#okay to rebloog if you wanna

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first five days of artfight! whoops almost all buns

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felix you really gotta stop stealin pollux’s shirts

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just some outtakes of messing ‘round with some new poses + making outfits

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Pollux Bixby | The Wayhaven Chronicles

“I was thinking about how I’d just gotten used to this world and how it all feels, and now it’s all different again.”

I frown. “Why?”

He glances over to me. “Because of you.” He scoots across the seat until our legs are almost touching. “Everything feels more around with you around. Heat is hotter. Sounds are louder. Touch is more intense.”

“Do you know what I mean?” He asks, hope hanging on each word.

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@elmshore tagged me to talk about my fic our reflections!

gonna put this mostly below the cut bc it might get long + im ewbarressed 2 talk bout my fics bc often there is a lot of imagery behind them sdjfls

i’m gonna tag: 

@bitchesofostwick, @trvelyans, @mournholdmushroom, @wayhavn, and anyone else who is a mutual who writes who wants to be just. jabber on about their fic i would love 2 hear it

the idea rumbling around in my head, if I’m remembering this correctly, came after the book three demo came out and there is the bounty on the detective’s head for their capture. this got me thinking about how “well it would make sense if the trappers actively went after the detective when they were alone, or otherwise indisposed.” 

That got me rolling on the idea of what happened in the aftermath of such an incident. I wanted more the aftermath rather than the whole omg the detective is in danger haha they’re saved by their LI! I don’t find that as compelling or interesting personally compared to them saving themselves, but they’re injured or had to find a way out of the situation themselves. Or both--I’m not picky.

It was also a sort of fic born out of the desire to see where pollux and mason get on each others nerves/where their conflicts reside. I love fluff between couples, but I also love exploring the more difficult and organic parts of two people together. which this fic was a really great place to explore that between the two of them, mostly because pollux is antagonistic towards asking for help or letting himself be helped. he doesn’t need to be babied in this instance and he had everything under control. the fact that mason is upset over the fact that it actually happened and pollux didn’t tell anyone is irrelevant in pollux’s mind. he got out of it with his life and he can tend his wounds in peace--he doesn’t need help. thus, we have a nice little conflict.

but a bit of dialogue or action that got stuck in my head when i was first drafting it was:

“....fucking hopeless.” Mason grumbles to himself and Pollux bunches his fingers tightly in his shirt.

“If you’re gonna talk then shit say it to my face, Mason.” Pollux spits his name and he knows he’s playing chicken with a speeding car—sooner or later he’s going to get hit.

Mason turns on him, anger drawing his lips into a snarl and frustration tensing his shoulders,

(take one more step, I swear to god)

“I said...” He starts slow, meeting his grey eyes and there’s a vicious storm in that grey, “you’re fuckin’ hopeless, Pollux.”

“Good.”

we’re gonna ignore how pollux definitely would’ve decked mason if he had gotten much closer.

this part really stuck because in all my writings i’ve done with them, both published and unpublished, it’s often pollux who presents the conflict between them verbally. It’s more in his nature to have that confrontation compared to mason. but this is a flip on that, where mason is just so fed up with this sort of crap from pollux where he says something he doesn’t mean. it does sort of put a stop to the argument though, both of them sort of putting each other in their places. mason unintentionally saying an extremely hurtful statement to pollux, and pollux asserting both that yes mason you said that and yes i am hopeless glad you finally got the picture there chief.

moving on, I didn’t really write one of these scenes before all the others. I skipped past a majority of the main argument to get to the meat of that and then built everything up around it. I did skip to after the argument where pollux is in the bathroom alone too. fun fact: the ending is the least edited and most free flowing part of it because i got on a roll + i just didn’t want to edit it. is it less polished and more rushed feeling? maybe. but i did like a lot of the prose i put into the ending. (looking back it’s definitely sort of sparked my obsession with writing about hands and the minuscule movements of hands in fic. if i don’t spend a couple sentences of a character paying attention to hands then what sort of gay writer am I?)

--

the image in my mind when writing fics is often playing things out as a movie scene. it’s all constructed in my head, the environment, the placing of the characters in the space, their interactions. i pick out what seems the most relevant even if it seems rather mundane. blinds or curtains being open, the color a lamp sheds--if it’s more blue or yellow. (bluer whites always read more clinical or impersonal, where more yellow lights feel more homey and personal). or like the color of the tile. I love thinking about the color of bathroom tiles/the inherent cold touch of bathroom tiles. i also like thinking about bathrooms as much as i like thinking about vintage hotel rooms.

but in this fic I was really wanting to hit on the “this is the middle of the night when no one should really be awake unless you’re getting into trouble” but also “this is the middle of the night when people say things or get into arguments because the dark hides everything.” 

also i dunno why i’m so stuck on only having one light source in a scene i write, it’s become a habit and i dunno why.

--

I didn’t really take inspo from another piece of media. i mean, it’s undoubtably got bits of tropes and such stuck into it, but such is writing. im not saying this is entirely original because it isn’t, i just can’t think of anything.

and like i said before, the book three demo with the trapper bounty really got me thinking. well that and the realistic part of what would happen if pollux got jumped by three or four trappers intent on kidnapping him.

me taking the idea of the detective possibly never having killed someone and tossing that shit out the window.

not that pollux is eager to kill people, or is fine with it. tensions just run high when you’re being attacked and slamming a person’s head into the bonnet of your car until they stop moving in a viable tactic for him. did the trapper live? i dunno, pollux certainly doesn’t.

--

i guess the cornerstone going around with this fic was stated above--the strained, realistic, not getting along parts of relationships between people. the subjecting these characters to a possible thing that could happen and seeing how they deal with it in their ways and the conflicts that brings.

but there’s also this chance to grow, to figure things out and avoid a repeat of the situation. it’s as much about the nitty gritty as it is the learning process of being with someone. like when mason explicitly asks/says in his own way for pollux to not do something like that again, whether thats fighting the trappers on his own, or refusing to be helped. or pollux not outright saying no, but rather saying he’ll try. it’s a step along the way towards making it work.

i know i write a lot about the rough and angsty parts of a relationship, but it’s also partially about the growth between characters. the realism of the bickering, the fights, the missteps along the way when you’re trying to make a partnership work. it’s the caring enough to make a mess, to not turn ones back on someone for being difficult. 

i love writing gross--both angsty gross and fluffy grossly human stuff!

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wip wednesday

wrow i wrote something, shocker. and it’s fluffy which is SHOCKER

Pollux rolls his shoulders to dispel the shiver, slipping his sweater on over his head and there’s a creak as the bed shifts.

Ortega’s legs shift, sheets moving with him, and he wipes his wrinkling face with an idle hand. His chest heaves with a deep breath and a heavy sigh, hand dropping and his brown eyes quickly find his. Pollux’s breath catches and stalls in his chest and oh Ortega knows what all those little motions do to him. How the sheets are dipping just low enough that it’s downright nasty what the sight is doing to Pollux’s stomach.

“Morning...” He mumbles with gravel thick in his voice and it takes an effort of will for his knees to stay straight.

“Hey lover boy.” Pollux replies, pulling his hair out of the shirt collar before he walks back over to the bed.

“You’re leaving?” Ortega mumbles, reaching out to him as soon as he sits and Pollux indulges him, letting his arm slip around his hips, thumb brushing underneath the hem of his shirt to find a line of skin. Can never keep his hands to himself, huh?

“I can’t be languid in bed all day like you can.”

“It’s only for a few hours. Especially if you’re with me.”

Pollux rolls his eyes, leaning over top of him, trapping him in with a hand pressing into the bed beside his hip. Ortega’s fishing, his hand creeping further up under Pollux’s shirt, thumb brushing along a narrow line of a scar neither of them remember. It’s not as if Pollux is opposed to laying in bed for a few more hours (plans can be canceled after all), but there’s still the nagging little corner of his mind that tells him no, that he needs to keep his distance, reinforce the control he’s kept for so long. Give Ortega his hand and he’ll lose his whole arm, but he’s given him so much more than that. The bruises on his chest he spotted when he woke up, the ache in his thighs and more importantly the memories he’ll keep when the marks fade.

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six sentence sunday!

i got tagged by @knightava thank you pap ;--; even though it’s almost not sunday, im gonna tag @apostatetabris, @trvelyans, @narrativefoiltrope, @bellarxse, @rosewoodcasket, @mournholdmushroom, @bitchesofostwick any uhhh anyone else who wants to do this! i know some of y’all have been tagged before but just. ignoring that.

i’ve been writing some nsft so that’s gonna be. below the Cut for obvious reasons. i also picked two snippets bc i wanna pick two. completely unconnected:

kissing a path down his erratically moving stomach and Pollux bites his trembling lip hard, head cocked at an awkward angle, shoulders pressed against the back cushion of the couch. Ortega’s hands gripping his hips, thumbs pressing into the divots of his hipbones and fuck he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget how big Ortega’s hands are, how he holds him so tightly and so assuredly.

Lips finding just past his belly button and he moves his leg, catching his heel on the edge of the couch. The cool air against him leaves him shivering, underwear already flicked off to the far side of the room with a protest and a laugh. Underwear stripped off when Ortega got tired of them being in the way and now he’s between his thighs, planting kisses and leaving marks with abandon.

Pollux keens, reaching down to tug on his ear and he’s already cum once (the hand in his pants and words whispered in his ear very, very effective) and he’s still a little dazed from that, but fuck he needs it again.

--

Pollux can’t help but see how hard he is, the curve of his cock in his underwear and he could easily pull down on the elastic and have him in his hands. Run his fingers from tip to base and he knows the *delightful* sound that would draw from Ortega. He could add his mouth too, kissing along his cock, and take between his lips and oh he shivers at all the wonderful things he could do. Have Ortega’s hands in his hair, gripping and holding him in place, his own hands holding tight to his thighs. Nails on his skin, spit dripping down his chin and he would gladly choke.Reason number two he likes this position so much.

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--> we should just kiss like real people do

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Detective Juniper Paloma Zion (they/them)

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okay i also really like it w/o the colors

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Detective Pollux Bixby | The Wayhaven Chronicles

--template here | by @denerims​

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that’s a wife

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--> Sawyer Rhett Walsh |  b. 13 July 2287  

Oh my god I see how everything is torn in the river deep And I don't know why I go the way

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it is wednesday my dudes

im doing some wayhaven stuff so yeah. here ya go

Usually it’s something Pollux doesn’t take part in, his work at the station more than enough to keep him preoccupied. Mason has no idea how a town the size of Wayhaven creates enough paperwork for there to be perpetual piles of it littered around Pollux’s office. But today he’d called Farrah, grumbling about how “work was slow at the station and that he was incredibly bored.”

Meaning in no short terms, “I need a break from this godforsaken bullshit or I’m going to tear out of my hair, please get me out of here.”

Between Farrah’s puppy dog eyes, trembling lower lip and Nate helpfully reminding Ava of all of Pollux’s “helpful” qualities he brought to the team, she was convinced. (Although Nate’s descriptions of Pollux’s “strong will” and ”forward thinking attitude” still sound a bit too sugar coated, even for him).

But, Mason gets needing out of the station

The scents and sounds of it are uncomfortable on the best of days, between the stench of ink from the printer, the markers from the various white boards all over and the looming scent of stale coffee hanging over it all. Not to mention the people. Mason would do anything to never have a conversation with anyone at that station ever again.

The bobblehead and the scientist aren’t the worst--Tina and Verda or something--tolerable at best. But there’s a woman in one of the cubicles who eats her tuna salad sandwich lunch with her mouth open every, single, day and another one that blows bubbles with her gum for hours on end. Or worse is some intern who comes by Pollux’s office every couple of hours with a sort of update, which is just an excuse to try and hide his poorly had crush on the detective.

Even if Pollux doesn’t have senses quite like a vampire, Mason knows that sort of chaos would drive anyone to distraction--especially someone like Pollux. How he found himself in a career so people oriented when he’s anything but is still funny in that terrible ironic way.

Mason found him once nearly tearing his hair out over the sound of the printer on repeat, or about ready to rip a coworker a new one over the clicking of a pen. He wonders when he’ll get tired of the intern and give him a dressing down enough to send him scurrying off.

He shakes his head and hides a smile behind a puff of smoke; if it’s nothing else, at least it would be amusing. He taps off the ash and it falls into the grass and he squints, eyes returning to Pollux. Out here, free of the sound of printers, fingers clicking on keyboards and phones ringing over and over again, he looks relaxed—happy.

He’d left his coat behind in the car and, rolled his sleeves up about half through the hike. Long curls coaxed into a thick bun at the top of his head, a few strands hanging loose, falling down across the back of his head as he turns to listen to Ava. Red strands catching the sunlight through the trees, turning them into a riot of yellow and orange.

There’s a loud snorting laugh from Farrah that breaks the quiet and a smile twists the corners of Pollux’s lips, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

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Juniper’s apartment

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--Pollux’s apartment