#still need to figure out a good tag for WIP posts

[the73rdpostscript]

Word Finder Game

You are given five words. You must find those words in one or more WIPs and post the excerpt containing each word!

Was tagged by @non-un-topo. (Thanks friend! Being tagged in one of these games once again got me to write a few more sentences so I appreciate it <3)

Your words are: blank, rose, scowl, purpose and fortune.

Somehow I haven't used the word scowl in any of my most recent 20 WIPs??? I found blank a few times and purpose twice, and I decided to share my results for rose even though it definitely doesn't count :)

Purpose - From the story where Nicky and Nile end up on a monster hunt in the woods.

Nicky is purposefully positioning himself between them and the darkness - where the thing is making soft and angry noises. "Nicky," Nile says, testing the volume, "Nicky!" His head tilts just enough - a signal that he heard. She licks her lips and dodges a squirming shoulder aimed right at her chin before she tries to say it. "Maybe that guy was right. Maybe. Maybe this thing isn't just a thing we can kill. Maybe it's a manifestation of something."

Purpose 2 - From the story where Nicky and Nile go to the movies

Lifting his arm up, he waits till she slides in under it before he replies. "Booker and Joe were always more interested in the physics of the unknown than I was. I preferred to question our purpose.” And he gives her shoulders a squeeze because he suspects she’s also thinking of the first time they all met – the bitter collision of their past with her future.

Blank - From the story where Joe and Nicky can't sleep

Studying the shadows from the windows, Joe is reminded that he doesn’t take the time to stare at empty spaces as often as he should. There’s too much art on his walls to allow for much blank space, and he considers turning his breakfast table a few degrees towards the doorway of the kitchen area so he can stare at the single narrow blank wall space beside the doorway. Resting his eyes and admiring the light he gets in early morning hours would be an improvement to his morning routine. Even if that morning routine barely exists at this point. Does he need to enforce his routine more? Would he fall asleep if he got up and practiced the motions as if he was getting sleep?

Blank 2 - From the story about Nile's first century of life

They established this routine a week into their first break. It's a grounding practice for her internally, but it also helps her remember who Nicky is outside of the times that he shoots a man in the head point blank without flinching. Soon they'll say a short prayer together and he'll send her off to the church with a hug. Then he'll crawl back into bed with Joe to do his own Sunday rituals - a tradition Andy somehow always sleeps through and Nile is very glad to leave behind.

Blank 3 - From the story where Nicky builds coffins

WARNING: This section contains descriptions of corpses

On the second day he saw two men had landed in a kind of embrace. One had ended up slightly more on top of the other - one arm haphazardly laying across his back in a grotesque gesture of protection. His legs were missing but the other man's legs were folded upwards - as though supporting him. The one laying under the first had his head pressed into the other man's chest as though seeking comfort. The first man's head was tilted at an agonizing angle - staring up at Nicolo with blank eyes - covered in flies. Nicky stared down at the bodies for an indeterminate amount of time, before he felt tears running down his own cheeks. Picking up the shovel again, he began the slow process of covering the tomb, before he moved on to the next few bodies. He did not bother to wipe his face.

Rose - From the story where Joe is a plant dad on instagram

Like he’s been given a third wind, Joe exhales into his rant, “That is not even close to the proper lighting for a succulent garden. That tray would have taken an hour or more to set up, and those plants will last two months at best. Those rosettes grow that way because-” the words cut off in a gasp as Nicky leans forward and licks Joe’s neck. “Keep going,” he murmurs. “No, no, this is better,” Joe says, turning to kiss Nicky with wet lips.

I'm going to double tag @polarcell and @gallifreyburning And then I'm gonna tag @aphroditestummyrolls @lazaefair and @raedear

Your words are ring, pout, plant, grave and oyster

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Follow You Anywhere 10

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, controlling behavoiour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’re online existence threatens to leak into your real life.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Note: back to work but still hurting.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You’re grateful only for the reprieve of Sy’s shower. He spends at least an hour in the bathroom but it’s not nearly enough time to figure this out. He’s not going anywhere and you have no way of changing that. And with how things are going, it won’t be long before you’re entirely trapped with him. 

The helplessness suffocates you. You slowly get up, needing to do something, anything to keep your thoughts from spiralling further. Or him. 

You go to the kitchen and pull out some chicken. Even with your recent shop, what you have won’t last. Not with two people. You marinate the tender breast as you pull out the jasmine rice and your mini rice cooker. Everything you have is built for one, it’s another reminder that he’s invaded your life. 

The bathroom door opens and you stay hidden in the kitchen. It’s only as he calls your name that you poke your head out. You don’t want him to think you’ve tried to escape again. Imagine that, escaping your own life. 

“Here,” you squeak and your mouth hangs open. He stands in only a towel. It’s low enough that the trail of hair along his stomach grows thicker just above the knot. Your lashes flick and you cough, “just starting dinner. Jerk chicken and... and rice.” 

“Sounds delicious,” he grins and runs his fingers through his beard. “Much better than field rations, eh, Aika?” 

He whistles at the dog and she perks her ears up. Sy sighs and drops his arms, smiling at you dreamily. Your eyes wander to the scars all over his body; a thick raised one along his ribs and smaller ones flecked along his shoulder and a line on his lower stomach. 

“I’ll get dressed,” he rubs his hands together, “can’t be eatin’ in my towel, huh?” 

“Sure, uh, I... I’ll be in here.” 

You go back into the kitchen and stare at the rice maker. You see the reflection of his scarred mind in his body. Again you can’t help the rent in your heart. That sympathy that underlines your fear. He’s a tortured soul but not one you can soothe. You don't know where to begin. 

You put the chicken in the oven and set the rice to cook. Next you look for a veggie. Broccoli. Standard. You’ll add a bit of seasoning. You’re not very hungry, even as the aromas rise in the air. 

“God, it’s hot in here,” Sy growls as he appears in the doorway that opens to the dining space.  

“It’s the oven,” you say as rinse the head of broccoli, “sorry.” 

“Ah, you know, it’s not half so bad as the desert,” he chuckles, “Aika knows. The way the sand gets all in your mouth and—and everywhere else.” 

“I can’t imagine,” you murmur, “wouldn’t be a day at the beach, I’m sure.” 

“Mm, no,” he agrees as he leans on the wall, “not a bad idea. I could take ya down for a beach day. We could get some good pictures. A few videos.” 

“Maybe, I don’t know,” you focus on your task. You put the broccoli on the cutting board and pull out a knife. 

“You want me to get that, sweetie? Don’t wanna cut yourself now,” he pushes away from the wall. 

“No, I got it,” you line up the knife and chop the head in half. He winces. 

“It’s dangerous, you got a smaller one?” 

“Really, Sy, I’m fine,” you insist as he looms closer, “let me just get dinner ready and you can sit--” you hiss as you pull your finger back at the sudden slip. 

“I told ya,” he accuses as he grabs your hand and examines it. His grip is iron and you don’t resist. There’s no blood. 

“It was just my nail,” you wiggle the top of your finger, “please--” 

“Let me do it,” he insists and reaches for your other hand, “give me the knife, sweetie.” 

You hesitate but hand it over. You’re not sure why he’s so nervous about it. Still, there’s no sense fighting over sharp objects. 

“We gotta work together, don’t we?” He says as he chops.  

“Sure,” you agree thinly. 

You turn to get a sheet pan for the broccoli. You’ll dress in oil and some spices, maybe a bit of lemon juice. As you lay parchment paper over it, he drops the knife in the sink. 

He remains, crowding you as he watches you work. You spread out the little branches and drizzle them over. You put them in beside the chicken and rinse off your hands. You dry off and glance over at Sy. He's watching you. 

“You really don’t have to stay out here,” you say. 

“I like being around you,” he grins, “still can’t believe it’s real.” 

Me neither, you think. 

“Well, all that’s left is the waiting,” you set a timer, “so...” 

“Ah, well, s’pose we can do that on the couch.” 

“Oh, well, I was gonna get the laundry together,” you say, the excuse popping up spontaneously. 

“Why don’t you wait ‘til tomorrow?” 

“Right, uh, I wanted to get it done. I need to get back to my commissions tomorrow.” 

“Mmm,” he hums flatly, “you work too hard.” 

You withhold a mean thought. He hasn’t mentioned work since he showed up. What about that desk he was talking about? You know better than to challenge him. You’ll keep the peace as long as you have to. Get through dinner then worry about the real test; bedtime. 

“Alright, let’s sit,” you relent and reach for his large hand.  

It’s not an affectionate gesture, merely appeasing. You can still hear his voice booming and the thump his skull made on the wall. Not to mention the state of his face and the dent in your wall. You can’t forget what he’s capable of. You can’t deny that you’re lucky he only hurt himself. 

He lets you guide him out of the kitchen and you try not to show your reticence. You won’t think of what happened on the couch last time. Besides, you can’t leave the food to burn. 

💗

You eat at the table. It’s an excuse for some space. As you waited for the timer to save you, you were trapped in his embrace. His constant touching and cooing. You should be flattered when someone tells you you’re pretty and perfect but he just makes you want to combust. 

You can hardly stay still. You clear the table and tidy up what mess is left in the kitchen. You can hear him prowling in the other room. You wipe down the table and peek up as he stops to watch you. 

“Almost done?” He asks. 

“Sure, uh, I’ll finish and get washed up for the night.” 

“Washed up?” He echoes. 

“Brush my teeth, wash my face, all that,” you explain. 

“Oh, yeah, makes sense.” 

“What about Aika? She need to go out?” 

He stops and looks at the dog, still laying at the door. 

“She should,” he intones grimly, “I’ll take her then.” 

He disappears into the bedroom as you let out a breath. It’s not much. You know you’re just putting off the inevitable. He reemerges with the jangle of keys and you see your phone case peeking out of a pocket in his cargo shorts. He might seem scattered but there’s something about him that assures you he’s just as calculated. 

“I’ll be back,” he assures and stops just by the door, “sure you don’t wanna come with us?” 

You rinse off the cloth and shake it out. 

“I’ll be fine.” 

“You should come...” he mumbles. 

“Sy,” you go to the doorway parallel to the apartment door, “I promise, I won’t go anywhere.” 

You have nowhere to go. 

He stares at you. His looks pale and drawn. He cracks his neck as he tilts his head one way then the other. He lets out a long exhale as he sets his head straight and he steps closer. Aika stands, her paws scuffing on the hardwood. You gulp as he makes himself bigger and glares down at you. 

“I know you won’t,” he says quietly, “because you know I’ll follow you anywhere, don’t you, sweetie?” 

You bat your lashes and gulp. You nod, “yes, captain.” 

His lips curve and he reaches to grab you, cradling the back of your head as he pulls you close and kisses your forehead, “good girl. Get nice and fresh for me.” 

He lets you go with a growl and you stand frozen between the counters. Aika watches him with her doleful eyes as he steps into his boots. He opens the door and points her out, not bothering to take the leash with him. She looks at you, wiggling her nose, before she goes. 

The door snaps shut behind Sy and jolt you. You can’t shake the grit in his voice. The subliminal threats laced into his proclamation of devotion. He found you and he’ll find you again, so why bother trying to run? 

You shut off the kitchen light and flit into the bedroom. You gather up a set of pajamas. A white tee and short pairing with little sliced oranges stamped into the fabric. You lock yourself in the bathroom and face yourself in the mirror. You look just as afraid as you feel. 

You lay out the pajamas to one side of the sink and put on the fluffy headband that keeps your hair out of the way. You start your usual routine, the familiarity the only comfort you have left. Brushing flossing, exfoliating, moisturizing, and toning. It’s the little things you started to make yourself feel better but they just aren’t working this time. 

You hear him return as you button up the pajama top. You stare at the door with dread and gather up your shirt and skirt, along with your panties and bra. You teeter on the balls of your feet, trying to find whatever you might call courage. He gets there first. 

The knock makes you jump. You quickly go to the door and flip back the lock. He opens the door from the other side before you can. 

“Everything okay?” He asks. 

“Yes,” you answer dumbly as you hug your armful of clothes. 

“Oh, you look... nice. Refreshed.” 

“Um, yeah,” you say as you waver. There’s no room to get around him. 

He steps back and waves you out. You carry the clothing into the bedroom to dump in the hamper and turn to find him looming in the doorway. Great. 

“You smell good,” he purrs as he peels off his shirt. 

“Did you lock the door?” You ask. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout that. You got me here to take care of ya,” he scoffs and hurls the shirt so it just barely clings to the side of the hamper. “Those are some cute jammies.” 

“Oh, uh, thanks,” you look down and pinch the sides of the shorts. 

“Long day,” he stretches and drops his arms, unbuttoning his shorts shamelessly. 

“Yep,” you agree, “be nice to sleep.” 

You go to the edge of the bed and slip beneath the duvet. You tuck your chin down as you hug yourself beneath the fluffy cover and keep your back to him. He flips the light off and you nearly whimper. The bed dips behind you and cool air flows under the blanket as he climbs in behind you. 

You’re not surprised when he swathes you in his thick arm. He pulls you against him, his furry chest flush to you as he purrs. You grasp his forearm and squirm as his heat surrounds you. He nuzzles your hair and plumes hot breath over your scalp. 

“Ain’t this nice? I could spend every night like this,” he growls as he keeps you curled up in one arm as his other hand trails down your side. “Never slept much over in the s—over there.” 

You squeak and stare into the static darkness. You tremble and force out a yawn. Maybe he’ll get the hint. For once. 

“I’m tired too, sweetie,” he toys with the bottom button on your shirt, “I know I’ll sleep all nice and cozy with you.”  

His fingers tickle your lower stomach and crawl beneath the cotton. You go rigid as he creeps up your soft flesh and you latch onto him as you try to stop him. He presses his lips to your crown. 

“Don’t be bad,” he warns in a gristle. 

You let him go with a babble. He brings his hand to cover one side of your chest. He squeezes and lets out a raspy groan. He rolls his hips and you feel he’s in need again. You close your eyes and brace yourself. It’s worse than the couch. You’ve laid yourself down in his trap. 

“You’re so soft, sweetie,” he fondles you, swirling his rough fingertips around your nipple, “so warm...” he inhales your scent and snarls, “you got me hurtin’ so bad.” 

[your-local-uwu-artist]

it was suggested I post this to the tags as well >:D

fuck it ima tag @transcendence-au as well because tbh I'm very proud of my silly little animation

some me being a nerd under the cut!

okay so this all started when I read the original post this was inspired by and though 'wouldn't it be silly to add some art to this 3 year old post?' but then I decided to animate it for funsies!

and gosh I sure do love animating!

So I got the base sketch and then got into the lineart animation for each component!

i don't have the sketches/wips saved at all sense this wasn't really a project and it took less than a day to complete. but here's a peak at the timeline

I animate entirely in my ususal drawing software: clip studio paint. It's just what's easiest for me.

all of these layers outside that folder are just the sparkles! after I finished I added some sparkles for fun! there's a lot of them because it involved a lot of copy and pasting sparkle layers

the bottom folders here are the wings body and facial expression! for everything like the wings arms and flags I was able to just copy paste, reverse, and then align the timing correctly in the timeline

one thing unique about this animation is that the lineart and colors are in separate layers! I tend to do line and colors on the same layer but this time I was using a brush that doesn't have the same lack of anti-aliasing and sense it's a small animation I wasn't as worried about keeping a minimum of layers like usual.

also the movement of the body is only 4 frames! and one one of those is just the hat shifting position

initially I wasn't going to have the second facial expression but when I got stuck on animating the flags I added the second facial expression while taking a break.

the arm animation is just 8 frames! honestly the only tricky part in this is the flags, everything else was pretty simple, which made it super fun to work on because I got both a challenge and mindless therapeutic drawing out of it.

NOW THE FLAGS there was 3 throw away attempts before I got it: you see the thing that made this tricky is finding the balance between believability and visual appeal. a big part of animation is creating the illusion of physics, this is the 'believability' part, I need these to look like flags that are moving and made of flat fabric, HOWEVER if I animate these one-to-one with realistic physics: it won't look good! I can't apply wind to the whole drawing because then the hair would have to react, and wind goes one way, and I wan't the flags to be pointing opposite directions. so without wind the flags would be laying down flat, but that won't look good at all! and furthermore realistic physics would have the flag not being all nice and front facing most of the time. so the trick here was figuring out how much physics to apply to make it look believable, while still making it look good.

one trick I did to help me animate the flags is I actually made a plan rectangle flag as a guide so that the general mass/volume of the flag would stay consistent, this is something i highly recommend when animating! like having a circle guide along a characters head to keep their height and proportions consistent.

after I finally found the balance with the flag lineart coloring wasn't too hard! sense I just had to follow the lines, and THANK GOODNESS the trans and aroace flag have the same number of stripes: saving me time!

and then it all comes together to make a satisfying perfectly looping bundle of cuteness >:DDD I feel like the tau fandom doesn't have as many artists with particularly cartoony/chibi art styles so I've gotta play my part in spreading the joy-whimsy-adorable-sillys >:D

anyway! hope you get to see a cool beetle today :D

[ettawritesnstudies]

Etta's Guide to Writeblr (March 2023)

So you fled here from Twitter/TikTok... Where to start?

Welcome to Writeblr! Pull up a chair, open those documents, and pour yourself a cup of your favorite tea, coffee, or cocoa. The first thing you'll want to do is start following other writers. Check out this post for recommendations! Search through the notes to find hundreds more. Since I made that post, a bunch of people mentioned they're lurking and still trying to figure out tumblr, so I thought I'd make this post to help people get settled.

How to set up your blog

Make your blog name something not resembling a pornbot - it can be whatever you want, anything fun goes, just not [name###]. If you include "writer" or "author" somewhere in the url it makes it easier to spot writeblrs at a glance but it's not a requirement

Change your profile to something that's not the default, Make sure you have a blog title, and add a little description in your blog header if you feel like it!

Make a pinned post introducing yourself (pls don't use your real name or any IDing information for privacy's sake, this isn't facebook), a short summary of your WIPs, and links if you have an author's website/newsletter/ao3/etc. You can check my pinned post for an example

Make intro posts for each WIP! You can spruce these up with graphics (canva and unsplash are both great free resources to make edits/moodboards), excerpts, lists of tropes, character intros, etc. Link to the WIP intro in your pinned post so it's easy to find! You can update these as often as needed

If you want to make character intros, go wild. If you can't draw, piccrew is a great option. Just start talking about your WIP!

Come up with a tagging system to keep your blog organized. I recommend individual wip tags or at least one for your original writing in general so it's easy to search for your work on your blog

Keep track of Taglists for your WIPs. Whenever you post a new thing about your story, tag the people who asked to be notified to make sure they see it! Only tag people who ask to join the taglist, but it's a good way to keep track of interest. It's normal to have multiple taglists for each story+ one general writing taglist.

How to make writer friends

Reblog their work and add nice comments, either in the tags, comments, or the reblog itself People notice regulars in their notes and appreciate the attention. I promise it's not weird to compliment a total stranger

If that's too intimidating, community events are your friend!

Weekly Ask Games: These are weekly events that are loosely themed where writers send each other asks about their WIPs! The most common are Storyteller Saturday (about the writing process), Blorbsday (aka Blorbo Thursday about characters), and Worldbuilding Wednesday (about the setting of your story). If you answer these late, nobody really cares, but it's a fun way to receive prompts and learn more about other people's stories.

Ask Games/Memes: These are posts with lists of questions you can reblog from other people, sometimes themed or listed with emojis. It's common courtesy to send an ask from the list to the person you reblog it from, then people can send you questions as well, so you can talk about your stories! You can search for dozens of them

Tag games: There's a ton of different types of tag games, but basically someone @s you with a challenge/question, you reblog with your answer, and then @ a bunch of other people to continue the chain. Some common ones are Heads Up 7s Up (share the last 7 lines of your WIP), Last Line Tag (share the last line you wrote), and Find the Words (ctrl+f the given words in your doc and share the results, then give new words).

Formal events: These are community wide participation challenges organized by certain blogs! @writeblrsummerfest is every July?? August? I think? It's run by @abalonetea a few years strong, and there are daily prompts and ask games! @inklings-challenge is a month-long short story entry for Christian writeblrs. I think there was a valentines event in February. @moon-and-seraph is hosting a pitch week soon! Since these are more organized, it's very easy to find similar blogs and support!

Misc. Notes on using Tumblr

Follow the tags #writeblr and #writeblr community to find other writers, as well as other tags that interest you like #fantasy for example

If you want to bookmark a post to read later, you can like it and/or save it to your drafts

The queue/schedule function is very useful if you want to space out posts or have a backlog to keep your blog running when you get busy. This is good for the community because it gives older posts a chance to be rediscovered! You can change the posting frequency in the settings.

REBLOG YOUR OWN STUFF. People aren't always on at the same times and so it's the best way to account for people with different schedules and timezones. If you're worried about being annoying, you can tag those #self reblog or something similar and other people can filter the tag, but otherwise it's a welcomed and accepted practice.

If your excerpt is pretty long, put it under a cut. On desktop you can do this by selecting the squiggly button on the far right when you make a new paragraph, on mobile type :readmore: then hit enter.

It's polite to add descriptions to images and videos for visually or auditory impaired people. If you don't know how to write descriptions, here's a good resource

In your dashboard settings, it's best to shut off the options "Best Stuff First" and "Based on your Likes". These function as the website algorithm and suppresses the blogs you actually follow, which defeats the purpose of the site, letting the dash be in reverse chronological order. Also turn off Tumblr Live because it's malware as far as anyone's concerned.

Curate your experience, block the trolls, and be nice

Update for March 2024

How to shut off AI Scraping on your blog

Go to settings and find the Visibility tab

Scroll down to the tag that says "Prevent Third-Party Sharing"

Turn that knob over so that Automattic can't steal your work for their language training model databases >_<

The other settings will just hide your blog from search engines so they're useful for hiding from nosy parents or other Tumblr users but if you're trying to build an author platform you can leave them off.

Again, welcome to the community! I hope you have a ton of fun!

[whirlpool-blogs]

asking for a friend??

WIP Tag Game

ohhh this is the Nazi interrogation Buckies fic! Loosely based on the post that @thebuckys started, and @crowthis and I were riffing on.

Gale is known to be the best B-17 pilot around, so the Nazis are determined to get answers from him. They know he would be their best bet for getting information about the fuel range of the bombers, airspeeds, combat box weak points, max rate of ascent and descent, etc.

They also know that the Buckies' biggest weakness is each other. So when Egan rolls into the processing center, they know exactly what to do.

After days of fruitless interrogations, they drag Gale into an interrogation room and there's John, tied to a chair and hair matted with blood, eyes wide when he spots Gale. They tell Gale that for every question that he doesn't answer, they're going to hurt John. Quickly, John yells out, "I'll be fine, Buck, don't give em nothing."

So when the Nazis ask what the fuel range of an escort P-51 is, or what radio frequency they use to pull together their formations in the air, Gale keeps his mouth shut. Even when they flatten John's warm, beautiful right hand against the table and crush every last delicate bone in it. Even when they hold an electric cattle prod to John's abdomen for so long that he's throwing up onto himself, that Gale can smell burning flesh.

Eventually, the Nazis realize they're getting nowhere and escalate to the next option: their truth serum. It's super expensive because it has to be synthesized in a lab using hard-to-find reagents, so they really do try to avoid using it as much as possible. But they have a Major, and they have Cleven, so the higher-ups clear the use.

They inject it into Gale's veins and Gale just laughs at them. "You think truth serums actually work?" he spits. "If they did, then you would know that I'm actually in love with John. And the fuel range of a Spitfire is 1180 miles with a drop tank." And oh FUCK.

But now that Gale has started, he can't stop. He tells the Nazis about how long he's been in love with John. He tells them how 12 o'clock high is the weak spot of a combat box, where the fuel tanks on a B-17 sit. He tells them about Marge, how he's going to marry her, how he's going to break his own goddamn heart and marry Marge because he can't face the alternative.

John is begging, Please shut the fuck up. Gale, just shut up. Shut up.

The Nazis are DELIGHTEDDDDDD, they hit the payload AND the pilot is a deviant?! They start joking, laughing, and then decide to give Gale a reward for his good behavior: a blowjob from the man he's apparently so in love with.

John's mouth is all wrong when he takes Gale's soft cock inside of it, all slimy and warm. There's leaky, gummy wounds where his two back molars used to be. Gale doesn't need to be a genius to figure out why; there was already blood on John's face and a pair of bloody pliers on the table when he arrived.

It's the worst blowjob of Gale's life.

He comes, still soft.

John pulls off, spits blood and cum onto the floor. There's tears in his eyes. "In love with me and still gonna marry Marge, huh?" he asks.

Gale looks down at him. "Yeah," he says, softly. "Yeah, I am."

[liminalmemories21]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

tagged by @screamlet (who I've been reading since at least 2010). Thank you!

1. How many works do you have an AO3? 48

2. What's your total AO3 word count? 711,517

3. What fandoms do you write for? 911 LS, and 911

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? Long Story Short (series) - LS A home isn't always the house we live in - LS It came without ribbons! - LS Always Wear Your Invisible Crown - LS Awful quiet here since love fell asleep - 911

5. Do you respond to comments? I really try to, sometimes I think they get lost in my inbox, but I do try.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? uh, none of them? I don't think I've written anything that doesn't have a happy ending.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? hmmm, maybe It came without ribbons?, or Knave 4 (The Knave of Clubs ... swears he'll take her part). They both end in marriage proposals.

8. Do you get hate on fics? Just a few on Knave 4, which I expected and mostly ignored.

9. Do you write smut? more often than I ever imagined I would

10. Do you write crossovers? I love a good crossover. Haven't written one yet, but would enjoy it.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I know of. Let's keep it that way. (finger's crossed)

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? no

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Yup! All the 911 stuff with @cecilyv - nothing better.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Well, I don't publish WIPs, not because I have an ethical stance on it, but because I'm usually still changing things at the beginning right up until I hit post and I don't understand how people post things as they write them. Not my process.

That being said, there's a LS kidfic that I'd like to finish some day, but every time I look at it I can't figure out where it's going.

16. What are your writing strengths? I feel like this is a thing other people need to tell me? Dialogue? Plot (apparently? or so 200,000 words of Knave-verse would like me to believe).

17. What are your writing weaknesses? brevity

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I'd like to do more of it, because I have characters I write who I think probably do think in another language, but it's not a language I speak, so I don't.

19. First fandom you wrote for? published? Lonestar. unpublished? there's a Merlin story @cecilyv and I wrote for years that is mostly not great, but has it's moments.

20. Favorite fics you've written? ooh, okay:

There were a bunch I wrote early for LS that are kind of character studies that I love - A home isn't always the house we live in (Judd), Stitched with its color (TK & 9/11), and through same of am through haves of give (Enzo)

And, I'd be lying if I didn't say Knave-verse, because I think Knave 2 and Knave 4 are the best things I've ever written - and there is just so much of me in the way TK thinks about art.

And then Baggage That Goes with Mine - because there isn't necessarily me in there, but there is a lot of my history in fandom and the huge cultural shift that I have seen happen since I started reading fic in Tommy's story. Also, I do love me a split timeline narrative.

tagging @walkinginland, @rmd-writes, @alchemistc, @rcmclachlan, and @three-drink-amy

[roomwithanopenfire]

Six Sentence Sunday

Happy Sunday everyone!! Thanks for the tags @blackberrysummerblog and @artsyunderstudy!!

This week I’ve done the big three: writing, editing, and ignoring my wips, with perhaps a bit more of the last one than I’d like. Most of my writing this week has been for an exchange fic for a different fandom, which I finally finished the rough draft of. Cue the celebration. However, even if I wanted to share anything from that, I can’t, it must remain hush-hush, but I am getting pretty excited to share it (and way more excited about receiving my own exchange fic back, this whole thing is very fun).

I’ve written less than 300 words on my COBB this week, and none of them are good, but I have gotten some editing done of Proof of Life. I can’t share any more snippets of the next chapter though because I’ve shared too much already. So instead, I figured I’d do a bit of a process post this time around, because I always love reading those. Check that out under the cut! (and i'm sorry this is long, i still have not learned brevity)

So my editing process isn’t too crazy, and is brought to you almost entirely by google docs comments. I also use the word ‘editing’ very loosely to encompass rewriting, revising, and proofreading. Sometimes editing means completely rewriting a scene/section, sometimes it just means switching around a couple of words or cleaning up a sentence. 

Mostly, I try not to take everything so seriously, because I know that I could edit something forever and ever and never post it if I let myself get too carried away. So I try to keep everything pretty chill. So here’s my steps I go through for each chapter that I edit. 

Step One: Reread the whole chapter. While I do this, I’ll leave comments on big picture things. “Maybe move this scene into the next chapter” or “The dialogue in this scene feels stilted” but I don’t add a lot of comments at this point. Once I’m done with this I’ll copy over any comments I had on the first draft or the beta reader copy over into the ‘draft two’ document. 

Step Two: COMMENTS. Again, my fics are brought to you by google doc comments. I like to go through from the bottom up, reading scene by scene and leaving comments on pretty much every single sentence. 

A lot of the time (read: most of the time) these are really vague like:

And sometimes these are more detailed like:

And occasionally these are compliments

Step Three: Once the whole chapter is filled with comments, I go through scene by scene (in whatever order speaks to me), and rewrite, edit, or fix sections. This part I find really fun, because I’m taking parts that aren’t good yet and I’m making them better. I love fixing things and getting rid of all the comments. It typically ends up being a lot of  rewriting, but I always finish a scene feeling better about it then when I started.

For example, here’s the draft one vs. draft two version of a snippet from the first chapter of Proof of Life. This is one of the scenes I pretty much rewrote. Others look a lot more similar to their original versions.

Original:

Edited:

Step Four: Then before I post a chapter, I’ll read through the whole thing and sometimes find smaller bits to fix. Then I’ll run it through a grammar checker and ignore half of their suggestions in the name of ✨style ✨.

Overall, I feel like I have a pretty basic editing strategy and I’m really pleased with it. Even though sometimes I feel like more robust edits would make everything way better, it’s a good mix of fixing things but not spending too much time on it. I remember I spent like a month on editing the very first fic I posted at that was only 6k words. If I kept doing that for everything, I'd never post anything at all. With fanfiction, I know that y'all will be nice to me even though it's never perfect <333

Tags and Hellos!! (I'm unsure if we still need the spaces, but i've been burned too many times lol)

@you-remind-me-of-the-babe @m1ndwinder @facewithoutheart @run-for-chamo-miles @raenestee

@onepintobean @prettygoododds @noblecorgi @hushed-chorus @angelsfalling16

@thewholelemon @monbons @shrekgogurt @brendughh @hertragedyconnoisseur

@beastmonstertitan @valeffelees @horsesarenotdeer @drowninginships @supercutedinosaurs

@fiend-for-culture @rimeswithpurple @cutestkilla @alexalexinii @ileadacharmedlife

@arthurkko @rbkzz @skeedelvee @bookish-bogwitch @brilla-brilla-estrellita

[kcscribbler]

Seven Sentence Sunday

Tagged by the ever-early @elodiah.

I'm still fiddling with a few WIPs right now and won't be online a lot of the week, so instead have the scene I cut from a recent chapter. I posted bits of it here before and eventually decided to cut it completely. Hope that's okay. 😅

--SOME HOURS LATER--

A warm hand on his brow is what wakes him however long it is later, startling him out of what feels like a remarkably painless sleep, all things considered.

He is not destined for godly or mortal paradise, and this surely cannot be Hel?

Mobius makes a vaguely surprised noise when he realizes Loki’s eyes are open. “Hey, there you are.”

His own eyes are dark-shadowed, pinched at the corners as they always are when he has a headache, but he seems much calmer than Loki remembers last seeing him. And looks utterly exhausted. His hair is sticking up everywhere, as if he’s been dragging his hands through it repeatedly.

“Are you really awake this time?”

Loki blinks for a few seconds, trying to sort through the confused muddle of his last recollection, before nodding somewhat uncertainly.

Mobius chuckles, and reaches somewhere beyond Loki’s vision, bringing back a plastic bottle of water and uncapping it. “Go slow,” he warns, slipping a hand behind Loki’s neck to assist with a better angle.

Cool and refreshing, the water is most welcome. It serves to slowly wash back what Loki now realizes must have been a very near-death experience, if his memories are accurate. The acrid bite of the cursed dagger seems to have vanished, as it should have within these walls and the cast Runes they hold; and while the wound is no longer radiating such agony as he last remembers, it is very much still in existence, that much is clear.

Even the small effort of drinking seems to sap the rest of his energy, however, and it is with great struggle that he forces his eyes open again, not willing to fall back into that darkness without first ascertaining their safety. He appears to be lying semi-sprawled on the ground, like a marionette with its strings cut. A downy pillow rests under his head, and he is covered with what feels like half a dozen coverings – but that is definitely the hard, chilled stone floor under him.

Oh. Yes, good. Mobius had understood Loki’s basically non-existent directions, and had opened a Door directly beneath them to drop them into relative safety in the Citadel. It would have been a bit of a tumble, but certainly better than remaining where they were. Loki spares a brief moment to be impressed that Mobius had figured it out quickly enough to keep him from exsanguination, but that full story will likely need to wait.

Mobius puts a hand on his shoulder, as if reading his confusion on his face. “I assume we’re safe, for now,” he reassures, calm and soothing. “And do I have a load of questions for you about this place! When you’re feeling better, anyway.”

“…Questions?”

“They can wait. You need rest.”

Loki shifts a bit against the cold floor, and immediately is informed by his own physiology of just how not healed he is. Mobius’ face twists in sympathy. “You’re doing a lot better than you were yesterday, but it’s not gonna be a fun recovery, I'm guessing. ‘Specially without magic."

“If this is a lot better,” Loki rasps, breathing heavily, “then I shudder to think of the previous state.”

Mobius worries at a little string fraying on one of the blankets. “You’re not the only one,” he finally says. “I was sure Valhalla was putting another place setting on that long table.”

Loki reaches up to place an unsteady hand on his, noting the absence of the ring which had done its job perhaps a little too well. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“You should be,” Mobius retorts, but he turns his hand to lace their fingers tightly. “Oldest trick in the book, and you fell right for it. Damn it, Loki.”

“Forgive me if I find it rather difficult to focus on myself when there is a lesser variant of me with a blade at your throat.” Mobius snorts, amused despite himself at the designation. Loki exhales in a pained grunt. “Might we adjourn to something softer than the floor?”

“I think so, yeah. If you can make it upright for a few seconds, I can use the momentum to get you settled. I’ll get you something to drink with sugar in it, too. Even if your magic kicks back in, it isn’t gonna fix blood loss. You really need a doctor.”

“I would like to try to heal myself first, if you’d be so kind as to assist.”

Mobius nods and gets to one knee beside what Loki now realizes is a makeshift pallet on the floor; and no wonder, since Mobius could never have gotten him up alone. The runes hidden in the walls were just enough to cancel out the curse from the blade, though it does not feel as if his magic is even close to returning. Perhaps assisting a bit with healing, but nothing more.

Brows drawn with worry, Mobius locks one hand around Loki’s and firmly grasps a bony elbow with the other hand. “Ready?” he asks.

Loki nods, braces himself with opposite hand against the floor, and clenches his jaw to prevent a shout of pain when he pushes off, hauled to his feet and kept there with remarkable strength given that it takes a moment for him to find his footing. It is only a few meters to the bed, but it might well have been light-years, for as much as he is exhausted again, limp and breathing heavily, when they finally reach it.

Mobius fusses for a few minutes with the pillows, carefully arranging them so Loki can sleep on his uninjured side instead of his back, facing the middle of the bed. A glass of some sweet-smelling fruit juice is held to Loki’s lips, and then set on the table after he drinks from it. Mobius then retrieves the blankets from the floor, arranging and rearranging them until Loki, already half-asleep again, finally drags his eyes open and catches his wrist mid-action.

“What is it? What do you need?”

“You,” Loki whispers. “I need you safe, and I need you to rest. Please.”

It is telling that he gets no argument against the latter. Mobius just nods, and then after a moment of hesitation slips off his shoes and settles somewhat awkwardly on the other half of the not-exactly-oversized bed. Loki watches through half-closed lids as he fidgets with the unfamiliar sleeves of the pajamas. Discovered prowling around, no doubt, while Loki slept. He turns up the cuffs of the simple brown top, and then unrolls them again. And again. And again.

His hands are shaking.

“Are you all right?” Loki asks.

Mobius immediately stops and then squirrels under the sheet and quilt, offering what Loki can immediately tell is a forced smile as he settles in, hands folded neatly over his chest. “Don’t you worry about me,” he says quietly.

Loki’s lips curve in a faint smile. “I have done nothing but that, these last months,” he admits. It is, perhaps, a little too honest, a little too fraught with pain, for right now. “With good reason, it would seem. I told you that you were too trusting.”

A faint snort, but Mobius seems to then relax and fall back into old bantering habits, exhaling in a gusty sigh. “Yeah, yeah. Rub it in.” He side-eyes Loki briefly, and despite the weight of these last months seems to silently agree that, and all its unspoken consequences, is a discussion for the morrow. Instead, he simply turns on his side to face Loki, watchful and silent.

Loki manages a shallow, measured exhale and inhale. Another, and then another, until the pain is bearable.

“Please tell me we’re not going to talk about things right now,” he then rasps.

A brief chuckle, even if it’s tinged with sadness. “Not unless you want to.”

“Actually, I do. But not – not until I can think clearly,” he says, a little more candid than he meant. He blinks a few times and allows the pain to settle, to become a Thing of the body, not the mind. He has had far worse, after all.

Mobius huffs what seems to be a sigh of relief. “Sounds like a plan.” He pats Loki’s shoulder and then turns to shut off the light.

Loki’s eyelids droop against his will, but he reaches out across the space, careful not to stretch too far, and settles for leaving his hand there as he loses the fight against sleep.

Tagging @lokimobius @doomed-spectacles @insert-witty-user-name-here @mirilyawrites @loki-is-my-kink-awakening

@in-my-loki-feels @andthekitchensinkao3 @mythical-magik @scifikimmi and @thosegayoldmen

Whatcha workin' on this week?

[seastarblue]

Creators Club: Friday Roundup

✨Good day!✨

For this Friday of Creators Club (hosted by @bardic-tales ) I’m gonna share what I did this week in regards to Writing! Things!

it got a tad long so you know the drill! Under the cut!

———

Actual Writing:

Uh… hahah… not really? I wrote a very little amount this week I’ve been focused on school and worldbuilding for when I wasn’t at school

so to the next one!

Worldbuilding:

Started making a map! I still need to figure out how to make it accurate, but the thoughts are there!

Worked on some world building posts surrounding the area my stories take place in

New Characters?

No…

Building on Existsing Characters?

Yes!

Ive been working on the Main gang’s dynamics and such

Ive also started working on a Villain … eheheh

ive built on the Fifth Order and I’m really liking this one guy called Nero idk why he’s funny

hes not even that important

Anything Else?

I’ve decided that I want my main WIP to be called… 🥁 Interwoven!

I’ll start referring to it as that but I’m still going to tag it as sea’s story 1

also I spruced up my intro! It needed the makeover frfr ✨

What I want to Achieve:

I need to figure out whether or not I want Felix to Live

also how to introduce Juno and Mael to the story

and I think that concludes it! May or may not have written too much but oh well !

[nerdieforpedro]

Weekend Update 05/19/2024

Three weeks in a row. I should play the lottery, I might hit for some big money!

Nerdie, please. We think it’s fine that you play the lottery, but have you done much this week?

I will have you know, that I worked three 12 hour shifts in a row, one of which I was the charge nurse. Something I’ve never done before and only had a 4 hour class once. The person that was supposed to be training me was not there so I just did trial by fire. I also worked this weekend. 

Though the highlight of the week was Friday night!

What? You had a hot date? Good for you!

Huh? This is Nerdie you’re talking about, no. Not at all what happened. I got to see Hozier live in a concert! It was wonderful! I might still be singing all the songs, have played them for my coworkers and that one guy whose room I was in for 30 minutes getting him cleaned up and bed changed should know a fair bit of “Almost (Sweet Music)” and “Something New.” I think I also had a brunch with my family this week somewhere in there.

We have so many questions…did that man even know what you were singing? Is he now a fan? How was brunch? How did you even find out about the concert? Why wasn’t that the first thing you said?

Sometimes you gotta bury the lead. Brunch was with mama Nerdie and two of Nerdie’s brothers. I have three total. I’m the only girl. The concert was magical, I’m trying to figure out something for September but it’s likely sold out. I think I really lucked out last Friday. 

Nerdie, do you have anything fanfic related? We’re happy to know you’re doing well. We wonder sometimes, but you know, this is Tumblr.

This week will be a bit different. I did a lot of reading last week but this week, I didn’t read much of anything except beta reading for a couple people. So Nerdie will highlight some series she thinks you should peek at:

Symphony by @maggiemayhemnj (A wonderful series featuring Joel - who is having a moment with his new hair by the way. I did notice, how could one not? Has Joel and a female OFC in post outbreak Jackson.) Fun fact - one of my patients called me symphony so it’s going to be one of my many aliases now.

If Wishes Came True by @schnarfer (A Dieter Bravo trilogy. Our beloved trash panda is many things and has many expressions, some not so great. Can it turn into something worthwhile?)

Headshots by @secretelephanttattoo (Marcus Pike - being the sweet man that he is. The OFC is a photographer. Love blooms. It will give you warm fuzzies and you’ll sniffle. It’s totally fine to do so.)

Bloody Kisses by @perotovar (Shane Morrissey and Tim rockford are the combo I was not aware I needed and now I think about them. The longing, the realization, the understanding, the build up, and the growing pains. Just read it and you’ll get it.)

IRL by @grogusmum (A sweet Javi G fic. You and Javi have been chatting about your shared interest in movies and sparks fly. So much so that you fly to see him in person. How does that go? Read and find out.)

These are five series I’ve read, loved and will read again because I enjoy them. I hope you all do too. 

I believe I did post a Dieter one shot for the Dieter Bravo Brain Rot May challenge about aliens. 

Also @fhatbhabiee back! 💖💖

I was tagged by people for WIP Wednesday through Saturday so I’ll do something from my not titled Pero x Dragon fic (look - it was a thought I had and it morphed into this but it’s dialogue):

Darkness is beginning to take him as is the cold. Pero cannot feel his limbs nor tell if he’s moving them. “Hmmpf, you care nothing of your life? Just to let it slip away like this. You appeared to be a warrior of some sort. Do all human warriors lay on their belly and wait for their final breath? Such a pity.” This voice, such torture before death to be mocked like this, couldn’t he have died in battle?  “I’m already in hell only hearing this voice before I die. Goddammit.” The mercenary laments.  “Are all humans fools like this? Why will you not heed my words? I am not trying to reach you for simple vexation.” “Stop with your flowery words then. Say what you actually need. I’m not going to listen to you the entire time before I leave this earth.”

Pero is the type to curse and argue with demons, angels, monsters and Gods if it means he has the last word. I stand by this. Contrary to what this conversation reads like, Pero does not die. His fate could be worse than death, we’ll have to see. 👀

The Peeps who maybe tagged me? @tinytinymenace @connectioneverywhere @magpiepills @604to647 @djarinmuse

@megamindsecretlair and @for-a-longlongtime There are either people I missed or people who didn't tag me. My bad either way. 🤣

I’ve also been toying with which series between my Marcus therapy series and my sweet Javi P series to start posting on Tumblr. I’m not sure which one. Everyone one’s welcome to ask me questions about any of these WIPs, just know I may not stop talking about them like most fic writers. 

I think I do dialogue well in my fics, and wacky ideas, but I could use work on world building, smut, descriptions and other things. I think. Who knows, I'm just going to keep wiring and we'll see what happens.

Stay safe and hydrated everyone!

Love Nerdie!

[wintrwinchestr]

wip wednesday

heyyy, how yall doin… i’ve been working on something that im excited about and excited to share when im done :) it’s going to be another 2 part mini series, i plan on finishing both parts at once but posting them separately, maybe a week apart at the most. we’re looking at probably around 12k-15k for both parts together. despite what you read below, this will be a very dark joel!! i will be sure to tag both parts boldly and appropriately.

here’s a hefty snippet of our intro to this joel:

“You need a ride, sweetheart?” A man asks in a gravelly voice, and you can still hardly make out what he looks like. Based on the southern accent you pick up on, he doesn’t sound like he’s from around here.

“N-no, thank you. I’m okay,” you respond shakily, taking a nervous step back from the stranger and his rusted pickup.

“You sure? Looked like you were cryin’ over here, like you might be lost or somethin’.”

“‘M not lost, I know where I’m going.”

“Oh yeah? Where’s that?”

Shit.

You take a guess.

“Um… the motel down the road,” you reply, tilting your head in the direction you had been walking in.

“There ain’t a motel down there, sweetheart. Ain’t nothin’ in either direction for miles, ‘s all just farmland out here. Reckon you’ve already figured that out, though.”

You pause, unsure of what your next move should be. He knows you’re lying, knows you’re alone with no fucking idea where you are or where you’re going. You could run, but even that shitty truck of his could catch up to you in a matter of seconds. You take another step back, swiveling your head around to look up and down the road as you try to figure your best way out of this.

“Just lemme give you a ride somewhere, darlin’. There’s a diner just off the exit, ‘bout twenty miles up ahead. Could take you that far, at least, get you somethin’ to eat” he offers. A warm meal does sound pretty good right now, and you suppose you aren’t exactly in a position to refuse his help.

You think on it for a second. “What’s it called? The diner.”

The stranger huffs. “Moody’s.”

“What do they have?” you challenge.

“It’s a fuckin’ diner off the side of the freeway, darlin’. They got greasy food and black coffee, ‘s about all you need.”

You don’t say anything.

Then, after a beat—“They got some kinda sloppy mess they call the Thunder Burger. ‘S got onion rings and shit on it. Ain’t half bad.”

You have to admit, he’s passing your pop quiz with flying colors. His answers have been too quick, too specific for him to be lying to you. There’s a pretty solid chance this diner does exist, and that he’s been there before. The man hasn’t said anything that’s indicated he wants anything more to do with you than to offer you a ride and some dinner. He’s probably just somebody’s harmless grandfather, anyway, judging by his motheaten flannel and gray-stricken beard you can see now that you’ve approached his truck a few paces closer.

“Okay,” you concede, your stomach growling loudly as the man leans over the bench seat to pop open the passenger side door for you. You shrug off your backpack and climb into the cabin, clicking your seatbelt into place as you situate yourself on the cracked leather seat.

[setaripendragon]

Okay, now I'm kinda interested in what the Kingsman "The King's Whores" wip is about...

=D I am so glad you asked!

Basically, it's a post!Secret Service (not Golden Circle or King's Man compliant) fic where Harry gets found alive and comes back to take the position of Arthur, and the first thing he has to do is replace a bunch of agents who died because of the four minutes of murder.

Eggsy decides that his own appointment wasn't scandalous enough, and not only does Kingsman have a classism problem, it also has a sexism problem, and goes trawling the east end's street hookers for his candidates for the trials.

The story is told from the PoV of a street hooker called Emma who is Massively Confused about this rich-ass chav who's paying her and a bunch of other girls a lot of money for the privilege of... taking them to dinner at the Ritz?

The plan is to have Eggsy run a couple of 'tests' to check for general comatibility (the ritz), physical ability (free running? laser tag? adult-sized jungle gym? I haven't decided yet), and some sort of puzzle-solving/detectiving skills (city wide treasure hunt? some sort of pin the tail on the asshole rich guy??? still a bit vague on this one, ngl) and Emma eventually gets bonus points for pretty much figuring out what Eggsy's looking for and possibly catching him bugging them all and such.

And the grand finale is going to be Eggsy presenting these three to Merlin as his candidates, and ALL of the other agents and candidates pulling faces as the girls fly through the Kingsman tests in a little epilogue montage and, like, two out of three of them getting the job or something.

(Harry thinks it's delightful, and fist-bumps Eggsy when Emma's knighted, much to the agony of all the other stuffed-up inbred aristocrats in Kingsman)

Have an excerpt:

“If you want us to get in your car, you’re gonna have to tell us where the hell you’re taking us.” Emma informed him with a grimace. So far, he’d been remarkably polite and respectful, but she knew full well just how quickly that could change once a bloke didn’t need to be. And sure, there were more of them than there were of him, but she couldn’t guarantee on it staying that way.

Eggsy thought about it for a moment, then nodded in a ‘that’s fair’ sort of way. “Dinner at at the Ritz.” He informed them blandly, and then grinned with mischief.

“Bullshit.” Emma snapped.

Eggsy sobered up at that, but he didn’t look angry to be called out, or even irritated. He just looked sombre. “I give you my word, that’s all. Dinner, two hours, and I’ll drop you all back here in exactly the same condition you’re in now, only better fed, and maybe a little bit tipsy. They got good wine there.” He put his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “And you don’t have to come. The money’s yours whether you do or don’t, but hey, when else’re you gonna get to make all the waiters at the Ritz uncomfortable as hell?”

That was tempting, Emma had to admit, but she also had her kids to think about, and if she got abducted, who the hell would look after them? “Your word?” Laura challenged, unimpressed.

“A true gentleman never breaks his word.” Eggsy replied sincerely, and it was an odd thing to hear in such a common accent, but Emma was pretty good at reading people, and she was pretty damn sure he meant it.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 20

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: Have a good day.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The crackling of the fire grows clearer as the tides of sleep swirl and still. Your eyelids part to the flicker of the hearth, a figured limned in the rustic haze, looming over you, lifting you, moving you with ease. You stir and fidget, pressing a hand to the firm wall against your arm. The woolly tunic scratches against your palm as you feel the pulsing of a heartbeat beneath.  

You look up at the square jaw of your accoster. King Geralt lays you on the mattress, your disposed clothes cleared away from the corner. He's gentle as he sets your head on the pillow, caressing your cheek and your hip as he draws away. He stands, looking down on you as his fingers curl and extend, a hot breath rushing from his nostrils. 

You watch him as the the world sharpens around you and a flow rolls over you like cold water. You push yourself up on your elbows as the king's eyes rove your figure beneath the thin shift. He sways and brushes his hand over his chest, letting out a deep rumble. 

You want to say something. Anything. Just a word to break the fragile tension between you. You can't get a single noise out. He stares down at you with his gold eyes, like coins shining, forged in flame. 

He sits on the edge of the bed, snug to you as he rests his hand on the other side of you, tenting his arm over you. His other crawls along your shoulder and down to your wrist, walking back up again. His fingertips spread goose prickles along your flesh as you lay frozen in his fiery exploration. 

The haze of the fireplace, the gleam of his eyes, and the dregs of your drowsiness make you doubt the realness of it all. Are you dreaming still? Everything is so much more than it should be. His heat, his touch, the way you can feel his need radiating from him. 

You fall flat, staring at him, entranced by him. He brings his calloused palm to cradle your face. You gasp and latch onto his wrist.He lets his fingers flutter away and turns his arm, looking down at your grasp on him, cautious but firm. You see how his cheek strains and he sits up, grazing his other hand over yours.  

He covers your hand with both of his and draws it up. He unveils it like some precious treasure and kisses each knuckle. You shake as each brush of his lips tingles through you. He pulls back and keeps hold of you, lowering your hand between you. 

"You fear me," he says, "you fear what I want from you." His voice is low and sonorous, "I want nothing from you. I only want you, my summer maid." He inhales deeply and lets it out with a quaver as you feel the tremor in him, "my treasure." 

Your eyes sting and tears soften the lines in your vision. You shake your head, a knot in your throat, a pinch in your chest. He brings your hand flat to one of yours and twines his thick fingers between yours. The difference is drastic, a reflection of your status. He is all-powerful and you are a speck in the wind. 

"I have worn a heavy crown, I have raised an army, I have bled in battle, and not of it can compare to this, my treasure. You are my greatest achievement. By fates, I found you. I thought that I was destined to sit the throne, to unite these peoples, to hold it all in my hand," he squeezes, "but this is all I need have in my grasp. This is what called me to your southern plains. All of it for you. I have won it and so quickly as you bid me, I would give it up." 

Your lashes flick as your heart swells. He cannot mean it. Not any of it. You are only a maid. 

"You have your fear, little maid, and I have mine. They are one and the same," he gazes down at you, eyes wrought in layers of pain, sadness, and longing, like the sediment of the earth, worn and weathered through the years. "I fear myself all the same as you. I have withheld myself for as long as I can and yet I feel myself dwindling. I feel the rope fraying." 

You sniff and shake your head, "your highness..." you croak and your voice seems to crackle in the air, "Queen Jazlene--" 

"Do not speak her name. I beg of you. Treasure, I beg. I will beg you anon." 

He keeps hold of you and shifts off the bed. He brings himself to his knees at the side of the bed, clinging to you as he once more kisses your hand. As you lay helpless to him. 

"Do not fear me. How can you when I only mean to worship you," he rasps. "As any treasure, I only mean to prize you, to hold you dear, to keep you from those who would steal you away. To keep you for my own. Treasure, you are mine, all mine. By rights, I, King Geralt of Rivia and the Hinterlands, claim you. No other shall have you. Upon my life, I could not bear it." 

You close your eyes, ice trickling into your veins at his declaration. He is king, he is the almighty, and you are his. You are sworn to serve and by rights of marriage, you are bound to him. Even if it wrong, even it transcends the vow he spoke to another, a king may bend the laws as serve his purposes. A maid may only obey. 

"You have forsaken me," you whisper. 

He kneels in silence, lowering his head to rest on your hand. You lay in tableau, strangled and solemn, as he prostrates himself at your side. As a mourner might do for some tragic corpse. Is that not what this is? Grief for the treachery of it all. 

"I belong to you," he speaks at last, rising as he releases you. Your eyes roll open and pinpoint on him.  

He turns away and pulls at his tunic, stripping it from his broad shoulders, revealing a back ridged with muscles. He drops it on the seat of a chair and sits in another. He is patient as he unbinds the straps of his boots and removes each in turn, placing them neatly aside. He undresses piece by piece, rapt in the task of his dissembling. 

He remains only in his braies, the short garment ending at the top of his thick thighs. His stomach is as thick as the rest of his, muscles wrapping around his arms and chest, fur like the very wolf he's sewn into his cloak. He approaches the bed and you steel yourself for him. 

He lifts himself over you, hovering just above, his hands above your shoulders as he holds himself on his knees, straddling as he once did in the moonlight of your unconscious. He peers down and breathes a scalding plume upon you. You shiver and meet his eyes, unable to repress the wash of terror that comes over you. 

He pushes himself to the other side of you, folding his arm to fall upon his side. His other stretches over your stomach as he nestles against your side. He lays on his shoulder, facing you, and his nose brushes your temple. You clutch a fold of the blankets in your hand as his traces the shape of your side, playing with the seam of your shift. 

His touch creeps over your stomach and his lips dance on your cheek. He exhales your name into your ear and his hand cups one side of your chest. A whimper escapes your throat as your nipple hardens, poking him as he fondles you. He is gentle but diligent, eager as he explores your body, as if you are another map to be conquered. 

He trails up to your neck and his thumb draws a line along your throat. You feel his gaze but cannot face it. It burns hotter than the heart. He touches jaw and chin, as if he's never seen anything like you; cheekbones, nose, forehead, as if he is an artist moulding a statue.  

He presses his straight nose to your cheek and drapes his arm around you once more. He embraces you from the side. He tucks his fingers under you and you bring your hand to his thick forearm, feeling the soft hair along it. You claps onto him and shudder at the ceiling. 

"You will not always fear me," he whispers, "when you see the world for what it is, when you see me truly, you will feel as I do." He snarls as he leans his weight into you. "You cannot fight fate, my treasure. Even a king cannot bid what is written by destiny." 

You let every ounce of strength drain from you. You sink into the mattress, surrendering to his will. Whatever he might do, whatever he might demand of you, you will give in. That is your duty. 

He purrs as his own body relaxes, "I only wish to feel you, little maid. My soul needs yours close." He closes his eyes and bows his head to rest against yours. You shut your eyes once more but know you will not rest.  

You are afraid. You are terrified. All your life you've served but this is more than you've ever been asked. The peril is all yours. A king would never face the same atonement as a maid. 

⚔️

The king enshrines you in his warmth. You examine the white strands of his hair as you lay in his arms. Your gaze wanders further to his rounded muscle, the unmatched strength woven in his body. His statue matches the intangible authority attached to his very being. He is power incarnate. 

You feel smaller as you lay beside him. The night passes, as it will not matter water. Time marches on like the very army that invaded your homeland at the behest of the man now clinging to you. Just a maid. Just a deceiver. 

You turn your eyes past the king's sleeping form. His rumbling snores underline the soft crackle of embers breaking down. You cannot remove the danger buried deep in your chest. Memories only drive it deeper and deeper. 

Your remember when Jazlene was only a girl. You've known her through every year of her life. You've seen her grow from cradle to crown. She might be flawed, she might be selfish and rotten and mean, but she is still that life you watch round the duchess' stomach when you were but yourself a child. She is still a living being. 

There was a time when she did not obsess over jewels and silks and bottle. When you both were just young and naive. When she counted and you hid, then switched places. When you revealed yourself form behind your hands and she giggled in amazement. That time is gone and you only see doom ahead of you. 

You can't lay there any longer. 

You move the king's arm off of you and sit up. You put your back to him and bend over your lap. How you could melt to a puddle like the icy outside those castle walls. How you might wilt away like a flower without shade. 

You do not dare leave the bed. Your emotions cannot overrule the man behind you. You flinch as he quiets and his snoring turns to a long groan. A tickle crawls up your back as he touches you. He pinches the fabric, tugging it as if to get your attention. 

"Are you well, treasure?" He asks with grit in his throat. 

"It is morning," you say, though the shutters block out the day, "shall I fetch you something to break your fast?" 

He sighs and his hand fists the back of your shift. He pulls until you twist to look at him. He props himself on one elbow, holding his head as he looks at you. His expression is not as stony as it usually is. He is not the statuesque king, he is just a man, entirely vulnerable in nothing more than a piece of cloth. 

"I don't want you to be maid this day," he touches your hip, his eyes dipping to watch his hand. "I want to... show you something. I want you to know this land. Once you do, you will know me." 

"As you wish, your highness." 

His brows lower and he pushes himself up, sitting against the pillows, "it doesn't need be. What do you wish, treasure? Tell me and I will grant it?" 

You push up one shoulder, "I wish for nothing. A maid does not..." 

"Not a maid," he insists again, "you, what do you wish?" 

You lower your head and turn back to the chamber, "I would see your land. Show me then what I have not already seen." 

His forceful breath uneases you. He is disappointed, though you say exactly what you should. What he should want. You will heed his desire, he only need declare it. 

"Very well," he jostles the bed as he moves to sit beside you, "you will need to dress warmly. I will have gloves and a hat. Some boots," his arm is snug to yours, " 

"Thank you, your highness," you utter. 

"No, Geralt. My name is Geralt." 

Your chest racks and your shoulders feel as if there are pins stuck in the joint. Your lips part then clamp together. You try to muster your voice but it catches like phlegm. You nearly choke. 

"Will you say it?" He asks gently. 

You turn to glance at him. It feels next to blasphemy. You blink and he reaches to frame your face with his large hand. 

"To hear my name on your lips would me like a sacred melody. Please, treasure, just for me, you can say it," he pleads. 

You take a breath through your nose and let it out in a wisp, "Geralt." 

He smiles and his thumb runs along your chin to your lower lip, "again." 

"Geralt," you say louder and he toys with your lip, his golden eyes narrowing on it, hungering for it as if a starving man looking upon a fine citrus. 

"Again," he commands once more. 

"Ger--" 

You cannot finish is name as he covers your mouth with his. He smothers you in his need, pulling you against him, snaring you in his arms. He brings you over him as he falls onto his back, moaning as he delights in the taste of you, nibbling at your bottom lip. He hums and draws away as you breathless stare down at him. 

"I have never known paradise, not in the hinter or the summer, but I find it here," he growls, "upon my very chest, in my very arms. If only it could be forever." 

[umbracirrus]

WIP Wednesday! 💛

So, I actually scheduled this to post on Sunday because I, as seems to be a trend with me at the moment, came up with a new OC - her name is Ragna Copper-Vein, and though she starts out as a bandit... she eventually ends up as Jarl Siddgeir's housecarl and partner :3

Here is an excerpt of what I have written in the run-up to her becoming his housecarl. For context, she was raised as a bandit at Knifepoint Ridge and tried to kill Siddgeir when he tried to have her camp eradicated for not paying him. She was arrested for it and is serving a life sentence, but gets a lifeline from Siddgeir.

I'm not sure if this will end up as a multi-chapter fic or a long oneshot when it's done! But it will be all done when I do go to post it.

Tagging a handful of people this time (with no obligations to post anything though!) @hircines-hunter (who has been listening to me go on about Raggy and Siddy on discord!!), @skyrim-forever, @thequeenofthewinter, @throughtrialbyfire, @bostoniangirl21 ,

@oblivions-dawn and anyone who wants to post a WIP!

Under a read more due to length 😊

--------

It had been a long few months for Siddgeir, and it had all started with the Empire deciding that they wanted to execute Ulfric Stormcloak in his hold. The sooner the war the better in his opinion, even better if the Stormcloaks were to be defeated with the death of their leader, because how in Oblivion did they expect to keep things running in Skyrim with what little money they would have once the Empire was removed?

He had allowed them to use Helgen, and he thought that would be the end of that, and things could finally get back to normality. Perhaps he could even begin pulling the strings to try and become the next High King – the throne of Skyrim was empty, and being a Jarl wasn't that hard, so surely being King would not be much harder?

He never expected to hear that Helgen got destroyed by a dragon, that Ulfric Stormcloak had escaped, and a majority of people within the walls of the town had died. That had been an absolute headache in trying to sort out, even with Nenya handling much of the paperwork and Runil tending to the dead.

After that, to the north, the Jarl of Whiterun suddenly started mobilising guards to the border of their holds in Riverwood. It was presumably as a result of what happened in Helgen to protect the people there, but it was something which had needed to be kept a close eye on for a while.

Then the bandits which he had so generously permitted to stay on his land for a fee had started holding back their payments. First Bilegulch Mine, followed by Knifepoint Ridge. The rest were keeping up – for now – likely because a message had been sent showing them the consequences of what was to happen if payments were to stop.

To top it all off? That woman from Knifepoint Ridge who had the gall to tell him that they supposedly had no money before attempting to assassinate him when he decided that they had to face the consequences. Supposedly she was behaving in jail, he had seen it himself on the few times he had ventured in that direction to ensure that the guards were not lying, but she had proven herself to be quite… volatile, based on her original attack. Who knew what other magic she could use? Who knew what other weapons she could have hidden away?

He still needed to figure out what to do with her too. Even for someone who attempted to kill him, he could use her abilities to his advantage… she would eventually be an asset to him. Nenya would no doubt be able to come up with something for her to do.

The only good thing which seemed to have happened for him over recent months was that he had a new Thane. A survivor of Helgen who had made quite the name for themselves in the weeks following the disaster, and had proven themselves quite handy with a blade – they had taught the bandits at both Bilegulch and Knifepoint a lesson for him, after all. They had also bought a plot of land in the hold, and was frequenting the city and its businesses often, or so he had been told.

He had found himself at the Dead Man's Drink a lot more often than usual as a result of it all. He'd also persuaded Valga to start stocking Black-Briar mead, which was something too. It was a lot easier to wind down with all of the nonsense that was going on with a real drink.

It was as he was returning to his longhouse after one such visit that something began to feel… wrong. As though there was another thing to add onto the pile of troubles in Falkreath.

He was proven right when he opened the door to his longhouse, and saw a group of guards gathered, with the sound of Nenya calling for them to make some space coming from somewhere within. He approached the group, and cleared his throat, which made the chatter stop almost instantly. A few of the guards stepped aside, allowing him to approach the source of the commotion…

Helvard was lying face-down on the ground, blood spread across his armour and the floorboards around him. A dagger was lodged into his back, pinning a sheet of paper bearing a black handprint to his body.

Somebody had assassinated his housecarl. He couldn't not have a housecarl!

"Where is the miserable wretch who did this, hm?" he asked, looking between Nenya and the guards who had the nerve to remain standing around. "Well?"

There was a nervous chitter from among the guards. "W… We don't know, my Jarl. He was found like-"

"Well find them! And get Runil and Kust to remove the body!" he snapped, which is all it took for them to spring into action and quickly make their way out the longhouse.

After that, he took a few deep breaths, before turning towards Nenya. "That could have easily been me, had I not gone to Dead Man's Drink," he stated, his brow furrowing. "If I was the intended target of the attack, I simply cannot go without a housecarl. What do we do?"

Nenya frowned, taking a quick glance towards Helvard's body before letting out a quiet sigh. "I don't know, Jarl Siddgeir…"

"Most of the guards have proven themselves incompetent from that little show a few moments ago, and aside from them not many people currently in Falkreath are warriors beyond the new Thane. Who else in this forsaken hold knows how to hold a blade?!"

"My Jarl… There is somebody, actually, though I do not know whether they would be willing or whether you would be too happy with them being your housecarl…"

"And who is it?"

"Your attempted assassin."

Siddgeir scoffed, before starting to laugh. "Ragna? Her? You must be joking."

"You saw what she could do when she tried to kill you… Perhaps with incentive, you could get her to use those abilities against those who wish you harm."

He brought his hand up to his chin for a moment, thinking the idea through. Nenya wasn't wrong… He knew that there was a reason he had kept her on as his steward when he was given the title of Jarl.

"Fine then. And if it does not work out, then she continues her sentence in prison. Come now, Nenya. Let's talk to her."

"N-Now?"

"Yes, now. The longer I am without a housecarl, the more danger I could be in."

----------------

It was late at night, and Ragna somehow found herself having trouble getting to sleep. Even with an actual bed in her cell now, she just couldn't seem to get comfortable – perhaps she had simply spent too long lying on the ground over recent years that it just felt odd to be using a bed now. It also didn't help that the guards appeared to be rather jittery, whispering to each other and constantly being on the move. Maybe something had happened. Or maybe they had finally noticed that the man from the cell at the other side of the jail had escaped after turning into a damned werewolf days ago.

All that she could really do was lie down with her eyes closed, arms folded behind her head with one of her legs propped up, trying not to focus on the hushed chatter outside the cell. However, she couldn't do that for long, the sound of somebody approaching the cell caught her attention, before they blocked some of the light from outside which she could vaguely make out through her closed eyes.

She opened the eye closest to the cell doors and tutted when she saw Siddgeir and Nenya stood there.

“What do you want, Siddy?” she remarked, hearing him scoff in disgust at the nickname. She'd figured out on the occasional visits to the jail he had made to check that she was behaving that he despised being called that, so had kept up with calling him that every time that she saw him.

“Well, I was going to offer you the opportunity to be free of this cell, but if you are to be like that...”

Freedom?

She sat upward on the bed, and properly turned to look at the pair. “Fine. What do you want, Siddgeir?”

He narrowed his eyes at the sarcastic tone in which she said his name. “Helvard is... Indisposed, at present. I need a housecarl.”

Nenya let out a sigh. “Helvard has been killed in a targeted attack,” she explained, her brow creased up in worry. “We are concerned that Jarl Siddgeir may also be a target, and decided that the best option with regard to his protection and Helvard’s replacement would be the person who got closest to killing the Jarl. You are quick, alert, and know how to use more than just a blade."

Ragna let out a snort as she raised an eyebrow. "Is this some sort of joke? I tried killing him, how do you know that I won't try again?"

"It would come with both a room at the Jarl’s longhouse and pay... You would also be free from this cell, effective immediately.”

She'd never had a consistent income before. It was... tempting. Incredibly so. Fenric would be rolling in his grave at the thought of her having actually done something with herself too… But it would mean spending the rest of her life in the vicinity of Siddgeir. Ironically the cause of the recent string of disasters in her life.

“So... One prison for another, huh? Shackled to Siddy’s side...”

“Ragna!” His voice was like a hiss as he glared.

“... Fine. I’ll do it.”

[facewithoutheart]

Ten Questions for Writers

Thanks for the tags @shrekgogurt, @artsyunderstudy, @youarenevertooold, & @roomwithanopenfire I’m enjoying all this navel-gazing a whole bunch actually & I’ve done this before but it’s been awhile… sooo

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 169 (niiiice)

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? ~950k (yikes) although some of that is Birthday Man and collabs with people from WIP fest. Don’t ask me to do the math tho; that’s mean.

3. What fandoms do you write for? I’ve written for HP, Check Please, and RWRB although right now I’m mostly a CO writer with a toe dipping into 9-1-1. I have one Captain America fic posted and some WIPs I don’t know if I’ll finish. Nobody look at that AFTG fic; it’s pure crack.

4. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? Whoo boy do I have thoughts here. I want to be the kind of writer who replies to comments and I harbor so much guilt that I’m not; I know I miss out on opportunities to connect with readers, and I genuinely appreciate comments so much; I hoard them in my inbox like a greedy lil affirmation dragon. I write to engage and connect. So, like, I know I should but at the same time I hate forcing interactions. I like them to spawn organically. I keep my circle small because I get really emotionally overwhelmed and then I feel guilty when I can’t give people what they deserve. And I’ve also never been comfortable with compliments or gratitude, I don’t trust them. So here’s a bulk of emotional trauma no one asked for to say: I don’t reply to comments as often as I feel I should and I’m trying to release the guilt I feel about this while also recognizing that not commenting probably has a direct negative affect on my ability to meet my goal of connecting through writing and at the same time my mental health probably couldn’t withstand the pressure I would need to place on it to get to where I’m replying to comments regularly. Hi I’m a mess who’s trying to love herself and often falls short of that goal; aren’t we all?

5. Have you ever had a fic stolen? No.

6. Have you ever co-written a fic before? So many actually! I didn’t think I’d ever get to a place where I trust someone else to the level this would take but I’ve been really lucky to work with some amazing writers even if not all of those works went anywhere. I actually don’t even think I could realistically tag all the people I’ve collabed with bc I’m afraid I’ll miss someone and isn’t that amazing? Personal growth; we love to see her.

7. What’s your all-time favorite ship? Oh man. I want to just be lame and say it’s me and Mr. Face 🤣 I shipped us when no one else did. Um! Snowbaz is always going to have a special place in my heart, but I’m really leaning into Buddie right now because of age and wanting to explore people in their 30’s still figuring out their lives while battling PTSD and late-in-life sexuality realizations. For, um. Reasons.

8. What are your writing strengths? I do like my dialogue a lot; dialogue is often where I start my scenes and I develop from there. I think I’ve done a good job of honing my ability to vary action/dialogue/internality a lot. I also think I keep people engaged or maybe I just keep myself engaged which is good enough for me. Sometimes I’m funny although sadly not as much recently.

9. What are your writing weaknesses? I struggle with remembering to add in physical descriptors. (Like oh shit have I ever mentioned this character has eyes?) Logistics are a frequent source of pain. (Wait, where were their hands?) I think my plots are kind of basic and boring; I don’t come up with really vivid and detailed concepts. I use the wrong words for things. I really hate detailing out backstory. I have to reread my fics a million times to maintain character consistency. Etc.

10. First fandom you wrote for? Hey Arnold. I wish I could find those fics; I bet they suck.

Tagging 10 peeps @sillyunicorn @mostlymaudlin @martsonmars @bookish-bogwitch @cutestkilla @ivelovedhimthroughworse @thewholelemon @palimpsessed @aristocratic-otter & @you-remind-me-of-the-babe

[ghostoffuturespast]

WIP Whenever

*takes a deep breath* Tagged by @streetkid-named-desire @wanderingaldecaldo (you two I think at least twice lol) @seeker-of-truth

@baublekute @scarlettspectra @aggravateddurian. Thank you all very much for thinking of me! 🧡

Tag backs for everyone above 😘 and @luvwich @merge-conflict @shimmer-like-agirl @mynonsenseistingling

@fly-amanitaa @dani-the-goblin @tarmac-rat @lavnderkiwi @morganlefaye79

Cash your tag in now or later and feel free to do whatever creative projects you're working on! Doesn't even have to be fandom related.

It's been a minute. This one got long.

I largely haven't been doing any fandom stuff other than VP because my work schedule has been insane the past two months. And the only reason I have VP to post is because I'm generous about snapping pics and the vast majority of photos y'all are seeing are ones I took back in March/April/May.

Things at work are starting to be slightly less hectic though, so hopefully I can get back into the swing of things. I'm trying to be gentle with myself about the time and energy I do have but it's been frustrating wanting to do things and not having the beans to do them. Spending most of my workdays outside for extended periods of time means I'm bone tired when I get home. And then I have more work to do outside...

Gardening

My garden is gonna be very scraggly looking for the rest of the year, but if I can keep it alive, in theory, the plants should come back bigger and bolder next year. Shortgrass prairie plants spend the bulk of their first few growing seasons establishing their root systems since water is often in short supply, so the tops of the plants are very unimpressive rn. Most of them probably won't get much bigger than this or even flower this year.

I've gotten a good chunk of the plants in the ground, have irrigation lines going to all of them, and did the lil concrete paver patio. I still need to finish planting the plants that have been languishing in their pots for over a month, bury the irrigation lines, and do a bunch of other random things, but we're getting there. Not planning on covering the bare dirt with mulch because I'm doing fall and spring seeding and I want the plants to self-sow. Going for wild pocket prairie and I'm gonna let it go absolutely feral. I'd eventually like to get rid of the river rocks too but baby steps.

What's really funny is all my native plants seem to be doing reasonable well. My vegetable garden on the other hand... It's sad. I know where I fucked up though (I should not have done that soil experiment lol and attack of the cutworm catepillars), so I'll just have to cut my loses this year and reevaluate for next. The worm composter is doing good though 🪱

Drawing

Attempting to get back into drawing. Again, it's been slow. Have been doodling some mutual's CP2077 OCs when I have the time and still have a ways to get through my list. I'm surprised by how much fan art of Grandpa I've received so I figured I'd return the favor for some folks. It's always a pleasant surprise getting some lovely art in your inbox. Probably won't be coloring most of these from here on out. I have a love hate relationship with coloring. Sorry, I just find lines more interesting. All of these were done with dip pen, ink, and watercolor.

I've got another more formal piece I need to work on as well and get done by the end of the month. Keep forgetting to do the layout sketches...

Writing

The slowest of them all. Been working on the same damn short fic (No. 1 of Les Preludes) and then brainstorming for about fifty other projects that are waiting their turn in line. Plus, I'm still trying to read too. But when I can only manage a chapter of a fic about every two weeks...

Most of my writing efforts have been bopping into my drafts now and then and pecking out a sentence or two. However, I did manage to spend 45 minutes detangling a section of about 200 words 🐢:

Have you or a loved one been in an accident or injured on the job?  Are you missing your former quality of life?  Holed up in the bathroom, Robert winced at his reflection in the mirror and at the crusted blood he picked at underneath his nostrils.  Then consider Arasaka Cybernetic Implants!  Fully functional prostheses are capable of replicating the full range of human motion and more!  Available in a range of sizes and styles to suit all your lifestyle needs.  The body of the future is NOW. The corners of his mouth tugged on a bruised eye and what former experience had taught him was a broken nose. Call 1-800-IMPLANT today for a free consultation! Low-interest financing and payment plans available. A rapid fire of unintelligible fine print was drowned out by the sputter of the faucet. Robert cupped his hands and scrubbed at his face, the pain disappearing for the briefest moments with the black of shut eyes and splashes of cold water.      Arasaka Corporation.  What can we do for you? Dry flecks of red decorated the sides of the sink before rehydrating into inky swirls of blood that slipped down the sides of imitation porcelain. Yellowed, cracked, and starting to chip. The plastic hadn’t aged well.

This snippet gives me the hardest war flashbacks to those late 90s/early 00s TV phone ads. Anyone else old enough to remember these things?