#this got quite long

[consolecadet]

3 7 8 13

3. On a scale of 1-10 how much do you enjoy incorporating romance into the average story?

Uhhh, 2 and 9 at the same time? 75% of what I write has, at minimum, a tension between the main characters one could construe as romantic or sexual. Yet writing about any kind of desire also brings up a lot of shame for me, which can make it downright torturous.

For example, it took 3 drafts of the script for my college thesis film for me to admit it would be a much better/more interesting story if the main character at any point acted on his romantic feelings. I then nearly cried on set because directing the scene felt too intense for me.

7. Tell us about the plot of the first fanfic you ever wrote

I believe it was my version of a normal episode of The Original Series, but Spock and McCoy were having a very tense, prolonged argument that belied something deeper and unspoken between them.

8. What’s your relationship with constructive criticism and feedback like? Do you seek it out? How well do you take it?

I seek it when whatever I'm working on feels ready (rare, but it does happen). My initial response to negative feedback is bitter despair, but I've reached a point where I can, usually, quickly move on to deciding whether the feedback is useful.

I like getting feedback on fiction from other writers I already know and trust. Despite being in writing classes and groups since I was a kid, I approach group crit, especially with strangers, with trepidation. Classmates and writing groups have had strong negative reactions to such things as 'two men holding hands' and 'a character nonsexually wondering what it might be like to have a penis'. I'd be nervous to present anything more challenging than that (so, any of my other writing) for group feedback.

Nearly all the fanfiction I post has not gotten external feedback. I tend to treat my own fanfiction as a spoil heap for the abject, and would rather dump it onto AO3 for people who like that sort of thing than have a meaningful conversation about it. 😬

13. Talk about a writing experience that has pleasantly surprised you.

I wrote my first listicle at my current job. I'm embarrassed to admit that I really enjoyed it. I get excited whenever I get to write another one, even though most of them are about ball bearings.

I also like SEO writing, even though I worry that SEO's existence as a concept is an indictment of the world in which we live.

[buzzrds]

here's my wonderful isopod child, handcrafted in leather

[stil-lindigo]

scorched earth.

a comic about a princess who died in a fire.

(this is a sequel to bite of winter, a comic about Snow and what became of her after her death.)

--

creative notes:

--

all my other comics

store

[icantdothistodaybruh]

What a terribly dull ending this is.

[lucabyte]

Different standards

[chrliekclly]

——————

it’s been 6 years exactly nd i apologize for everything about this

[tw: implied csa]

[mintisse]

I have a new blorbo

[a-most-beloved-fool]

Spock knew he was dying. It was, he supposed, quite inevitable. In truth, he was surprised that death had not claimed him much sooner; there had been many instances throughout his life and career when it had seemed inescapable.

Now, however, it would be time that would claim him.

All told, it was a significant improvement upon his last death, trapped within the Enterprise's warp core. Though his bones ached with age, his flesh did not burn with radiation, and his vision remained quite clear. He hurt, yes, and was cold, but he was not in agony.

However...

The last time he had died, pressed up against the glass, he had not had to face it alone. Jim had been with him, as had Doctor McCoy and Mr. Scott. He had been unable to touch them - and indeed he had wanted to, had wished quite illogically for the glass to fall away and allow him to tumble into Jim's arms - but they had still been there, at his side.

He was a Vulcan, and so perhaps it should have been inconsequential, but he was old now, and sentimental.

He could not help but want.

And then, as though a breath had passed through the room, Spock sensed a change.

Suddenly, without any fanfare at all, Jim stood at his side, smiling warmly down at him. He looked just as young as he did when Spock had seen him last, before he had been swept away by the Nexus and held away from him for so many long decades. He was, thought Spock, so beautiful.

If this was an illusion, it was a welcome one.

When Jim's hands clasped his own, they felt real, somehow, soft and warm against his chilled flesh, and Spock gripped back with all the strength he could muster. Illusion though it may be, Spock would savor it.

Jim, he wanted to say, how I have missed you, but his voice was well beyond him. To even try would be an exercise in futility. Kaiidth. Perhaps it was for the best. It would not do to frighten his doctors by speaking to a hallucination.

Still, he allowed himself to look, drinking in Jim's appearance like a man parched. It had been so very long since they had been together, and Spock could find no shame in taking advantage of his situation. He was dying, and if an illusion was the only way he could have the company of his husband, he would accept it without question. It felt like Jim, and it looked like Jim, and that was enough for him.

To his other side, a light began to bloom. Sunrise. He had not expected to make it to this sunrise. Memories, long cherished, of watching alien sunrises with Jim bubbled up in his mind, and a sigh fell from his lips.

Oh, how he had missed him! And now, at his very last sunrise, Jim was back with him, hands holding his.

Yes, this was by far an improvement on his previous death.

With some effort, he turned his head towards the sun. Jim, too, turned to face it, and together they watched, as they had so very many times before. It was peaceful. Wonderful.

He did not know how long he lay there, gazing at the rising sun, Jim's hand still in his, before the change became apparent to him: breath no longer stirred in his chest, and his heart no longer beat in his side. Gone, too, was the ache of time that had so suffused him these last years.

And yet, the sun still shone before him, and Jim's hands were still warm against his own.

He blinked, wondering.

"Jim," he whispered, and the name fell with shocking ease from his lips. Cautiously, he pulled himself to a sitting position, and his form moved more smoothly than it had in many years as he turned to meet Jim's eyes once more. "Jim."

"Hello, Mister," Jim replied.

Jim beamed at him, that beloved face warm with affection. The barest hint of sadness lingered at the edges of his eyes, and Spock's hand raised almost of its own accord, brushing lightly over his cheek.

"You grieve," he murmured. "Why?"

Jim just smiled, leaning into Spock's touch. "Illogical, I know," he said, a light puff of laughter escaping his chest. "I only - well. It isn't pleasant to watch you die, peaceful though it was. And, while I'm terribly pleased to see you again, I can't help but feel sorry. Death is - quite permanent, most of the time. I'm afraid no strange Vulcan rituals will be bringing you back, this time around."

Spock understood. Gently, he threaded his fingers into Jim's hair. "I confess that I am relieved by that," he admitted, cherishing the feeling of Jim beneath his touch. "I would not wish to be taken from you once again, so soon after arriving."

Something honey-warm softened in Jim at that, his eyes alight with a deep fondness.

"You sweet talker, you," he said, squeezing gently at the hand still within his grasp. Then, something almost tentative crept into his face. "Spock," he started, eyeing him cautiously, "I know it's been... quite some time, for you. But - to say it bluntly, I still love you. If you've moved on, I'll never mention it again, but-"

Illogical, Spock thought, silencing Jim's words quite suddenly with his lips. Jim melted against him easily, and for a long moment they did nothing but kiss, breathing into one another as they traded touches. When Spock finally pulled away, Jim looked almost kiss-drunk, lips swollen and eyes besotted.

"I suppose that's my answer, then," Jim chuckled, squeezing Spock's hands again.

"Indeed," Spock replied, allowing his eyes to crinkle with some of the delight which pumped through his veins. Gently, he rubbed his nose against Jim's, then pulled back again.

"I'm glad." Jim looked at Spock for a moment, and then glanced down at the bed he still sat upon. "I'll admit, I expected you to have more questions."

"I have surmised that I am dead, and that you are here," Spock said. "Anything further seemed unimportant, for time time being."

Another huff of laughter escaped Jim. "Imminently logical, Mister Spock," he teased. Spock merely inclined his head in response.

Jim stood, and pulled Spock with him, rising from the bed. Disconcertingly, he could see his own body laid out beneath him, eyes closed in death, but then Jim leaned in to press a brief kiss to his cheek, and it was forgotten.

"Well, suffice to say, it seems there's some kind of afterlife. It might be a part of the Nexus, believe it or not." Gently, he tugged Spock along as he started walking, linking their arms together "I'm not the only one who's been waiting for you, I'll have you know," he said, an almost impish smile playing at his lips. "You'll have quite the greeting party, I'm sure. I think Bones has been saving up gripes just for you."

A smile found its way to Spock's face, and he did not try to stop it. He had Jim in his arms once again, and soon he would see their friends. But, before they could continue, Spock pulled lightly at Jim's arm, stopping him.

"Jim?" he said. "I am glad you were with me."

For a moment, Jim looked at him, clearly surprised. Then, an expression which shone like the sun spread across his face. He stepped forwards, enclosing Spock in a hug. Spock went willingly, tucking his face into the crook of Jim's neck.

"I am, too."

[pullthehilt]

Reader is Yuu with an implied family with siblings. Not re-read or edited.

One day you realise that there is just a bit too much food on the table. It takes eating with the others to truly notice, but it starts with Grim complaining.

"We've been eating the same thing for days now!" And you laugh because it's true. After eating it fresh the first day, you tend to pack up and store the rest equally in the fridge and freezer because, yes, it's a lot. Dishes that are soups, or meals that are cooked in the larger pots and pans. Food that is to be served with rice on the side, portions that are bigger than your face. That isn't to say that you had a lot of thaumarks on you as you're just good at making bulk purchases worth it.

Everyone laughs at Grims moping, remarking of how he should be greatful you're feeding him at all. The banter is great.

But you're picking at your packed lunch now.

Why do you cook so much? Why do you reach for the bigger pots and pans? Why are your portions always for more than one?

From the fog of your mind, you see... your kitchen. Or you think it's your kitchen. It's not the kitchen back at Ramshackle, but the one from before Ramshackle. You're bustling around the counter, chatting to a faceless figure by the table, and reaching for seasonings without even looking. You're opening cabinets and finding what you need easily and asking the figure to make some rice to accompany whatever is in that pot. There's the squeals of children and hearty laughter from the other room. And hands, there's a hand at the small of your back and you think it's a motherly touch because how else can you describe the gentle way they press you to the side of their body.

For the next few days you can't eat properly. There's weight at your gut that substitutes for food and you don't make anything more. When your friends come over to invade the living room of Ramshackle, you don't have much snacks to offer them.

Peering into the fridge only reveals the stacks of containers of food you were eating days prior. You're mulling about maybe something you can make for them when,

"Whoa, talk about excess. Grim wasn't kidding." Ace's voice is right behind you.

"Ugh, sorry guys. i don't think I have anything proper to really feed you guys--"

"Is that some sort of egg salad?" Deuce's hand slithers forward to grab at one of the containters. "You have bread?" Nodding you gesture to the other cabinet. "Then I'll snack on this-- Er, if you wouldn't mind."

Epel peers from the doorway. "You don't happen to haf' some meat in 'er do ya?" Your fingers linger, before meekly pulling out a corrisponding tupperware.

"It's a bit stiff though, Epel."

"Hah, I'll jus' throw it on tha' stove or somthing. If it's still tough, I dun' care. Sometimes just gotta eat the greasy foods." He takes the tupperware and slaps it into a pan to heat it up. The aroma of sizzling meat is quick to attract both Sebek and Jack who add to the noise of chatter amongst the others, the former mostly.

You find yourself to the side, watching as they scour through your leftovers, opening and nodding at the meals inside before choosing which to heat up. And it's loud, but not grating. They're navigating through your space with expertice, slipping past each other and peering into cabinets. Jack's making rice and Sebek is counting the plates (whilst also making sounds whenever he sees a chip in the odd one or two). Over the stove Epel and Ace are jerking their hands into the pan, nipping their fingers to the corner pieces of the meat to just 'check if it's ready to eat'. Gathering the spoons and forks, Deuce nibbles on a piece of his egg salad sandwich before disappearing in the living area where everyone is setting up.

The dinner table has been set. You don't feel entirely there, floating to a cushion on the floor as your left overs are bought over to the table plate-by-plate. Everyone sits around you, Grim settled into your lap as he nibbles on a piece of fried fish, and they're passing the dishes around.

You've eaten these things before but you've always eaten them with Grim or alone when Grim takes his naps early. Instead of one set of cutlery scraping at porcelain, there's multiple sets-- a symphony playing to their hunger as they gather more to pile onto their plates.

[moodyvoid]

Okay SO! Imagine if like the LoV members were getting their mugshots taken. What pose do you think they'd do? Could you make a scenario on that. If you don't take requests, it's just an idea.

The League of Villains getting their mugshots taken.

Mr. Compress, posing with his cane.

Cop: “Could you take off the mask?”

Mr. Compress: “Oh, certainly.”

Mr. Compress taking off the white mask to reveal the second mask.

Cop: “… could you take off the other mask?”

Mr. Compress: “What next? My hat???”

Cop: “Well, actually, yes.”

Mr. Compress: “This is an outrage.”

Cop: “The cane has to go too.”

Mr. Compress: “Try and take it from me.”

—

Toga, standing in front of the camera.

Toga: “Wait!”

Toga, fixing her hair.

Cop: “…”

Toga: “Okay… wait!”

Toga, pulling lipgloss out of her pocket.

Cop: “Was she not searched?”

Toga, putting the lipgloss away.

Toga: “Okay, okay, I’m ready.”

Cop, going to take the photo.

Toga: “Wait!”

Cop: “Enough! Stand still.”

Toga, standing still.

Cop, snapping the photo.

Toga, throwing up a peace sign and smiling at the last second.

Cop, sighing.

—

Twice, standing there with his mask on.

Cop: “You have to remove the mask.”

Twice: “But I’ll split.”

Cop: “You’ll what?— Nevermind, just take it off, I’ll make it quick.”

Twice takes off the mask.

Cop, snapping the photo, Twice smiling a big cheesy grin.

Cop: “… No smiling. Go again.”

Twice: “Please hurry. I’m going to split.”

Cop: “You’re fine. Look at the camera.”

Cop, snapping the photo again.

Cop, sighing: “You blinked. Go again.”

Twice: “I’m splitting!”

Cop: “No you’re not, stand still.”

Cop snaps the photo, pausing as multiple Twice’s are in the photo. He looks back up and the room is full of Twice doubles.

Twice: “I told you!”

Cop, turning to his partner: “I don’t have to take a picture of all of them, do I?”

—

Spinner and Tomura standing in front of the camera.

Cop: “I only need one of you.”

Tomura: “Spinner’s camera shy, so we’re taking our mugshot together.”

Cop: “No, you can’t do that.”

Tomura: “I wasn’t asking.”

Cop: “That’s not how it works here.”

Spinner: “Sounds like someone doesn’t have any friends.”

Tomura: “I bet you have to play Call of Duty with bots. Friendless cuck.”

Cop, holding back tears: “Maybe some people just enjoy playing with bots.”

—

Dabi, glaring at the camera.

Cop, about to take the picture.

Dabi, holding up his middle finger.

Cop: “I’m not taking your picture like that.”

Dabi: “I’m not putting it down and I’m not exactly in a rush to go to prison, so we can do this all night.”

Cop, grumbling: “Asshole.”

Cop, snapping the photo.

Dabi, taking out his own phone and taking a picture of the cop.

Cop: “What are you doing?”

Dabi: “Making sure I kill the right guy later. See you then.”

Cop, terrified.

[pixlatedvampire]

💗

insert "these boots are made for walking" joke

[kiddokori]

[starry-bi-sky]

danny and officer martinez's relationship in "late at night, when the nightingale sings" in a nutshell:

Martinez: FREAK! GET YOUR FUCKING KID!

Battinson, on the other side of the crime scene: he don't bite

Martinez, with Nightingale firmly attached his arm, visibly biting him: YES HE DO!

*points at them* Danny is the Bugs Bunny to Martinez's Elmer Fudd.

Another Officer: i can't believe you're fighting with an actual twelve year old. Martinez: i swear to god that is not a twelve year old, that is a little hellion that crawled out of batman's shadow one dark and stormy night and decided to dedicate his existence to tormenting me. Officer: Are you really that mad about him putting a sticky note on your back-- Martinez: thats not the point

in danny's defense: the word "freak" is. a mini beserker button for him for.... obvious ghostly reasons, so like, even if its not directed at him, he still very much unappreciates Martinez's insults at Battinson. Danny may or may not be projecting.

he's not going to hurt the guy! not in any serious or permanently disfiguring way at least! But he is going to leave mean sticky notes on the square part of his spine that he can't reach, and stick salt in his 3AM Late Night Crime Scene Coffee, and kick the bottom of his heel while he's walking so he stumbles. And other petty, infuriating things that tally up and boil over, over time.

[spkyart]

Under the red sky

[tehzeldamaster]

this is: my taste in OP men

[flickering-nightfall]

i was playing the paleo pines demo when i found out the main town area is named pebble plaza. i blacked out and several hours later, woke up to find these on my canvas