#this will likely never go beyond random snippets

[niobiumao3]

Here's more of that thing.

~*~

Fifth Sister was, to put it lightly, something of a handful. CX-1 had warned him she was known for this, that he would need to be prepared to 'handle' her.

"Handle?"

"Her skills at reading people, their intent, are unparalleled. But she's prone to…unorthodox methodology."

They always worse their helmets and armor around one another, so he couldn't know what his commander's expression was, nor even what he precisely looked like, yet somehow CX-2 could picture it by the tone. A slight grimace, his features attempting to soften a statement which was already beating around the proverbial bush.

"She acts outside mission parameters?"

"She redefines the mission's parameters."

"But is the mission still completed?"

He was certain he heard CX-1 snort. "Yes. So far. Just keep an eye on her. In addition to making sure none of these rogue cells get her." Their primary objective: to assist the Inquisitors in dealing with the cells of rebellious clones. Three Inquisitors had already fallen to them but proven impossible to trace, leaving Lord Vader and the Grand Inquisitor with no other option but to give their Inquisitors assigned assistance. The Inquisitors were powerful and capable Force users, but if Order 66 had proven anything, it was that the Force wasn't enough against the coordinated efforts of enough clones. And CT-7567--the putative leader of the rogue cells, with his second in command, CT-1409--had reminded them all of this in the most recent half a cycle. So Hemlock's operatives had been called in and each was now assigned to an Inquisitor. Thier own personal clone, to help them deal with the problem the other clones posed.

CX-2 wasn't sure one operative to an Inquisitor was enough, given the cells had only ever attacked in decent numbers (hence the loss of the Inquisitors), but Hemlock seemed to think a single operative and Inquistor would prove sufficient. So here he was, being given a pre-emptive run down of his assignement: Fifth Sister.

"Am I to report regularly on her movements?"

"Only if anything seems out of order."

Annoyingly vague. He was about to say so when CX-1 said, "Report to inspection. You'll be given your mission there."

CX-2 entertained, for a half-second, the idea of asking for specifics on 'out of order', decided not to until after he'd met Fifth Sister and had a chance to gauge her for himself. The request might make more sense then. He nodded and departed for the staging area by the hangar deck.

He was sure he could feel CX-1 watching him until he was out of sight.

~*~

She was, as he'd been warned, unpredictable. On top of that, she was small (perhaps not much more than 160cm), agile, quick-thinking, and…talkative.

"You're a clone."

"Yes."

"But you're not the same as the usual clones."

"No."

"So not all clones are identical?"

"No. Some of us were modified."

She surveyed him as he put the ship through preflight, eyes narrowed, fingers tapping on her forearm. Her hair was confined to a neat series of braids that went to her shoulders, held back by a wrap in a truly eye-searing shade of magenta. Her armor was otherwise the typical black of the Inquisitorious: strong, heavy gloves; boots with durateel heels and toe boxes, and a breastplate and pants that gleamed in a way which suggested the polyweave was resistant to various substances and capable of stopping sharp projectiles. Her lightsabers were a split pair with half-circle attachments intended to form the more standard Inquisitor blade. She wore them separated, one on each hip. Different than he'd seen previously.

"Interesting." He looked askance at her, found her staring out over the hangar deck, a strangely distant expression on her face. After a moment she shook her head, looked down at the datarod the Grand Inquisitor had given her. "Have you retrieved potentials before?"

"No."

"Mmmmm." She plugged in the datarod. "Don't underestimate them. They might be young and untrained, but they can lash out well beyond what you expect. They don't know their own strength, and it makes them dangerous."

"If they are untrained they're unlikely to be capable of much save the most brute force of techniques. Easily outsmarted and secured."

She rolled her eyes. "Tempting to let you find out how wrong you are first hand."

"You are welcome to do so. If I am incorrect, it will be a valuable lesson."

"One you might not survive."

"Possibly. Though, not certainly."

[pyrriax]

pyrr pyrriax is significantly less productive when it spends several hours just bouncing between vcs in pursuit of human interaction

[tlbodine]

Stuck? Try junebugging.

I don't know who needs to hear this, but we're 5 days into nanowrimo so maybe this will be helpful.

Do you want the safety and surety of knowing what happens next in your story but can't stick to an outline? Does knowing in advance what will happen suck the joy out of discovery writing? Do you try to wing it through plots but get tangled in plot holes or have a story that runs out of steam because you can't figure out what went wrong? Are you at your most creative when you have a little bit of guidance? Do you tend to under-write? Do you get ideas in your head for random scenes and snippets that drop from the sky without context?

If any of these apply to you, junebugging a draft might be for you!

What Is Junebugging?

Since you're on Tumblr, you might already be familiar with the concept of junebugging as it relates to cleaning. If not -- I think the idea was first introduced to me by @jumpingjacktrash.

The basic idea is that you tackle cleaning by way of controlled chaos. You pick a specific area you want to focus on, like your kitchen sink, and then wander off to deal with other things as they occur to you, but always returning back to that area. You end up cleaning a little bit at a time in an order that may not make sense to an outsider but which keeps you from getting overwhelmed and discouraged.

How Does Junebugging Work in Writing?

OK, so that's great, but how does this work with writing? Well. In my case, the general idea is to jump between writing linearly, outlining, and writing out of order. It usually looks something like:

Start free-writing a scene, feeling my way through it and enjoying the discovery process.

Thinking, ok, now I have this scene, did anything need to happen to lead up to it? Do I need to go back and add some foreshadowing? Does this scene set anything up that needs to be paid off? And then jump forward/back to make those adjustments.

I'll usually have a bunch of disconnected ideas of ideas that have popped into my head, so I'll write those down in a list somewhere and then try to figure out what goes in between them and what order it goes in.

I'll write what I call "micro-scenes" which is where I'll just sketch out a few essential elements of what's going on without worrying too much about details, description, etc. -- just he did this, she said that, the setting was this, real bare-bones script. Then I can come back through and flesh out each of those microscenes into an actual scene later.

Got a story that has a complex structure? No problem. Write through each storyline one at a time and then chop them up and weave them together afterward. Write all the B plot scenes first then come back through to do A plot and C plot. Move the pieces around like legos. No one ever has to know.

This method works for me because I can't "decide" story elements in advance. I have never been able to just sit down and "figure out" what happens in a story beyond a couple steps ahead -- I have to discovery-write my way forward. But at the same time, that gets really daunting. So I zoom forward with micro-scenes, roughing out the beats in the most bare-bones way possible, then when I run out of clear vision for what happens next I backtrack, flesh out those scenes, build in connective tissue, etc. and by then I will probably find more inspiration to jump forward.

It's basically folding drafting, outlining, and revising all together into a single phase of writing, which is chaotic and goes against everything people teach you, but if it works? then it fuckin works.

Anyway, sorry for the jumbled-up post, I'm dashing this off quickly while I heat up a pizza and I'm about to dive back into my WIP -- but I hope this was a little helpful. If nothing else, take this as my blanket permission that it's 100% OK to jump around, write out of order, write messy, outline sometimes, pants sometimes, and do whatever else it takes just to get through the story. You've got this. Good luck.

[airas-story]

Hello! Can we have a continuation of this?

Im so excited prompts are open again! I hope this is okay-  A Stephen from another universe comes into posession of A Stephen Strange before he had his accident who is also dating Tony. This new Stephen is here out of necessity and is different in ways such as how he treats his patients and his work (with more personal connection and upgraded surgical skills since he’s wayyy older) his co-workers take notice. This possessor Stephen  does not love Tony in this present (not at the time of this Drabble at least). I would absolutely adore a more Stephen focused Drabble in which secondary characters like is colleagues and Tony himself around him  are slowly connecting dots without ever really getting the full picture. Bring me Stephen’s joy at being a surgeon again and Tony’s silent angst!

Perhaps from Stephen’s point of view as well? What does he think ? does he think he’s putting on a convincing act.

Also Tony - I feel like if he really thought his boyfriend has become someone else he would apply a scientific approach in proving it. I would love to see any tests Tony tires to put Stephen to - and if Stephen fails/passes some and the results on some are inconclusive- ultimately leading to some kind of confrontation between the two!

Sequel to this one. (As a note, it's a little easier for me if you either use the link from the snippet you're interested in seeing continued (or if it's unique you can just use shorthand (like 'fake amnesia' refers to a specific series)). It's just a matter of how I have my files organized. You didn't do anything wrong! But just for future reference.)

Stephen looked up as Stark entered the room, an uncomfortable smile on his face that Stephen couldn't read. He probably could if he delved into the mind of other Stephen. Beyond his first delve into the mind of the Stephen of this universe, Stephen did his best to stay out. Too many messy emotions. He knew enough to fake it.

Stark approached, something in his eyes as he leaned in for a kiss. Stephen returned it, the way he always did. The Stephen he was possessing started getting antsy and pushy when Stephen pushed Stark away. Fighting with him wasn't worth the effort. So he did what was necessary to keep both Stark and other Stephen content.

"Look,” Stark started. Stephen did his best to look invested, even as his mind flitted to his surgery tomorrow. The other Stephen was paying attention. He always did, holding on desperately. Stephen didn’t understand his other self's obsession with Stark, but he had accepted it. This Stephen's life was nearly perfect for what Stephen wanted, dealing with a random and unnecessary fiancé was worth it. "I think we should…" Stark took a deep breath. "We should break up."

The Stephen trapped in Stephen's head went wild. Pushing, scratching, screaming.

Delight rushed through him. This was exactly what he needed. The perfect life and no need to feign love for someone he didn't care for.

"If that's how you—"

The Stephen in his head screamed and then a rush of dimensional energy rammed into him. Other Stephen didn’t know the Mystic Arts. But if Stephen had seen other Stephen's memories, it was clear other Stephen had seen his as well. And had apparently learned from them.

No!!! Other Stephen ripped into him. Stephen could barely breathe. I'm not losing him!!!

"Stephen!?" Stark sounded panicked. "Stephen, what's wrong?"

Stephen looked up—realized he was bent over in pain—and the Stephen in his head pushed harder, desperate.

Stephen knew in an instant he was never going to find peace in this body again. Better to find a new universe.

He ripped out of this Stephen, caught sight of Stark catching Stephen as he fell.

Stephen sighed, then reached out for the multiverse. Somewhere out there was some Stephen living the perfect life for him. Stephen just needed to find it. The last thing he saw before leaving this universe was other Stephen kissing Stark desperately.

[emphasisonthehomo]

I need you to know that if the popstar au was a movie I would have a blog dedicated to ever bit of promo and interviews and trailers that came out leading up to the premier. I would watch every TV spot like a million times. I'm so impossibly excited.

Anyway for the ask game could I perchance have some 12 and intimacy?? Backup word is pain. 👀👀

Omg thank you so muccchhh, that's so nice of you to say! I'm always excited to talk about it, and I'm so happy that people seem very interested it my little pet project.

Send me a random word and a number 1-18, and I’ll give you a sentence or snippet from popstar!au.

(Or, in this case, I’ll write it in.)

"Pain" from Chapter 12!

The worst part is Buck knows he’s toeing the line, if he hasn’t blown past it completely. He can hear it in Eddie’s exasperated grumble, can see it in the tilt of Tommy’s frown.   Buck knows how he gets. He knows he’s a pain in the ass. That he’s spoiled beyond belief. That he’s a neurotic little control freak who can’t handle stuff not going his way. It doesn’t stop the hurt. Or the anger. Irrational and incomprehensible as it is, he still feels it in the burning of his eyes, in the bitter taste at the back of his mouth. Jealousy churning in his chest and threatening to make his hands shake. “Buck–” Eddie starts to say, pursing his lips. “Never mind,” Buck says, waving his hand dismissively, “Never mind. It’s–don’t worry about it.” And he turns around and walks away.

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - The Future - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Vi dislikes Jinx's new Bff...

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

She forgoes the omnibus for a smoky roof-run toward the Promenade.

Late night, and a hallucinatory neon glow hangs over the urban landscape. A light drizzle has darkened the streets. The soles of Vi's boots go thwock thwock thwock as she jogs up the avenue, turning the corner and taking a flight of concrete steps at a single jump.

A lurid red X is spray-painted at the base. Here and there, Vi spies more.

They're all over the city. A clutch of sumpsnipes prowl the streets, graffitiing random spots. They call themselves X-ers: local kids on a mission to map the city's dimensions. Nobody knows why, or what the X signifies.

Some call it an eyesore. Others claim it's a hex. A few theorize that it's an ancient signpost from the Oshra Va'Zaun empire, meant to guide the lost home.

Vi has her own theory. The X is a mark of ownership.

All of Zaun belongs to the Eye.

Veering into a slice of alleyway, Vi nearly stumbles as a dark shape peels itself from the shadows. A shriek rings out. Vi ducks, and a crow—its wingspan nearly four feet—swoops past her skull with a whoosh of black wings.

Hateful fuckers. Sometimes Vi swears they haunt her, following the same routes she does. Once in a while, she'll take pot-shots at them with pebbles. Her luck's limited. The crows are pure Zaunite: they survive by devious reflexes and a talent for trickery.

Climbing a chainlink fence, Vi vaults to the rooftop. The cityscape spreads out beneath her: a sprawling labyrinth of flickering lights. The smell of diesel hangs in the air, diffused by seaspray. In the distance, the Aerie—Jinx's workshop—pierces like a silver needle through the gloom.

Tonight, a violet haze circles its tower. The glow resembles the residue of a fireworks display.

Viktor, Vi guesses, is paying Jinx a visit.

Her gut knots with ambivalence.

Viktor is Talis' former partner. The silent force pulling levers behind the scenes, while his pretty-boy counterpart dazzled the public with Hex-tech in the spotlight. Post-Siege, he and Talis parted ways. There were whispers that more sinister factors fueled the split: a freak accident in the laboratory, a dead assistant, and a mysterious explosion that altered Viktor's fundamental matrix into something beyond human.

Vi doesn't give much credence to hearsay. But she knows nobody comes to Zaun with unbloodied hands and a clean conscience.  Viktor's talents with Hextech are undeniable: augmentations, armaments, you name it. He's the parallel force behind Jinx's innovations, adding deft twists to her zany blueprints. Week by week, they carve a path through Zaun's old wasteland of neglect—mutually siphoning each other's inventories and ingenuity in equal measure.

The cost of Viktor's brilliance, however, is a rapidly-diminishing body.

Sevika, in her manner of deadpan brutality, describes Viktor as "a smidge on the dying side." 

Vi would say it's more than a smidge.

In person, everything about Viktor exudes an aura of disintegration. His breaths grind in his narrow chest like a coal train struggling for steam. His shoulders hold the perpetual stoop of a martyr weighed down by the mortal coil. His skin holds a pellucid sheen: half-cadaver, half-cyborg.

Most unsettling are his eyes. Two bionic scopes of hazard-yellow that measure you like an X-ray: stripping away meat and gristle, then welding the bones with steel.

You, his stare says, are unfinished.

Jinx adores him.

Whenever Vi spots them together at official events, she's clinging to him like a limpet: her arm threaded through his, or her head nestled against his shoulder. If Vi didn't know better, she'd think the two were romantically involved. Except Silco would never tolerate that. Much as he covets Jinx's intellect and encourages her to flaunt it, Vi has quickly learnt that he's got a figurative chastity belt cinched under her skirts. And the buckle's made of barbwire.

Nobody gets close.

On his part, Viktor takes the girl's fawning with a resigned forbearance. It's plain he sees Jinx as an intellectual peer. It's equally plain that there's a clinical quality to his appreciation. Never once, in the course of their encounters, has Vi caught him sneaking more than a cursory glance at Jinx's... assets. All of it—a coy pout, a peek of leg, a flash of cleavage—might as well be a chalk-scrawl at a crime-scene. 

A dumber bystander would sum up theirs as a one-sided crush rubbing up against an alliance of cold convenience. Except at random times, Viktor will turn to Jinx with the closest expression Vi's ever seen to a smile.

And it's the strangest fucking thing, because he smiles like he's forgotten how, and Jinx has kickstarted the motor again.

The expression never lasts. But whenever it's there, Vi's blood boils.

Because whenever he smiles, she sees a peculiar edginess beneath. Like he wants to learn all that makes Jinx tick. Wants to peel apart the petals of her mind until the heart of her brilliance is exposed. And with the knowledge, he wants to bring upon the miracle which might save all lives: including his.

Progress: forced to bend the knee to mortal whims.

All of it wrapped inside a friendship that skirts too close to the boundaries of obsession, but never breaches it.

Jinx doesn't see it that way at all. To her, Viktor's driven by pure altruism. The liberation of the human condition from suffering. She thinks he's "Super-duper-neato!" and "Uber-ultra-smart!" and rhapsodizes about how the world (Topside) doesn't deserve him. Each time he'll send a missive from his workshop in Emberflit alley, summoning Jinx for a 'consultation,' or a 'brainstorming' or a 'tinkering session,' she'll break into such a megawatt smile it'd eclipse half Zaun's nightscape.

Then off she'll skip, with Sparky at her heels and a basket under her arm: full of medicinal Shimmer vials to keep Viktor's ailing lungs in working order and his frail frame humming in top-notch condition. There is also sweetmilk: glass bottles clinking like bells against tins of homemade cookies with gooey caramel centers. All of them crammed together in an endearing, heartfelt gift to ward the encroaching specter of death from her darling's door.

It's all so disgustingly sweet. But so fucking sad.

It's plain that Viktor is terminal. Each week, he builds himself up with more complex cybernetic implants: legs, arms, spine. But within the superstructure, he's fading.

The clock's running dry; there is no reset. And as the last grains slip away, his plans are no longer certainties. Only last-ditch gambles to delay the inevitable.

The deadline doesn't soften Vi's wariness.

After six years in Stillwater, she has a finely-tuned radar for danger. Whatever drives Viktor is powered purely by himself—a lonely enterprise with a dismal dead-end. But all the same, he is a silhouette around whom other lives have fallen off-balance.

For this alone, he deserves close scrutiny.

Silco, it seems, shares Vi's caution.

He will tolerate Viktor and Jinx's collaborations for three bells, maximum. Anything beyond that sets off his barometer of suspicion. He'll order Vi to go fetch her sister. Vi, her own barometer fritzing, readily acquiesces.  Each time, she'll find Jinx already waiting at the door, her clothes and hair rumpled. Not like a tramp after a wild romp. More like a kid who'd fallen asleep facefirst in her homework. Her face, enigmatically glowing, will resemble a transfigured version of a sepia snapshot: Powder's sleepy smile after too many cherry sodas.

What the hell do they do together?

"Work," is Jinx's answer, when Vi dares to interrogate.

It's delivered with a sly grin, and a grave stare. It is, Vi senses, a half-truth. Whatever they're up to is not work. It's something bigger. Something that necessitates its own strange intimacy: loaded looks, double-edged sentences, an entire shorthand of gestures.

Something that makes the rest of Silco's dealings look like child's play.

Jinx's next words make it worse. "We're making the future."

And she'll laugh until all the hairs on Vi's neck stand on end. A laugh that could've fled from a different cosmos, crackling with alien glee.

The promise of a reckoning.

Under her thundering boots, the roof terminates, Vi springs across a narrow channel: her shadow crossing one precipice to the next.  The crow from earlier—creepy bastard—hitches a ride on her slipstream: black wings spread, its mismatched eyes reflecting tiny mirrors of the cityscape: red and blue.

Overhead, a streak of greeny brightness fractures the dark.

For a moment, Vi swears it's a dragonfly. The crow is giving chase: its black beak parted like a rapier angling for the kill.

Then her feet hit concrete, and the mirage fades.

"Get stuffed!" she snaps, swatting in the crow's general direction.

An indignant caw echoes. Then the crow careens away: a dark comet splitting through the night. A flock of feathers, drifting down, reminds Vi of cinders after the Day of Ash.  The bodies on the Bridge: each pocked with bullets and exuding a heatless smoke.

And Vi and Powder: hand-in-hand, picking their way through the carnage.

Vi's eyes burn briefly. Then she is in freefall.

Down, down, down—into the heart of the Promenade. 

The neon engulfs her in a rainbows halo. In that final second before landing, her body dissolves into rapturous light.

[faerieinthehumanworld]

My Thoughts on Revenge of the Sith

why did I think this was a good idea

But in all seriousness, I finished the movie, here are my thoughts:

If I had any editing capacity I would make a video titled "Elevator Wars" about Anakin and Obi Wan's trouble with elevators.

R2D2 does not get enough credit for anything ever.

I loved all their little quips and I wish they'd kept more of them in the movie.

Much like General Grevious, the duel with Count Dooku was shorter than I expected. I was a little disappointed by this.

Dooku deserved better.

The amount of times I told Palpatine to shut the fuck up is unreal.

Made it until Anakin and Padmé's reunion before I teared up.

Obi Wan is adorable no matter what he's doing.

The first third of this felt like an episode of the Clone Wars.

I really wish Ahsoka was in this.

Not saying I would murder children about it but if I was thrust into the middle of these spy-counterspy shenanigans I would also be on the news.

Anakin needs a slap upside the head, a hug, a nap and therapy. Dear god, please someone let this man sleep.

Padmé is slaying with her outfits, as usual.

Kashyyk (no idea if I spelled that right) is seriously the coolest planet we've seen yet. I really wish we got more time there to explore.

Luminara sighting!

The Wookies are awesome. I'd watch an entire three-season series about them.

Spent the entire middle third of the movie alternately going, "Anakin. Anakin, no. No, don't, no-- goddamitt" and "Throw him out the window. Just throw him out the window, it's right there. Stab him in the head." (about Palpatine)

Anakin was three inches from stabbing him and he just had to open his mouth.

The entire fight with General Grevious was wild. The only reason it took so long was because Grevious is a coward and can't use one lightsaber like a normal person.

Side note: Love Obi Wan's lizard friend.

I wish there was more about the clones in this movie, there's no explanation whatsoever. They deserved better.

I can't help but love the Jedi Temple March, even though it's the backing track for atrocities.

Was basically yelling at Mace and Kit to get out of there the entire time.

It was Master Plo's death that finally got me to cry. I was misting up before, but that triggered the tears.

Oh, seeing Aayla was harder than I thought it would be.

I didn't realize until I actually watched it that all the younglings ran to the Council chamber. They were looking for the council members to protect them. I'm going to start crying again just typing this.

One of the saddest things I've ever heard came up again while watching this. The reason that R2D2 never stays put when Luke tells him to in the OT is because on Mustafar, Anakin told him to stay with the ship. And Anakin never came back.

The one action of Darth Vader's I agree with is killing Nute Gunray. That man is infuriating.

I spent a surprising amount of this movie worried for Master Yoda. Like yes, I know he lives, but he's so small, and old, and I wish I could help.

The duel between him and Palpatine was actually wild.

The fact that Duel of the Fates was playing in the background the entire time was just... not okay.

The fight between Obi Wan and Anakin lived up to expectations. I appreciate that there weren't as many cuts as there could have been. On a technical level it's very impressive.

On an emotional level I think I just felt the death of my soul.

The last third or so is kind of a blur. I just remember emotional trauma and alternating between tears and a kind of aching numbness.

Why was it the japor snippet that killed me

I wish they'd gone with the idea that Padmé started the Rebellion. I am glad she got to name the twins before she died.

Didn't expect to care about Bail as much as I suddenly do.

The fact that they ended on that Tattooine sunset somehow hurt worse.

A random thought I had: The cinematography in this movie is absolutely insane. Pretty much every shot is beyond gorgeous.

Final verdict: It was about as bad as I thought it would be. That is, it was horrible, and I cried, but it wasn't too much worse than the other recountings of the story I've watched. Maybe it was because I watched it during the day, but I'll be fine, I think. If nothing else, it's given me far more motivation to finish my fix-it fic.

[ghostofbambifanfiction]

Under the cut: a snippet from another random Jily oneshot I started a while back and have never been arsed to finish.

There are terrible venues at which to stage a first date, and then there's a noodle canteen.

Admittedly, a noodle canteen is not the worst place for a first date—his mate Peter once brought a girl to a family funeral—but it is the worst kind of restaurant.

Reason one of two: James can't even order the fucking noodles that the aforementioned noodle canteen is known for. He is not particularly skilled in the art of using chopsticks, and even on a fork, noodles have a pesky habit of sliding off and spattering sauce everywhere, which is a first date Don't. A first date faux pas. A first date tragedy. James only ever goes to this place for its teriyaki salmon soba, but the risk to his shirt and his dignity is too great.

He orders the spicy miso mackerel instead, which comes with brown rice and is tasty, but decidedly not salmon-esque.

Reason two of two: it's a noodle canteen. He and his date aren't sequestered away at a private table, where any other major mistake on his part might go unnoticed by all but the woman he's with, but jammed right at the end of a busy public bench. To James's left sits a man who could easily be found walking calmly away from an explosion in a major Hollywood blockbuster, manoeuvring chopsticks through his own noodles with silky expertise while he listens to his stunning girlfriend talk about some prick from her work, who sounds like a right sort; not that James is eavesdropping, or at least, he'll deny it if anyone asks.

Point is, he's a little off his game.

All right, he's a lot off his game. He's several miles off his game. He'll need to take the Eurostar if he ever hopes to reach the vicinity of his game, but that would leave him in France, which is the only scenario that could make this evening worse.

At the very least, it's warm here in the restaurant. It's colder than his vegetable crisper outside.

"Is your food good?" he asks Chloë from Hinge.

Chloë from Hinge, who suggested the noodle canteen in the first place, pops a generous forkful of kimchee into her mouth and shrugs. "Yeah, it's alright."

James tries not to be put off by the fact that she's speaking to him through a wide-open mouthful of fermented cabbage. Or that they both promised to wear Christmas jumpers on this date and she turned up in a silver halter dress instead.

He wonders if she's spoken through a wide-open mouthful of fermented cabbage because she wants to put him off.

It's not beyond reason to think it. Chloë's interest in James appears to have waned since she asked him for his astrological sign over their gyoza starters and replied, "Wow, huge red flag" upon learning that he is Aries, and with such blunt distaste that he's still not sure if she was joking, because she did not clarify her position during the awkward silence that followed. Everything has been weird since then, with James feeling forced by circumstance to supply most of the conversation while she's stared at him with glazed-over eyes, has not asked to see a single picture of his cat, and winced when she learned that he shares a flat with his brother.

Is that a bad thing, sharing a flat with one's brother at his age?

James is only twenty-five, which is practically the first flush of youth and not nearly old enough to cross the roommate-having threshold that separates "pushing it" from "downright embarrassing." The downright embarrassing age is forty, which he thought everyone knew.

Besides, Sirius hasn't yet learned to function properly without him. He'd forget to take his vitamins and wouldn't set up standing orders to pay his bills, if he didn't live with James. He wouldn't know to separate whites from darks when he laundered his clothes—or maybe he wouldn't launder his clothes, just purchase more clothes whenever they grew dirty. James has had to learn to handle all of that stuff because he lives with Sirius. In many ways, it has been excellent practice for fatherhood, which should count as a plus in his favour. Chloë's profile says she wants to have kids.

And while James is hard-wired to believe that, when it comes to women, he must be the one to blame when things go wrong… he's starting to think that Chloë might be the problem.

He's really not sure what's happened. She called him fit a bunch of times on Hinge, where they got along quite well.

Now she seems annoyed to be here.

If he could, he'd ask the too-attractive and intelligent-seeming couple next to him for their thoughts on the matter, but they're happily enjoying their cherry blossom lemonades and the woman (who is eating teriyaki salmon soba, an extra rub of salt in the wound) has already slanted one-too-many pitying half-smiles in his direction. So she probably thinks the fault all lies with him.

"It's bloody cold out there, isn't it?" he offers, which is just pathetic, really. The weather was the first topic they touched on when they sat down, but she's not been buying anything else he's selling, so here they are again.

His other option is to explain the work that goes into taking care of the adult toddler he lives with, but he doubts that she'll be interested.

"Freezing," Chloë replies, addressing her cabbage.

"Makes me wish I was on a beach somewhere."

"Yeah. That'd be nice."

"Last time I was on holiday I was with my family in Greece. One day it was so hot my mum said you could fry an egg on the ground, so we tried it—my brother and I—but it barely wound up partially cooked," he starts to ramble. "She was all grouchy when we told her about it, said we shouldn't take her words so literally, but she's a chef, so I personally think she was mad that we'd found a chink in her knowledge."

"Mmm," his date agrees. Then she drops her chopstick on the table with an ungainly clatter. "D'you mind if I go to the toilet?"

Freedom! his mind sings. Whole MINUTES of sweet freedom from this torture! "Go right ahead."

Chloë doesn't need telling twice. She slides off the edge of the bench and unfurls at speed, rising to her high-heeled feet with the slightest wobble and shouldering her purse. James watches her retreating back as she hurries away, thankfully (or tragically) in the direction of the toilets, rather than the exit.

He's not sure how he feels about that.

As humiliating as it would be to get ditched in a noodle canteen, the relief of ending this night early would almost be worth the trouble.

With a laboured sigh, he pushes both hands through his rumpled hair once, then bows his head over the long table in a move reminiscent of a lonely Ken, one elbow on either side of his plate, cradling his forehead with the tips of his fingers.

The sooner he gets out of here…

"Sounds like your mother wound up with egg on her face," quips the beefcake.

James lifts his head from his hands at once.

"Oh god, Kingley," the beefcake's stunningly pretty girlfriend (James can only assume she's his girlfriend, like calls to like and all that) groans, regarding him with disgust. "That was too cheesy to stomach, I'm leaving right now."

The beefcake ignores her and twists in his seat to face James. "You know that your date's not interested, yeah?"

"I'd gleaned that."

"I mean it's been painful to witness. Hasn't it?" The beefcake (Kingsley?) turns back around to solicit his companion's opinion, but she merely (kindly?) rolls her eyes and tosses a lock of red hair behind her shoulder with great delicacy and grace. "Just awkward as arse. I'm almost queasy thinking about it."

[writingjourney]

Hello.

I don't know how to ask this, but I was wondering how to write reader stories. I want to dip my toes into this new territory, but I don't know how to go about it.

don't worry about it!! it's a good question, but even though i've been writing reader inserts for.... 10 years now? i am still not quite sure if there are any hard "rules" i might not even follow, i just do it how i personally enjoy it so! 💀

i will try to give some tips, now i don't know what aspect you need help with, so i'll cover some basics:

what to write?

i think that is the best tip i can give – write the stories YOU want, not what's popular, not what other people demand or critique, not what is popular fanon etc. if these overlap with your tastes? perfect. if not? YOU have to enjoy the writing process to keep working on it.

i am a nasty self-shipper and maladaptive daydreamer so i usually have a LOT of scenes in my head i can draw from and expand upon because i obsessively think about them. if you don't? you could look for prompt lists to inspire you or ask for requests (once you're more comfortable). you can try just writing random scenes and snippets, don't force yourself to come up with complex plots right away.

posting/tagging

the most important thing with posting reader inserts is tagging them well, i'd say. you want people to know what they can expect (gender of the reader, kink tags, common fic tags like ao3 offers, potential sensitive topics etc.) to decide if they WANT to insert themselves/their self-insers/OCs into your story (but also don't overtag). it's good to check what is common practice in how you "design" your posts in regards to these things (like, check fics in tags and see what format you think could work for you).

that also goes for the hashtags. i personally never post my fics into main fandom/character tags anymore as it can annoy people who dislike reader inserts (understandably) and i also add a "reader insert" / "female reader" tag to my stories for people who want to filter them out. ALSO, please add "read more"s to your work, one of the best features on tumblr, so people don't have to scroll past 5k words of reader insert smut.

writing

in regards to the actual writing? i personally do not believe in hard creative rules as long as you tag what's in it. the common way to write them is using second person pov (you) and keeping descriptions of the reader character out of your writing (especially their specific looks, there also shouldn't be names beyond nicknames/pet names). it's impossible to write in a way where EVERYONE can insert because you can't account for every single person's individual features and personality, but it's good to try to be as inclusive as possible so people don't have a jarring reading experience. also, in my experience, people who enjoy reader inserts don't usually care too much if it's a 100% fit and pretend the reader is a different version of them/an OC or just someone else entirely.

i have done a lot of things outside of the norm, like write them in limited third person pov from the character you ship yourself with, or write them from a character pov but still in second person or writing them as a mashup of reader and OC fics – all choices that won't work for everyone but work for me, writing-wise, and that is what matters. if you struggle with second person, perhaps that is an option, though you have to live with the fact that you have to be careful with that many third person pronouns potentially being confusing lol.

now, i personally don't know if i would do another long fic in this format like i did with IKNBS since it can be very limiting in my creative choices. i suppose people don't mind the OC elements, some people even prefer a reader character with background, some simply prefer the second person POV and don't mind OC fics being written that way. but if you plan a long fic be aware that you'll inevitably create an OC without creating a proper OC lol (i.e. no name/specified looks but lots of personality/background).

most importantly: PRACTICE. practice. write write write. and write more. don't expect to love any of it right away, or for you to want to post all of it, especially not if you're a beginner at writing in general. but also: read. read read. read fic. but also read books. best writing advice is to engage with literature of all sorts.

last but not least? fun

have fun with it. make friends with other writers and your readers if you dare to reach out. it's the best, it's rewarding, you can send each other stories you're working on, talk about headcanons and ideas. support other people in the fandom whose work you enjoy. don't post into the void and expect it to answer, fandom is community and we're all just playing here together and want to have fun with our favorite media. don't police others, be kind, ignore what you don't like, instead post and create more of what you do like.

my inbox and DMs are always open for this sort of thing (though it might take me a bit to reply sometimes) ♡

feel free to ask more specific questions if you want!

[mumms-the-word]

in honor of that one post I can’t find for the life of me that’s like “not Gale with Tav but Gale with the Blackstaff librarian” please have this snippet of a thing I will never finish you’re welcome

Gale x fem!OC, no tags, just two academics being snarky with each other

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

When Gale approached the library, he found his way blocked by several—no, many whispering students and annoyed-looking professors all blocking the way. They were pressed as far as possible in tight packs around an open doorway, the library visible beyond, but not a single one would go inside.

“What’s going on here?” he asked, looking at one of the students he recognized.

“Oh! Professor Dekarios, it’s the new librarian. She just arrived today and she’s not letting anyone into the library.”

“No one? That seems a bit antithetical to the point of a library, don’t you think?”

“She says she’s reorganizing,” another student broke in, looking delighted by the chaos. “She’s already thrown out anyone who crosses the threshold and is threatening to seal the doors if anyone else enters to disturb her.”

“Is that so,” Gale said, raising his eyebrows. She sounded horrible. He couldn’t help but picture a matronly old woman, set in her ways, her hair in a strict and severe bun of gunmetal gray, jowls nearly to her shoulders. “Well, allow me to have a word with her.”

His announcement, though spoken at regular volume, sent a wave of tittering and excited whispers over his students. He ignored them as he waded between them to get nearer the door. One of the other professors saw him coming and quickly arranged the students around the door to get out of his way.

“You’ll not get through to her, you know,” his colleague warned. “She’s on a rampage in there and she seems to have focused all her magical study to the art of marching people directly out of her space.”

“Then I’ll try to be diplomatic and charming,” Gale said, a spark of his old hubris coloring his smile. He stepped over the threshold and into the library.

It was utter chaos, for lack of a better word. Nearly every shelf was empty of books, completely bare, while mage hands with dusters and cloths were busy dusting and cleaning the centuries-old wood. The books themselves were arranged in stacks of no real order or sense, some just three books high but many others towering as nearly as high as the first landing of the four-story room. Solitary books flew through the air at random intervals, coming to rest on top of one stack or another. The towering busts and statues of previous Blackstaffs and other wizards of note were also being thoroughly cleaned, though their bases also served to collect all the furniture in the room, apparently, save for the tables that were all but groaning under the weight of stacks of tomes. Gale had never seen the library in such a state of disarray.

No sign of the enigmatic librarian, though. He ventured further inside, glancing here and there to try and find her, again picturing the strict, no-nonsense older woman with a face like thunder.

At last he found a younger woman floating midway up a three-story set of shelves, her open robes billowing gently as her flying spell kept her aloft, her trousers tucked into her knee-length boots. She pulled a book from the shelf and turned it to examine the title on the spine, and then opened it to the first several pages.

“Excuse me,” he said, “I’m looking for the new librarian?”

She sighed and snapped the book shut with one hand, turning to peer down at him with a frown. “Yes?”

“The new librarian. Is she about?”

She looked at him as though he were being willfully deaf. “She’s floating approximately three feet and seven inches above your head, saer. Can I help you or are you simply here to complain about my methods like everyone else that has made it past those doors today?”

Gale blinked. “You? But I thought—”

“Did you need something, Professor?” she asked, cutting him off. “I’m assuming you’re a professor and not a student, since you’re wearing the academic stole and all that. Is there a book you require?”

A quick flash of irritation passed through him at being interrupted, but he quelled it. He’d traveled with more abrasive people in the past, he reminded himself, who were also prone to interrupt.

“Not one in particular,” he said. “I’m here to discover…well whatever it is you’re doing in here.”

“Whatever it is I’m—Oghma guide me,” she muttered. She sent the book floating away with a flick of her wrist and lowered herself to stand in front of him. “I am cataloguing. What does it look like?”

Gale paused. Now that she was properly before him, he couldn’t help but notice that she was rather lovely. And young, for someone put in charge of the entire library of Blackstaff Academy. She was several inches shorter than him, but that didn’t stop her from frowning up at him behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose, her dark hair swept up into a mass of tight curls at the back of her head. Little curls were escaping here and there to frame her face or trail down her neck, but she didn’t seem to notice. Behind her glasses, her eyes were a curious shade of green and gold, the color changing slightly as she shifted her weight and a soft shadow from one of the shelves fell over her. The rest of her was still bathed in the warm light of early afternoon, a shade that complimented her dark olive skin.

She looked particularly irritated now and Gale realized he had been staring, rather than answering her question.

“I, um…” He quickly tried to recall her answer, and as he did, it struck him how ludicrous it was. “Sorry. Cataloguing?”

“Yes.”

“This library was already catalogued. Thoroughly.”

“Correction,” she said, turning to pick up two books from a stack and glance at their titles. She sent them floating away in different directions. “This library was already poorly catalogued. I’m cataloguing it properly.”

She walked away, moving to another set of shelves that she hadn’t yet touched. Gale followed after her, speaking as he went.

“With all due respect, it looks as though you’re doing a great deal of unnecessary shifting around. The current system has served us well enough these past, oh I don’t know, three or four hundred years or more. There’s no reason to change a system that works.”

“So I’m to believe we should just let old systems lie rather than improve them with new ones?” she asked, tucking a few books into her arms. “Come now, saer, that goes against the very spirit of academic and magical progress. And you call yourself a professor?”

“I am a professor,” he said, irritable. “Professor Dekarios. And I have enough sense to know that Mordenkainen’s Magical Theory Across the Twin Worlds goes in the M section.” Here he grabbed a book from the shelf right before she could collect it, holding it up as if it were proof.

“In the old system, perhaps,” she said, snatching it from his hands. “But in this new system it will go under section 300, subsection 20, sub-subsection 4 point 17 for non-practical magical theory from authors located outside the realm of Toril—”

Gale’s jaw dropped. “Non-practical? How—”

“—and I’ll thank you to cease disturbing me so I can put it in its proper place,” she finished with a huff, blowing some of her curls from her forehead. She sent the book away, arcing it high over his head so he couldn’t make another grab at it.

“Now see here,” he said, struggling to remain diplomatic.

“No, Professor Dekarios, you see here,” she said, bowing up and shifting her books to one arm to poke a finger in his chest. “Blackstaff Varja has tasked me with the revitalization and re-categorization of this library, a job I take very seriously, and I won’t have pompous, big-headed wizards swanning about telling me how to do my job!”

Gale could barely get the words out. “Pompous? Big-headed? Madam, you—”

“If you require a specific tome to study, by all means, let me know so that I can locate it for you, but if your business is simply to bother and berate me then I’ll be forced to eject you from the premises.”

“Eject me? You wouldn’t dare.”

“You wouldn’t be the first, I assure you,” she said, her eyes flashing.

He shook his head, irritation warring with something like awe in the face of her ability to be unrelentingly annoying. “You are—infuriating. How will the students and faculty here get any study done if all the books—” he pulled another one from the shelf, using it to gesture, “—are in the wrong places?”

“They will learn,” she snapped, reaching for the book, but he held it high overhead, just out of her reach. She nearly crashed into him, nose-to-chest, reaching for it. She quickly stepped back with another huff. “Return The Many Multiple Uses of Mordenkainen’s Magnificent Mansion to me at once.”

“Only if you put it back in the M section,” he said, keeping it aloft. “Where it belongs with the other Mordenkainen works.”

“But Mordenkainen didn’t write—oh for Oghma’s sake.” She slammed her armful of books down on a new stack and snapped her fingers, whispering a spell he didn’t catch. The book tugged away from his hand. Surprised, he let it go, and it flew directly into her waiting arms.

“I think that’s quite enough library time for you, Professor Dekarios,” she said sharply, hugging the book to her chest. “You are to be banned from this library for the remainder of the evening. Good day, saer.”

“You can’t—”

But apparently she could. All of a sudden he felt the back of his robes pull taught, as if an unseen hand were grabbing his robes like a tressym might grab the scruff of their kitten’s neck. The force pulled upward, nearly lifting him off his feet, and he was forced to take several awkward steps away, back toward the entrance of the library.

“I—you—unhand me!” He struggled against the hold as was about to cast something to dispel the magic when he felt something suspiciously like an invisible boot give him a kick on the arse. “Hey!”

“Good day, Professor Dekarios,” he heard her say behind him.

He was forcibly pushed out through the open doorway, nearly falling over into the waiting crowd of wide-eyed students. He adjusted his robes in a hurry, ready to march back in there and try again, but the library doors shut with a loud bang and soon the magical sigils to an arcane lock illuminated the surface.

No one would be getting inside now.

There was a hush behind him as he stared at the library doors, hot embarrassment turning his ears pink while his pride, unable to suffer total defeat, looked for ways to make light of the situation or diffuse it. After a moment, someone started to snicker and it caused the entire waiting audience to struggle to hold in their delighted snickers and giggles.

“Well,” one of his colleagues said, folding their arms, but Gale held up a hand with a sigh.

“Don’t,” he said. “The mortification speaks for itself.”

“If it makes you feel better, you’re the sixth faculty member she’s done that to today,” they said, unable to withhold a chuckle. “Though out of all of them, you’ve lasted the longest.”

“And we’re to endure her being our new librarian?” Gale asked, as other professors began to shepherd away the students, reminding them of their homework and studies. “Is it too early to consider a new teaching placement?”

His colleague just laughed and walked away. Gale was left standing in the hallway, watching the arcane lock sigils glow and glimmer against the wood of the door.

He wanted to be angry, even offended. The entire re-categorization of a library as old and complex as Blackstaff Academy’s would spell chaos and slow down every pursuit of study for months. But as he watched the sigils, as his minds eye placed him back among the stacks of books and empty shelves, his memory lingering on one dark curl resting against the curve of the librarian’s olive-toned neck, another bouncing at her temple, he realized he wasn’t exactly angry or offended.

He was intrigued.

[assignmentimprobable]

I don’t legitimately ship WalkerEthan but it was funny enough as a premise of exceedingly unhinged chess moves to get me on the ‘they fucked nasty and the dick was wack’ train. Anyways in light of the upcoming MI movie and the return of the ‘I want Ethan Hunt’s asshole destroyed’ sleeper agent posts. I will share the random smut snippet I wrote on a 2023 day.

Tagging @airlocksandaviaries bc they were an Accomplice to the jokes

“You’re… Hh…” Walker’s grip is bruising, leaves Ethan with nowhere to go in the relentless barrage that is his pace. Ethan moans, short, punched out sounds somewhere in the range of “uh, uh, uh—“ and a whine. Anything beyond that is more than Walker deserves and less than he can give for what is just a scant few steps above the definition of mediocre. It’s more than he expected, but it’ll never be enough to warrant a full performance of his range.

“A fading relic.” As if possible, Walker reaches a new low, baritone dipping down into a subhum, its resonance thrumming in his rib cage. Ethan represses a shudder, stilling against the man.

“Grown man playing pretend and wearing cheap masks.” His length brushes along that spot that makes Ethan arch and press his forehead to the backboard so hard that cold pinpricks dot under the skin.

“You’re good at this though. Really, I think there’s work for you here.” All he can do is take, take. For the better part of it, it’s been like he isn’t here. It’s only when the CIA’s hammer needs to remind them of who it is he’s fucking that he’s given acknowledgement beyond the firm hand. It’s demeaning, and there’s a small voice in Ethan that chitters, demanding Walker see the threat beneath him and all it’s capable of. Recognize the bloodshed and slapdash adaptation that’s won the unwinnable and cheated him out of father death’s hands again and again.

And… None of that matters to Walker. He’s a man who claims logical progressions and a blunt edge, but he’s not built to listen to anything a man of Ethan’s constitution has to say. He’ll have what he wants by the best means. That’s all this is, his means. His tools. And Ethan just so happens to be in his box. Hunt’s being picked apart like the brother crow made roadkill in front of his luckier siblings and he’s not stopping it.

You’re the architect of undoings. Isn’t that your life?

Ethan chokes back the whimper at the back of his throat, biting his lip. This doesn’t go well with his audience, who chooses then and there to go full tilt, pleasure crackling across his body. The prick hasn’t even touched his dick yet, flushed and leaking at his belly.

“Asshole.” Ethan wheezes, fisting the wooden posts at each end of the bed’s frame.

“That’s right. Find a villain.” One glassy green eye peers over his shoulder, encountering a raised brow and flashes of canine. Mocking.

“Feels less like you gave it up easy for me that way, doesn’t it.” An observation. Never a question. It’s ugly and cruel for all the handsome that admittedly exists in the deliverer of the message. It makes him feel small. Ethan hates this man, he hates him so much it feels like it’ll crack him in two. And when Walker’s hand comes down on his ass at the same time he strikes Ethan’s prostate and sets about doing it again with as little recovery time as possible, he screams as much.

It’s not nearly as much as he hates himself.

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

💥

Thank you for the ask!

Is there a chapter, scene, or WIP you're most excited to write?

There are a few! I'm excited to get to chapter nine and beyond of young blood (never get chained) because that's where the action is going to pick up and not really let up until the end of the fic. I already know there's going to be a lot of yelling in the comments section and I'm very excited for that! I don't want to share too many details, but I think it's going to be very fun (for me. Probably not for anyone else)

I'm also really excited to actually sit down and properly write my Crystal-centric MSI-verse fic, which right now exists only as a bunch of random snippets. It heavily focuses on Crystal and Edwin's reluctant friendship, which is one of my favorite dynamics to write.

Here's a little snippet:

“This is useless.” Crystal lets her shattered phone fall to the ground. “Give me your phone. We need to call the office and report this.” “My phone was in the car,” Edwin says, as if that should be obvious. “Why the fuck was your phone in the car?” “Unlike your generation, I do not feel the need to be connected to a cellular device every minute of every day.” “Awesome,” Crystal says. “Except you know when it’s a great idea to keep your phone on you? When a demon blows up your fucking car.” He sniffs. “I could not possibly have anticipated this.” “What happened to ‘a good agent is always prepared?’” “I do not sound like that.”

Writer Goal Ask List

[hippolotamus]

So this is 39...

I was gonna do one of those X amount of things I've learned by age whatever, but 39 is a lot of things and tbh I'm not sure if I’ve learned that many (as some of you would undoubtedly agree). So, in true Hippo fashion, please accept this list of random assorted things I've picked up like shiny trinkets/facts I've come to accept through the years.

Believe it or not you're worth the effort, love and care you try to give everyone else but don't think you deserve.

Usually the more I've tried to fit in and be like everyone else, the more unhappy I've been. Let your freak flag fly and see who sticks around in your blanket fort.

Legos, coloring, stuffies, swing sets, daydreaming and other ‘childish pursuits’ are not, in fact, just for kids.

when given the opportunity, a solo car concert is a solid choice

If you're constantly putting yourself in boxes for the benefit of someone else... honestly, what's the point?

Find at least one person you can drop the mask with and be fully, authentically you.

Groups break up, accidents and weather happen... just go to the concert/show/exhibit if you wanna instead of waiting for ‘next time’.

nobody has their shit figured out (especially anyone acting like they do). we are literally all out here just wingin' it.

Some of the best life advice comes from fictional characters

Nobody cares. Nobody is thinking about you the way you're thinking about you. - Alexis Rose

Life isn't meant to be lived in moderation. We only get one chance at this... What's the point of living if you're just going to keep yourself locked away from ever experiencing life? - Avi Mulvaney

Make sure you’re following your heart - Carla Price

You’re gonna be okay, kid - Christopher Diaz

just because you didn’t die, doesn’t mean you’re actually living

even if you think you’re ‘too young’ for something, i assure you you’re not

i love you isn't reserved for family and/or romantic partners.

Platonic soulmates are a thing and they do exist

Dates with yourself are 100% necessary and sometimes the best ones

there is zero deadline or requirement to find a romantic partner, get married, have kids, buy a house, etc...

Sexual and Romantic preferences are fluid. It's OK if you change your mind or didn't 'figure it out' until your 20s, 30s, 40s or beyond.

You're complete as you are. Without the degree, the partner, the [current arbitrary standard]

Cliche as hell but life doesn’t end because you didn’t get the job/house/partner. Odds are good it’s the best thing that could have happened and you’ll be delighted it did.

Blood may be thicker than water but Found Family, the Family We Choose, is often the best family

Shared genetics doesn't demand your unwavering loyalty

I'm human and I fuck up. I make the wrong choice, say the wrong thing, don’t say anything or say too much. Way more than I want to, and often in the name of trying to keep the peace.

Do you write, paint, draw, some other variety of art? Congratulations 🥳 you’re an author/artist. A real one. Yes, you!

As such (and I will die on this hill) you don’t owe anything to anyone. Not the fic, the next chapter, the snippet, the gif set, etc. Your works are not the price of membership to fandom.

Missing someone and being glad they’re not in your life anymore aren’t mutually exclusive concepts.

You’re more than enough, but not too much. Never too much. I promise.

headpats & forehead kisses 💞🦛

[laura1633]

oh- i love your brain. i beg for more charles possessively dirty talking to max

pleasee!

Haha thank you anon ❤️ Here's just a random little snippet of Charles' possessive dirty talk

Max is writhing on the bed and gripping into the bedsheets as he grinds back down against Charles’ fingers. His whines have been getting steadily more desperate, his words now elongated beyond all recognition and voice cracking with every syllable he moans.

Charles slides his fingers out and watches Max’s muscles contract as he tries to grasp around something. Anything. His hole is gaping and glistening wet, lube dripping from the inside and down on to his sweat soaked thighs. 

“Spread your legs wider for me” Charles orders before kissing his way back up Max’s body and feeling the Dutchman’s muscles twitch everywhere his mouth goes. Max’s legs drop open even further without him having to be told twice.  He is always so willing, so pliant, so good. 

“Please” Max swallows thickly as Charles’ hand glides over his neck, the Monegasque feels the adam’s apple bob under his palm and curls his fingers gently around Max’s throat in response. Max is shaking now, not the violent heavy shudders he gets when he comes but the steady little shivers he gets when he’s so worked up and needs it so much that he can’t handle the sensation for much longer.

“Who do you belong to Max?” Charles looks right into the blues of Max’s eyes, sees the way the Dutchman is looking back so trustingly. 

“You” Max keens and tries to buck his hips up against Charles’ cock, “Belong to you”

Charles hums and kisses his way down Max’s jaw before licking across his lips and feeling the Dutchman’s sharp warm breath against his tongue. 

"What do you need me to do Max?” 

“Please” Max mumbles, his hands gripping hold of Charles wherever he can, “I need you to fuck me” 

“You need to be filled up?” Charles pushes the head of his cock against Max’s hole and delights in the animalistic way Max cries out, “Who is the only one who can keep you nice and full?”

“You are” Max tries to grind down against Charles’ cock but the Monegasque pushes him back down against the bed. 

“Are you going to let me do whatever I want to you?” Charles rasps as he inches in. Slowly. Slow enough for Max’s mouth to open and his eyes to widen as he feels his muscles stretching and his insides filling. The Dutchman has never held anything back, his expressions are open, every little sensation readable across his face. 

“You going to take me nice and deep tonight?” Charles hums as he bottoms out and holds himself there, nice and tight inside Max’s body, “All mine” 

“Yes” Max mewls as he scratches his fingernails down Charles’ back. 

“Who is the only one who gets to see you like this?” Charles pulls back slowly so Max can feel his cock dragging against his rim.

“You are” Max gasps as Charles leans down and runs his teeth over his collarbone.

“And who do your holes belong to?” Charles feels his heart racing as Max clenches down around him. 

“You” Max’s voice is scratchy, his whole body flushed red and shaking. 

“And what does that mean?” Charles takes a few long deep breathes, readies himself. Max never lets him down. Ever. 

“It means they’re yours to fuck” Max pants, there’s tears unshed in his eyes and he’s moving so desperately up against Charles’ body. He looks like he’s about to sob.

“So good for me” Charles praises before crashing his lips against Max’s and thrusting back in to him roughly 

[teriwrites]

about me: a writeblr re-re-re-introduction

Hello! My old pinned post is officially over a year old and makes me cringe whenever I'm on my blog, so it's time to freshen things up again!

me

I'm Teri, I'm smack dab in the middle of my 20s and figuring out life. My writing is pretty exclusively original stuff, a lot of novels and a lot of fantasy, but I play around with various genres in short stories. Sort of a jack-of-all-trades in regards to hobbies - aside from writing, there's anything from baking to drawing with my ancient art tablet to cross-stitch to playing music to rambling around the patch of woods near my house to watching long-form D&D let's plays.

my goals

I recognize that every time I post something like this, it's with the intention of finally becoming as active on writeblr as I was during the pandemic. I also recognize I've never quite managed that.

So here are some more general goals to get me through 2024:

Finish my 2nd draft of Beyond Alder Creek

Write as cringey and brutally honest as I never allowed myself to as a teenager.

Speaking of, a large reading/writing goal of mine is to go back through every NaNo draft I've ever written (I've participated since 2011). So aside from just reading that and likely turning it into a whole spectacle on here for people's amusement, generally just survive reading through the writing from 8th grade. Stay tuned for more on that in the coming weeks lol

Finally, I have a general goal every year of reaching 100K words, between writing and editing and the like, but I'd happily be a little looser with that goal if it meant getting through others.

And now, without further ado:

my writing

Before I get specifically into WIPs, a general overview of the kind of writing you can expect from me:

As I said, I'm a fantasy nerd. I love worldbuilding, both on a large scale (nations and cultures and political relationships) and a small scale (a magic shop in an otherwise contemporary setting).

There's not a lot of romance in my writing, but there Are a lot of transformational relationships and codependency. Friendships, siblings, guardians, general ride-or-dies.

Thought experiments. I've been trying to catch and indulge more in my 'wait, what if?' ideas. Sometimes, that's fun little snippets of silly ideas, sometimes it's a majorly emotionally heavy scene for a story I'll never write. Sometimes, it's coming up with ideas to 'combine genres'. It's all about expanding the range.

wips*

Beyond Alder Creek /// draft 2 /// tag: bac

Winnie Pewitt has never believed in the fae. That is, until her little brother disappears, and she stumbles upon a faerie ring on the edge of town. Inside, a man seemingly carved from gold suggests that he knows who took the boy. With everyone else around their hometown accepting her brother's fate as certainty, Winnie takes it upon herself to craft the perfect deal and enter the realm of the fae with her new companion in tow.

The Lies in the Legend /// draft 1 /// tag: litl

The fictional autobiography of an elven noblewoman who rose rapidly in station and influence from an unremarkable youth to a diplomatic powerhouse. Spanning centuries during the prime of her life, Lady Ghislaine Agassi charts the course of her career and reputation, and highlights the dangers of making myths out of our idols.

*Though these are my primary WIPs, I have a page that covers various other WIPs and projects that I've brought up over the past few years.

I think that about covers everything! As always, I can't make any promises about how the year will wind up and where it takes us. But I will say, I've actually been writing recently, and yk I'm just gonna ride that high.

And for fun, here's some random facts about me:

fun facts

I have degrees in psychology and music!

I've lived across three continents, but currently live in upstate New York for whatever reason lol

The animals I've ridden on the back of include: horse, pony, elephant, and ostrich. The horse was my least favorite. By far.

I got diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes a couple months after Covid landed stateside (in May 2020) and am Always ready to talk someone's ear off about it.

The first story I ever wrote was on PowerPoint and was about war breaking out between humans and aliens that had taken refuge on Earth after their planet was destroyed. I was 8. There was a Lot of Clipart involved.

I've never been published, but I once secretly planned out, wrote, edited, and self-printed a couple copies of a novel about my best friends and our college apartment. They received it for Christmas last year and loved it (or at least were kind enough to tell me they did)!

[silent-sanctum]

Hi, I hope you're doing well! Do you think you would be willing to write Jotaro with a partner who was cheated on in a previous relationship? (Only if you're alright with it)

Hello anon! Sorry if I just got to your request but there's actually a fic I'm planning to write that includes the prompt you sent, so I hope you won't feel like I've ignored or retconed your request ^^ However I do have a very short snippet of said fic that's really long in comparison to this that I'd like to offer as consolation~ Hope you enjoy~~

word count: 1k

“The snow’s pretty, right?”

It was sudden… but it wasn’t startling. What used to be just him staring back in the clear reflection now had someone else standing by it, the pure white-covered landscape beyond making both their mirrored faces a bit indistinguishable. He didn’t have to turn his head right to acknowledge the woman currently beside him.

Jotaro had no reason to respond and so he kept silent with an open ear. “Just the way little pieces of crystals would flutter down onto the ground to create a scenery as beautiful as these snow-capped terrains.”

Why is she telling me this? Still affixed on her reflection, the lady was someone already accustomed to this place. The simple cream yukata patterned with subtle floral imagery hugging her form was enough to tell him that. Next to her, he stood out like a sore thumb in his winter coat and hat.

And still, he remained wordless.

But with the way the woman didn’t comment on it, it seemed that she didn’t mind the lack of answers. “You must think this is weird for a random stranger to walk up to you suddenly talking about the beauty of nature.” Her reflection turned to him with a smile. “But it’s something I do ever since I booked my stay here.”

So she is a guest. Jotaro found it admirable from how calm she approached him, he would’ve thought she worked here as a hostess of sorts. “Men, women, non-binary, children, or the elderly… anyone really.”

“Why?” One word too late to realize he had spoke his thought out loud. It caught him off-guard when she made a little sound of surprise. Tucked in their pockets, his hands closed in on themselves.

She still smiled nevertheless. “I just like talking to people. I like getting to know how they’ve been and what goes on around them. It’s hard to enjoy simple stuff like that from where I’m working.” He nodded. Somewhere in the middle of her words, he had shied his gaze away from the glass and onto the floor instead.

“Oh, am I making you uncomfortable?”

Yes? No? He wasn’t so sure himself. Mindless conversations irritated him to a high degree, never finding the point of starting them when nothing productive or insightful came out of it. Jotaro had been the receiving end of such multiple times before so he knew when to leave.

But for some reason, he couldn’t classify her sentences as “mindless”. He did admire the intrinsic details of the winter environment and she did too. She answered questions he had and hadn’t asked and he appreciated the clarification.

It was something different. It made him curious.

Jotaro shook his head, finding some form of comfort in the tips of his shoes. It’s fine. Keep going. The woman chuckled. “You know. it’s okay to say that you are-

“I’m not.” 2 more words fled his mouth in an instant, so abrupt that even she got startled from it.

“My bad then mister,” she said with that sense of optimism intact. “It’s just that you weren’t replying back as much as I spoke, so I tend to catch my words before I end up rambling.” His mind drew a blank, not knowing what to say in return.

Jotaro nodded again. A reliable gesture of acknowledgment.

“Honestly, I like your silence.” He looked back to the reflection beside his on the glass. “Because even if you don’t say anything, you listen regardless. I’ve been with too many people who don’t and the world becomes deafening that others outside can’t hear me speak to begin with.”

He had his attention trained to this stranger, head angled so slightly towards her as he increasingly grew intrigued by her words. I know how that feels.

The woman gaped, caught in a moment of realization. “I’m sorry! I ended up rambling my thoughts.”

Another nod.

“Well it’s not like I’m going to hold you back any longer. You’ve yet to make yourself at home after all.” He furrowed his brows, turning to glance at her direction for a second to decipher what she meant, only to put two-and-two together when she stared at his current outfit.

I haven’t been to my room yet.

“Get comfy. I may be new too but I bet you’ll enjoy your stay here.” The woman was about to make her leave and out of the curiosity of his mind, Jotaro turned to look at her for the first time throughout their interaction.

And there she was, staring up at him with her ever-present shine.

In a second, Jotaro took in all of her appearance- dark brown locks done in a loose chignon. fair skin without a blemish to touch, the natural blush in her cheeks the same color as her full lips, deep shining irises that was so captivating that he couldn’t stare for long before it became too much, and the cherry blossom pin holding her hair together.

Unreal. It was almost uncanny.

This woman couldn’t be real.

Whether the preoccupation with his inner dialogue bothered her or not, she remained undeterred by his silence. Turning on her heels, she looked at him with a beaming smile and waved. “See you around!” To that, he watched her walk away with nothing to say back.

Jotaro was left alone to his devices just as it was mere minutes ago, still in his casual winter wear on the same spot he stood on. And yet one short conversation out of the blue felt like something around him shifted in the subtlest way possible.

And it took less than 5 minutes of a stranger’s time to spark that muffled sense of wonder in his brain.

What was it that she said? About wanting to know what goes on in the lives of others? The idea bore similarities to a minor mystery case he’d likely write about, more so when the subject was of the lady with the blossom pin.

If the world permitted it, by any means, he wouldn’t mind encountering her again.

“See you around…”