taller than you now, huh?”

“Oh shut up,” you shove the boy lightly. You may have been the tallest of your band when you were 10, but it came to a staggering halt after you reached 160 centimeters. You’d fought hard but Ace had eventually surpassed you when you were 12 and he hasn’t let you forget since. “I’m still older than you, you know,” you remind him petulantly.

“And you’ll still be short,” Ace replies all too pleased with himself.

You glare at Ace sourly before the two of you erupt in shared laughter. “Stop being an ass,” you say as your laughter subsides into light huffs. “Makino’ll cry if she knows you’re being mean to me.”

“There was nothing in her lessons against teasing,” Ace snorts and the laughter subsides.

Holding each other’s gazes does not.

Your shoulders feel tense even when there is no reason for them to be. It’s strange to be even a little nervous around someone you trust with your entire life. Ace doesn’t seem to have the same problem, though. At least, until you notice his hand flexing between an open and closed palm.

The two of you jolt at the sound of a particularly loud yelp, eyes whipping in the direction of the village.

It’s time?

A moment passes, however, and there are no fireworks.

Damn.

The two of you sigh in exasperated unison. “False alarm,” Ace grumbles.

“Looks like Luffy gets a few more Z’s, then,” you drape yourself over the window sill. Even the silhouettes of the windmills from which the village earned its name look like they’re growing antsy. “You’re lucky, your birthday always comes with a guaranteed light show.”

“It’s just an excuse for everyone to get wasted and call off work,” Ace waves a hand nonchalantly in dismissal. “Even at Dadan’s everyone ends up sleeping in until 3.”

“No,” you sit up properly once more. “The entire world is celebrating. That’s special.”

It’s brief but a humorless huff escapes Ace’s lips, “they’re not celebrating me.”

He doesn’t look at you when he says it, eyes firmly staring out the window. You’re sure he feels your eyes on him though. “They’re all celebrating your birthday because I said so,” you scoot a bit closer, nudging him with your elbow. “You get the biggest party, a guaranteed light show, all the works. You even get all the once-a-year traditions!”

At your clumsy insistence, he looks your way with the smallest hint of a smile for your efforts. “Getting drunk is an all the time thing at our place.”

Our place, he says it seamlessly. Like you’ve belonged at Dadan’s your whole life when you only started staying over more and more after your grandfather passed. “Hey don’t doubt me, I am the fun fact queen,” you puff our your chest, feeling light. “There’s this kingdom in the New World called Dressrosa; a book I read said they eat 12 grapes! And other islands close by to it party at cemeteries!”

“That one sounds like something you’d do,” Ace adds in his commentary.

You’re giddy at how he knows you so well, “and in some countries, they hang onions on their door.”

“Onions?”

“Onions,” you repeat yourself solemnly.

“It’s nice to know people are out there hanging up onions on my birthday,” Ace snickers. Another grin breaks out across your face at the sight. “What are people doing here on Dawn Island then?”

“Drinkin’.”

“I already know that one!” You don’t dodge how Ace pinches your cheek, giggling all the while.

You shake away his hand, not minding how the sensation of his touch lingers on your skin. “Okay, okay, I’ll be serious,” you sigh as if he is asking you to bring him all of your weight in gold. You think back to New Year’s Eves and midnight celebrations past. Demarius and the gang are probably down there right now, you realize.

If someone had told you when you were 10 you’d grow a moderate distance apart from your Windmill Village friends, you would call them crazy. A boring adult who liked spoiling the fun of children. Sure enough the non-existent prophecy came true.

It’s been 6 years since you were a child playing Marines only because it’s what Demarius and Stacey wanted to play. Your game of choice, Adventuring Sailor, was apparently too vague.

You seldom saw them unless you made the effort to trek down town. Visit your old home, dust off your old things. Visiting your grandfather’s grave. Then you’d swing by Pierre’s and suddenly you were all together again chatting like not much had changed between you.

Demarius and Stacey counted down the days until Garp would finally take them to a navy base like he promised. “We just have to be 16 and he’ll take us to enlist.” They’ll be leaving this year then.

Lisa Lisa being 13 still has a few years (soon to be a couple) to go.

Pierre is more than content to take over his family’s farm. Windmill Village is all he knows and all he is interested in knowing.

Then there’s you, the aspiring pirate. It didn’t have to be a pirate; you just wanted to be on the sea with no strict rules and regulations telling you where to go. Pirate just sort of became what you will end up doing. Your friends are kind enough not to comment on it. Much. Demarius still tries getting you to change your mind from time to time.

There’s a clear divide between you all now, minute it may be. They’re not your closest confidants anymore and you’re not theirs.

The New Year’s celebrations you had together in the past were still fun though.

Makino and the aunties made a huge spread, everyone sang and then there was the countdown to ring in the new year. You’d always been too concerned with the fireworks ー large, blooming flowers in the sky. You saw it sometimes, though, if you glanced around before your eyes looked up.

There’s always a handful of people who press their lips against one another when the clock strikes 12 and the fireworks are soaring.

“Uhh, people kiss.” Ace sputters at your words, coughing in surprise. “Yeah people kiss; no bullshit,” you confirm before he can ask you to repeat yourself.

“Why?!”

You shrug, ignoring how your own heart is beating less evenly, “Makino said it’s supposed to make your love life lucky in the new year. But I dunno,” when you visited a week prior, Stacey had been prime for his New Year’s kiss. Apparently he’s had a bunch; you wouldn’t know, you haven’t been in town for New Year’s Eve since Luffy, Ace and Sabo became part of your life. “Stacey’s apparently been macking it up since we were 14 and I’ve never seen the guy date anybody.”

Ace looks like he’s run a 5k after he collects himself. You hold back a chuckle knowing it’d embarrass him further. I kinda wish it was tomorrow already. It’s cute when Ace blushes, looking reminiscent of a strawberry. It’s a look you’re surprisingly fond of. “Have you?”

Ace looks at you with a raised eyebrow, “have I what?”

“Have you ever kissed anyone at midnight?”

“No,” Ace mutters, shoulders up to his ears as he avoids your gaze. “I was busy beating up thugs for pirate savings back then.” He certainly hadn’t kissed anyone at New Year’s in the time you’ve known him. The most affection he ever gets are clasps on the shoulder and proud hugs. “Besides who would I have even kissed? Dadan? Dogra?”

You snort, “you’re not their type.”

He rolls his eyes at your jibe, “yeah, yeah, neither are you.”

A breeze passes by and you blink, staring at Ace’s form, not a single thought passing through your mind. Truly, it’s word vomit at its finest. You aren’t sure what makes you say, “well what about kissing me?”

It’s when Ace looks at you, eyes wide, and face undoubtedly red even if its tinted blue in the moonlight, that you feel bashful. You can’t find it in you to retract your words, you grip your knees tightly. You wonder if you look more calm than you feel. “You know, for New Year’s. I haven’t either and,” you suddenly cough, unsure of who you’re trying to convince more. “Well, it isn’t like I’m trying to fall in love any time soon or anything but I’ve never kissed anyone. And if I’m gonna I don’t want it to be weird. Or with someone I don’t know. You’re my best friend so it won’t be weird. Not that we have to,” you add quickly.

The seconds, minutes or perhaps years it takes for Ace to answer feel like eons. Waking up Luffy in time for the fireworks seems like a less daunting task. Maybe you should, lest you die of embarrassment where you sit.

Thankfully ー thankfully ー Ace puts you out of your misery with a shy glance. “Alright,” his voice is barely a whisper. He nods, more to himself than you, in a bout of self-assurance. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

“Alright,” you agree dumbly.

As if they sense the agreement taking place, there is a distant chorus of excited squeals and laughs. You look out at the townscape, mind misty. When you strain your ears, you can vaguely hear the countdown beginning. 'Ten!’

Your heart clenches and Ace stutters at the same time, panicked, “Where- where do the noses go?”

Licking your lips, fidgeting, “I go one way, you go the other? That’s what everyone else does.”

'Eight!’

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah,” you suppress an anxious shudder, equal parts excited and terrified. It’s Ace, it’s fine. There’s nothing nerve wracking about it, you tell yourself. Imagine if this was a stranger. Or worse, someone else you know. But this is Ace. You’re safe with Ace, that thought makes you a fraction less nervous.

'Five!’

“What about Luffy?”

'Three!’

You spare a glance at the boy in question, still snoring away and unaware to your situation. “We’ll wake him up in time.”

'One!’

It’s you who leans first, a bottle of nervosity and too much energy. Crossing the very thin line into Ace’s space, hands resting upon the cool wooden floorboards, you press your lips against his. There’s a panicked noise he makes and you jolt away with your own, “sorry, I panicked!”

Fireworks scatter across the sky, setting the sky aglow but you barely even notice it. “It’s alright, I did too,” Ace murmurs, brushing his fingers across his lips. You aren’t sure what kind of expression he’s making. Wherever he is, he isn’t in the same room as you. He looks at you and you flinch, not sure if you’re fearful or still full of too much energy. “We, we can try again,” the sky turns red and paints Ace in a flush hue. “If you want.”

Slowly you nod, “I want to.”

Considerably calmer, you release a breath and this time Ace is doing the leaning. Your noise of surprise is soundless as his face slowly, carefully grows closer. In the light of the fireworks and the moon, you see him look at your lips and you swallow as your heart stutters. “It’s really okay?” Ace asks, voice small.

You nod, twice for good measure, foreheads tapping against each other lightly. “It’s okay.”

He moves a fraction of a centimeter, glancing from your lips to yours eyes again before finally closing the gap. Your eyes close, lips puckering instinctively at the feel another against your own.

His lips are slightly chapped, warm. Ace has always been warm; he’s like your own personal fireplace during the winter. It’s nice. He’s nice like this, lips snug against your own like you’re made of something precious even if you’re not. It’s a kiss that feels like it lasts forever yet not long enough when he pulls away and you trail after him for a half a second before stopping yourself.

The room is gold when you open your eyes and suddenly you can hear the fireworks again. When did you stop hearing them in the first place? Brown eyes stare into your own, noses not far apart.

It’s like you’re the only two people in the world like this; just you and Ace.

The corner of your eyes feel prickly again, your breath intertwining in the small space between you. It must be the fireworks making you feel a tad more sentimental and you’re not sure how to tether yourself to feeling normal again. Not when either of you are unsure how to break the silence, unable to look away from each other.

A shade of green erupts over the sky, a color not native to Ace at all that causes you to say something. “Happy birthday,” you breathe dreamily.

Ace’s lips twitch before breaking in a medium sized grin, “thanks.”

You come to your senses with a hiss, “fuck, we have to get Luffy up before the fireworks end.” Your knees ache as you rise onto your feet and your legs are a bit shaky as you step towards the boy. “Luffy! Get up, it’s Ace’s birthday! There’s a meat merchant passing by!”

Luffy is up faster than you can blink, “meat?!”

“No but it is Ace’s birthday,” you snort, shaking your head in amusement.

That brings a brighter grin on Luffy’s face, eyes shining. Luffy is as Luffy does, he wastes no time breaking into song. “Happy birthday to you,” he begins, off-key as always but you join in with his singing. Your chest burns something golden that doesn’t hurt and you suppress the urge to press your fingers against your lips.

[quintessenceofdust88]

Wip Wednesday

I was tagged by @bidisasterevankinard and @typicalopposite for this one (thank you my loves!). I have gotten quite a few things that I'm writing, and y'all had me motivated for new things with your asks, so thank you sooo much for that! ♥ But for this one I'm going with my priest!Tommy AU, so here's the first scene complete. If some stuff looks familiar it's bc I posted snippets a few days ago!

Buck loves LA, but he hates days like this one, where it feels like the whole city is a greenhouse. The heat is sticky and humid, clinging to his skin and making him sweat in his uniform. All he wants is a cold shower and a minute to breathe. And, okay, maybe a cold beer wouldn’t be a bad idea.

Instead, he’s crammed in the back of the 118 fire engine, heading to San Pedro for one more call. And Buck loves his job, he does, but they’ve been on back-to-back calls for the last three hours. 

“Christ, I feel like I’m gonna melt” He whines, and Eddie smirks at him from the front seat (he had won rock paper scissors fair and square, the bastard), pushing his sunglasses up his nose. His Texas-raised ass does just fine with this horrible weather, and Buck hates him for it. 

“Yeah? Better start working hard to go to heaven then, cause you would not survive the eternal flames” He quips. Buck crosses his arms, too stubborn to let himself be influenced by the collective chuckle.

“I already work hard to go to heaven, don’t I? Saving lives and stuff” He says with a shrug, absolutely not pouting, thank you very much.. 

“I don’t know, Buckaroo.” Chim says, a playful smirk on his face. “When was the last time you set foot in a church? That’s supposed to be a big deal for the guy upstairs”

“Well, if that’s the dealbreaker, we’re all screwed” Hen says dryly, even though she doesn’t look particularly concerned. “Except for Cap, of course.”

Bobby chuckles from the driver’s seat, taking a turn to the right and stopping the truck. 

“Well, here’s your chance to make up for it” He says, and Buck comes down from the engine to find out they pulled up to a small stone-walled church. 

The doors are open, and most people are outside or at the very back of the church, chatting agitatedly, their eyes widened as most people when they find themselves witnesses to a 911-level emergency. It’s a sizable crowd, he thinks, considering it’s a Wednesday afternoon (which, as far as his Episcopalian-raised knowledge goes, is not a church day). 

As they rush up the church’s steps, he notices half of the crowd are the usual elderly ladies, but half of it are people around their 20s and 30s, and a few teens, which surprises Buck. They’re all whispering fiercely to each other and keep stealing glances inside the church. One of the ladies approaches them, relief clear in her eyes. 

“Oh, thank God you got here so fast!” She says, wringing her hands together. “It’s Mrs. Bellini, you see, she has low blood pressure, and this weather…”

“Ma’am” Bobby cuts her off as gently as possible. “Were you the one who called 911?”

“No, it was father Kinard.” She clarifies, leading them inside. “He’s already tended to her forehead, but he didn’t want to risk moving her until you arrived to check her situation.”

The church is relatively small, but the ceiling is high, and their footsteps echo against the walls. It’s a lot cooler inside, and Buck lets out an involuntary sigh of relief as they get out of the intense sunlight.

The woman leads them to one of the front pews, where they find another lady who’s sitting down, looking pale and sheepish. There's a white gaze pressed against her forehead, and a small red stain seems to have formed against it. Sitting by her side is a man dressed in white robes, a green-colored long scarf-looking thingy around his neck. 

He stands up when they approach, and Buck’s taken aback, because he’s ridiculously tall; a little taller than Buck, even, and that’s no easy feat. His features are sharp, a jawbone that could probably cut through glass, and he has a cleft on his chin (why did Buck notice that, he wonders? Is it weird to notice a priest has a cleft?). He’s looking at them with widened blue eyes that are filled with concern. 

“Father Kinard? I’m Captain Nash.” Bobby says, and the man nods sharply, his stance almost militarily. "Can you tell us what happened?" 

"He is exaggerating is what happened" The woman quips, her voice a little trembling, but her glare towards the priest is very firm. Father Kinard, however, doesn't seem intimidated. 

"Calling 911 after you passed out and hit your head is not exaggerating, Gloria, and you know that" He says gently, then puts a massive hand on her bony shoulder. "I'm your shepherd, I have to make sure my sheep are doing alright, don't I?" 

Buck smiles a little at that; it shouldn’t sound that endearing, but it does, and even the lady seems convinced, because she shakes her head resignedly, and doesn’t protest when Chim takes her arm and wraps the pressure cuff around it. 

“She fell unconscious during service and hit her head on the pew.” Father Kinard elaborates, still looking at Mrs. Bellini worriedly. “I figured the heat brought her blood pressure down, so I asked everyone to step outside and called 911 immediately. I applied pressure to the wound and it seems to have stopped the bleeding. I made sure to keep her awake and she’s not showing any signs of confusion or dizziness.”

He knows it’s not polite to stare, but Buck can’t help himself. It’s not common for someone to give them this level of information with so much calmness when they arrive on a call. Usually they try to gather what little snippets they can through tears, yelling and fainting over the sight of blood. But father Kinard is collected and eloquent in what he says, and Buck's astounded. 

“And you're right, her blood pressure is a little low. The wound looks fine, though.” Chimney says, gently removing the gauze to inspect the cut. “Wow, looks like your priest cleaned this up real well, didn't he, Gloria? My job is already done for me.”

“Father Kinard is great whenever anyone gets hurt.” Gloria gushes, and the priest blushes under the attention, shrugging sheepishly.

“I had first aid training in the army.” He says, and when they all turn to him with widened eyes, he gives them a wry smirk. “Which was obviously before I joined the seminary.”

“Well, you were trained well, father.” Hen says approvingly, inspecting the wound herself and dabbing at it with a cotton swab covered in anti-septic. Gloria flinches a little, but sits still as Hen gets it cleaned and then places a band-aid over it. “This won't need stitches, it's very superficial. How are you feeling, Mrs. Bellini?”

“Oh, I'm perfectly alright now.” She says distractedly, her eyes turning back to her priest. “But I am so ashamed you had to stop service because of me, father! I'm very sorry! And for such a small thing too.”

“We’re lucky it was small, but it could have been bad. I wouldn’t risk it.” Father Kinard says patiently. “And don't worry about the service, Gloria, it was after Communion; we'd already done the greatest bits anyway.” He winks at her, a blinding smile on his face. 

Buck doesn’t get the joke, but apparently it’s funny, because both Eddie and Bobby chuckle at it. Chim is removing the cuff from Gloria’s arm and patting it jovially. 

“Well, looks like you’re all set, Mrs. Bellini.” He tells her. “If you experience any dizziness or headache, you should look for a hospital, but otherwise, you’re fine.” 

“And thank God for that!” Father Kinard adds with a smile that makes his eyes crinkle, squeezing Gloria’s shoulder with genuine affection. “And thank you, first responders, as well. Come, I’ll walk you out before giving Gloria a lift home.” He says, and then strides along them to the back of the church, the smile still lingering on his face.

Buck has a hard time reconciling this laughing priest to the buttoned-up, serious-faced ministers he knew in childhood, from the few times his parents made him attend church. This man is full of joy and confidence, Buck can tell right away, and he just thinks he’s so cool. 

“You quite literally have nothing to thank us for, Father.” Bobby adds warmly, smiling at Kinard. Buck knows his captain has a close relationship with church, and he seems completely comfortable striking up a conversation with the priest. “You had done half our job for us before we were here.”

He shrugs modestly once more, walking alongside Bobby, and Buck is irrationally envious of his boss for a second or two. They stop by the church’s entrance, and the man extends a hand to Bobby. 

“Thank you, captain…” He says, trailing off, and Bobby firmly shakes his hand, smiling warmly. 

“Nash. Captain Bobby Nash. Your blessing, father.” Bobby asks respectfully, and the priest makes a cross sign over his head. 

“God Bless you and your team, Captain Nash. May He keep you safe in your very necessary jobs.” He says warmly, and then turns to Hen. “And thank you, firefighter…”

Buck watches in increasing despair as her, Chim and Eddie introduce themselves to the priest, shaking his hand, and realizes that soon it’ll be his turn.

He thought the church was cooler than the outside, but all of a sudden he's feeling hot all over again. Should he ask for the man’s blessing? He didn’t offer it to the others, and they didn’t ask, but should he? Is he even allowed if he’s not a Catholic? Does he even want the man to touch his sweaty forehead? 

And then the priest looks at him with that crunchy smile, an inexplicable blush creeps up to his cheeks. Buck thanks God - yes, he’s fully aware of the irony, and he does not find it funny - that he can blame it on the heat and his heavy uniform (never mind that father Kinard's clothes also look heavy and he's still perfectly composed, but Buck definitely won't think about how he'd look all sweaty).

“Thank you, firefighter…” He says, trailing off and extending a hand, and it takes Buck a second to realize he's supposed to shake it and offer his name (not his phone number. Definitely not his phone number).

“Evan. Buckley. Buck!” He blurts out like a complete idiot, and wonders if it's wrong to wish for a five scale fire so they can rush out of there.

Father Kinard raises an eyebrow at him, a smirk on his curved lips. That's when Buck notices he's still shaking hands with the man, and he lets go clumsily. 

“My, that's a mouthful” Kinard says, and Buck almost blurts out that he has something else that's a mouthful before his eyes clock the white collar around the man's neck. 

As it is, he just snickers awkwardly and mutters a goodbye, his voice high-pitched and strained.

Buck's at the truck before anyone else, mentally preparing himself for being teased all through the shift they just started. 

His only saving grace is that, as much as he made a complete fool of himself in front of father Kinard, it's not a problem. Buck'll never have to see the man again, will he? So it's not like it matters.

Naturally, the priest shows up at the station the next day.

Np tagging @agentpeggycartering @unhingedangstaddict @fairytalegonewronga03 @laundryandtaxesworld @mmso-notlikethat and whoever else would like to do it!

[elodieunderglass]

I just wanted to say, i'm SO READY to buy the jockey-romcom-family-drama-horse-sad-story book when it comes out, you have no idea.

(In reference to Killie the Jockey OC and his complicated little life)

Well, thank you so much! I called that incredibly kind and supportive of you, because you are by no means obligated, and I truly appreciate your encouragement.

I’m a new believer that when you are seized by a radiant alien urge to create, then you have been touched by something beautiful and genuine and true, and that you should graciously accept the gift, and follow it where it brings you. That’s why I keep finding myself writing fanfiction, despite constantly saying that I’m Not Sure How Important It Is As A Hobby (I Need To Weed The Allotment Instead). Sometimes you get possessed by an idea, and enter that spirit of flow and power, and wake up a few hours later having written the story - you know how that is? I increasingly believe that you have to say YES to this, and follow it where it’s going, even if it seems somewhere pointless or silly, and you can’t immediately see how it’s a better use of your time than weeding your actual material allotment. But I’ve been thinking about it since the summer, and now I think that being this kind of Possessed is a bit of a gift, and if you take it, and then give it to others in the spirit that you received it - freely, and with generosity and courage, and with no more expectation of reward than a wild animal expects another sunset - then you get more gifts. So we should do this!!

That being said, I’ve got no damned idea how to write a book.

Here’s what I think is probably involved:

Finish my two existing WIPs and the outstanding fundraising work for the Palestine Children’s Relief Fund

Have fun with Killie asks for now, because they are FUN and a GIFT

Do my damndest and best in my free time to turn a whole folder of years-old Killie nonsense into three novellas that are also one book.

Hopefully have some friends willing to do this with me, ideally as parallel play with their own tasks, so we can throw eggs at each other

Hire and pay an editor who is brave and true, and who knows how to write a book.

Hire and pay sensitivity readers who are brave and true, so that Jewish and Irish characters remain brave and true: also ideally someone who knows more than me about horse racing, so that nobody forgets about the blood-soaked Problematic Sport.

Work out some self-publishing mechanism by which I don’t have to care about Marketing, or the fact that sad-drama-romcom-messy-sports-fantasy isn’t a marketing genre. Or that people who see that there’s a gay relationship might be expecting Romance.

I will simply be saying HERE IS A GHASTLY LITTLE MAN, BEING TRAMPLED BY 20-30 BUSINESS HORSES. take it or leave it

Include the Killie comics in the books.

Take advice from cleverer people on correct Authorial Behavior, which I believe to be things like being very cool and distant about your work on social media. (Will have to check this.)

Fantasy stretch goal: make enough money from the book to earn back what I paid the editor and sensitivity readers (unlikely but always possible)

Sounds like a fun project for spring/summer if I scramble!

I will be very brave and do this, as a promise and a gift and a privilege.

I would love it if you would be brave with me this year and do something similar too.

[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!

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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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[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"👋

[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 too 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.

              “Your 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.”