#maybe recycle it into some wip

[cepheusgalaxy]

i love my old notebook sm

[starsandgutters]

ok, look, give me a fake dating with kevaaron and my life will be YOURS. (Please)

okay, LISTEN- 😭

It’s actually a travesty I haven’t written this already considering it’s like my fave trope ever. Like I want to read the fake dating KevAaron fic I would write too fr LMAO

I actually !! Have !! A loose !! Concept !! For one !! But I haven’t written anything yet so I cannot offer you an excerpt for WIP Wed 😔 I can give the overview tho

Set when Aaron’s in med school/maybe his residency, and Kevin is playing pro.

Also welcome to the SALU (Shannen’s Aaron’s Literary Universe) where a Frequent Fixture is now his hugely queer biology study/friend group that Katelyn dragged him into. Like, as much as I am a big believer in Aaron & Seth & Matt being bros if given the chance, the unfortunate reality of the situation is Seth’s being deceased before they made amends makes that quite difficult in canon settings. And Aaron is just too much of a skeptic to be cracking the ouija out. Now with Matt, I think they did get on really well when they were roomies, but their lives head in separate directions after college. So. I want Aaron to have friends. That are not connected to his family. And I use OCs very sparingly as I know the reason people come to fanfic is for familiarity and characters they already know/love, but Bio Bunch™️ were well received and consequently I will be recycling them forever thanks (Aaron dated nurse Dylan in my sapphic WIP, Miles’ family adopted Jean and Elodie in my KevNeil AU so now he’s Jean’s lil brother, like literally they’re my standby bonus characters now)

All this to say. Aaron very much appreciates having friends. He was not very good at making them when he was little and going through the worst of Tilda’s abuse, and his teens were lost to a haze of drugs and pain where he had people he would speak to at school/on the team, but no one he was really friends with. Then he gets a brother! But oh no. Andrew doesn’t want him to have friends either and also Aaron kind of feels like he hates him so he’s still alone ☹️ - so to finally be at a point in his life where he has a close knit group of friends, people who actually like him and want to spend time with him for some reason!, it means a lot to him. He would not want to risk damaging those friendships. Especially because he’s not sure how to make new ones, he kind of just absorbed these ones via osmosis through Katelyn.

Which is why he panics when Dylan asks him out.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” he had asked, and Aaron, thinking nothing of it, had said: “No.” Because he doesn’t. He hasn’t dated anyone since Katelyn. Like, he’s been on his med school GRIND, y’know? Who has the time. And who can compare to her anyway?

“Would you maybe like to go out with me sometime?” Dylan then said, and listen, it’s not like Aaron is proud of what he did, but he panicked. He saw his friendless future flash in front of his eyes because he hurt Dylan’s feelings and it’s all awkward between them now and Aaron ends up iced out because he wrecked the vibe, and he panicked!!!

“Oh. Uh. I have a boyfriend though.”

And why the fuck did he even say that what the fuck what the fuck?!

But y’know it worked because Dylan got a sad little smile but nodded and said “lucky guy” and Aaron was like PHEW! Y’know, bullet DODGED! Except somehow this gets around their group, because wow one thing about having friends is apparently you’re not allowed secrets 🙄 (not that his relationship would usually be a secret but considering it is NONEXISTENT he would have appreciated people NOT KNOWING)

Of course Katelyn is on him like a rash because when has she ever let him get away with anything ever there is no peace in this world for him as long as they share space (he loves her more than anything). Immediately quizzing him on WHO he could be dating, because she knows he doesn’t really talk to anyone outside their friend group (because she knows everything about him shit how is he going to lie to her), and she is DYING to know who he has been hiding! (Like shit Kate me too guess we’re gonna find out together)

Consequently the panic continues as he speed skims through his mental catalogue of all the people he has ever actually communicated with who are not A) his family or B) already in committed relationships. And, listen, ok, here’s the thing. There are just not an awful lot of people in Aaron’s life who fit the cross reference of those categories. Really the only person he can think of is Kevin, and then he’s blurting out his name before the consequences of that action occur to him (🦋🦋🦋) because Katelyn KNOWS Kevin so there really should have been a C) someone Katelyn doesn’t know (though on reflection Aaron’s search results would have thrown up entirely blank with this addition)

“Aw, you always did have a crush on him.”

“What are you talking about?” No, because what is she talking about??? “No I didn’t.”

“You’re dating him now, why are you getting so defensive?”

He’s not getting defensive. He just thinks it’s an absolutely insane implication to suggest he has or ever will have feelings for Kevin Day. Except he can’t say that. Since that’s his fictional boyfriend now. Fictional on the boyfriend part. Kevin Day is unfortunately very real. A fact that has plagued Aaron’s existence ever since Wymack first brought that broken stray back to PSU.

Enter Kevin, truly baffled by this entire situation.

“Why didn’t you just tell him you’re not interested in guys?”

“Well, Katelyn knows I’m bi, so I couldn’t say that. Maybe he asked her first. Or she might mention it if it comes up.”

“Wait, you’re bi? Since when?”

“Since birth probably, can we focus on the actual issue at hand here.”

But like. This is Aaron. Aaron has never particularly been one to mince words. Kevin doesn’t know why he doesn’t just tell Dylan he’s not into him. Kevin’s been on the receiving end of Aaron’s attitude and bad manners more than often enough. 🤨 But after the truly painful and pitiful display of Extremely Emotionally Constipated Asshole Aaron Minyard trying to explain his newfound value for the Powers of Friendship, Kevin eventually agrees to be his fake date to a party with his friends. Like, whatever. It’s a small event with some med students, it’s not like they even have to be overly affectionate, or that this will get out anywhere. Then they can use Kevin’s busy work schedule as a reason he’s never around, and after a few months Aaron will just pretend they broke up. Easy.

Except photos get leaked to the media, outing Kevin. Instead of the career suicide he expects, he actually gets positive feedback. His PR rep encourages him to bring Aaron to a charity gala for a children’s mental health charity, thinking it could be positive rep for the kids to see a happy older queer couple as queer kids have higher rates of mental health issues. The team are doing some outreach with the actual kids before the gala - going down to play some games with them - Kevin doesn’t expect Aaron to come to this. He can just show up to the event, y’know, it’s basically just a free night out. They’ll just postpone their fake break up another couple of months.

But Aaron is like, uhm, excuse me. Did you even think to ask if I would want to come along to meet the kids? You know I’m going into peds, right? I’d much rather come hang out with the kids than have to rub shoulders with your snotty famous rich friends all night. Of course I’m coming to both of them.

So Aaron does come. Where Kevin is awkward and fumbling and never quite sure of the right thing to say (he never interacted with kids even when he was one???), Aaron is a natural. He’s excellent with them. They all love him within the first ten minutes, and it’s weird, because who is this? This is not an Aaron that Kevin knows. This is not a side of him he’s ever seen at school or around their family. It’s making Kevin feel all weird inside. In SOFT and GUSHY ways.

So they go to the Gala and both get a little tipsy, and whoops. Of course everyone thinks they’re a couple, so they’ve been given a room with one bed (because one bed trope supremacy ALSO 🙏🏻). Kevin thinks Aaron’s gonna be mad or upset, but Aaron’s giggly as he undresses. Which. Oh. Okay. Usually Aaron had weird hang ups about changing outside of the locker rooms. But now he’s. Shirtless. And his body has changed since college. Obviously. He doesn’t spend five days a week training anymore. He’s still kept some of his muscle in his arms and shoulders, and his legs have always been naturally strong, but he’s gotten a bit softer. Which Kevin realises he actually quite likes. And. Oh. Shit. Okay. He might actually be a bit attracted to Aaron. But. That’s fine. That won’t be a problem, right?

Right? 😐

ANYWAY THAT’S ALL I GOT FOR NOW. I simply can’t start another WIP until I finish some of the ones I got running. Like it would be fine if I could write things of a MODERATE length but I’ve never been chill about anything ever in my life and it’s too late to start now so I write excessively and I just. Cannot risk not finishing things by starting something else.

BUT SOME DAY. MAYBE. PROBABLY.

[sapphire-to-the-rain]

hi :') so because i make a ton of planymphia art and all my most popular posts are planymphia related, i just felt the need to say that i'm going to be taking an indefinite break from making art of them/posting about them, specifically plane jane. no need to read this unless you want to!!!

sooo yes this is partly because of her diddy tweet that IMO was very poor taste regardless of her stance on diddy himself but it's also just something i've been thinking about since the chappell roan incident earlier this year?

i don't believe plane is a horrible person nor do i believe someone is a horrible person if they continue to support her after this. this is way more about the fact that she has a very specific sense of humor that often tends to make light of things other people don’t consider appropriate (like the diddy situation or chappell roan's not wanting to be photographed without her consent) and i'm realizing i just don't like that very much, full stop. to be totally transparent it also doesn't help that SOME- not all!!!- of her fans will defend her to their last breath regardless of what she says/does and act like others are being overly sensitive for being offended by her humor. no one i'm friends with on here is like this as far as i know which i'm very grateful for but these people definitely do exist :/

don't get me wrong, it makes me sad to take a step back from planymphia because i've met so many amazing people through this side of tumblr and i really do like making content for them (i literally just finished a longterm art piece based off of a fic about them!! the timing could not be worse!!!). ultimately though i just can't justify spending all this time and effort making fan content based around someone that i personally don't even like that much at this point, especially when there are so many other wonderful queens/ships for me to support

in conclusion... i don't really want to associate myself with planymphia/plane for the time being. i don't know what i'll do with my in-progress and planned WIPs, maybe i'll either recycle them for another ship or come back to them someday, i'm not sure yet. in the meantime please do not come in my replies or my askbox arguing either in support of or against plane <3 thank you for understanding <3

[veliseraptor]

going to be on a plane on sunday so guess what time it is, it's 150 words meme time

send me up to three numbers and I'll write 150 words in the wip of your choosing! excerpts/options under the cut

1. :You were trying to grow things?: Song Lan said, picturing the dismal courtyard of the coffin house as he’d seen it. The faintest touch of a flush colored Xingchen’s cheeks. 

“I wanted a garden,” he said, almost defensively.

“And you did get one,” Xue Yang said. “Sort of. But only you could get anything to come up out of that ground, Daozhang.” There was a kind of forced cheer in his voice that didn’t quite disguise the wistfulness.

There was, briefly, just the flicker of a smile on Xingchen’s face. It vanished quickly, but it’d been there. “I suppose it’s gone now,” he said.

“I tried keeping it up,” Xue Yang said, “but I’m about as good at gardening as you are at cooking.” There was a strange gentleness to his voice, though, belying the insult. Xingchen’s face still fell, though. Song Lan winced.

“No,” Xingchen said, his voice colder. “You had no skill with living things.”

Xue Yang’s face fell, too. “I tried,” he said again, but Xingchen turned his face away and fell silent, closed off once again. (Life After Death)

2. “Don’t fucking–” 

“Vegas,” Pete said. 

“Do that,” Vegas snapped, fingernails digging into his palms. 

“You’re still healing,” Pete said. “The doctor said–” 

“I don’t give a shit what the fucking doctor said,” Vegas said, his voice starting to rise. “I should be able to–” 

Should be able to what? You can’t do anything. Useless, pathetic, waste of space.

He wanted to scream. He wasn’t going to scream. 

Pete didn’t deserve Vegas ripping into him about something that wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He was going to walk away eventually but Vegas didn’t have to give him reasons to make it sooner. (post canon vegaspete long fic)

3. The first time, Vegas died next to the pool. Pete didn’t see the shooter coming; by the time he emptied an entire clip into him it was already too late. He sobbed into Vegas’s chest, clutching at his shirt like he could pull him back somehow. His thoughts were a jumble of no, not now, you can’t do this to me now, do you hear me–

But Vegas was still dead and there was nothing he could do, and so he didn’t do anything until somebody came and pulled him away. He fought, struggled and screamed, but it wasn’t enough, he wasn’t enough, and no amount of fighting would bring Vegas back from the dead anyway. He thought of Vegas touching his face and saying if I die today can you be the one who kills me? and sort of wished he had been, that he could have that much at least before turning the gun on himself and following after. (reduce, reuse, recycle)

4. “Dreams can be meaningful,” Xiao Xingchen said. Xue Yang laughed, but it was an ugly sound.

“You really think so?” Xue Yang said. “God, Xingchen, I knew you were into some new age bullshit but I didn’t know you were this deep in it.” 

Xiao Xingchen drew back, hurt. “That’s mean,” he said. Xue Yang’s mouth twisted. 

“Still true,” he said. “Come on. I thought you were smarter than to fall for that kind of woo-woo shit.”

“It’s not about being stupid,” Xiao Xingchen said, anger starting to break through the hurt. “You could stand to have a little bit more of an open mind.”

“An open mind,” Xue Yang sneered. “Maybe you could stand to be a little less gullible.”

“I’m not gullible!” Xiao Xingchen said. “Why are you being so, so…”

“So what does it mean that I dreamed I made you kill yourself?” Xue Yang snapped, his voice rising. “Or do you think that actually happened in this past life we’re supposed to’ve had?”

Xiao Xingchen blinked.

“Yeah,” Xue Yang said savagely. “Thought maybe you hadn’t considered that.”

“I don’t think you actually…” Xiao Xingchen cleared his throat. “When I saw dreams can be meaningful I don’t mean they have to be…literally true.”

“That’s not what you fucking said,” Xue Yang said. “You’re saying that dreams are memories of who we were. What’s that supposed to say about who I was, then?”

Xiao Xingchen opened his mouth, then closed it. It wasn’t that he’d forgotten about Xue Yang’s dreams. But he did think of his own nightmares, of darkness, nothingness, suffocating grief. And wondered, suddenly, if he had a past life that he was remembering, whether he really wanted to. (Redux)

5. “Turns out I’m sort of notorious,” Anders said, his grin hideously strained. “One or two people looking for me. The likeness isn’t great but…nobody told me I had to go but they…I’d’ve been putting all of them in more danger staying. I didn’t want that, so…”

“You’re not concerned about putting me in danger, I take it,” Fenris said, an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach. There was something tickling at the back of his mind, about the Fog Warriors, months on the run, every person he met a potential threat or a potential casualty. 

“Guess not,” Anders said airily, but a moment later he added, “it’s not the same for you. You’re not a mage.” 

“That much is certainly true,” Fenris said. Anders laughed, even though he hadn’t really meant it as a joke. 

“Are you really planning on going to Denerim?” Anders asked. “Or were you just saying that?” 

“I’ll need to find work somewhere,” Fenris said. “It seems as good a place to look as anywhere else.” He hadn’t been planning on it, but he hadn’t really been planning on anything else, either. He didn’t want to admit that, though; something about it seemed pathetic in a way he didn’t relish sharing with the mage. “Where were you thinking of going?” 

“Nowhere in particular,” Anders said. “Free as a bird, me. It’s been a while since I was in Denerim, could be fun to drop in.” 

Fenris eyed him, but decided to let it go. (the best all lack conviction)

6. It just fucking figured, didn’t it, that Vegas only realized how attached he’d gotten to Pete when he might’ve killed him. (Pyrexia)

7. His father wanted a demonic cultivator, so it fell to Jin Guangyao to find one. 

It was not exactly an easy task. If you listened to rumor, there were plenty of people in the jianghu who dabbled, but rumor was hardly accurate and it wasn’t as though he could approach its subjects – excuse me, I hear you practice a forbidden art, is that so – without at best arousing uncomfortable questions. (jgy teaches xy to read)

8. “Why does this bother you so much?” Song Lan asked instead of answering. “I wouldn’t expect you to care.”

“I don’t care about the people,” Xue Yang said. “What’re they to me? It’s the hypocrisy that bothers me. You talk a big game but you’re no different than the cultivation sects: only doing something when it’s convenient for you.” 

“It’s not a matter of convenience,” Song Lan said, stung. “What would you have me do?” Even before Xue Yang spoke he regretted the question. “Don’t answer that.”

“If you were going to be fair,” Xue Yang said, apparently ignoring him, “wipe the whole fucking town off the map.” 

“How is that fair,” Song Lan snapped. “Half of these people – more – are probably innocent. They might well have been entirely ignorant.”

“They still benefited,” Xue Yang said. “Still got good lives out of it. And never asked questions about how come fortune favored them, or where the disappearing people went, or – but sure, call them innocent.” His lip curled, and Song Lan had the sudden, odd feeling that Xue Yang was thinking about something else. “Funny, how you decide what’s your business and what isn’t. What’s worth seeking justice and what isn’t.”

“It’s not a matter of what’s worthwhile,” Song Lan said. “It’s a matter of what’s possible. I won’t kill these people. I’m not even certain what sect territory we’re in that I would report it to – and do you think they would do anything?”

“They never do,” Xue Yang said. “That’s why you have to do it yourself.”

Song Lan had that odd feeling again, like Xue Yang and he were talking about different things. “I’m not going to take the law into my own hands.” 

“Isn’t that how you work? Fix the problems the sects won’t solve?”

“Not to kill human beings!” (Walking Far From Home)

9. “Did I get your name?” He asked as they walked into the street. 

“Cassandra Pentaghast,” she said, her eyes straight ahead. Cullen couldn’t help turning to stare at her. 

“The Dragonslayer?” 

Oddly, she didn’t seem pleased. “I have been called that, yes.” 

He couldn’t decide if it was a good sign or a bad one that the Seekers had sent the Dragonslayer herself to talk to him. Considering the trend of his life so far, probably a bad one. But that was rank self-pity, and he shouldn’t indulge in it. 

As they walked to the docks to take a boat across to the Gallows, Cullen was acutely aware of the condition of the city. The scorch marks and destroyed houses, the makeshift shelters of people with nowhere else to go. He could practically feel the Seeker’s eyes weighing, assessing, judging. 

“We’ve been doing our best to handle the…aftermath,” Cullen said defensively. “But considering the suspicion and mistrust of – well, pretty much everyone – and the lack of any clear leadership, it isn’t easy.” 

“You haven’t taken that role?” 

Cullen tried not to hunch his shoulders. “I haven’t.” He could feel her staring at him, waiting for more explanation, but he didn’t offer one. (Salvage)

10. Time passed. Without benefit of light, she didn’t know how much, so she wasn’t certain how long it had been when she woke to someone standing in the doorway of her room, leaning against the frame and watching her with bright, intense eyes.

Wen Qing stared at him. He smiled at her.

“Hey, Wen-guniang,” said Xue Yang. “Fancy seeing you again! I heard they burned you alive.” 

She stood up, careful to keep her face calm and unaffected. She didn’t know him well, not personally. Their interactions had been fairly limited, by design. She’d found him once sitting with Wen Ning, apparently telling him a story, and for all his laughter and smiles there was something sharp in the way he’d looked at her brother. Curious in the way a cat was curious about a bug.

Wen-guniang! he’d said when he’d seen her. This is your brother, right? He’s so much fun to talk to.

“I’m not supposed to know you’re here,” Xue Yang said. “Technically. Course, technically you’re not supposed to be alive, either, but Lianfang-zun’s got an eye for talent.” He laughed. The way he said it, Wen Qing suspected he was quoting. 

She stayed silent. Perhaps it was beneath her to be just a little bit gratified by the flicker of irritation that crossed Xue Yang’s face, but she’d allow it. 

“What,” he said. “They didn’t cut out your tongue, did they?”

“No.”

Xue Yang grinned. “Good! That would’ve been pretty disappointing. I have so many questions for you.” (fall apart, destroy, release)

11. Xiao Xingchen groped after understanding. His head hurt so badly and kept spinning and he was so confused, knowing things were missing but not knowing what he knew was missing. “I don’t know,” he said, distressed. “I…something wrong. Something…bad?” 

There was a brief, terrifying pause and then a laugh that sounded genuinely amused. “What? You, Daozhang?”

Xiao Xingchen could feel his face warming but he shook his head. “It was something important,” he said. “That I should have…or shouldn’t have…but I can’t remember. Did I…” He took a careful breath and said, “did I hurt you, friend?” 

“Pff,” his friend said. “No. Don’t be stupid. Come on. You won’t let me kill spiders in the house.” A flash of memory at that image, legs tickling his palm and he could feel someone’s amusement even though no one was laughing. It must be his friend. But it seemed like someone else. 

He didn’t know who. 

“Oh,” he said vaguely. “That’s good. I’m glad it wasn’t you.” 

“It wasn’t me what?” 

“That I hurt,” Xiao Xingchen said. “I…” He was seeking in the dark, and he didn’t even know what he was seeking for. “I think I hurt someone very badly,” he said, his voice fading to a shamed whisper. For a long moment his friend was silent and Xiao Xingchen wanted to cringe. (xiao xingchen + concussion)

[ooeygooeyghoul]

Introductions

Hi, hello, nice to meet you. I'm Quaid, and this is the tumblr I have recycled into posting content about my lizard man. This will primarily be a FFXIV blog, as it's my current obsession, wherein I will post rambles, pictures, my art, and maybe a few other things, idk. I'll try to keep it organized with the tags, but the system is a WIP.

I've only got my main man here at the moment, but maybe I'll make some more heroes in the future! Might update this a few times, too...

Other socials - Twitter | Insta

DAWNTRAILED! - NOT A SPOILER-FREE ZONE!

Shiun Kazumasa - Primal | Behemoth

Warrior of Light - Main

B A S I C S | |

Primary Jobs | Warrior, Gunbreaker & Dark Knight

Guardian | Rhalgr, The Destroyer

Nameday | 18th Sun of the 3rd Astral Moon (May 18th)

Age | 25 years [ARR] - 30 years [EW/DT]

Height | 230cm / 8ft 6in

Homeland | Doma, Yanxia

Occupation | Scion, Sellsword, Blacksmith

Sexuality | bisexual, leaning toward men

Strengths | duty-driven, good at anything that requires physical strength, protective, unbreakable will

Weaknesses | Quick-tempered, stubborn as a mule, emotionally constipated, never asks for help, hides his hurts

Tags | #primordial flame: shiun kazumasa (main), #thaniun (wolship), #forgiven fury (Lightwarden AU), #wandering swordsmith: vulcan (ancient counterpart)

P E R S O N A L I T Y | |

An Au Ra whose face is always scowling or smirking, never anything in between. Shiun is brash, rude, and loud - fueled by constant rage. He acts almost purely on instinct and impulse, which causes his friends no small amount of stress. Don't be fooled by his prickly attitude, he's a true hero with a heart of gold. Devoted to saving and serving as many people as he can to the point of being self-sacrificing. Good luck prying any of his deep emotions out of him, he'd really prefer that those stay hidden.

B A C K S T O R Y | |

Shiun grew up in Doma during the Garlean occupation, so his early life was full of troubles. His parents were quiet artisans that submitted, which afforded them a fairly upper-class lifestyle. But Shiun was different in a way they didn't like. He got into fights with other kids, ignored his schoolwork, and was angry at the injustices he saw all around him. His family did everything they could to extinguish the fire in his heart, but he wouldn't be put down any further. After a chance encounter with a resistance fighter, he fought back against a Garlean soldier that had been harassing people in his village. The Empire didn't take kindly to that, and his family suffered for it. He barely escaped and was forced into exile at the young age of 9. Eventually, he made his way to the Azim Steppe and was taken in by a kind family in the Malaguld Xaela tribe. Scarred by his failed attempt at resistance and the pain it caused, he kept his head down and stewed in his anger for years. That is, until a voice called him to a distant land...

R E L A T I O N S H I P S | |

Alphinaud & Alisaie | practically siblings

Shiun is fiercely protective of the twins. He sees a lot of his younger self in them and has taken on a brotherly role with them. He hates that they've been thrust into this world at such a young age, and tries to urge them to just be kids every once in a while.

Thancred | lover

At first, Shiun couldn't stand Thancred. His overconfident playboy persona really got on Shiun's nerves, so he went out of his way to piss off Thancred, too. After rescuing him from Lahabrea, he stopped being so antagonistic. Over the course of the Dragonsong war, Shiun's feelings towards Thancred began to change, which REALLY freaked him out. So much so, that he pretty much ignored Thancred's existence throughout Stormblood while he considered things. He figured it out pretty quick once the Scions started getting yoinked to another realm. More on this later...

Y'shtola | voice of reason

Shiun appreciates Y'shtola's sharp wit and sharper tongue. She sees right through his bullshit and is often scolding him for his reluctance to rely on others. They get into banter contests a lot, which he rarely ever wins.

Urianger | jock & nerd

When they first met, Shiun couldn't understand a word Urianger was saying, but he learned to communicate with him over the course of their adventures. He's got a good friendship going with Urianger, where he patiently explains complex things to Shiun five times and Shiun helps him get better at socializing.

Tataru | ride or die

Shiun would die for Tataru. She continues to baffle him with her limitless talent towards anything other than combat, and he'll do pretty much anything she asks him to. To be honest, her ability to sniff out the truth and love of gossip frightens him a little bit.

Estinien | friendly rivalry

Despite being an axe-user, Shiun's skill with the lance is nothing to sneeze at. The two talk through their sparring more than they do with their words. Shiun was happy when Estinien decided to stop skulking about and join the Scions, but he still gives him shit about it.

G'raha | brotherly friends

When he found out just how much G'raha idolized him, Shiun was flabbergasted. He certainly wasn't used to that amount of admiration, and he found it difficult to deal with at first. But the hesitation faded away as G'raha accompanied him on more and more outings. Now Shiun thinks of him as a brother and irreplaceable friend, determined to make him into a hero too.

T R I V I A & E X T R A S | |

Favorite non-chocobo mount is the SDS Fenrir.

Favorite minion is gaelikitten named Potato.

Has a major sweet tooth he tries to hide from others.

Is really really bad at cooking. Don't taste what he makes for your own safety.

Actually really does like to fight (don't tell Zenos).

I tend to draw him pretty off model lol.

[astranite]

Ghosts

Boo!!! Family fluffy fic in time for spooky season!! Set after S2E2 Ghost Ship. A little hurt/comfort in there but not scary, plus lots of siblingly banter, shenanigans and cuddles!!

Authors note: I haven't actually seen more than 5 minutes of any of the redacted for spoilers movies, but I googled it which totally counts.

Oh and you might recognise some of this from wip wednesday but there's alot more now. This was originally supposed to be short, like under 1000 words short but nope!! I had much fun writing!!

@idontknowreallywhy *steals your popcorn*

---------

John really hoped that Scott and Kayo had forgotten about his and Alan’s whole ‘maybe, possibly, just a tiny bit absolutely terrified of ghosts,’ slip up on the comms. 

He really thought they had. Until the next family movie night. 

To set the scene: it was a cool, pleasant evening on Tracy Island. John was down from Five and the fresh breeze was a welcome change from recycled air. All the family was piled onto couches, well except for Grandma and Brains who were in his lab making enthusiastic upgrades to the already far too overpowered oven. 

Gordon and Virgil were squabbling over whether sweet or salty popcorn was the better flavour, while eating from a bowl mixed of both, like they did every time. Gordon preferred salty, likening it to the unfortunate comparison of celery crunch bars despite the two bearing little resemblance. Virgil vehemently argued for sweet ever since he had discovered coffee caramel popcorn.

Scott attempted to mediate without getting kicked by Virgil’s feet on his lap as the family tank lunged to get the fish in a headlock. Alan egged all parties on. Kayo delicately plucked the popcorn bowl from amid the fray and joined John where he watched from the relative safety of the other sofa.

He took a handful of kernels from Kayo, shaking his head at the antics of the others. Every time. The same argument played out, when the two of them actually preferred both flavours mixed in the same bowl. Why, John didn't know. He tolerated it for the free pre-movie entertainment though.

 Finally, everyone got settled. Scott sat between two pouting brothers who before the end of the movie would be snuggled up together, half falling asleep. Alan fetched frozen peas for what John suspected was more likely for Virgil’s bruised pride than injury from Gordon’s lumpy elbows, while Gordon was consoled over the indignity of being sat on at one point by the heavy lifter. Then more popcorn for reparations, when they noticed the missing bowl and Kayo’s smug expression. 

John stretched out on the couch, while the others were crowded on the next one. Kayo was perched above him, in reach of their bowl of popcorn. They all would move about through the movie, because no one round here could sit still for a whole hour-and-a-half minimum, and the hugs had to be shared around.

“So, what are we watching?” John asked, completely in ignorance of the forthcoming answers.

“Nemo! Or Moana! Blue Planet!” Gordon screeched, because he always quick to suggest marine themed ones at every turn in hopes someone would fall for it.

“It’s not even his turn,” Alan grumbled. “What about something with zombies? Not more boring fish.”

Gordon gasped, “An affront upon my friends! The kraken will have you for that!”

John rolled his eyes at the typical tinies dramatics. 

“Alan, you picked last time,” Virgil said, totally reasonably except for his stage whisper to Gordon of, “Get him, Squid!”

Aaand they were back in kahoots. Not even a record for the timing. 

Alan appealed to Scott to protect him with big, blue puppy eyes, and got away with it because he was still the baby of the family. Despite how he complained about ‘smothering older brothers,’ he was very happy to use the privilege when it suited him.

Long suffereringly, Scott said, “Gords, you can’t drag Alan down to the watery depths, you’d be bored without your partner in crime.”

John watched on. Very well behavedly, without starting any fights or causing any trouble, he’d like to add. Because he was the sensible, responsible one of this bunch.

“Eos,” John asked his comm, “Who’s turn is it to choose what we watch?” 

Then he added, “You did say you wanted to watch the next Star Trek, like we talked about.” He didn't quite wink at her, but only because that wouldn't have been very subtle.

“It’s your turn to choose, of course, John,” Eos replied, loud enough everyone would hear, “Star Trek would be, as you put it, awesome.” 

John struggled to keep a straight face. “Then Star Trek it is,” he said with all the authoritative gravitas of Thunderbird Five.

Scott face palmed. 

John shrugged. “Worth a try.” 

Everyone’s voices rose to argue with him. 

“Really, Eos?” Virgil questioned the AI, staring foolishly at the ceiling.

Gordon protested,“We just had Star thingy, the week before Alan’s Zombie Apocalyspe Twenty or whatever.”

“Hey!” Alan came to defend the merits of Zombie Apocalyspe Twenty or whatever.

Scott looked betrayed by his supposedly second eldest brother. “Are you an adult or are you eight?”

John huffed, “I totally could have pulled this off when I was eight.” 

“Awww, clever ickle Johnny,” Gordon heckled. 

“Don’t call me Johnny, plankton.” The fish would soon be fish food if he kept trying it.

“Did I upset itty bitty baby Johnny?” 

“Joooohnyyyy,” Alan joined in, because he wanted to be causing trouble. 

John was one more mangled rendition of his name from tackling them both, gravity be damned.

“How many times do we have to say that using Eos to back up your claims does not make them any more valid when she can’t be objective about it?” Scott interjected, in an attempt from stopped things from getting out of hand.

“Few hundred more at least.” John grinned. He hadn't forgotten certain remarks though. 

General groans followed all round. And another face palm. A few more grey hairs and a red forehead for Scott was in order.

“This time happens to be my choice,” Kayo stated. Out of the blue and right on target.

In the shadow of those innocuous words, John missed the mischievous look his sister and eldest brother shared. How the very atmosphere changed.

In synch, they burst out together, “Ghost Busters!” 

They sung it. Loudly. Complete with catchy jingle.

Alan and John looked at each other in horror.

Ghosts.

“I’m not scared,” Alan burst out. 

John settled back and crossed his arms. They’d have to try harder to get him. 

Harder than the big cartoon ghost logo that had appeared, hovering unnaturally in the middle of the room. Projected from the holo tv, of course. Like you normally watched movies with. Nothing spooky going on there.

Far too often people underestimated Scott’s ability to be a pain in the ass of a brother, and Kayo’s capacity for mischief. 

John was never going to make that mistake.

He made it through the introduction. This was going to be fine. The movie was positively ancient, the first of the franchise coming out way back in the 1900s. He looked it up on his tablet before Scott made him put it away because it was family movie time, and the movie was supposedly far more of the comedy genre than horror. 

John still wrapped himself up in one of the many blankets they kept by the couches, as if crocheted orange stitches could protect him from ghostly chills. Actually, scratch that, it was because he was cold, nothing supernatural about it.

The first ghost came up on screen. John absolutely didn't shrink back from it. He heard Alan’s gasp as he scrabbled for his own blanket.

The special effects were archaic. Definitely not realistic enough to be scary, John told himself. Nope, not scary at all. 

Ghosts weren’t real, after all.

No reason to be scared.

Something went bang and John yelped in alarm. He cast around for threats. Then landed on Virgil, picking up the empty popcorn bowl from the floor. 

He and Gordon had already migrated to sit on the rug together and yet somehow still managed to make a clatter.

Innocent brown eyes met John’s. They widened, like those of some sweet animal that could do no wrong. 

“Whoops,” Virgil said, “Sorry about that.” 

Appearances could be deceiving.

The family peacekeeper was as much a trouble maker as any of them.

John glared at him. 

Virgil raised a brow then cheerfully turned back to the movie.

To the ghosts. The glowing, comedically ridiculous pieces of animated filmic trickery that his brain still insisted were worthy of terror. 

John missed a few vital parts of the sequence of events whilst trying not to look at the projection. Then it exploded. Exploding ghosts. 

Ugh, all that ooze. John shuddered at the phantom sensation of it landing on him as it splattered everywhere.

The movie continued. More ghosts. More exploded ghosts.

Sudden noises from outside, normal noises of their island wildlife, made John jump. What had been a pleasant breeze now raised goosebumps where it trailed its icy fingers across his skin. 

He glanced towards Alan to see how he was handling it. John had looked out for his little brother on the mission with the threats of an actual ghost ship floating in the dead of space, and he’d make sure he was okay in the safety of their loungeroom too.

Alan had his shoulders hunched up to his ears, only his eyes and a few strands of bright blonde hair visible beneath the blanket. 

This situation called for being the bigger brother. John crossed the few steps to the other couch and sat down next to Alan. If he happened to also be closer to Scott, things just turned out like that.

Then the smotherhen paused the movie.

“If you,” Scott glanced at Alan and then him for that, “Really don’t want to watch the movie, I’m sure Kayo would be alright with picking something else.”

Alan shrugged, “I mean it’s not zombies but it is kinda funny. Let’s go for it.” 

Alan did also like watching horror movies, where scaring yourself silly appeared to be the entire point.

 John, not so much. It was the jumpscares. And the high percentage of plot important ghost-infested scenes. Though at least the contents of a book couldn't suddenly pop up and scream in your face. Not unless a bored Gordon got his hands on it, but John was not going to give him any ideas on that front.

John had had enough. So he did what he still always did when the world was too scary, whether or not he admitted to it. Go to Scott.

He threw away his pride and tucked himself into Scott’s side. Not matter how small the fear, big brother hugs made it better. 

He waved his okay for the movie to be unpaused, it wasn't scaring him badly enough he wanted to stop it all together plus he was enjoying family movie night. But that was no reason not to spend the rest of it right here. 

Scott’s arm went around John, pulling up the blanket and cuddling him closer. John curled up small, his legs beneath him, arms under the blanket and hugging Scott, resting his head on Scott’s chest. 

He might’ve hidden his face behind Scott’s shoulder any time anything ghostly came up. So what, everyone was allowed one illogical fear. 

In the middle of the climax of the movie, where either the ghosts would be busted or the ghost busters, Alan leapt up and ran to the other sofa. 

He hugged a very surprised Kayo around the middle and declared, “You’ve got to protect me. You’re my only hope, Kayo!”

John felt the vibrations of laughter as Scott retorted, “What’s that say about me?” 

Alan looked their big brother up and down. “Kayo would be better at kicking ghost ass.”

Which he was probably correct about.

Kayo sported a proud grin, over her surprise and settling into her role of big sister, which she’d learnt from the rest of them as she let them in as her family. “You’re damn right I would be.” 

She pulled Alan into her arms and rested her chin on his head. Alan happily snuggled closer.

“Language, the both of you,” Scott half-heartedly reprimanded, 

Alan’s eyes lit up, “But last week I heard you call that guy who deliberately ignored the safety protocols a ‘fu—”

“Alan!” Scott cut their youngest off sharply.

The cheshire cat smile on Alan’s face only grew. “Bet grandma would have something to say about that, wouldn't she? And the baking dish from yesterday’s lasagne still needs scrubbing, doesn't it?”

Scott glared at him, a hint of a pout at being called out for hypocrisy. 

Alan held out a hand, wriggling his fingers. 

Scott grumbled grumpily and leant across to hand over the last of his own popcorn.

Alan smiled sweetly, employing those not so innocent baby blues. “Thanks Scotty.”

John bit down on his lips to hide his own grin. He’d taught Alan much in negotiations and now he was his own certified menace. John was also close enough to hear the less than Grandma friendly words Scott was muttering under his breath.

What made it all the more funny was grandma’s own potty mouth and creativity with expletitives, where ‘Do as I say but not as I do,’ couldn't even come to her defence. 

Soon enough, or in John’s opinion, couldn't be soon enough, the ghosts were all busted and the end credits rolling. 

John yawned, warm and nearly sleepy by Scott’s side, in spite of featured phantoms, spirits, ghouls and all manner of monsters. He was safe with his brothers.

Everyone began to get up to head off to bed. Scott poked a very settled pile of Virgil and Gordon with his foot when they looked like they weren’t moving. 

Good nights were said with their usual accompanying hugs, then they all went up the stairs to their own of the row of bedrooms.

John snuck in an extra hug with Scott, before he dared enter his own. 

The lights flicked on straight away, courtesy of Eos. 

He checked all the corners and beneath his bed, because he wasn't Thunderbird Five for lack of definitely necessary precautions, and pulled on his pyjamas. Space ones, galaxy purple with shooting stars, of course. 

Maybe he also asked Eos to keep an eye out for anything outside the usual parameters, but that was just between them.

Then he snuggled beneath his blankets, making sure none of his limbs were sticking out in the cold, not at all because of the irrational thoughts about ghosts grabbing him by the ankles and dragging him out. 

John’s eyes slipped closed. He was nearly approaching soft, soothing sleep, when he jolted back awake.

There was a sound. 

Not a loud one, but then ghosts weren’t always loud. Sometimes they snuck up on you. That was the worst.

John pulled the blanket over his head when his bed room door whooshed open. 

A figure crept in. 

John froze, sleep deprived mind not thinking clearly, imagination too full of things that go bump in the night. Maybe if he stayed very, very still it wouldn't see him.

The shadow moved across the room, coming ever closer. 

John held his breath and hid.

Then the figure tripped on a book John had left on the floor and resolved into Alan swearing up a storm. 

He hopped, rubbing at his toes, not at all scary. The furthest from that in fact, his littlest brother who still hadn't had his growth spurt and was just a kid who played too many video games and flew a rocket ship and loved the stars as much as he did.

John exhaled with a heaving swoosh, unburying himself from his blankets. Somewhat. Better safe than sorry, and it was still kinda cold on the island compared to temperature controlled Five. 

“Hey John,” Alan said, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, “Can I stay here tonight, there’s weird noises in my room?” 

John nodded hurriedly. “Best get Virgil to check it out in the morning.” 

He pulled the blankets back for just long enough for Alan to hop in, then huddled back beneath them.

“You’re scared too?” Alan was far too astute.

In the dark, hiding from imaginary things, John could admit more than he would in the daytime. 

“Yeah I am. But we’ll be okay because we’re together.”

Alan cuddled up to him, pressed as close as possible against John’s chest. John wrapped his arms around Alan, burying his face in his soft hair. 

He could feel Alan’s voice as quiet vibrations by his shoulder. “Yeah, we will be.”

Somehow, that made the corners far less likely to be containing any sorts of ghosts.

[chronicowboy]

wip wednesday

tagged by two absolutely beautiful human beings @alyxmastershipper and @jeeyuns (who i can't tag in things for some reason 😤 homophobia)

as many of you may know i am still firmly in (fanfic) writing jail until i can get a doctor's appointment for my wrist in october 🫠 buuuut i do still have a half-written fic i swear i will finish one day about buck meeting another best-friend-slash-legal-guardian-slash-parent-figure-etc. for which you can find a previous snippet here last time was mainly oc so have some jealous eddie and dad buck

"Who were you texting?" he asks as he steals one of the beers from Buck's hands. If the simple brush of their fingers didn't have hope rearing its gruesome head, Buck maybe wouldn't think that Eddie seems reluctantly curious like he's scared of whatever answer Buck might give. And Buck really doesn't know how to explain this situation with Dina without blurting out a love confession, so he panics.

"A friend." Shit. Eddie's eyes narrow like a bloodhound catching its scent. That was possibly the worst answer Buck could have given, faux nonchalance and deliberate ambiguity only increasing Eddie's suspicion. Not to mention the fact that Eddie knows basically all of Buck's friends because they're his friends too.

"Uh huh." Eddie nods slowly, dropping the two empty beer bottles from the living room into the recycling.

"Hey, did you finish my beer?" Buck frowns, hoping he can steer them away from this conversation with their usual banter.

"You were drinking it slow." Eddie shrugs.

"I was savouring it," Buck argues back with a sniff.

"Buck, you eat like a Victorian street urchin who doesn't know when they're getting their next meal. You've never savoured anything in your life." Eddie rolls his eyes, overtly fond in that way that never fails to make Buck's blood bubble like champagne. His expression turns hesitant as he screws the cap off his beer. "Chris said something about Charlotte's mom?" He raises his eyebrows slightly, takes an almost too casual sip of his beer.

"Not her mom," Buck denies and why the fuck would he say that? "Um, Dina. You know her? Mom's best friend?"

"Oh." Eddie blinks, pausing where he'd been picking at his label.

"N-not that there's anything there," Buck adds quickly. "We just got to talking whilst we were waiting for—" Buck cuts himself off before he can say our kids like that's his to decide, clearing his throat. "It was nothing."

"Chris didn't think it was nothing," Eddie mumbles in the exact same voice Chris had used when he'd told Buck not to date Dina. He doesn't know what that voice means. He hates not knowing.

"Well, even if it wasn't nothing—" he pales when Eddie's eyebrows twitch "—which it very much is... Nothing. But if it wasn't, Chris asked me not to date her, so that would make it nothing, you know?" Eddie's face softens then, that same expression he wears whenever Buck gets too close to tearing his heart out of his chest and handing it to Christopher.

"So, that wasn't her?" Eddie asks with a nod to his phone in his pocket. It buzzes as if in answer, and Buck wonders if the universe has gotten tired of screaming and is now resorting to undermining whispers.

"Yes, but..." Buck sighs. "Again, I really have to point out that it's nothing like that. For a lot of reasons." He ignores the questioning glint that creeps into Eddie's eyes, somewhat more dulled than it normally is when Buck is embarrassing himself. "But Chris is always number one, so..."

"Can I ask you something?" He's not sure if it's the tone of Eddie's voice, hesitant and ambiguously hopeful, or the fact that Eddie asks the question at all when they've never needed permission to pry since the lawsuit and everything that came with it, but Buck's heart stutters in his chest.

"Of course," he rasps carefully.

"Purely hypothetically," Eddie starts, keeping his attention on his beer bottle. "If you were to meet the love of your life," it's a struggle not to laugh in Eddie's face, "ask her to marry you, plan a whole wedding..." Eddie bites his lip and looks up at him with something burning in his eyes. "If Chris asked you not to marry her five minutes before you were set to walk down the aisle, what would you do?"

Buck frowns a little, wonders if that's even a question at all, but then remembers that Eddie doesn't know that Buck has already met the love of his life, has already been condemned to a lonely existence because of that.

"Well, I'd have a conversation with him about why he didn't want me to marry them," this he stresses, suddenly realising Eddie might not know that he's bi and hating the hope that rises in him, "but I'd be planning what I was going to say to them the moment he asked."

gonna tag my usual babes if you guys have anything to share <333 @danielsousa @shitouttabuck @folk-fae @butchdiaz @diazass

[gingersnapwolves]

I was tagged by @lynne-monstr to post a snippet from a WIP ... my apocalypse novel is now over 200K but I'm almost finished with the first draft ... so here's a snip of it passing the Bechdel test lol

Milan laughed. “There’s no point in asking why the ultra wealthy want money. They just do. It’s a numbers game. Whoever’s at the top wins. The more lifetimes it would take to spend it all, the happier they are.” “Gross,” Ji-Soo muttered. Milan didn’t seem offended. “As far as I know, the bunkers have some limited communication with each other via radio, but there’s been no communication from them to the people left behind.” “We’ve heard a rumor that someone from one of them is here in LBC,” Rory said. “You’ve heard correctly. A man named Sam Jeffries. He’s a representative from the governing body of one of the bunkers. I don’t know which one, but presumably one in Canada, not Russia. He’s staying with Dan Kelly.” “Why is he here?” Rory asked. With a shrug, Milan said, “It’s anyone’s guess right now. He obviously wants something, but so far he’s been very cagey about it. Making it some sort of altruistic mission. Dan Kelly might know at this point, but nobody else does.” “If you had to guess, though,” Rory said. “You clearly know a lot about the compounds, and you know a lot about the sort of people who went there. So if you had to put your money on something, what would it be?” “Hm . . .” Milan exhaled slowly and looked up at the ceiling with a pensive expression. “Labor.” “Labor?” Rory and Ji-Soo both echoed. “The only reason they’d be back so soon, let alone throwing themselves on the mercy of someone like Dan Kelly, is because something’s broken and they can’t fix it. That leaves a lot of possibilities, but most of them, they could solve amongst themselves. They were smart enough that they let a few of the engineers and programmers in with their families without having to buy tickets. They knew that glitches were a possibility. I bet they were smart enough that they brought some doctors, even some nurses. But you know who they didn’t bring? The janitors. The plumbers. The electricians. The HVAC technicians. Heavens forbid they have to rub elbows with blue collar workers, right? And maybe they have one or two people who can fix things like that, but it’s not enough, not for a city of ten thousand people.  “That bunker is a microcosm of the city. They need someone to make the medication, someone to keep the lights on, someone to keep the water recycling system working. But in a closed system, entropy will always increase. Problems build up on top of each other. Small issues cascade into catastrophic failures. And now they’ve got twenty C-suite executives standing in a room where nobody has taken the trash out in ten years and nobody knows how to get rid of the piles of garbage.”

rather than tagging, anyone who wants to post a snippet of your original fic, I formally invite you to do so!

[wrencatte]

❄️Share a snippet from a WIP of your choosing.

@kaelinaloveslomaris had a jfo related dream (months ago T^T im so sorry) and gave me permission to put together a story based off it. It's slow going, because I'm me unfortunately, but here's some of the beginning. It's post FO but pre Survivor in that the crew just semi recently went their separate ways

Cal wakes up and he doesn’t know where he is or how he got here. Which isn’t the first time this happened, but that’s not his immediate concern. Not the cold staleness of recycled air when he remembers the last place he was had open windows. Not the strange lack of weight indicting his gear is gone. No, no. The immediate concern is this:

BD-1 is missing.

And that means he’s alone.

He hasn’t been alone in two and a half years ever since one snarky little droid introduced himself on Bogano to a broken, lonely not-padawan. BD is the sole reason the last four months haven’t been agonizing and Cal’s pretty sure If he doesn’t find out what the kark going on in the next five minutes, and find his karking droid, he’s going to lose it.

He opens his eyes, lashes sticking together, and blinks long and slow at the blue-grey ceiling. Definitely not any sort of aesthetic he’s familiar with. Imperial bases are all doom and gloom, black and red and dark, dark grey. Except maybe – he squints, the lights are bright. Too bright, they make his eyes sting, but he doesn’t react more than just blinking away tears. The bed under him is firm, neither comfortable nor uncomfortable. Just there. Like a high-grade medical cot. Something familiar from the Albedo Brave with Femur leaning over him way too close, to scold him again about unnecessary risks. (It had just gone in one ear and out the other.)

[raccoonfallsharder]

Hi! I just wanted to say I've been reading through Window Across the Galaxy - inching forward but reading it - and the way you write Rocket is so damn good. Though maybe I'm biased to hell and back because that is also exactly how I pictured pre-vol. 1 Rocket, haha.

The switching perspectives offer so much. I love how much they are misunderstanding each other.

Your work is inspiring me to want to work on my own wip OC fic. I've only just finished reading chapter 2 but I'm so hooked on Jolie and Rocket's tale. I love all these little snippets we get about her and her career as an artist/appraiser/restorer is so interesting.

A few questions, I know there are a lot of little references to the comics here and there, some I recognize from my own forays into reading those, and when I don't, I look it up because honestly, you add so much flavor and life to the worlds you write that I feel the need to know more. For the stuff that isn't a reference or at least a direct reference (as in a product from a known planet), how do you decide on names and other specifics? I personally long to do that in my writing but struggle with thinking things sound believable.

My other question is do you have any tips for writing Rocket? I know technically he hasn't said anything yet where I am in the story - semantics really, lol - but even through his thought process it sounds so much like him.

friend. sunshine. dewdrop. every time i see a comment or message or ask from you, i get giddy as a six-month-old puppy. you are SO kind and generous and I appreciate your words & support SO much

i’m gonna (try to) answer your questions behind the cut because I am a wordy bitch. also these questions are hard because i don’t often think about HOW my brain works so i will do my best.

but first i wanna say that i am SO excited & honored to have encouraged you to work on your own oc fic! if you end up posting here pleeease tag me ♡ and if not that’s okay too. when i started Window i thought it was going to be just for me and honestly it freed me up to do whatever the fuck i wanted, at my own pace, and that is part of what has kept it fun for me.

K BUCKLE UP THIS IS LENGTHY

so in terms of the shit I just make up (Glortho’s Equation, Spartaxian sugardrops, various fruits and foods and soap and recycling-compressors and other general NONSENSE). this is a layered process.

Almost everything I make up, I try to root in a canonical environment/planet, and I want it to make sense for the characters to HAVE it.

so eg, recycling-compressors came about because, like, they just need a practical way to store or get rid of trash. Are they jettisoning it into space every cycle? Dropping it on a landfill planet? Rocket’s comics-canon disdain for Earth + mentions of intergalactic human lifeform rights policies that Earth doesn’t honor leads me to belief that MOST space-folk embrace more sustainable practices. could be a recycling planet, but i didn’t want them needing to travel there every eight rotations or whatever so i decided having a compressor would allow them to have longer gaps between unloading. but like, you could do ANYTHING. maybe most intergalactic packaging is made from products that can be burnt as a clean universal fuel or something ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

similarly i wanted my best raccoon boy to have access to fish. but since he’s a broke-ass bounty hunter 90% of the time, it’s gotta be something inexpensive/accessible (or stealable) - which means it’s probably a cheap export from a planet with a lot of water. Hello, Morag (and the resulting Moraggian moonfish). Sometimes I’ll reference something already canonical in connection to something I fuckin made up just to increase the sense that all these things interplay with each other (zargnut-crusted moonfish sold by a street vendor on conjunction).

Sometimes I do the opposite. I try to imagine what a product from a planet would look like. eg Indigarran beeswax. I thought, what would Indigar export? It’s this gorgeous planet with a cathedral/palace/place of devotion made of glass. if i - an aesthetique lol - had a glass cathedral, I’d want that shit lit up with candles. Can you imagine how gorgeous that would be? Glimmering everywhere. That’s how i spent too much time dreaming up Indigarran beeswax ceremonial candles for a throwaway line somewhere deep in Window I think ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I also figure because of Kree imperialism in this region of the galaxy, a lot of shit is probably Xandaran. Relatedly if it’s a product associated with wealth, I’ll use Xandar or Spartax (also Atraxia but I think I made that planet up lol). I’ll use Asgard occasionally too but less often because it’s supposed to be at the other end of the galaxy. So if I’m referencing a luxury item, it USUALLY comes from one of these places.

For writing Rocket. I think @aliasrocket recently wrote something about this and I agree with like, every flawless thing they said. I listen to a lot of Rocket clips. I try to hear each spoken line in my head in his voice. Some verbs will end in a hard -ing, and some in a soft hanging -in’. I might also use a conjunction (even if it’s not a “usual” conjunction). Sometimes I use something like a liaison in French (I don’t know if there’s a word for it in English, but I basically smush two words together). Moreover, I’ll go back through Rocket’s dialogue on reread and just make sure I don’t go more than like 1-3 sentences without some kind of word-softening. Some examples:

“What’re you laughin’ at me for?”

“Why d’you wanna do that?”

In third-person narration from Rocket’s perspective (non-dialogue) i still try to use these sporadically, but nowhere near as often because I am trying to separate narrative voice from speaking voice just a little.

I also try to consider rocket’s frame of reference for everything from his perspective. What does he know about because he’s seen it? Heard of it? How did he see or hear it? did he learn about it from a fellow prisoner in the Kyln? Someone he did a job for in Conjunction? An alien refugee on earth? Iron Man? Did he steal it? Make it? Buy it? Was it given to him and by whom and why? How trustworthy is his source? How trustworthy does he think they are?

…

OKAY. wow if you made it to the end of this novel you are IMPRESSIVE and I hope it was at least a little helpful. if you have any other questions I will be flattered and happy to answer them and I’ll try to less fuckin wordy. ♡

you are a gem & a blessing & I hope your fanfic-writing brings you JOY

[dungeons-and-dragon-age]

Got tagged by @greypetrel and @shivunin for WIP Wednesday! <33

These aren't WIPs really but they're also not proper art, so, maybe they count?? Idk lol but n e way, I've been throwing together some info sheets for AF (that i probably won't finish for all of the kiddos oop)

Are they 95% recycled art? Yes. Are half of the things only there to fill space? Also yes. Are they consistent? Lol nope. But this was chill low-effort work i could do in between other things. They're unfinished in the sense that they were supposed to be at least a little bit tidier and consistent, but knowing me that will not happen xd

edit: forgot to tag again oops but if you see this and have something you'd like to share, consider yourself tagged! :]

[runakamoran]

A bit of HeartCore wip

So, I desided to join the Wip Wednesday to let you know I'm (mostly) alive and still writing. Really want to finish this one. For now, have a little piece, hope you enjoy.

***

This day on the island was going just the same as all working days; except there were a little more visitors due to the new Armstrong project participants arriving. But, by the time her shift started at 7 p.m., the crowd was going away, mostly to their hotels. At 11, only the most inveterate revelers were staying, and by midnight the small Asian restaurant was completely empty. That’s why Masala loved evening shifts — she could spend most of them sitting in her phone at the bar counter and still get paid for it. Would be a dream job if only they paid better.

The only one who stayed with her at night was the cook - a decommissioned WA-ES-2 model, a taciturn and non-conflict robot named Long Jing. When he wasn’t working in the kitchen, he wrote poetry or philosophized out loud, not really disturbing his colleague. And he never ratted her out to the boss. Best co-worker out there.

The next shift was passing by, just as quiet and boring as always, until the sirens suddenly howled at two in the morning. Masala looked up from dashboard scrolling and rushed to the window. Nothing changed in the quiet streets of residential district; but red and green lights were gathering in the black sky - special forces units rushed to the alarm.

“Any cause for concern to us?” Long Jing said thoughtfully. The waitress shrugged.

“Nah, probably not. They won't tell us anything anyway”.

Working for Vandelay was coupled with a ridiculous number of non-disclosure agreements. Any incidents were quickly swept under the rug to be hushed up and, God forbid, not to get into journalists hands. Everything that happens on the island stays on it, but the law didn’t prevent workers from exchanging ridiculous rumors and gossip. And for them Masala dived into the worker’s chat, looking for juicy details. Out of info scraps and blurry photos, it became clear the alarm was raised at the production center. All employees were evacuated from the department, but no one found out why. Although, considering how many new Armstrong members arrived today, it wouldn't be surprising if some equipment simply couldn't handle the workload. Less likely theories included sabotage, workers strike and "Rekka's gone batshit angry again".

An hour later the commotion subsided and the distant screams of sirens died down. Masala was almost dozing, resting her head on her hand, and half-listening as Long recited his new verses, – when suddenly, an explosion thundered in the quiet night. The girl jumped on the spot. The glasses on the counter clinked, the glass shook in the frame. The robot stopped mid-sentence and turned to the window. A second later, the waitress came running to it.

A blaze was glowing above the flat roofs, a bright golden-orange spot stretching across the night sky. A column of smoke was rising towards the skyscrapers and gathering into heavy coal-black clouds. Recovering from shock, the girl ran out onto the terrace to film everything on her phone. Long Jing followed and said in surprise:

“An ominous and yet, quite fascinating spectacle. I'll write a poem about this”.

“And I’m gonna sell these videos to journalists! A hot stuff like this will get viral, I tell ya”.

“Isn’t this prohibited by our contracts?”

“Of course it is. But also it's profitable!”

Not even a minute passed before people and cars flocked to the flame. Although half the island had gathered at the scene, the fire was still burning. Meanwhile, the work chat also got rekindled. Turns out, the furnace at the recycling center exploded. Maybe the sabotage theory wasn't so stupid after all.

Closer to the morning, when the waitress, immersed in her messenger, thought that nothing more unusual would happen that night, the bell on the front door rang.

Surprised, the girl raised her head from the phone and tried to squeeze out a professional smile. The one who came in was an eccentric, rather shabby-looking guy who greeted her in poor chinese, ordered beer and the largest portion of jiaozi they had. The girl nodded and started writing down the order, sneaking glances at the guest. During her work, she had seen many strange visitors, and in the day she wouldn’t have paid much attention; but after all that commotion, Masala became suspicious of him.

First off, he was wet, as if caught in a good rain, even though not a drop had fallen from the sky today. Second, his clothes weren’t just shabby - they were tattered and covered with stains that looked suspiciously like blood; and although the guy tied his jacket around his waist, Masala saw burn marks on it. Third, the clumsy prosthetic right arm identified him as an Armstrong project participant.

The guy, a mixed race, most likely Asian-American, was lanky and awkward. He leaned sideways on the counter, impatiently tapping his fingers on it, and was trying very hard to pretend nothing strange was happening.

“What a wild night it is, huh?” He finally broke the awkward silence.

“Oh indeed, sir. Your order will be ready in about ten minutes,” Masala placed a filled beer glass in front of him. “By the way... do you know what happened there?”

“Nope. Don’t have the slightest idea,” the guy broke into a wide, innocent and not-at-all suspicious smile. Then he took a deep sip from his glass.

The waitress narrowed her eyes.

“Really? I thought someone like you should know”.

The guest choked on his beer.

“Wha...? But, hah-ahem... why?”

“You have an Armstrong prosthesis, obviously,” Masala pointed her finger at the guy’s shoulder. “So you were in the production center today”.

“Oh, this! Well of course I was there!” he realized. “I was helping to put out the fire. Dunno what was that, but it banged as all heck!”

Masala narrowed her eyes even more.

“Really? And I thought all people were evacuated from the department several hours before the fire. And no one but robots was allowed inside”.

The guy got nervous, sweat appeared on his forehead.

“...can I get the tab right away? Don’t wanna bother you too much. You can keep the change,” he pulled out some damp bills from his wallet, two twenties and a ten, and placed them on the counter. The dollars instantly disappeared in the waitress’ little palm. The girl smiled brightly.

“Thank you sir. Have a nice evening!”

Grabbing his glass, the guy almost ran out of the cafe onto the summer terrace. Long Jing looked up from the stove.

“Quite an unusual young man. Should we report him?”

“No way! I mean, if he was an asshole, then sure... But he left us a tip. That would be impolite,” the girl winked and put a twenty next to her partner. “Here’s your cut”.

“Ah yes, material values. Not the most respectable, but a very simple and peaceful solution to any conflict,” the robot was lost in thought again. “Although it is money that keeps us in this vicious circle. We work hard and earn it, just to give back to our exploiters, instead of overthrowing them and breaking this cycle of tyranny…”

“Oh, stop it, nerd,” Masala rolled her eyes. “Get back to work”.

...Chai sat down at the table further away from the entrance. Cool, he was scammed for money again. Feels like everything on this island is trying to rob the visitors. But it’s better than a nosy waitress raising the alarm. He took a few sips of beer and exhaled tiredly. Time to rest a bit.

From this place was a beautiful view of the glow blazing far on the horizon, illuminating the island like a fallen sun. You really can stare at the fire forever. All the bridges he burned behind; all past failures and doubts, everything was left behind for the sake of one crazy, impulsive, but correct decision. And, despite the slight sadness, his soul felt lighter, finally free from the burden that sought to drag him back to the bottom.

A black shadow rushed underfoot and immediately ducked under a chair, hearing the sound of a door opening. The waitress, still with the same radiant smile on her face, brought him a bowl of hot dumplings dipped in a sauce of garlic and balsamic vinegar. The spicy smell made his stomach churn. Grabbing his chopsticks, Chai jumped on the food.

“Seriously?” The black cat settled down on a chair nearby. “You’re wanted! How can you sit here and eat dumplings?”

“Cuz I'm starving. What reasons do you need,” Chai grumbled. No really, he hasn't eaten anything since last night. When the adrenaline faded, the feeling of hunger became so unbearable it made him forget about caution and run for the nearest restaurant along the way.

“If any patrol comes here now, blame yourself”.

“They won’t. I'm sure all of ‘em are ve-ery busy right now”.

At first, they tried to catch him, of course, blocked roads, searched buildings. But when the fire jumped into the industrial zone, threatening to spread across the entire island, the robots had no time left for him.

His companion, however, was not convinced. She rolled her eyes.

“You look awful. I'm surprised that waitress didn't rat you out”.

“She robbed me of money, that’s why. Creepy gal. I’m almost sure she’s watching me,” Chai turned to the cafe window. Seems like the curtain moved on it.

Grumbling a little and telling him to hurry up, 808 curled up on the seat. She's right, of course; but he wanted to linger, get the moment to last a little more. The weather is good, cool and clear, except for the smoke and smell of burning carried by the wind. For some reason, the sight of fiery glow was calming even. Chai felt proud of himself. Not the best act to be proud of, and yet, he didn’t back down. He fought, resisted evil, and it's worth something. Especially when you spend half of life running away from your problems.

[shares-a-vest]

WOULD-BE MAYOR HARRINGTON FOR WIP WEDNESDAY PLEEEEASE PRETTY PRETTY PLEEEEEEEEEEEASE

Ahhh thank you for all the asks Devi!!! 💖💖💖 It is so appreciated (it might take me a minute to get to the others. I'm trying to just work on one thing at a time)

Snippet 1 | Snippet 2 | Snippet 3

I also just wanna thank everyone for the asks for some 'Would Be-Mayor Harrington'. I am really making headway on editing 🥰

Richard had announced that he was headed over to the Hagan’s annual barbeque hours ago, breezing over his promise to take Marianne to the fairground. Though she would need to avoid Mayor Kline for the evening, she was really craving some pink-as-bubble gum cotton candy and at least one rotation of the Ferris Wheel. They argued of course, and Richard left in a temper, leaving Marianne with nothing but a half-empty bottle of red and endless remnants of her lost campaign. Worst of all was the gigantic cardboard cutout of herself she had propped up outside the office she had rented out downtown. Earlier, she had found it still sitting in the hall outside the laundry room, left forgotten by Steve, who had promised to dispose of it in the recycling dumpsters at the mall. The irony of which was not lost on Marianne. In fact, the thought of it was enough cause for her to toss that stupid, primed and proper cardboard version of herself straight out into Richard's garage – maybe the man might even run it over if she wishes hard enough. If he ever comes home, that is. That was hours ago now, Marianne thinks as she flicks her wrist to look at her delicate watch. She can’t help but grumble at the thing – one of many ‘sorry’ gifts she had received over the years.

help me work on my wips this weekend

[sleepyowlwrites]

not me being fascinated with my own writing

hey, wanna read some stuff from 2017? this is Mercenary Story in its first outing, when it was called Twisted. for reasons. (i don't think there were any reasons.)

I've recycled some of the names from this old wip so I've swapped them all out with their new versions

The front door opened and Shar stumbled inside, scowling as fierce as a baby bear trying to prove he was top cub to a gang much bigger bears. "I'm fine," he said as soon as Jorand saw him.

hehe

The edges of Rasterpool were far more silent than the center. Everything seemed more dead, and certainly more dusty. All the buildings were covered in sandy, rust-colored dirt, the only movement coming from when the wind descended and blew the dust into new patterns on the old streets. This was bug territory. Everything was broken. Everything was dead. Except maybe a couple of mercenaries on assignment.

I loved describing cities six years ago and I still do now

Naki was always strangely grateful that his job, while hard and usually dangerous, paid well enough to him clothed and sated. He remembered his childhood, unlike Shar, who'd come to them with no background or family. In Naymoor, everyone lived in big family groups, but there were always poor around. Buzzards, they were called there, the ones who lived off of what was left behind. It was the same anywhere, and especially in this broken city. Everybody climbed over everybody else to survive. Dishonesty was the best policy and they all expected murder from each other.

Innocence was a foreign concept, yet Shar had come to them with his almost fully intact. It was a shame they'd had to drive it out of him, though it wasn't totally gone yet. It was probably why he was always getting into trouble. Naki almost envied him.

ah yes, the envy of innocence, that old chestnut

When they heard a dull bang half a kilometer from the house, Naki dropped the trigger in a trash heap and sighed in satisfaction. Eshku eyed him with something akin to distaste. "Must you take so much joy in destruction?"

"I must," Naki grinned back at him. "It's the little things in life, Eshku. Gotta take joy where we can."

"Yeah." Eshku sighed too, a more weary sound. "We take it where we can."

I dunno what my original plan for this flavor of fantasy was, but it certainly sounds a lot more fullmetal alchemist than what I remember

Of all the members of their little gang, Tav was the most confusing to Shar. He knew he was psychic, but it had never been fully explained what that meant. It always seemed like he could read Shar's mind, but not the others. Maybe his brain was more open, since he had a lot less memories to go by.

But it wasn't just the psychic thing. Tav knew a lot of things. He knew about constellations. He could identify any flower or tree and found insects fascinating. He knew about imports and exports and when all the harvests happened. He knew when it was going to rain and when someone was lying. He spoke the common language, like they all did, and was familiar with all three lower cast dialects of Rasterpool, but Shar had heard him speaking Tarisian and Namoor on more than one occasion. According to Embur, he picked up both of them simply by hearing both spoken in the markets, but that made no sense to Shar. How could he learn a language if he'd had nothing to compare it to?

Tav was a mystery, and though they weren't surprised by his odd behaviors, it seemed like the rest thought of him in this way as well.

Tav was a delight in the old version too

shamelessly tagging people I want to read this @akindofmagictoo @kaiusvnoir @ettawritesnstudies @drippingmoon @avrablake @blind-the-winds

[mitochondriencocktail]

Tagged by the wonderful @sepetajmikolikomehoces and @rosemindwrites!! WIP WEEKEND!! I am currently doing this from my phone in an airport, so pardon any wonky formatting.

[Something Soft] (not official title)

This has been sitting around for ages, and I just gotta do something with it, I think… It’s an AU of that yuri manga “The Guy She Likes Wasn’t a Guy At All,” where Bojan sees a masked up Jere working in a music store and Jere’s lost his voice because he’s sick. Bojan shoots his shot and leaves his number behind on a receipt because he thinks the Alternative Girl working the counter is cute. He quickly realizes that the guy in his lecture hall is the same person in the music store though and is like, “Haha… whoops? We can be friends though :)” but then obliviously develops a crush on Jere. This manifests through turning down actual dates with other girls through the logic of, “Oh, well, I had plans already with Jere… I can’t cancel,” or, “I know for certain Jere would like this event, so it makes more sense to ask him.” I think I came up with this when I, as the title says, needed something soft.

Bojeroost threesome part 2

The second chapter of that fic that’s on AO3 where Bojan ate out Joost and Jere walked in 🥴 I have some plans. Jere’s going to get lots of attention in chapter 2 once I have time to sit down and write back home.

Bojeroost Mecha AU

This also does not have a title yet… but SUPER vague scribbles about some sci-fi au where Bojan and Jere are mech pilots for an organization. Joost gets involved when Bojan and Jere’s mech gets critically damaged and he’s a technician, so right in the middle of a huge fight where BoJere are about to possibly die, he clambers in and plugs the neural link right into himself without the proper equipment. It’s enough to get the mech moving and save them, but the fucky technology makes them all inextricably linked afterwards in ways they have to grapple with.

BoJere Divorced Dad AU

These notes are on my laptop sadly, but Bojan is freshly divorced. He has a daughter that he has joint custody over, but hasn’t been the best husband— not for lack of trying. It’s more that he needs to undergo growth, learn how to be himself more fully. I’m thinking maybe recycling an old idea and having him and Jere meet in a book club that Martin drags him to. Jere hasn’t been married, but it turns out he’s been engaged in the past and just sorta bopping around since then. He’s given up on love and genuinely just enjoying life with his friends and family. But then he meets Bojan… Basic gist is men in their 50s rediscovering what it’s like to fall in love in an entirely new way :)

Ouuuuu brain not working for tags so if you see this, you’re tagged

[vacantgodling]

🫀 for the Writing shop talk meme!

thank you for asking!

🫀- Do you have an abandoned project? Why did it get binned?

oh SEVERAL. for a myriad of reasons. though i should specify that i don't tend to FULLY abandon my wips; i abandon plots a lot of times, but that doesn't mean i necessarily abandon ocs. explaining more will probably help this make sense:

there's wips that i lost during the 'divorce' (aka when me and my hs/college ex broke up) however, i have recycled many of my old ocs from those wips into other stories. those being -> LuKEWARM REJECTION, Red Death & The Oracle's Favor, GOD EATER, and some other rogue ocs ended up becoming used with my partner (such as the love of my life who i never talk about on this blog rip, lady silver needle tea and her family). i still hold onto the memory of some of those ocs, but i don't quite know what to do with them, so they're just kinda lost in the sauce until my brain decides to cook something up for them.

shrouded in darkness is a particular wip where i like the storyline and i like alessandra herself, but i don't know if i have the... energy to write it. maybe i will? one day? but like i can't see it being anytime in the near future. it's quite a heavy wip and the themes of both genocide and racism and black power etc are all quite at the forefront of it. so like, i want to write it... kind of. but i also don't know if i want to at the same time lol? alessi is a hard character to root for, and i suppose idk if i want to deal with the potential reception of this book bc it really is a power fantasy and its got a dark as fuck ending (no pun intended). i think because i know the themes of this book would be sooooo much for the average person to deal with and conceptualize, i think i have a hard time justifying that i'd be able to write it well. not that i can FORCE people to read it well and intelligently. but i know yt people would be up in arms about it and idk if i wanna deal with that.

great aunt augustine's treasure got abandoned cuz i don't really love writing kids. i like the idea, but even 15 years old is pushing it for me lol.

call center apocalypse got abandoned bc i could never create any ocs that i care about that much. so like, since i have no emotional anchor to the plot it felt useless to try and hold onto. same thing with after fake dating goes well and i am the devil.

so like, the main way i abandon wips is bc i have no emotional attachment to them. if i do, i'll tend to toss the plot and keep the ocs basically lol. that was a very longwinded way of saying that