#little gay writing snippet or whatever

[cookiethebirdthing]

Sanae wiped her brow, flicking sweat droplets onto the floor. Tsukasa practically melted into the cushions, breathing heavily. The heat outside had been nearly unbearable, but they were back in the cool air conditioned rooms of the Moriya Shrine.

It was quiet for a moment, apart from the gentle hum of central air. Eventually, Sanae gave a proud smile and shot her arm into the air. Tsukasa's ears perked up as she heard the telltale intake of breath, her tail already lightly wagging.

“Alright, Tsukasa!” she cheered, “we managed to sell all of the portable air conditioning units! This will bring faith to the shrine for sure!”

Tsukasa quietly yipped in agreement, finding words far too tiring at a time like this. Though she was once used to suffering through the sweltering Gensokyo summers, that was no longer the case. Thank goodness for that.

Sanae continued, “There really is nothing better than air conditioning! It's a marvel of technology!”

Just then, the shattering of glass sounded through the shrine. A black and white blur shot into the room, nearly colliding with Tsukasa. Rather than crash into any of the furniture, however, it halted its movement fast enough to kill a human.

“Heya, Sanae!” Marisa called from where she floated in the air. Or rather, where she sat on her broom, floating in the air. There was an unusual object hanging off it however. Not a lantern, but a sizable glass jar, with white shapes crammed in seemingly as tight as physically possible.

“Oh hi, Marisa,” Sanae responded with a smile. “What's that on your broom?”

Marisa blinked a few times and tilted forward dangerously. She righted herself with a jolt and gave a laugh. “What? Oh this thingy? I call them phantoms in a jar.” She paused. “It's got phantoms in there. Not sure how many, I kinda lost count when I was collecting them and came to with it all full like this.”

Sanae tilted her head, “Why would you put phantoms in a jar? Is this one of those Gensokyo things?”

“Huh? Nah.” Marisa shook her head. “During the Summer, I collect these little guys so I can do this!” She shook her broom violently, jostling the container. The shapes inside suddenly started pushing their way past each other as if trying to escape.

“What's that supposed to do? Oh, by the way, Tsukasa and I spent all day installing air conditioning units around the Human Village! Being freed from the oppression of Summer heat is sure to bring lots of faith to the—” Sanae’s ramble was cut off as the temperature in the room dropped far below what the air conditioning was capable of. She stuttered out the rest of the sentence, “—shrine… Oh.”

In the end, the air conditioning units they sold became little more than non-functioning trinkets to most of the villagers. With the cooling power of phantoms, why would they need something as silly as that anyway? A few villagers did find some use out of them, and so a bit of faith trickled in. At least it wasn't a complete waste of time.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

heya, i have to wake up in three hours but! here's another lil human au snippet! ft. lightly implied Laughingstock! disclaimer i am so so tired so don't come at me for typos or strangely worded sentences or missing info <3

~

Before heading home, Eddie swings by a charming little store he’s been to once or twice before. He usually goes to the chain store by his house, but he doesn’t feel like dealing with the hustle and bustle and the endless aisles. This little store is quiet, nice, and strangely has everything anyone could need. 

The lot is mostly empty at this hour, so Eddie claims a spot right at the front. As with the other times, the windows are littered with displays and stickers - half off on this, sale on that. Eddie enters Howdy’s Place with the chime of the door’s shopkeeper’s bell. He’ll get what he needs and get out, quick and easy and peacefu-

Boisterous laughter slams into Eddie like a hammer, so sudden that he jumps in place. An employee stocking cans nearby glances weirdly at him. Eddie clears his throat and hurries into the nearest aisle as the laughter tapers off. The silence barely lasts a second before loud chatter starts up. It’s too fast and muffled for Eddie to understand, but he can pick out two distinct voices - one deep, one less so but still decidedly masculine. 

Eddie tries to tune it out as he gathers what he needs. Toothpaste, some paper towels, shampoo. For the hell of it, he nabs a box of classic bran muffins from the spacious food section. He lingers for a moment, enjoying how far-away the conversation seems at the other corner of the store. Unfortunately, theft is illegal, so Eddie is forced to move towards the noise.

A strange thing about the store - it’s a combination general store, antique shop, and diner, complete with a miniature gift shop separating the two. One long checkout counter stretches from the open store area, behind the gift shop, and into the diner, where the conversation is coming from. An interesting setup, but an understandable one. It allows anyone behind the counter to move fluidly between customers and sections.

As Eddie approaches, the conversation becomes slightly clearer. 

“-said, no wonder you didn’t get her number!” the deeper voice barks, and the two dissolve into that almost-too-loud laughter again. 

As it tapers off, the other voice says, “Sounds like a real charmer! But really, you oughta be careful, Barn. One of these days someone’s gonna throw a right hook at ya.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up. A transatlantic accent? He hasn’t heard that anywhere outside of real old movies and a queen he once knew. It sounds natural too, like the man was born to sound like he belongs on a 1920s radio show. It nudges something in the back of Eddie’s mind. He’s started to get really sick of that nudge.

“Oh, this guy did.”

“No kidding? I don’t see a shiner.”

“Well, yeah. I went left.”

Both of them laugh again, and Eddie feels a tiny tug at the corner of his mouth. That wasn’t funny enough to garner an actual laugh in his opinion, but it wasn’t unfunny. 

Eddie steps up to the counter and quietly puts his acquired items on it, not wanting to interrupt. He chances a glance to the side - walking space in front of the counter’s length lets him see right down into the diner.

A large man with dyed-blue hair and an interesting fashion sense is at the bar, talking to an employee leaning against the other side. The employee doesn’t really catch Eddie’s gaze, but the other man… Eddie swears he’s seen him before. He studies him from the corner of his eye, not wanting to be rude but unable to mind his business. 

“Our bouncer didn’t even get a chance at the action - the idiot knocked himself out tryin’ a second swing!” The customer says. His deep voice, wavering with humor, only adds to the sense of familiarity. Metal glints in his right ear. Eddie knows this man from somewhere.

The employee shakes his head, tutting. His busy hands polish a vintage pitcher. “I swear, you get all the crazies.”

“Makes for a good story, though.” The customer takes a sip from his tall milkshake and scoffs. “Though if it wasn’t all well-ending, amusing bull, I doubt I’d be so tolerant.”

Minutes drag by as the two keep talking. Eddie goes from patiently waiting to awkwardly trying to get the employees attention. If only there was someone else behind the counter, but the only other staff member is elsewhere, likely still stocking shelves. 

The two men are too absorbed in their little world, even though both are facing Eddie’s way. The customer has both elbows on the counter, one of them bent to prop up his chin. The employee has his hip leaned against the edge as they chat. They’re obviously very familiar with each other, and clearly deeply enjoy each other's company. 

Still - and Eddie is sorry to say, but it’s bad customer service. He’s not in a rush, but he’d still like to be on his way home. He could be fishing out the complex keys right now. He checks his phone - he’s been here for nearly fifteen minutes. Picking out the items took less than five. 

Eddie sighs, staring at the various cigarette packs displayed behind the counter. He’s never seen the appeal in smoking, but as the laughter starts up again, he almost wishes he did. He’s going to treat himself to a very long shower once he gets home. 

The store’s other employee walks behind the counter, carrying a box. Eddie lights up. Finally - she pointedly clears her throat and heads into the back. 

The constant conversation stalls for the barest moment, and he looks over. The customer grins at him for a second - lord he’s handsome - before turning that grin towards his friend.

“You’re losin’ your touch, Howds,” he teases, bringing his shake straw to his lips.

“I resent that statement. You’re just distracting.”

“Lil’ me? Distracting? C’mon, you can just tell me I’m pretty to my face. I’ll take it like a champ, I swear!”

“Ha, good try.” The employee sets the pitcher down and starts to mosey in Eddie’s direction. “Your ego is big enough for the both of us as is. One more compliment and your head’ll pop like a balloon.”

“Well, given that most balloons don’t really pop, they just kinda deflate slowly-”

“Sorry for the wait!” the employee says loudly in a glaringly obvious customer service tone. He stops in front of Eddie with a cardboard smile. At the other end of the counter, the familiar man snickers and hides his grin behind his drink. “I trust you found everything you did - and didn’t! - need.”

Eddie just stares up at him for a moment. At six-one, Eddie hasn’t felt small in a very long time. He usually stands at least a full inch above other people. This employee - Howdy, his name tag states - has several more on him.

“Uh, y-yes, I uh, I did,” Eddie stammers, glancing at his items. 

“Wonderful! And again, my sincerest apologies for the delay. My friend makes a game out of keeping me from my job.” Howdy shoots his ‘friend’ a glare with enough heat in it to make an ice cube sweat. 

“No worries.”

Howdy scans the items at an almost frightening speed. Beep, into a paper bag. Beep, in. Beep, beep - “Oh, no.”

“What?” Eddie says, dread plucking at his ribs as Howdy holds the bran muffins and shakes his head. “Is there somethin’ wrong?”

“Indeed there is! You’re making a mistake with these. They’re absolutely horrible, I tell ya - and bad for you, too!” Howdy tuts and puts the box to the side. “No, no, you don’t want those.”

“I… don’t?”

“Not if you knew better! Lucky for you, I’m here to set you straight. What you need is-” he snaps his fingers, “Barnaby, be a pal and-”

“Already on it,” ‘Barnaby’ says, appearing next to Eddie.

If Eddie weren’t already paralyzed, he’d jump right out of his skin from how Barnaby towers over him. He has to be a scant inch or so shorter than Howdy, but he still makes Eddie feel tiny. Unfortunately, Barnaby is even more handsome up close. 

“Here ya go.” Barnaby hands a plastic container to Howdy and taps it, smiling lazily down at Eddie. “I’d take his advice on this one. Those bran-named muffins may sound fancy, but they’re pretty crumby! You want muffins of quality. Real breadwinners!

Eddie can’t help a soft laugh. “Breadwinners, heh, that’s a good one.”

“Are you selling these or am I?” Howdy says, raising a bushy eyebrow. 

“Hey, I’m just doin’ what you asked! I’m bein’ a pal.”

“And I - I’m sorry," Eddie interjects, "but you’re awfully familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?”

“Eh, I’ve been around, but uh… you ever been to [INSERT GAY BAR NAME HERE]?”

Howdy clears his throat. “I’m trying to make a sale here, Barn. You can flirt on your own dime when you’re not costing me mine.”

“Didja know your nose gets redder when you’re jealous?”

Howdy rolls his eyes and shoves Barnaby in the diner’s direction. Barnaby goes with a hearty snicker. Despite the joke, Eddie thinks it has some merit as Howdy scans the final item and rings him up, considerably frostier than before.

Belatedly, Eddie realizes that he didn’t actually agree to the different muffins. Too late now. “Say, what kind of muffins are those?”

“Poppyseed-lemon.”

Eddie relaxes - that is a lot better than boring bran. “Y’know, my mother loved poppyseed-lemon muffins.”

“Did she now,” Howdy drawls.

“Like you wouldn’t believe! If baking was so much as mentioned, she’d jump right on houndin’ us to whip some up for her, or send us to go buy some. We’d never even get a taste! They’d be gone the moment they hit the air, I tell ya.” Eddie chuckles. “Took me a while to understand what all the fuss is about, but man was she right. They are good!”

“Uh-huh. Well, we have a fresh batch delivered every morning. They’re not the same type every time, mind you, but I can promise that they’re all of the highest quality.”

“Breadwinners, right?” Eddie jokes. Howdy doesn’t blink, but Barnaby snorts. He’ll take it. “I might have to come by more often, if that’s the case! Thank you kindly, sir.”

“Mhm, have a good day.” Howdy hands him the bag and strides away without a glance. The dismissal is clear as day. “Say, Barn, did you hear about the racket one of those cult crackpots stirred up at our dear friend’s tearoom?”

Eddie doesn’t catch the tail-end of the sentence as he hurries away, but he frowns. Cult? What cult? There’s a cult? He certainly didn’t hear of one before moving here, and none of his background checks had turned up anything of the sort. He hopes it was just a figure of speech. 

The door chimes again as Eddie leaves. It isn’t until he’s in his car that the embarrassment of that whole exchange catches up with him. If he had a nickel for every time he’d made a fool of himself in front of a gorgeous, strangely familiar man, he’d have three nickels. At the rate he’s going, he’ll either be rich, or he’ll have to move. 

Eddie subtly tries to peek around the store’s window displays from the safety of his car. He catches a scant glimpse of blue hair - come to think of it, it’s a similar shade to Wally’s. But where Wally’s had, to Eddie’s memory, been uniformly dyed right down to his eyebrows, Barnaby’s rich brown roots were obvious. His beard and eyebrows weren’t dyed, either. 

As Eddie relaxes back into his seat, he re-reads at the store’s name. The color drains from his face and he barely restrains himself from slamming his forehead against the steering wheel.

Oh, of course. Of course he made a fool of himself in front of the owner. Eddie can never come back here again. And it was such a nice store…

[life-on-the-murder-scene103119]

[artsycloudysleepy]

TYSM THAT MEANS SO MUCH!!!! they ARE such a scrimbo, i eat them every day and spit them back out again like the scrimbo they are. scrimbly scrimbled scrimbleton, that's their real name (they fake their looks AND their name??? next you'll be telling me they fake their happiness- oh........ /silly /hj =D)

AND YEAH IDK HOW THE 3D TURNED OUT SO GOOD????? AND TYSM AGAIN????? and 100% try it out, it's really fun and i'd absolutely love to see whatever you make!!!

will warn you tho that what i used (paint 3d) isn't going to be available after november 4th, so if you want it here's the link i think i used!!! get it quick!!! it's free!!! and there was a post about how someone else uses it to make their own models, it def helped me! enjoy - it's very much a mess about and have fun thing :3

OCs.......

i FINALLY settled on a design for the main character of Fabrication!!!! only took me............. six years........... sorry SELF.......

also did the guardian of perspective, shea (pronounced 'shay' iirc, they/them)! ended up being an anthromorphic horse guy, but they're a shapeshifter - it's just their base form :D

(SELF on left, shea on right)

and you can see my frantic design here; SELF was quick to figure out but shea was, uh. significantly harder, majorly bc i don't know how to draw horse heads

(the lil cloud is how i draw my persona)

fun fact abt SELF, they aren't actually a sentient die - they're a human, but they don't like showing their real face a lot of the time. what do they look like? beats me, i'm not about to make another bloody reference :p

also i used paint 3d for the first time!!! fiddly af but WHO CARES I GOT DEW TO SPIN :DDD

will be doing this again at some point, i like experimenting like this! maybe i'll give her the jacket she deserves.. also i FINALLY FOUND my old pen + pad for digital drawing so ig i'm gonna try using it more - used it for the initial sketch here, and it's still hard with dyspraxia, but am getting the hang of it!

update: krita was being funny about my pen but i think i'm improving at mousepad art (i will never use a mouse sue me)!!! here's princess eleanor and thunder being silly (and eleanor always ) <3

(for context, eleanor unofficially adopts children left and right, so when thunder and her met, she was nicer to xem than originally planned and took xem in. she was interested in meeting SELF and the Fragments, and when she realised they were children, she went off wanting to hurt/influence them. she's manipulative due to her own goals of totally NOT murdering/otherwise influencing political opposition, but only to an extent for kids. they're innocent and she is a protector)

(shhh dw abt the blood....... she's innocent, look at that innocent face............ she's not an assassin princess, no............. shhh /jk /s)

oh and i remember @mylackofgrammaristerrifying saying that azzie should get a gf...... GUESS WHAT SHE GETS TWO, (though one is still being designed!) POLYAMORY TIME :DDD

they love each other dearly dw, azzie is upset for *reasons* in this drawing but nettle is good to her. they'll heal a bit more <3

i don't think i made a proper post on them (maybe?), tho they've been sitting in my masterpost for a while! gonna revamp both the refs and the masterpost at some point to be more simple tho. anyway here's nettle (she/they)!

the other partner is elle (they/them i think? either that or she/her, still choosing. genderqueer). all three are really in love, lil' goobers <3

oh, and one last drawing:

</3

moot tags! beware the horrors: @mrrottenreblogs @nylonnye2 and mlogit you have already been tagged! hope you guys are doing good :D

[alivingfire]

i've finally gotten to the chapter in my secretly-dating-since-s2 big bang where the kids are in high school and interacting with steve and eddie separately, and i am having The Most Fun writing the most ridiculous situations you've ever seen. snippet below.

(also @knitsforthetrail you kicked me into gear today!! chapter's nearly done!!!)

“Yeah, Mike, Steve fucked up this time but he’s still awesome,” Dustin said, hustling the others out to Eddie’s van. Eddie rolled his eyes at the mini-mothering, knocking the doorstopper out of the way so the theater door swung shut behind them. Dustin continued, “You’re just still mad because he dated Nancy.” 

“And, like, everyone else in this town!” Mike said, crossing his arms. “Plus he’s so lame. Like, cool, you’ve got a car, you’ve got hair and, like, lips or whatever. So what!” 

Eddie felt his eyebrow raise at the lips or whatever comment, but the boys were in front of him and so he didn’t have to tamp it down. Maybe Steve was inadvertently mama-bearing a whole little pack of gays. He told Eddie about the types of gum he’d been trying since September to try to find his “signature taste” but he wouldn’t share about his little flock of homosexuals? His priorities were completely out of wack. 

“Listen, it’s fine,” Dustin said, clambering into the van’s passenger seat like he’d never seen a goddamn car before, all shoulders first and feet kicking. Lucas and Mike, stick bug-shaped children that they were, crawled into the back and perched gingerly on the pillows and guitar string packets and other detritus Eddie forgot was back there. “We’ll just have Steve call your date and tell her what happened! Everyone knows him, he’s a reliable guy, and she’ll have to reschedule with you.” 

“You want,” Eddie said, “Steve Harrington to call my date for me and tell them I was late because he had to work?” 

“Yeah,” Dustin said. 

“Steve ‘has dated everyone in town’ Harrington, according to Mike? You think he should call my date and apologize for me?” 

“Yeah,” Dustin said. “He probably already knows her!” 

“There sure are a lot of blankets in here,” Lucas said, looking around the van. Admittedly, Eddie had rolled out all the stops for a smoke date with Steve a few nights ago that had been very successful judging by Steve's enthusiastic reaction, and he cringed a little to think about what Lucas and Mike might be sitting in. He has got to remember to do laundry sometime. 

“Do you have a comment, Sinclair?” Eddie asked. 

“No, just… questions,” Lucas said. 

[ladykailitha]

SECERET TUNNEL

THROUGH THE MOUNTAIN

SECRET SECRET SECRET SECRET

TUNNEL!

Ok fine

Game Show AU

Secret Tunnel is awesome. You may continue to ask it for it, thus!

WIP Wednesday! Make me write!!

Snippet

Steve nearly had a panic attack right there in the car when Chrissy screamed. There wasn’t a crisis. Or at least not one that needed immediate attention. What it was, was their little drunk text about #needsmoregays at A Love Connection went viral. There were actual fucking news articles. Yeah, the first was from Pink News, but the rest? Actual fucking trades. Variety, Dateline, The Hollywood Reporter, for fuck’s sake.

Steve was going to pass out, but he managed to get them to the school safely. Thankfully there was nothing on Chrissy profile that was her real name or where she worked. She had a work Twitter for that. And that one was only on her computer at work. She was very careful not to cross the two. So there weren’t any news people out front of the school. But her DMs were filled with requests for comments or even actual interviews.

He decided she could do whatever the hell she wanted, he wasn’t going to get involved in this. She’s the one that drunk tweeted. Yeah, it was because of something he said when he was also drunk.

He also decided ignore Chrissy and Robin at lunch, choosing instead to have it in his classroom to avoid them. Because, yes, he was avoiding them thank you. He just wanted to see gay people have love, too. Last Saturday was a disaster and he wanted proof that gays like he could find love.

[skibasyndrome]

Finally making a pinned post, hope I do this right

my name is Simon, you can call me that or skibasyndrome or any variation of either that you can think of

25-y/o university student with a passion for literature and languages and everything surrounding that (hmu, I will talk about it for hours)

me and tumblr go way back (like... 2012 way back), but it's only through my very recent discovery of Young Royals (August 2023) that I decided to get back into online fan spaces after a long break (best decision ever btw)

I'm gay and a trans man

I mostly just write fics (or talk about writing)

Feel free to reach out and talk to me about anything and everything, I love talking to people :)

things to note about this blog

I will simp about Omar Rudberg. Sorry, I'm just too gay for whatever it is he is doing 24/7

there's almost always a party in my tags because that's where I go to voice my opinions or just be... emotionally affected by things

hope you like Young Royals, because there's rarely anything else on here these days

personal posts are tagged "simon.out."

should go without saying but fuck right off with any -isms or -phobias

See my Young Royals fics below the cut (or at skibasyndrome on ao3)

It seems a place for us to dream (T, 1.8 k)

Or: The things going through Wilhelm's head during that S3 snippet.

You crave the Applause / Yet hate the Attention (E, chaptered, 4/4, 22.3 k)

Or: How Wilhelm realizes that maybe, if you squint a little, he might have a praise kink.

But I'm a vampire smile, you'll meet a sticky end (E, 4.1 k)

Or: Simon's vampire-esque makeup is really doing things to Wilhelm that he didn't expect. A Halloween fic.

In This Together (T, 3.5 k)

Or: Wilhelm tries — and fails — to surprise Simon with hot chocolate. Simon doesn't mind. Contribution to Wilmon Secret Santa 2023.

It's in the water, baby (E, 4.9 k)

Or: A sweet and spicy story sponsored by the infamous Lake Still (TM) s3 promo pic.

Never Letting You Go (E, 5.7 k)

Or: The infamous Hallway Smut (TM) Scene as briefly seen in the S3 trailer and (re)imagined by me. There's light angst, sex, and so many feelings.

Lavender Haze (E, 13.3 k)

Or: Wilhelm spots the most gorgeous man in a nightclub. He's wearing a lavender shirt that makes Wilhelm's head spin and imagination run wild. And a smile that does things to his heart he's not quite sure what to make of yet.

All this shit is new to me (E, chaptered, 3/?, 24 k)

Or: After meeting and hooking up with Simon at a club, Wille needs to figure out what exactly that means for them (or whether there even is a "them" to figure out). A sequel to Lavender Haze.

Wille's Month 2024:

Day 1 (Sandwich): Vegan butter, two slices of Gouda, a few slices of cucumber (G, 1.6 k) Day 8 (Wedding/Engagement): Roots of Love (T, 1.2 k) Day 9 (Riding): Close, Closer (E, 1.3 k) Day 25 (Hands): Got my Hands all over You (E, 7.1 k)

Simon's Month 2024:

Day 2 (Food): I could eat that boy for lunch (M, 7.9 k) (co-written with @iwouldnevergetintofanfic & @pagegirlintraining) Day 14 (Senses): Kyss mig med dinä röda läppar (or, affectionately: the cherry fic) (T, 3.4 k)

Flash The Camera, You're A Star! (T, 10.1 k) (co-written with @pagegirlintraining)

Or: the one where Wille is an even bigger simp than usual and Simon can’t quite stay mad at him.

(ca.)-5-sentence-ficlets

Or: people send me a sentence, I write 5 or more sentences to turn it into a ficlet. wild variety of stories ranging from dark to fluffy to (slightly) steamy (always open for these types of prompts)

YR Kinktober 2024 (Masterpost here)

Day 1: Sit back and watch (I'm gonna dance for you) (masturbation & spit) “Have you never thought about it?” he asks, and Simon is about to chide him for avoiding a question with a follow-up-question, but Wille is pushing on. “I’m just curious,” he says, pointedly casual about it (Simon doesn’t buy it, Wille seldom feels ‘just’ anything, he’s a thinker, that man, sometimes to a fault). “I’ve never seen you do it.” And, as if he’s sensing the protest that’s about to come out of Simon’s mouth: “Without me fucking you, I mean.”

Day 2: Sharpen your teeth, sink into me (marks & biting) “Please,” is all he can muster, eyes squeezed shut against the threat of tears, of overwhelm, of having everything he tried to hold in come spilling out. Not now, he thinks, not yet. He needs more, needs Simon’s mouth and hands and body to coax the raw emotion out of him. Needs to feel it all before he can truly let go. Fingers digging into the skin of Simon’s back, into the straining muscles of his shoulder blades, he swallows again, forces his voice to form the words, broken fragments scattered for Simon to put back together. “Simon,” he breathes. ”Need you, please.”

Day 3: In silence, I'm yours (sound/staying quiet, hands & 69) “Shit,” he whispers, moves to pull away, but is stopped. Simon’s fingers quickly wrap around his wrist, keep it in place, keep it right there, right where it’s firmly pressed over Simon’s mouth. Wille just looks at his palm, then into Simon’s eyes. They’re wide, staring back up at Wille, glinting dangerously. And, for a moment, neither of them moves. It’s Simon who makes the first move, who now, after all, tugs Wille’s palm away from his face. His eyes are still intently boring into Wille’s and, god, Wille feels himself twitch inside of Simon at the sudden charge of the air around them. “Wanna try to make me?” Simon whispers, almost breathless now.

Day 4: Love the shape of your mouth (and the back of your head) (makeup, praise kink, oral sex, deepthroating and light dacryphilia) “You can’t keep saying that,” is all she says as she drops her head down and onto Simon’s stomach. He hears her let out a frustrated little noise into the fabric of his dress shirt, and he laughs, pointedly ignoring the way her proximity to his crotch is making him feel. She's laughing, too, that same carefree laugh that Simon’s been thinking about all evening. He puts a hand on the back of her head, stroking over her hair for a moment. “I mean it, though, Wille” he says, because he’s not going to let her deflect again. “You look stunning.”

[possibilistfanfiction]

legitimately fuckin obsessed with the avatrice football au my dude. that last snippet brought me pure JOY im tellin you what

[well here's some ava pov while i procrastinate ch3 plot lol, s/o to @unicyclehippo for the worst/best gay pun of all time, love u. honestly this is long enough to put on ao3 so ... i'll do that in a footy au series i suppose for context... justice for chanel lol]

///

waking up from your first surgery is a blur, mostly an inexplicable terror when you can’t feel your legs, when you can barely move your fingers. tears leak from your eyes and you can’t wipe them, can only let them roll down into your temples. but then there’s a hand in yours, and chanel’s comforting touch, her voice soft.

‘it’ll be okay, ava,’ she says.

it won’t be okay, you’re certain of it, because you’d been taken straight from the field to the hospital, and then right into surgery, your kit cut off so that they didn’t move your spine more than you already had. you love football; you love football, the feeling of being so at home in your body, the feeling of going fast and the delight of the burn in your muscles, of not being afraid of anything.

‘i’m really scared.’ you look at chanel, showered and gorgeous, in a team issued bomber that seems impossibly elegant, even now. 

‘yeah,’ she grants, swipes her thumb against your cheeks and into your hair, catching your tears. she grabs a tissue and wipes your nose, which, from anyone else, would be absolutely horrifying, but she does it with so little fanfare and you’re in pain and also not pain — the worse option — you can’t even really care. she’s your favorite teammate: kind and brave and funny. she’s your friend. ’you’re gonna get through this, though.’

‘i don’t — i don’t want to.’

you don’t even quite know what you mean, still out of it because of pain meds and anesthesia, but chanel sighs gently.

‘you will. one day, you will.’

/

you don’t, not for a long time. after your fifth surgery you kind of tell yourself that you’ve definitely given up on football; they move you to a long-term rehab facility specifically for spine injuries, which is better than the hospital for sure, but it’s still hours and hours of physical and occupational therapy that leaves you feeling discouraged more often that not. once the inflammation starts to go down in your spine, you start to, at least, regain some function in your arms and hands, and after your sixth surgery, things are, you’ll admit, more hopeful. at the very least, you’ll be able to do things like use a manual chair and cook and type emails. 

you’re not great at texting yet; your occupational therapist is always telling you that if you worked on writing, and holding cutlery, and even more boring, pointless shit like pick up sticks, you’d have an easier time, but, whatever, you can type with the pointer finger of your right hand and it gets the job done. chanel visits as often as she can, most days in the late morning, which feels particularly generous in the off season when she could be being glamorous somewhere else, probably invited to paris fashion week or something. she brings makeup — expensive, beautiful makeup — and doesn’t seem to care when you clumsily fuck up lipstick or poke your eye with a mascara wand. you know she brings it so you actually do your occupational therapy exercises, but she also brings you changes of comfortable clothes and washes your hair gently every few days. she lies back in bed with you, long limbed and beautiful, and watches matches when you don’t feel too sad. 

a few days after your eighth surgery, your last, according to your neurosurgeon, you wear a giant back brace over your beatrice xin jersey, your favorite player to watch, and your physical therapy team gets you strapped into this harness that connects to the ceiling so you can try to walk on the treadmill and for sure won’t fall. it kind of feels like you’re doing a stunt or something, and chanel stands there and indulges you with a smile while you make all of your best ‘strapped into a harness’ jokes.

and then — you do walk. it’s slow going, the treadmill barely moving, and your legs feel sluggish and so weak and almost not like your own. it’s been two months since you took a step and it feels like a fucking miracle. chanel wipes a tear or two from her own eyes, even though you can only walk for five minutes and are sweating kind of profusely — it’s a fucking miracle, and she understands it too. 

/

‘what are you frowning at?’

she rolls her eyes and pockets her phone, easily pedaling with insane resistance on the peleton next to you while you struggle to get your legs to listen to your brain and pedal at all. ‘idiot bros on twitter. “trans women don’t belong in women’s sports” and all that bullshit.’

you stop trying to pedal because you’re already entirely unsuccessful today and now you’re not able to focus at all. ‘fuck them.’

she grins. ‘yeah.’

‘i’ll beat them up, just you watch.’

it makes her laugh, and you think she knows you really would physically get into a fight — on or off the field — if anyone ever said anything to her. 

‘plus, i can take you 1v1.’

‘in your dreams, silva.’

‘i’m going to, again. don’t even think i won’t.’

chanel pats your hand; you feel it all. ‘i’ve always known you could do it. i’ve never thought you wouldn’t, ava.’

you duck your head, unused to genuine praise after all this time stuck in the same boring, discouraging, painful rooms at the spine center, even though all of your doctors and nurses and therapists had been nice.

‘but,’ she says, ‘first you gotta pedal on this bike.’

‘it’s hard,’ you whine.

‘you’re just distracted.’

you look at the game you’d turned on, beatrice xin currently with two goals and two assists, and sigh. ‘i’m horny.’

it gets the biggest, best laugh out of chanel, and you feel a little something like pride bloom in your chest: you love making people you care about laugh. 

‘fine, fine,’ you grumble. you look down at your feet, your quads and calves so small and pale compared to six months ago; you try to breathe through the immediate fear and the tiny bit of shame that pops up. but you focus, feel your feet firmly on the pedals, think about how you know how to ride a bike; you know how to stand up straight and put on pants and kick a ball. the back brace you have on feels tight, feels restricting — but you focus on activating your quads, then your hamstrings, and you eventually get the pedals to move.

‘hell yeah,’ chanel says.

‘if you try to give me a high five right now i think i’ll get all scrambled if i try to move my hand.’

she laughs, reaches over and pats the top of your head instead. 

/

‘ava silva,’ chanel says, and you grin; you can’t help it. she holds her phone at a, thankfully, flattering angle as you walk along the beach — slowly, but steady: you trust you won’t fall, that you’re strong enough and getting stronger. ‘what does freedom feel like?’

chanel has like… three million followers, and she loves social media, something that your old club has always been thrilled about. they hadn’t renewed your contract, but you’d understood; they’re still paying for all of your medical care, so you don’t really feel upset, just a sense of loss you’re not quite ready to name. but chanel loves you, and she’s so, so happy for you — even if you never play again, you’re walking and even starting to run now; you’re in pain but it’s manageable. it’s okay.

‘it feels —‘ euphoric; devastating — ‘like a miracle.’

/

you flop down on chanel’s neatly made and extravagent bed; you’ve been staying in her guest room — which she had turned into her closet, so it’s still kind of packed with all of her beautiful clothes, although there is a very expensive bed for you — and training until, hopefully, you can get signed somewhere. she doesn’t even look up from her ipad when you sigh. ‘hello, ava.’

‘i have a favor to ask that i actually think you’ll be interested in.’

she pauses whatever she’s doing, then looks up. ‘i’m listening.’

‘well! okay, so. as you know, i’ve basically only worn hospital gowns and sweats for the last year and a half, and before that, i was, like, a child.’

chanel perks up, and you can practically see the wheels in her head turning already.

‘and now, wherever i get signed, you know, people are gonna care, and want interviews and all this stuff. so, in small part, i want to feel good about how i look for this next chapter of football.’

‘i love it,’ she says. ‘and what’s the large part?’

you flop back again, just for the dramatics. ‘i am… so horny. like, you don’t even understand.’

she laughs. ‘JC is nice though, right?’

‘yeah,’ you say, because he is. ‘but, like, girls.’

she pauses for a second, a happy smile on her face. ‘so, you want to look… more… bisexual?’

‘i mean, i do already? because i am? right?’

‘well, of course, ava.’ it’s gentle and reassuring but still a little amused.

‘but — yeah. like, i want to pick stuff i love, my clothes and my hair and whatever, gain back control, blah blah, everything my therapist is always going on about.’

‘your therapist is great, you love her.’

‘sure.’ she is; you do. ‘so anyway, i just — i guess i just want to feel like myself.’

‘now that,’ chanel says, ‘is a favor i love.’

/

‘you’re sure?’

‘it doesn’t matter if i’m sure,’ chanel says, sitting in the hairdresser’s chair next to yours. you have the salon to yourselves; she’d booked you a private appointment with her hairstylist immediately.

you turn to said stylist, dimitri, with their chic and very neat fade. ‘are you sure?’

‘like chanel said,’ they say. ‘it only matters what you want. we don’t have to do anything big.’

you look in the mirror; you hadn’t had the real opportunity to get a haircut in a long time, being in the hospital and rehab and then spending as much time as you could training after that. you haven’t, really, taken the time to deeply care for yourself, something your therapist has been bothering you about. you want, so badly, to live as big as you can. as much as you can. 

‘well, i’m sure, as long as you think it’ll, like, be good for my face shape or whatever.’

chanel and dimitri share a quick glance and then chanel rolls her eyes. ‘ava, you have to know that you’re beautiful, right?’

you pause for what you feel is an appropriate amount of time. ‘yes.’

‘but since you asked,’ dimitri says, ‘i do think this will be great for your face shape.’

‘alright,’ you say, feeling suddenly very excited and a little buoyed. ‘let’s fucking do it, then.’

chanel cheers and dimitri grins; they wash your hair gently, and you feel a little panicked until chanel starts talking about the threesome she had a few nights ago, which is delightful and grounding enough you stay, fairly easily, in the present of this beautiful, outrageously expensive salon, the control you get to have. not that you’re thrilled about your therapist being completely 100% correct, but… she was right. 

dimitri dries your hair and then combs it out patiently, divides it and then clips up the top part. ‘ready?’

‘definitely.’

chanel grins and it’s easy, so much easier than you knew it would be, to sit and watch yourself become. you’re filled with a sense of joy, this tiny seed that grows as dimitri cuts your hair to your chin precisely, and asks you about your plans for the day, and food you love, and chanel talks about her latest modeling contract — in addition to football, which amazes you in a way that makes you feel proud in the very center of your chest, this incredible person who showed up and helped take care of you. you feel your shoulders relax; you feel your feet firmly in the new sneakers converse had sent you, comfortable and cool; you even take time to feel your butt in the chair with the knowledge that you don’t need to do any pressure reliefs or weight shifts because, when dimitri is done, you’ll be able to stand up and walk and dance and run and even play football. and even if — even if — one day, you couldn’t, you have your friends and your teammates and your life.

‘you look hot, ava,’ chanel says, very genuinely, after dimitri finishes with a leave in, then shows you how to dry your hair and recommends a light oil. 

‘go ahead,’ they say, ‘run your hands through it, all that jazz.’

to touch; to feel. you think you might cry, all of a sudden, with your soft hair that you picked, that you wanted, and chanel takes in your wobbling bottom lip and then tuts and pulls you toward her. because of your height difference, your face is basically smooshed into her chest and, even though you do cry, you laugh too, wet and messy and alive.

‘this probably my favorite place in the world,’ you say.

chanel shoves you playfully and you grin up at her. 

‘thank you.’

she waves you off, as she always does when she’s a little overwhelmed too. ‘don’t thank me yet. now we have to go shopping.’

/

it’s not as bad as you’d feared; despite the fact that chanel only wears the most elegant designer clothes — her closet is full of gucci and bottega and, of course, chanel, and a whole shelf of louboutins — but she also loves you and knows you, deeply, and so when her driver pulls up to a row of a few very cool-looking thrift stores, you have to hug her again. she gives you helpful feedback on pieces and outfits and you feel, quite genuinely, happier than maybe you ever have. you buy crop tops and high waisted, loose jeans and a few sweaters you love; some silly earrings and a necklace and a cap that chanel laughs at, but fondly enough you know it works. you find a men’s button up with a bunch of flames on it and she rolls her eyes but you put it on anyway, knot it at your waist so it feels just above your shorts.

‘do i look bi?’

‘you look a little bit crazy, but i definitely wouldn’t think you’re straight.’

you’re practically shaking with excitement: ‘it’s… flaming. i’m flaming! get it!’

chanel groans. ‘ava,’ she says, but wraps an arm around your shoulders and throws it on the growing pile anyway.

/

you feel happier than maybe you ever have until the next morning, when you come back from a silly game of football on the beach with her and JC and a few of your other friends, your hair spilling out of the tiny bun you’d managed to get it into, which had made you laugh, and sit down to have some burrata — another one of your favorites that chanel indulges in getting for you from time to time, even did while you were in the hospital and she had to put it on little crackers and feed it to you herself — and then accept a call from your agent. you step inside to take it, close the door softly. 

after it’s done, you yank the door open this time, burst onto the patio. all of your nerves are alive; in your shorts, your legs look strong again, tan and muscular and capable.

‘good news?’

you’re almost too excited to explain that you’re getting signed by your favorite club, $6 million for the year, with, if all goes well, an option to extend your contract another season after. a bonus: they just hired dr. jillian salvius, one of the best sports specialists in the world. all of your care will be, of course, included.

chanel starts to cry, which makes you start to cry, and she hugs you to her tightly. 

‘i am so happy for you,’ she says. ‘and i’m really gonna miss you.’

‘i’m gonna miss you too,’ you tell her. 

she backs up and puts her hands on your shoulders, a smile sneaking up her face. ‘you know, i happen to remember your favorite player in the whole entire world playing at a certain club.’

you hadn’t really thought past football and then six million dollars, but — ‘fuck.’

chanel laughs, face beautiful and delicate and rich in the sun. ‘i can’t wait to show her pictures of you in her jersey.’

‘oh god, are there any on my instagram? i have to go check.’

she just keeps laughing, and it’s all brimming, so wonderful, right at your fingertips.

/

you sign a few days later, your hands steady.

/

‘well,’ chanel asks, lounging back in bed on zoom, ‘how was day one?’

‘oh my god.’ your hair is still wet from the shower you took at the training grounds; you had raced back to your new apartment to make sure you were on time for your call. ‘i got there early, to play a little bit, get the nerves out, you know. and guess who was there and wanted to play 1v1?’

she grins. ‘no fucking way.’

‘i got schooled, obviously,’ you say, think of the way beatrice xin had moved with the ball, how surely she went into tackles, how precise she was. ‘i did score twice, though, and nutmegged her once. greatest football moment of my life, i’m pretty sure.’

‘what’s she like?’

you think chanel is probably humoring you, but you don’t care. ‘beatrice is… beautiful.’ it’s really the only word you have: her neat bun that stayed in place perfectly other than a few errant strands by the end of the session today; her clipped, lovely accent; the way her calves had looked while she was sprinting; the delicate lines of her face; her freckles and her eyes; how she had been serious and professional but kind; her strong back, muscles rippling under her skin in a way that made you shiver, in the locker room when she had untucked her quarterzip and pulled it over her head; how she seemed lonely, despite it all. ‘she’s really beautiful.’

/

it’s a while later when the sheer mortification dawns on you, but then beatrice, in her weird, hot, hilarious way, seems to dissipate the extreme embarrassment you’re going to be faced with by being embarrassing first.

‘hello, chanel.’ she reaches out her hand very seriously, in her favorite linen jumpsuit and a very expensive pair of off-white dunks and black, cat eye sunglasses that are honestly cooler than you expected, in front of her favorite nice brunch place. chanel shoots you a glance and then shakes bea’s hand firmly while you both try not to laugh. 

‘hey, it’s great to meet you.’

‘you, as well,’ bea says. ‘i — before we sit, i just wanted to extend my admiration, for the work you have done both on and off the field for trans equity in our sport.’

it’s so serious, and so genuine, chanel seems a little disarmed and a little affected. ‘thank you.’

bea nods once, seriously. ‘and, maybe more importantly, even, my deep gratitude, for caring for ava. she’s spoken so highly of you, and it means — i love her,’ bea decides on, after a pause. ‘i’m glad, immeasurably so, that she has people who love her too.’

chanel suspiciously sniffles. ‘can i give you a hug? is that weird?’

bea smiles, a real smile, your favorite, and opens her arms. you resist the urge, passionately, to make a joke about how the two hottest (sorry, lilith) women you know together is really gonna do it for you during your alone time later, which is honestly a fucking feat.

‘well,’ chanel says, ‘i made a presentation of every embarrassing thing ava has done that you should know about.’

‘oh no.’

bea loops her arm with chanel when she gallantly offers, and bea says, ‘oh yes.’ you trail behind them, feeling short and small and bursting with happiness. chanel orders basically the entire menu for you to try and she and bea laugh at your expense when chanel opens her phone and does, indeed, have an entire canva presentation of you being embarrassing, but you don’t really mind at all. the sun warms your shoulders and you drink champagne that costs way too much money, the bubbles bright on your tongue. chanel laughs and bea puts her hand on your thigh, just like that: you feel it all.

[stargatebarbie]

pls tell me about mcshep sinkhole

Ooooooh thank you this is a favourite of mine! I decided I really wanted Sheppard and Rodney to do the 36 questions to fall in love but like we know how hard it is for Sheppard to talk about his feelings so I kind of had to get their jumper jammed in an unstable sinkhole, sorry boys. features of this one include Sheppard being gay and pining quite pathetically (affectionate), Rodney being clueless as always, and background lesbian scientists who are stranded separately on the planet's surface and very excited about the local flora.

snippet from this, formatted insanely because I often write dialogue first and I haven't filled the rest in, but I love this part so it's the one I'm including. It's quite deep into the list and into being stuck in a fucking hole so our boys have loosened up a little by this point

Question 22: Alternate sharing something you consider a positive characteristic of your partner. Share a total of five items. J: I think if I don’t start with your smarts I’d never hear the end of it R: You’re right, of course. I think that’ll be my first trait of yours - You have a way of managing people, of - of knowing what they need. Not just me, but it is - particularly impressive with me. I have it on good authority I’m not easy to manage J: Oh hey, there’s another one of yours, you’re actually surprisingly self-aware R: Oh ha ha, I thought these were supposed to be compliments J: That is a compliment! R: Sure, whatever, we’ll count it. My next one for you is you’re not actually stupid. You’d think with your whole thing that you would be but you’ve got a brain under that ridiculous hair. And before you say anything, if yours counts, that one does too! J: Yeah, sure, that counts. Next... okay, you’re brave. Don’t get me wrong, it doesn’t come to you naturally, you’re kind of a pussy honestly, but that just makes it all the more impressive how fucking brave you are when you need to be R: Me? What about you! I’m actually hesitant to cite it as a positive characteristic because your bravery borders on self-sacrificing. You’ll put yourself in harm's way to save anyone, it's ridiculous J: Thanks? Right, I don’t think a lot of people know this, because you play it quite close to the chest, but you care. A lot. You reserve it for so few people, though. I’m glad I’m one of them R: Oh. Well. Me too, you know. Obviously you care about everyone to an alarming degree, but you don't let a lot of people… close. I'm glad, for whatever reason, it seems you've let me be one of those people. I suppose that's not really a characteristic, I should say something else- J: Nah Rodney, that's- yeah, it works R: No, I insist, you wanted to do this questionnaire and I'm going to do it right, let's see… oh, you're really ridiculously attractive J: Um. Okay, thanks. My turn again then, okay. You are unapologetically yourself. You refuse to hold back or censor yourself for other people, and what you see is always what you get. You really don't care if people think you're an asshole or hate you for it, and I know that may sound like an insult but honestly, I really respect it. R: Really? because people have said that to me as an insult before and- J: Yes, really Rodney. It's like you said, I don't tend to let a lot of people in, I… admire that you can be entirely yourself, let everyone see you. R: Oh. Well, thank you. I suppose that leads into another of yours then, I can trust you to say what you mean, when it counts. A lot of people use double-speak and backhanded compliments, and I don't always pick up on it. I can always trust that if it's important though, you'll tell me straight, eventually. You'll joke and you're a sarcastic ass but you won't outright lie and you won't let me go on believing something you've said is true if it wasn't.

[gods-favorite-autistic]

Grease ROTPL finale spoilers below

I have thoughts and questions

Jumping for fucking joy when Nancy slapped Mr Daniels and said “she is a child” LIKE YES QUEEN

Nancy this episode slayed so much like from assaulting predators to supporting the gays in the span of less than an hour you go girl

Speaking of supporting the gays the coming out scene was so amazing and it Hurt

Frenchie and Betty Rizzo were so great this episode and the siblings energy with Jane and Gil was unmatched

Watching Gil with another girl hurt but like I get it so much

If they do get another season I am excited to see how the whole Pink Ladies date T-Birds thing comes around cause like rn Hazel and Cynthia are both dating non T-Birds (not to mention Hazel’s dating a soc)

I think we can all agree on one thing and it’s that the girl from Lydia’s summer scout or whatever is gonna catch these hands

Jane Nancy and Cynthia were so real in the first song like yeah get his ass

Susan I was rooting for you we were all rooting for you

Buddy finally made the right choice and now he’s a fucking homeless high school dropout-

Somebody give this poor boy a break

The Zuko name drop at the end fucking floored me

I need to know what happened between Zuko (I’m assuming Danny’s older brother?) and Jane to make her this mad

Also btw the whole writing it down thing for the coming out scene was cute and all but I would really like to know what Nancy wrote on the paper

Also something Nancy said in that scene caught my eye so imma just rant for a bit

In the part where Nancy’s trying to guess what’s making Cynthia upset she’s says something like “did you talk to your mom?” Which brings up two questions for me

What happened with Cynthia’s mom that would make Cynthia upset if they talked (from what we see of the scenes at Cynthia’s place it seems like she’s doesn’t live with them but she’s obviously not dead so something happened there$

How does Nancy know about whatever happened between Cynthia and her mom (basically like did she hear it through town gossip, is it like common knowledge for the town, or did Cynthia tell her in which case I wanna see that scene)

Also another thing that stood out to me (because she is my favorite character) was that in the church Cynthia kept doing the like 🙏 peace be with you thing and yeah it could’ve just been her being nervous and stuff but she also does the like touch cross thing (idk what it’s called) when Jane is talking to Mr. Daniels as almost like a subconscious thing so I’m wondering if that’s possibly a thing or if I’m just grasping at straws for a Cynthia backstory

I’m really hoping if we get a season two that they flesh out Olivia Nancy and Cynthia’s backstories cuz like we know Jane’s pretty much and we get little snippets of the other three but nothing really solid

Idk kinda like the T-Birds episode except with the girls

Anyways sorry for rambling (and spending like half the time talking about Cynthia) but yeah that’s it

[shhh-secret-time]

I was going through my drabbles and WIPs and found my first rough draft on Craig’s Soulmate fic. I didn't wanna share it at the time because I was afraid of the backlash I would get with it, but I think part of the "Finding fun in writing" again is to stop caring and just doing it. So here's the snippet! It'll probably stay in WIP hell, but I'm glad I didn't delete it.

Warning: Angst, Strong Language

'Come back to this when you're ready, don't push yourself okay?'

Craig reads the scratchy handwriting over and over again. The ink bled into the napkin long ago, coffee stained the corners. It's lost the scent of whatever brew it was, but he thinks he still remembers the smell.

How could he forget the smell? It was on his shirt almost every day. On his lips when they kissed. Sometimes grounds of the brown powder would be in his hair, Craig would spend hours picking out the little bits.

"You don't have to do that." He'd tell him with a feeble attempt to swat his hand away.

"I want to." Craig would say back.

Now, all is left of the bittersweet memory is the napkin in his hand. Craig presses his thumb into the napkin, grimacing at the texture. He sends a shiver down his spine that's far too uncomfortable, but he doesn't stop. The material is old, likely to tear at any moment. It wasn't designed to be kept this long. Or at all, for that matter. But he can't bring himself to get rid of it. It's the last thing he has of him that he hasn't thrown away or given back.

Tweak Tweek had a soulmate. And it wasn't Craig Tucker.

Craig Tucker did not have a soulmate. Born without one.

Funny how that works.

Except it wasn't. It wasn't fucking funny, it was cruel. That life would determine such a thing for people. What gave life the right to decide who falls in love and who doesn't?! And how come it saw fit to keep him out of the loop? Why didn't he get fancy ink on skin, stupid flowers growing out of his face, or a damn counter that counts away at the moments until you finally meet your so called forever partner?

Tweek had turned sixteen when it happened. A clock on his wrist began to count down, at first he panicked, because of course he did. It was the first time in years he had actually managed to pull his hair out. Of course Craig was there to calm him down, to put his hat over his head so he could pull the strings instead. Did he still have that hat?

After calming the blond down, they worked together to find out what it meant. Mr. Tweak explained it to his son with Craig sitting right there. Right in front of his partner, the man explained that Tweek had a soulmate. That the timer was going to keep ticking away until he found his soulmate. When it hit zero, they were destined to meet.

Four years, eleven months, twenty-two days.

That was how much time he had left. How much time Craig had left before he lost Tweek to destiny. Stupid fucking unfair destiny.

The whole town had made a spectacle about it when they heard the news, of course Richard Tweak couldn't keep his mouth shut. His gay son was going to lose his boyfriend, because Craig didn't have a timer on his wrist. The only other thing he could say about the whole situation was that the breakup was going to be bad for business.

Craig was determined to prove him wrong, that Tweek wouldn't leave him because of some soulmate bullshit. And at first he was right. Four more years went by and they were still going strong, hell Craig would have said it only brought them closer. Then on the twenty second day of the eleventh month, Tweek met a man who swept him away.

It's been almost a year since that day and he can still smell the coffee in his hair, he can still feel the tears on his face. Those angry defiant tears that came with words that shouldn't have been said. Things he could never take back. No matter how many times he drove his fist into the dirty brick wall, it wouldn't bring him back.

Fuck it.

[legolasghosty]

So. About a year ago, the lovely Innytoes created a list of spicy writing prompts. And I, being the dorky ace that I am, decided to take it as a personal challenge to see just how UN-spicy I could do some of said prompts. The actual giving of prompts was kept to a few friends, and it was mostly a silly thing back when I could actually sit down and spin up a one shot in an evening. (A few of said prompts actually made it to ao3 at various points, you can read them here, here, here, and here!)

HOWEVER, I took a couple of the prompts off of the list before I offered it to my friends for prompts. Mostly cause I just had no idea how to make said prompts not sexual. But one of them has continued to haunt me for over a frigging year now! SO, here's some little snippets of how one could de-saucy-ify the prompt, "The lube is what flavor?"

Option 1 -

"Okay so what am I supposed to be getting again?" Alex asked, the phone to his ear as he entered the O'Reillys.

He heard Bobby groan on the other end of the call. "We've been over this at least five times, Lex." Alex could feel his exasperated glare without even seeing him.

"I'm sorry," Alex sighed. "I just know literally nothing about car fluids. Blame the gay in me or whatever."

"You do realize I'm gay too, right?" Bobby pointed out. "But again, you're looking for silicon lubricant. And for the love of God, don't get that Red and Tacky garbage Chad 'recommended'."

"I'm sorry, the lube is what flavor?!" Alex demanded, turning onto the aisle marked 'Fluids'.

"You're not supposed to-whatever-just get the silicon stuff," Bobby said instead of answering. "Valvoline usually works just fine."

Alex glanced around at the overwhelming shelves of bottles and jugs. He drummed out the beat to a song Luke and Julie had shown them the day before on his leg as he narrowed down the options. There, that looked right.

"Okay I found it," he told Bobby. "But you're explaining how car lube can be 'red and tacky' to me later."

"Deal," Bobby responded, sounding relieved.

Option 2 -

"-and the vocal folds need to be kept moist," Julie explained.

Luke nodded, but Julie knew she was losing him. His vocal health notes had dissolved into scribbles and half-finished lyrics. She'd better wrap this up.

"So they're naturally lubricated with a really thin layer of mucus," she continued. "And in order to keep that layer thin and stuff, you have to stay properly hydrated."

She paused to pick up the light blue plastic water bottle from the studio floor. But when she looked back up to whack him with it, the mostly full container seeming like a decent way to make a point, he was already staring at her, eyes full of confusion.

"What?" Julie asked, one hand flying automatically up to her ponytail to see if it had come loose or something.

"The lube is what flavor?" Luke asked, mouth hanging open a bit.

"I-what?" Julie asked again, now feeling almost as confused as her bandmate looked.

"The voice cord lube stuff," Luke responded. "You said it's like mucus. But isn't that just... snot? Your voice is covered in stuff that tastes like snot?!"

Julie tried to hold back. She really did. But she failed. She burst out laughing, dropping Luke's water bottle in a futile attempt to hide it. "Luke, mucus is more than just snot," she tried to explain through her giggles. "But yes, that's what keeps your vocal cords moist."

Luke shook his head. To all the world, he may have looked like a man who'd just been told he was colorblind, that everyone else could see a universe of shades his eyes couldn't comprehend.

But only Julie would know the truth. At least some part of her mini-lecture on vocal health got through.

Option 3 -

"Okay, and then pass me the 205?" Flynn requested, holding out a hand to Reggie, who was sitting on the floor along with most of Flynn's tools.

"Um, the what?" Reggie asked sheepishly, glancing around at the various brushes, screwdrivers, and small tubes surrounding him.

"Oh, the switch lube," Flynn clarified, pointing at a small jar. "It's GPL 205G0, and there's lots of types of keyboard lubricant, so we usually just use the numbers to ID them."

"Oh, right, sure," Reggie responded, passing her the container. "Sorry. Computers aren't really my thing."

"Well that's what you have me for," Flynn pointed out, smirking. "I fix your glitchy keyboard, you keep me from failing math."

Reggie laughed and leaned back against Flynn's bed while she worked. After a minute, she passed him back the jar and started fitting the keys back into place. He entertained himself by inspecting the black lid.

"Wait, so the lube is what flavor?" he asked, looking up at Flynn again. "Da-vinny-key?"

"Divinikey," Flynn corrected easily. "And that's a brand, not a flavor. Please don't eat keyboard lubricant."

"Well I wasn't planning on it..." Reggie said, letting his sentence trail off suggestively.

"Reginald Jacob Peters, you wouldn't dare," Flynn warned, shooting him a glare over her shoulder.

He held her eyes for one moment. Two. Three. Fo-

Reggie burst out laughing, with Flynn only a moment behind.

"I make no promises," Reggie wheezed as he got his breath back.

"I'm not taking you to the hospital when it poisons you," Flynn shot back, her grin betraying her words.

Thank goodness Reggie's keyboard was done already.

Thank you, sorry for wasting your time with my brain worm!

[weirdthoughtsandideas]

Drabble asks but it’s specific things I’ve been thinking of writing but haven’t

These stories are either too short to upload on ao3, or I’d delete them after a while if I uploaded them. Or they’re scenes I’ve been thinking of including in longer fics but haven’t found a good fic to put them in. Or they simply are not too interesting but it can be fun to write down anyway. That’s why I’m gonna post them on Tumblr if I did write them. Some are only like 300 words and others might be up to 1000 or even more, so they’re more of oneshots than drabbles.

Anyway! Send me a number and I might write the thing!

1. If Luna had a little brother: Simbar babysitting scenario

2. Camila and Ludmila being childhood enemies: Camila gets her first period and Ludmila is the only one there

3. The comment section of Ludmila's fanfictions

4. If Luna had a little brother: Sharon is alone with the baby

5. Camila and Ludmila being childhood enemies: Stuck on the school roof

6. Jim and Yam’s daughter is stuck on a roof

7. Violetta babysits Angie’s daughter

8. Camila and Ludmila being childhood enemies: Climbing a tree

9. Ludmila infodumps about a book series online (it’s a made up book series I have decided that she likes)

10. Lunina sapphic sleepover

11. Descendants of DCLA characters 100 years into the future try doing family trees

12. Leonetta’s lesbian daughter comes out to Germán

13. Luty vs Camila compete who is the best grandma

14. Federico and Matteo find out they’re half brothers (they have the same father)

15. Germán babysits Franletta’s kids

16. Germán preparing wedding speech at Franletta’s wedding

17. Everyone is convinced Luna is gay and try to confirm it

18. Everyone knows Jim and Yam are dating except for Ramiro (and no one tells him)

19. Short snippets of a scenario where Michel was a girl named Michelle

20. Sharon dreaming that Ámbar was a very little girl

21. Jim and Nina finding out they were switched at birth

22. Yam coming out to Mora

23. Youmix fans speculating about the love lives of the characters

24. Dr. Dufre meeting random DCLA characters

25. Gregorio takes is granddaughter to Art Rebel

26. Franletta mumble each other’s names in their sleep while Camila has to listen to it

27. The DCLA characters are for whatever reason in my hometown and walk around

I feel like I have a million other ideas, but these are the ones for now. Send me a number on asks, so one of these will be written!

[krismatic]

SORRY I SAW YOURTAG ON THE EMU YOURE WRITING WHAT. HI. HI

HIIIIIII UM. I’m just gonna use this to info dump about my revstar x proseka AU

So this is like. In order for WxS to be better at performing or whatever they decide to visit Seisho Music Academy! And learn from the revstar girlies!

The day goes by normally and they all bond, but then as they’re about to leave. wuh woh.

They fall into the elevator or something. Idk I haven’t decided that yet but somehow they get sent down to the fucking pit of gay fighting and singing

um. And it’s not the giraffe running the auditions this time. It’s a Miku!!! A Miku born from the feelings of all the girls who have failed in the revues over the years. haha.

She’s very mean and wants to see bloodshed!!! good for her but not good for the girlies.

Four of the Revstar girls are in the pit as well and Miku tells WxS that if they don’t fight and win in the revues against Seisho, their SEKAI will be locked off forever. That’s when WxS realize “oh shit we actually can’t access SEKAI anymore.”

And it’s not just WxS, all of the groups have lost access to their SEKAI. So as the story goes on they’re all dragged into the fighting to get their SEKAI back.

The Revstar girls are fighting to save Starlight or something again idk

So that’s the basic premise! I think there’d be a lot of fun interactions between the characters, I’m kinda obsessed with the idea of Rui and Nana interacting. Also Emu and Nana. I think I’m just obsessed with Nana.

You can also make a lot of VA and name jokes lol, Junna and Mizuki have the same VA, Tamao and Kanade have the same VA, there’s two Ruis and two Tsukasas, and I’m just going ahead and headcanoning Michiru Otori and Emu Otori as cousins lol. They’re both tiny with big weapons and are pretty rich

I really only have little snippets actually written rn, but I’d like to continue more of it! I’ve also been playing around with the idea of a visual novel for this? Anyways

That’s all :3

[sarioh]

Hello Tumblr user Rio Sarioh! If you're bored; do you have a favourite book you like to talk about? What is it about, why do you like it? Or perhaps a movie or show of which you enjoy the writing? A fairytale? A poem?

Wow, creative writing. Any thoughts on that? Pretty swell, in my opinion.

Hope you have a nice vague nine hour time window and that your thing arrives in good condition!

HEY tumblr user tt04sty hope u r doing well and thank you for the ask. also my Thing has indeed arrived in good condition so thank god i didnt have to wait all day for it. to be frank questions about my favorite media make me feel like a deer in headlights bc for whatever reason whenever i get asked this i somehow forget every piece of media i've ever consumed or that has had an impact on me in any way and i don't know why. safe answer though is probably everything everywhere all at once which i know might come as an absolute shock to everyone (<- wrote a 16k word fic inspired by it) but generally just any media that is very Wacky and Surreal visual-wise but with a central theme of love and connection gets me really bad because i am very predictable and also a little pathetic. also as a gay asian living in the west with a very stereotypical asian mother you can probably understand why the movie had such an impact on me LOL.

also creative writing... i've only done one work of creative writing in the past few years and that was wind back the clock which i think about genuinely all the time. writing Character Study is the most cathartic and fun experience in the world to me and i prolonged publishing that for SO long because i just wanted to keep working on it forever. my writer's problem is that it takes me about 60 years to come up with an idea that i am captivated enough by to be able to put it into writing and actually stick to it for more than a day and that has only happened one single time in my 2 years in mcytblr. but by god i would kill a whole man to be able to do that all over again because i am regrettably a stem major and have not written an essay or anything else creative in years and while im enjoying it i do feel like im missing out on a crucial part of being a Person. i miss writing so much you have no idea. and i feel like the further i go into this Degree the more my Meta Analysis brain starts to rot and get replaced by Numbers and Formulas and Snippets of code. i'm losing my touch forreal

as far as other media goes... to be perfectly honest i have not been consuming much lately just because i have been very busy irl but i did just finish reading the red rising trilogy for the first time which was cool... also have probably watched about 200 hours of animal documentaries over the past few months LOL. actually on the topic of books i am going on a flight soon and will have a 9 hour stopover so if anyone has any book recommendations of ANY genre i would love to hear them. please tell me all of your favorite books i want to read them all

[karasbroken]

I know no one cares but me, but I must write what I must write. I am starting on the next Unfamiliar Idiom, but I'm mostly obsessed with getting this sex shop AU going, about 7k words so far.

I've settled on something that is probably unnecessary and possibly offensive, but it allows me to play with some ideas that interest me while still letting me mostly write cis-het smut (my other fandom's fics are m/m and I want to explore other scenes).

Among her other acting credits Claudia Black had a one episode role as a transwoman in some Australian show. (It was the 90s this was what representation looked like, and it was handled well, for its time, but of course wouldn't be a great casting choice now.) And there are people who find Claudia/Aeryn's looks too masculine, at least in comparison to other actresses whose characters they prefer to ship with John.

Certainly there are a lot of ways that Aeryn is coded as male and Crichton as female going by stereotypes about emotions, physical competence, communication styles. And John's homoerotic chemistry with almost every guy on the show (to match his heteroerotic chemistry with almost every woman) is undeniable. I want to play with gender expectations and heteroflexibility and have John confront some things he wouldn't usually admit to himself.

So for the first few chapters of The Leviathan John is going to mistakenly think Aeryn is Aaron, a gay man who cross dresses to become a sexy pro-domme. This little tidbit is when John is in the middle of convincing himself of this, mostly because he can't deal with the idea of a woman being stronger than him.

I think the intro is longer than the snippet, oops. (Still maybe PG-13.)

Officer Soon narrowed her gaze further, and sank a little lower, knees spreading wider for more leverage.  “Do that again…” John wasn’t sure if she meant touching China, or trying to get away. “And I’ll have to ask you to leave.” 

It shouldn’t have sounded like a serious threat, being kicked out. John was honestly ready to be done with this suddenly very weird night. But leaving of his own volition was one thing. Being cast out for breaking the rules, though. No, he didn’t want that. His heart was pounding in his chest, and John wondered if the dominatrix could feel it too. 

“Or I can find some other way to make my point.” Leather slipped up to lightly grasp his throat instead. The grip was delicate, precisely where the veins came close to the surface, squeezing just enough to highlight the throbbing pace of his rapid pulse. That dark scent, mineral and blood and smoke was masculine, as was the strength holding him down, even while the body in his view, from tight waist to narrow jaw was entirely feminine. Only a few wisps of curling black hair had escaped to soften the angular cheekbones. The rest of the Officer was distinctly hard.

While he might be a Southern boy, and a former football player, Crichton had grown up with cosmopolitan parents. He’d never been too worried about his own sexuality or anyone else’s. He’d even been talked into playing Brad a few times by a college girlfriend who was a regular cast member at the local movie theater’s Rocky Horror Picture Show nights. John knew what he liked, but he appreciated a good performance, and whatever was under the leather, Office Soon was definitely selling the hot domme look. He just wasn’t sure if being unexpectedly helpless until he-she decided to release him made the whole scenario more or less titillating. John wasn’t used to being physically overpowered. Certainly not by someone purporting to be a woman.

Some of his confusion must have shown in his face, because the Officer leaned in further, turning his head to one side with a firm nudge of thumb against the point of his jaw. Softly, for his ears alone. “Just say ‘banana’ and I’ll let you up.”

”Um… Sorry?” The increasing pressure of his-her hand, now slightly constricting his breath, had sent blood flowing everywhere but his brain, which only kicked in a few seconds later. That damn perfume was making it hard to think, too. Did he want to tap out? It seemed a little cowardly. The boys were enjoying the show too, jeering something about ‘kiss and make up’. From the thinning of those dark lips hovering just above his, John didn’t think that was going to get him out from under the domme. He probably wouldn’t like what happened if he tried.

“Do you need a lesson in obeying the rules?” The Officer asked again, reaching behind to slide that damn riding crop along his leg, and slapping him with it lightly, like he was a horse being encouraged to go faster. Despite the loud snap, it wasn’t hard enough to sting through his jeans. The whole situation was just too confusing, and he’d had too many beers and the smell and the realization that he was trapped until he found the right words to escape. John didn’t know how to respond, but his body did. At a second snap, just the sound made his dick harden and pinch. He hoped desperately that the room was far too dark for anyone to notice.

“No, ma’am.” Finally, his Southern upbringing kicked in. “I'm sorry, ma’am,” he said, voice a bit husky. “Won't happen again.”