#introducing the writer

[puddleslimewrites]

Introducing Puddle

Writblr game here by @iloveyou-writers <3

Rules: fill in the blanks with as much or little detail as you would like and tag some writer friends to play too.

~

Hi, there! My name is puddle (at least on this blog c:). I write mostly for the Hero/Villain community, but I've dipped into the fantasy genre (rather unintentionally >.'>). I don't post much of it here, but I love to write about characters grieving/dealing with the death of another, as well as AUs (coffee shop, magic, fantasy - you name it! :D). Every now and then I dabble in fanfiction, too :)

I'm both sfw and nsfw. This blog is primarily sfw, with plenty of fluff and wholesomeness to go around. BUT...I do take requests for "smoot". I write about loss and betrayal on occasion, so just be aware of that. Tropes you will never find in my writing...there's actually none that I can think of off the top of my head. So unless I'm totally stumped, I'd do my best to write it!

In my humble opinion, my best work I've posted is Deadly Distraction 🖤, because it's one of those where the characters just kind of took the story and ran off with it themselves. Both Supervillain and Detective's personalities developed way more in that short piece than I was intending.

My favorite character I've written on this blog in particular, though, is definitely the Hero from Day Off. (They just like me, fr 😔). I love the idea of a disgruntled hero showing up on the scene and making quick work of the situation just so they can go back to bed. Time off/Sleep is one hell of a motivator!

Something I'd love for you to know about my writing that isn't listed in this game is that I usually write things that are short. Short and sweet is what I go for, I guess. (Granted, it's not always "sweet" <.<) I write a lot of snippets and prompts and you'll likely find that my "Part One"s are usually longer than my "Part Two"s.

Thank you for reading!

[milosometimeswrites]

Introducing The Writer - Tag Game

Thank you @thewardenofwinter for the tag! You can find their post here and the original tag game post can be found here.

Rules: fill in the blanks with as much or little detail as you would like and tag some writer friends to play too.

Hello, there. My name is zestymimblo but you can call me Milo. I'm a writer of the modern fantasy genre and I love to write about meet-cutes, found family, and queer revenge.

I am nsfw-ish and write body horror, anxiety/panic attacks, depression, dysphoria, so just be aware of that. Tropes you will never find in my writing include accidental pregnancy, age gaps and major transphobia.

In my humble opinion, my best work I've posted is some lore I shared about my homebrew D&D world, "Ahklrium Pirate Tales" because I think it perfectly captures the vibes of my D&D world. My all-time favorite characters I've made is/are some characters that I have yet to share... so stay tuned.

Something I'd love for you to know about my writing that isn't listed in this game is if people are interested, I will post more D&D-related writings. I also am only on the first draft of my current WIP, so it has a long way to go!!

Thank you for reading and now I challenge the following people to fill this out: @cottonberryfinn, @subtlefires, @sam-glade, @gummybugg and @charlesjosephwrites

[sadgayeddie]

1x10 / 2x01

[parkrows]

if i ever see you reference stephcass as sisters and i go onto your profile to find even a whiff of wfa im killing you with hammers

[gothamite-rambler]

Tim: Bruce what's your password for Netflix?

Bruce (while reading a book on male depression): BWayne1939.

Tim (ashamed): That's... That's the exact same password you use for one of the computers you use.

Bruce: I use that for most things.

Tim: You don't use it for programs that have sensitive information, do you?

Bruce: Of course not. It's Batman1939.

Tim: Barbara-

Barbara (typing): I had to convince him to start using that.

Tim: What the hell is wrong with you?

Bruce (closing his book, annoyed): Don't judge me because passwords are too difficult to remember. Even I have trouble with it and-

Barbara, Dick, Jason, and Tim: You're Batman.

Bruce (returning to reading): And you better remember it.

[masterjedilenawrites]

Hi! Would you kindly do me a favor… and like this post if you are a writer in the Star Wars fandom? 🤓

Any character, any era, any style. Actively writing or used to write in the past. Just give this post a little heart and carry on.

[trappednyourheart]

The wrong DNA test

( what if, Sheila wasn't really Jason's mother? The system is already corrupted, then what about the test?).

A huge brawl containing every rogue had started at the time of Halloween, causing the people from downtown to fled there home's as joker had clownized the whole neighborhood with his goon's.

Every bats had taken to groups to take out the three parts of Gotham's as the rogue's had started to make alliances, some had lasted quite long while had conflicts, and causing a big damage to Arkham asylum,

It didn't take long before they captured all of them, none of the bats questions as they observed Jason glowing green eyes starting to flick, they thought it was the pit again, growing wary of the cooperation, but Crime alley was involved and that mean business to Red hood's turf.

Catherine todd love her son as her own even if not biological, Jason knew that. But her thing with drugs couldn't make her stop.

Sometimes after that, they could hear Jason humming a tune,a nice melody from Damian's statement saying that Jason muttered to him “ lullaby” as Jason continued to read his book, maybe it could be from Catherine,

they knew how Jason's past with Catherine todd, his mom even if not related, Catherine loves her son like her own kid but her doing drugs and... overdosing couldn't be stop.

Maybe Jason just remembered his mother maybe reminiscing atleast something familiar...even if it was a bad time.

Jason had constantly have been hearing a woman's? Man's? Voice, singing him a lullaby...it soothing, like as if he known and loved this melody...and that's where the dreams kept coming, there was a person, giving him kisses, Talkin to him stories, singing him lullabies and soothing him, he could dream that he was actually a baby, a baby from a normal couple, well don't count the luxurious baby room.

Jason had took out a conspiracies why he was getting this dreams, ( he swears he's not becoming Tim) and voices, maybe like a misshapen memories from the pits of victims? No it's to peaceful for that, maybe magic? He already contacted Constantine but surely hang up after knowing who it was-

Just how is he getting this dreams? Unless it wasn't.... So he proved again his point, he started a DNA test, again but none had records...of Sheila being his biological mother...that was weird, last time he had a test was from the time as robin..and before his-

So he went to that hospital who had said where Sheila had given birth to him, and most of shock is that no one knows a mother giving birth named Sheila haywood but had a document of a baby, of one Jason jay nightingale, the most believing part was that it's the same day he was born in.

His mother, Daniel F. Nightingale was said to be trans as the doctor who help his mother safely delivered him, And saying that his mother loved him,

one Sheila Haywood had the constant trick to get him and taken him as his own, because his mother's family was a wealthy one they practically sold him to her.

Jason had thought that maybe his mother's family never wanted him to have a son with a man from Gotham's crime alley.

Meanwhile Danny had just been YEETED to the DC universe before the start of Batman's justice thing and had been adopted by a very wealthy fruit loops couple as there kid, so he stayed as the couples daughter even pretending, because he owed ghost writer a favor for the last time, and as DC universe exist so it's story, and one thing for sure the child he had to give birth in this universe has a very complicated fate,

he did the one night stand from his supposed friend Willis Todd? He had to befriend him as Dalia F. nightingale the supposed Wealthy daughter who fell in love with a peasant trope, and gotten pregnant making it a scandal, and reaching to his ‘parents’ circle and getting that drama.

But he never thought he would care for his child, his little jay, his ghost side would purr in delight when they held Jason, he was a very hard sucker especially from his pacifier or his breast, it's so weird being in a women body,

but the way his ‘parents’ sold his son to the women who was supposed to get his son killed and being revived by cheap parody ass of ectoplasm.

He went feral, he had an argument to his ‘parents’ but all fell deaf ears, he couldn't find his son in one of the hotels nearby where that BXtch was.

And that time was where his part of the script was fulfilled, ghost writer already took him, both sides of his, were angry.

He. will. get. his. baby. back.

[youregonnabeokay-kid]

911 reintroducing the characters since the show moved to abc and choosing to show Eddie shirtless is fucking hilarious

[luna-azzurra]

some original character (OC) questions that might pique your interest and spark your creativity:

What is your character's biggest fear, and how does it affect their actions and relationships?

What is something your character is deeply passionate about, and how does it drive their goals and motivations

Describe a memorable childhood experience that shaped your character's personality or outlook on life

What are your character's quirks or eccentricities that make them stand out from others?

Does your character have any hidden talents or abilities that only a few people know about?

What is your character's preferred way of coping with stress or difficult situations?

How does your character handle failure or setbacks? Are they resilient or easily discouraged?

Describe a significant relationship in your character's life and how it has influenced them.

What is your character's moral compass? What principles or values do they hold dear?

Imagine your character in a challenging moral dilemma. How would they approach it, and what choice would they make?

Is there a specific physical feature or item that holds special significance to your character? Why is it important to them?

How does your character react to change or unexpected situations? Are they adaptable or resistant?

Does your character have any recurring dreams or nightmares? How do these dreams affect them?

What is your character's preferred method of self-expression? Do they have any artistic talents or creative outlets?

Describe a defining moment in your character's life that marked a turning point or significant change in their path.

[creativepromptsforwriting]

Hi, I love your prompts, they have inspired a lot of my works! Thank you for posting them. As soon as I saw that your inbox was open I was so excited.

I was wondering if you had any prompts that are about someone introducing their friend group to their sibling(s) for the first time and the friend group is confused because they look nothing alike. (Adopted, Step-Sibling, Biracial, Half-Sibling, or something else).

I'm having a lot of trouble coming up with where to start with the dialog.

Hi there :)

Some of the prompts would probably sound inconsiderate from a stranger, but since they are friends, I could imagine some humorous dialogue.

Introducing siblings to friends

"Are you sure you're siblings?"

"You're less of a blueprint of each other, and more like a rough sketch."

"That's your sibling? Oh yeah, I'm totally seeing the resemblance."

"Your parents' genes were fighting hard about who is dominant, it seems like."

"So nice to meet your siblings! But I do have one question..."

"Not to sound rude, but... you look nothing alike."

"I mean you do have similar ears."

"Siblings? Like full siblings or more like... distant ones?"

"If you just look hard enough you can see similarities. I think."

- Jana

[the-enhanced-project]

‎‧₊˚✧ Introduction ✧˚₊‧

Welcome to THE ENHANCED, a personal writing project that is a rewrite of a very, very old story I was working on a long time ago. I will probably never officially publish this, but I still wanted to get it out to the world somehow, so this blog came to be.

(The plot is really old so expect some cliches T-T)

I will be posting chapters (probably in parts) for your enjoyment. I do not have a definite release schedule yet, as I have to actually write it out first, but I will keep you guys updated as much as possible.

My plan right now is to write all of act 1 before I start posting so I can keep a semi-consistent schedule of publication, but that's open to change.

‎‧₊˚✧ About The Author ✧˚₊‧

Hiya!!! I'm Will, a queer, disabled teen author of (mostly) queer disabled characters :) I like to write what I know/can relate to.

You can find my main blog, where I post about the projects I actually plan on publishing, at @write-with-will !

I'm a minor (high school), so be safe when interacting with this blog and my main. I have no qualms against older people following along with this story though, especially since the characters are older. Just don't interact with me in ways a child shouldn't be interacted with and all will be well :).

I’m a boy please pretty please refer to me as such <3

Now that all that is out of the way, onto the story!!!

‎‧₊˚✧ Basic Info ✧˚₊‧

Status - writing!!!

POV - 3rd person

Tense - past

Genre - superhero fiction, urban fantasy

Tropes - found family, team as family, superheroes, superpowers, whump

Other - lgbt rep, poc rep, disability rep (all main characters)

Content warnings - this story includes references to past child abuse, alcohol (the main character works as a bartender), injuries that aren't in a ton of detail, death, past trauma, discrimination, violence, action, and lots and lots of angst

Themes - death, healing, family, platonic relationships, betrayal

‎‧₊˚✧ Synopsis ✧˚₊‧

Anya really, really hates lying to people. Which is weird, considering that when she's not suffering through getting a criminology degree, she has a part time job at the Pacific Northwest chapter of ERGO--an organization that protects and monitors people who were born....different.

The enhanced, they were dubbed, the handful of kids who were born around the world with any kind of 'enhancement'--from being exceptionally strong or fast to having wings. And just like anything new... it wasn't taken very well by the general population.

Anya's newest project should be fairly simple: check out college student Charlie, who they suspect to be enhanced, and to have some unfortunate connections that could be invaluable in the fight for acceptance and safety.

‎‧₊˚✧ Characters ✧˚₊‧

(link leads to their wiki)

-> Anya Henare

-> Charlotte ‘Charlie’ Barak

-> Adam Harding

-> Robyn Cardiff

-> Kyra Dexx

-> William ‘Liam’ Dexx

-> Alastair Dexx

‎‧₊˚✧ Links ✧˚₊‧

(to be updated)

Navigation!!!!!!!!

‎‧₊˚✧ Tags ✧˚₊‧

#project: the enhanced - for any and all posts relating to this project!

#enhanced: character name - for posts about a specific character!

#enhanced: chapters - for the actual writing and chapters for this story!

#enhanced: updates - updates on how the story is going !!!!!! Usually spoiler free—surface level writing stuff

#enhanced: character intros - self explanatory--character bios I post!

#enhanced: lore - lore posts!

‎‧₊˚✧ Tag List ✧˚₊‧

(ask to be added)

@corinneglass @sunflowerrosy @eon-tries-writing @lunesartsworld @ark-inkweaving @nykenima @mymomsaysbobcipher

[sun-snatcher]

May i have a blurb of Haytham Kenway… a taste… pretty please…

( all credits to @giffedit for this incredible gifset! )

✠ | insufferable ; haytham kenway

summ. Bickerings oft lead to equally heated conclusions. a/n.  A TASTE you say? Here’s 1k of an angry, enemies-to-questionable-allies makeout. No actual smut, but NSFW themes, ofc.

YOU CAN’T RECALL how you got here.

Here, by way of meaning: 

Pinned against Templar Grandmaster Haytham Kenway’s paper-strewn work desk, inkpot spilled over and staining the cuffs of your sleeves, with his hands roving down your sides and your hips pressed hard against his.

“You,” he rasps, bordering a growl. “Are an insufferable woman.”

The proximity, the heat of your panting mingling with his— it’s blistering. Feverish. You want to kiss him. You want to punch him. 

You tighten the bracket of your thighs around his waist, tip the tricorn hat off his head with a defiant scowl. “You should’ve never inducted me into your Order, then, Master Kenway.”

Right. Yes. You vaguely remember now. It’d been yet another typical heated argument; another disagreement and row borne from dredging up old wounds of your ex-Assassin history, of Haytham’s present and obvious distaste of it, despite the fact you’ve proven yourself worthy to the Templars more than once alongside Shay.

Earlier, you’d barely finished your tirade (“You and your dastardly cloak make me so—!”), hands thrown in the air when the ironclad grip of Haytham abruptly circled your wrist.

The others had known better than to interfere when you’d practically been yanked into the Grandmaster’s study for an upbraiding. 

Or, well, what they thought would be an upbraiding.

“Then let us be free of this months-long tension,” Haytham had hissed, instead. “More productively.”

So here you are. Rough-housed and man-handled. You hitch at the bumps and the scolding nips he makes, try to return the same wanton fervor to his jaw and his Adam’s apple, but to no avail. Haytham is a looming shadow, greater than you not just by rank and experience but by sheer, dizzying strength— 

The vicious kisses he bullies against the bitten-red of your lips are charged and ardent. Meant to force you into some semblance of submission; to be docile. Has you gasping for air and resisting him the satisfaction of a moan when he gropes at the flesh of your thighs. 

“Master Kenway,” you choke, nuzzling into the slope of his neck, unable to stop yourself from indulging the heady, masculine, salt of it with an eager tongue.

He groans at the high and tight way you address, call, plead for him, sounding like prey at the mercy of an untamed, starved beast. 

It makes you grin when you realise. Coy as a fox and full of guile. Haytham can feel it curl across his cheek, in your slow languorous tease as you snark, “And here I thought you hated me.”

“Hate is an inadequate term,” he censures, mouthing hot and humid against your skin. “There are no words in any bloody language that can encompass just how— you make me feel.”

It’s a raw confession, as mean and as bitten out as it is. A honeyed, double-edged sword. You make a mental note of it anyway, and try not to contemplate the fact that you have this much power over the Grandmaster Templar, nor let it get to your head— whatever he means by his words. 

“And what, exactly, do you feel?” Your hand expertly wanders past his belt. The innocent petal-touch strikes a lightning bolt of want surging through him. Makes him twitch. “This?”

Haytham doesn’t deign to give you an answer, unsurprisingly. He hates not being in control, after all, and so he makes quick work to put you back in your place: below rank, through yet another savage kiss, a guttural warning nosed on the scant space just below your ear that leaves you subconsciously keening closer.

It does poorly to satiate him. The dangerous yen for something more brutal still burns molten in his stomach; something that tastes warmer. There’s still the bitter anger and bruised pride he holds from the arguments before, and for the ones that’ll surely come after. The blatant disrespect you show whenever you bare your teeth at him, as if he isn’t your superior. 

He wants— no, needs— to sink into you, to see you shut up and aching to be ruined with the thick of him—

“I’ll make you wear nothing but this ‘dastardly’ cloak of mine one day,” Haytham grinds out, voice rough-hewn from his wet and growing appetite. “And then spread you out and take my time with you.”

He greedily licks a stripe up your throat as he says it, carves the whine that escapes you into his memory.

“One day?” Your scoff is breathless and stilted. The feel of his teeth grazing your jugular is intoxicating. “I reckon you’ll— hah— hardly deliver now, Master Kenway, to— warrant another chance after this.”

(Regardless, you entertain the idea. Have entertained, to be more specific. You’ve imagined what it’s like on lonelier nights.

To have him hike your legs up his broad shoulders, tangle your fingers through his perfectly kempt hair. Catch the flash of his wry, canine-sharp smile, rare as they are; face soaked and telling over his nose and down his lips from where you’d have shut him up by forcefully burying him between your thighs and cushioning into your—)

You expect the usual blaze of anger. A challenging snarl. Instead:

“Oh?” Haytham laughs.

Laughs.

And Christ alive— that dark, daring and depraved rumble huffed at your sweat-slicked nape shouldn’t have made you more pliant; more eager for him, but it does. It feels like the damning prelude of an already losing war, now, the way he’s forced your full weight down with such frightening ease onto the desk to look up at him. 

There’s an ominous calm before a storm, brewing frostily in his dilated eyes. He’s conceding, you realise.

And then—

“Tell me to stop,” Haytham breathes. 

It’s the least insulting tone he’d taken with you yet since you’d first begun arguing. A fragile moment of clarity. 

In uncharacteristic tenderness, you feel him thumb gently at your cheek. “Tell me to stop, and I will,” he says, “You have my word.”

Something soft unfurls deep in your ribcage. Takes flight.

“Don’t,” you whisper, trying not to shudder at the English gentlemanly-ness he so likes to wholly fashion himself with to hide his wild, beastly nature— that you’ve so liked to repeatedly claim you found irksome. You tighten your grip reflexively.

(Darling, dearest, dove. You never admit it, but the classy posturing has always been an attractive feat of his. Something about wolves in sheep’s clothing, you think. Something about being rabidly taken for his own animalistic pleasure—) 

“Don’t you dare, Kenway.”

And so the delicate moment passes. Haytham surges his head forward to steal a kiss from you again, inhales a lungful of your cloying scent that’s mixed with the sea-winds from the weeks of sailing aboard the Morrigan.

“Mh,” he hums in assent, nosing his way from your hairline down to the juncture of your neck; letting his calloused hand mould wide around the thin, bare skin of it to feel your bated breath and rapid pulse. He could snuff you out like a light in an instant. (And he supposes you like the thrill of that as much as he does.)

“Then I believe I ought to teach you a lesson or two about respect, dear.” 

Haytham pulls away and cocks his head. As if thinking. As if he hadn’t imagined this a hundred times over since he’d met you, in the darkest hour of every restless night when he’s alone with nothing but his fist jerking between his legs.

“How about we put that smart mouth of yours to good use first?”

[goldfishinaplasticbag]

for a quick, no spoilers timeline of how 1-800-GOTHAM will go:

arc 1: scarecrow gala - we just finished this! one year, 163k words later!

arc 2: black mask - introduction of steph and cass

arc 3: joker (?) - introduction of duke - reveal of case fic plot point

arc 4: in my own words on my doc:

[gothamite-rambler]

Barbara: Did you guys know that Dick was the one who designed the original Robin costume, not Bruce?

Jason: Wait… That can't be true.

Barbara: I thought so too, but Alfred confirmed it. They wanted him to wear pants, but he's an expert manipulator and was allegedly too cute to say no to. He said the outfit reminded him of his life in the circus.

Jason: That can't— I want to say you have to be lying, but then I remembered that the current Nightwing suit wasn't the first one… and he admitted he'd wear the original again.

Barbara: You can ask him yourself.

Barbara pointed to the couch where Dick was listening to music with earbuds in. Jason tossed an apple at his head to get his attention. Dick sat up and pulled out his earbuds.

Dick: Rude! What do you want?

Jason: You designed the original Robin suit?

Dick: Um, yeah.

Jason: You're out of your goddamn mind.

Dick: For what?

Jason: Why the hell didn't you add pants?!

Dick: Because that wouldn't have made fighting easy!

Jason: Tim's suit and Damian's suit have pants. Damian wears a damn hood, and he can fight pretty well.

Damian (in the middle of a slap-fight with Tim): Aww, thanks, Jason!

Damian’s slap surprised Tim and knocked him to the floor.

Tim: Why did I agree to this?! And how is wearing that suit good for fighting exactly?

Dick (nonchalantly): I do a lot of back flips.

Damian: That's not an... oh my God you really did learn a lot from my father, but you continued wearing that suit until you were seventeen?

Dick: Yes, what's the actual issue? I was raised in the circus; that’s what I wanted to wear! Don’t judge me!

Tim: Dick, you’re my hero, and I’m judging you.

Dick: It's not my fault I made the suit work. Jason’s just a complainer.

Dick resumed listening to his music, causing Jason to toss another apple at his head. Dick ignored him and turned up the volume.

Barbara: Circus folk, they have no shame. What's your next step?

Jason: Wait until he's distracted tonight and embarrass him in front of a criminal. I got laughed at… by so many people when I wore that suit.

Barbara: Does it help that you looked adorable in it too?

Jason: Coming from you, it's fine, but not when I was fighting in that suit at fourteen and going through puberty.

Jason whimpered, covering his eyes in embarrassment. Barbara patted him on the head while Damian and Tim stifled their laughter.

[thebibliosphere]

Vague memories from last night of telling someone, cringing in on myself as I said it, “yeah, I’m not a TikTok author, I’m a Tumblr author” then having to explain that the reason for Hunger Pangs being a success is because it is possible to be ‘popular’ on Tumblr, it just doesn’t mean what popularity means on other social media sites.

And then going on a rant about how I don’t want to be a TikTok author because despite being several shades of mentally unwell I have enough self-preservation to not throw myself at the mercy of an algorithm to ensure I can afford to pay my bills and hey, Shana, if you’re out there I am so, so sorry but after a night of being asked “oh you’re an author? What’s your TikTok handle?” I couldn’t take it anymore.

Thanks for listening and not outright laughing.