#writing and acting

[itsawritblr]

"Whether we start with a story or with a character, let's face it -- we writers of fiction are alike in one way. We're a mighty strange breed. We view the world differently. We walk around with voices and shadowy figures in our heads. We tend to stare out windows, mumble to ourselves. The Normals can't begin to understand us. Only our first cousins, the actors, can come close to matching our eccentricities. For we share the same goal: bringing characters to life."

*~*~* Brandilyn Collins, Getting Into Character: Seven Secrets a Novelist Can Learn From Actors.

I highly recommend this book for all writers. You can find cheap, readable copies on eBay and AbeBooks.

[creativepromptsforwriting]

subtle acts of love

giving them food without them asking for it

randomly bringing them flowers

holding a door open for them

pulling out their chair for them

guiding them with a gentle hand on the small of their back

making them lunch to take to work with them

fixing their clothes or hair

giving them a massage

talking casually about a shared future

showing them their appreciation for them

waiting at home to say hello when they come in

paying complete attention to them

giving them a casual, but thoughtful compliment

writing them a love letter and hiding it for them to find

showing them something that reminded them of their partner

humming a song to calm them down

giving them a quick kiss whenever they pass each other at home

casual grabbing their hand and swinging it back and forth

remembering something they told them

[mournfulroses]

Megan Nolan, from her novel titled "Acts of Desperation," originally published in March 2021

[everwalldigan]

Bruce: *waking up in a hospital that he drove himself to after having a heart attack and telling absolutely nobody* hey…

The entirety of the batclan looking over him with Dick in the centre, an absolute terrifying grin on his face:

Dick: hello Bruce, nice evening isn’t it? Got something to share with us?

Edit: the fic is now out on ao3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/57780508

[zhelin-thames]

A Ghostly Text Mishap

Danny flopped onto his bed, phone in hand, glaring at the screen. Another long day of dealing with Vlad's manipulative nonsense had left him frustrated beyond belief. He opened his messages, found the contact labeled Trucker, and began furiously typing.

Danny: You will NOT believe what Plasmius did this time. The absolute NERVE of this guy. You’d think being half-dead would make someone LESS petty, but nooo, this man’s ego is bigger than the Ghost Zone.

Danny: He tried to "buy" my parents' company AGAIN. He offered to “help” with ghost containment tech but really just wants to snoop around for weaknesses in the portal.

Danny: AND he had the audacity to call me “Little Badger” like it’s a term of endearment. I swear, if I hear that ONE MORE TIME, I might go full ghost and dropkick him into the Fenton Thermos.

Satisfied with his venting, Danny tossed his phone onto the bed and buried his face in his pillow. Unbeknownst to him, he had made one critical mistake.

Jason Todd, aka Red Hood, was sitting in his safe house, polishing his guns when his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen.

Unknown Number: You will NOT believe what Plasmius did this time…

Jason raised an eyebrow. “What the hell is this?” he muttered, scrolling through the tirade. By the time he got to “Little Badger”, he was smirking.

He typed back:

Jason: Kid, I think you’ve got the wrong number. Unless this “Plasmius” guy is a Gotham villain I’ve somehow missed.

Danny’s phone buzzed, and he rolled over to check it. His heart dropped when he saw the reply.

Danny: Oh no. This isn’t Trucker, is it?

Jason: Nope. But you’ve got my attention. Who’s Plasmius, and why does he sound like the type of guy I’d shoot on principle?

Danny hesitated, then decided to just roll with it.

Danny: Short version: he’s a half-ghost fruitloop billionaire who’s obsessed with ruining my life, becoming my creepy stepdad, and taking over the world. Think Lex Luthor but undead and ickier.

Jason burst out laughing, earning a curious glance from Roy Harper, who had just walked in.

“Who’s got you laughing like that?” Roy asked, setting down a bag of takeout.

“Some kid who texted me by mistake,” Jason replied, showing him the messages.

Roy skimmed them and snickered. “Plasmius? Sounds like a knockoff vampire villain.”

Jason’s fingers flew over the keyboard.

Jason: Okay, kid, you’ve officially got my interest. I don’t know who you are, but if this Plasmius guy’s half as bad as you say, I’ve got some creative ways to deal with him. You in Gotham?

Danny stared at the message, blinking. Who even was this guy? But... he did sound like he knew how to handle problems.

Danny: Uh, no. I’m from Amity Park. It’s kind of a supernatural hotspot, so I’ve got it covered. But thanks for the offer, I guess?

Jason smirked.

Jason: Supernatural hotspot? Kid, you’re talking to someone who’s been resurrected. Ghosts don’t scare me.

Danny froze. Resurrected? Oh no. This guy might actually know about the supernatural.

Danny: ...Wait, who ARE you?

Jason: Name’s Jason. Most people call me Red Hood. Ever heard of me?

Danny blinked, then groaned. “Of course. I text a vigilante. Just my luck.”

Danny: ...Yeah, I’ve heard of you. So, uh, thanks for not tracking this number and showing up at my house or something.

Jason: Yet.

Danny felt a shiver run down his spine.

Danny: That’s not funny, dude.

Jason: Relax, Little Badger. Your secret’s safe with me. For now. But hey, if you ever need help dealing with your undead billionaire problem, hit me up.

Danny sighed, shaking his head.

Danny: Sure. Thanks, I guess?

Jason leaned back, grinning as he saved the number under Ghost Kid.

“Roy, I think I just found the weirdest contact in my phone.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Roy replied, tossing Jason a burger.

“Not bad. Just��� different.” Jason chuckled. “Plasmius, huh? Sounds like fun.”

[magicicephoenix]

i finally finished reading I see you, Sundrop! by @shirajellyfish and IT'S SO GOOD I CAN'T BELIEVE IT TOOK ME THIS LONG TO FINISH IT RAAAAAAA

i will be gushing about it in the tags but here's a lil animation i made based on the below paragraph in chapter 6 that gave me such a strong mental image that i had to make it real :)

[fireflysugarpie]

I'm literally so obsessed with the fact that Shang Qinghua and Shen Qingqiu married the most extreme versions of each other

like, I'm pretty sure that people have already brought this up, but Shang Qinghua and Luo Binghe have the same, "I'm just a little guy, you wouldn't hurt a little guy, would you?" pathetic, pitiful, crybaby aura (even though Binghe is a lot more selective with it lol)

and Shen Qingqiu and Mobei-Jun are icy beauty, rich, dense, spoiled brats that both go insane over (1) pitiful hamster man (for different reasons, but still)

I feel like if they didn't fucking die and get transmigrated, they could've had a cute assholes to assholes but lovers arc :<

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Ignorantia Neminem Excusat

(Ignorance excuses no one, lat.)

"Commissioner."

Jim Gordon doesn't jump. They are years and years into this rodeo, he's stopped actually jumping at Batman's silent approach a long time ago. Yet, Bruce still notices the way his shoulders twitch just the tiniest bit, and his hand makes an aborted motion to his gun holster. Still got it.

The man turns around. Bruce can see the 'must you always do that?' in his slightly narrowed eyes. He presses his lips tightly together in order to not smirk: Batman doesn't do that, even if it's admittedly funny to see the seasoned Commissioner get spooked every time.

"There's a kid that wants to speak with you."

Bruce frowns. A kid that warranted a BatSignal? Not that he minds, but this is highly unusual for several reasons; however, Jim is not the kind of man that would fall for puppy eyes of any level, so it must be something more important than an autograph session or a victim of any of the recent cases.

Besides, the way Commissioner worded it implies that the kid, whoever they are, requested Batman specifically.

"He is a hacker," Jim puts both his hands in the pockets of his coat — he is either cold or uncomfortable, and Bruce highly suspects it's both. What's more, he starts to understand why. "I'm sure you're aware we were trying to track the person responsible for the few recent cyber attacks on GCPD servers," Jim glances at him, and Bruce nods. He is aware, yes, but the case was low-priority — it wasn't even an attack, really, someone just accessed the system foregoing the passwords and clearance levels, went through a few files, seemingly at random, and did a fairly decent job of hiding their traces. Bruce would have even thought it was Tim, if this happened a few years ago, when the boy was just learning the ropes.

Commissioner sighs and looks away, "But when we brought him in, the boy said he will only speak to you, and none of us have been able to make him say a word since." He pauses, a grim kind of expression on his face, "This was six hours ago."

Bruce is grateful for the way his cowl hides how his eyebrows raise. There are hundreds of scripts officers, detectives, and social workers can use to establish contact. Quite a lot of them could be attempted in the span of six hours.

Whatever the kid wants to tell him, Bruce decides it's worth a try. If not anything else, he can at least admire the sheer stubbornness.

—×—×—×—

The kid sitting in the interrogation room looks... younger than Bruce expected. Fifteen, maybe sixteen. He is dressed like any other homeless kid in Gotham — a hoodie and a jacket over it, jeans that look a size too big on him, sneakers with mismatched shoelaces — but he clearly hasn't been out in the streets for that long. His hair is braided into cornrows, and it looks professional, even if the roots have grown out so now it's just messy. What's more, he is missing that telltale wariness in his posture that Bruce has seen in every other street kid that has been brought into a police station. They always slouch and curl into themselves.

This boy is sitting with his back straight. Yet, there's a tension in his body that Bruce can only associate with a battle stance — give him the slightest reason, and the kid will lunge.

He steps into the room.

The boy — he hadn't given a name, and there wasn't a single ID on him — zeroes on him instantly. His eyes are a very pale, almost translucent green: a rather strange feature for a black-skinned person, genetically speaking, but Bruce doesn't dwell on it. Yet.

But then, the face recognition program comes up empty.

As in, 'there's not a trace of this person's prior existence' empty. Not a single camera footage, no records or reports of missing, no pictures, no social media, nothing. Bruce frowns.

"Hi," the kid says, his voice raspy, "My name is Tucker Foley. According to the government, I don't exist, so if your recognition program doesn't find anything on me, that's why."

Bruce doesn't say anything. Tucker wanted to speak with him, and previously, he was only merely intrigued by that request. However, as of right now, he wants to hear everything the kid has to say before asking any follow-up questions.

Because that always present, cautious and bordering on paranoid voice in the back of his mind tells him he is about to get into something way more serious than he expected.

Tucker moves — he kept both his hands on the table, palms open and visible, but now he closes one into a fist. Although, before Bruce can react to it, he opens it again. A small, the size of a flash-drive, dimly glowing green object rests inside.

"Do you know what this is?" The boy asks. He hasn't looked away from Batman's face once; Bruce is not even sure he blinked at all since he entered the room. Come to think of it, even with his tense, rigid posture, Tucker is too still, almost unnervingly so.

Bruce glances down to the boy's hand.

"Yes," he answers curtly, and there it is, the smallest shift in Tucker's face: he clenches his jaw like he's trying to hold the words inside his mouth. Bruce doesn't like it.

"What is it?" Comes the next question, but it's not curiosity that prompts it. It's a test of some sort. Bruce likes that even less.

"A power source," he decides on a neutral answer, not entirely certain what the boy is expecting to hear.

It seems to be a wrong answer because for the first time, Tucker's emotions slip from under his mask, and he takes a sharp breath in, looking like Bruce had just slapped him across the face. It lasts only a moment — Tucker closes his eyes for a moment, slowly exhales, and speaks again, calm and focused once more.

"And what exactly powers it?"

It's an important question, judging by the desperate, searching look in Tucker's eyes. His hands are not shaking, and there are no visible signs of distress, but for some reason, Bruce just knows that the boy's whole life seems to depend on the answer.

But.

"It's classified." Bruce doesn't take his eyes off the boy, but he still fails to see when he gets to his feet; the movement is quicker than the blink of an eye. All he knows is the aftermath of it, the screech of the chair legs on the floor and the loud slam of Tucker's palms on the table.

"Fuck the classified!" The boy yells, his face twisting in an awful mix of anger, hurt and a broken, terrified sort of hopelessness that almost breaks Bruce from the inside. "I need to know what they've told you, I have to- Tell me you think it's just a battery! Tell me you've never broke one to see what's inside, tell me you believe in science! They've showed you the research, didn't they?" Tucker's voice, so agonizingly different from the composed way he was talking before, breaks into a sobbing, almost hysterical laugh. His pale eyes are wide open and almost panicked, searching Batman's face for something he is not sure he can find.

"Tell me you've never seen one being made," this time, the boy doesn't yell, he whispers, his breath hitching and his knuckles white. "Please," he adds a moment later, and Bruce knows this kind of plea.

It's the plea of someone who is begging for the world to have mercy on them. A plea of a boy standing on their parents' grave, a plea of a man kneeled in front of his son's corpse.

Bruce swallows the bitter taste on the back of his tongue and takes a step closer. He sees the boy in front of him lean back and bend his knees, like bracing for impact, but he answers before any more misunderstandings can occur.

"I have seen the research. It provided enough information that I've never investigated further," he offers, and Tucker's shoulders slump like months and months of living in a constant state of fight-or-flight leaving his body all at once. Then, the boy's hands start trembling just slightly.

"Really?" He quietly asks, his eyes still glued to Batman, and there it is, the hesitant, uncertain hint of hope in his voice.

Bruce suddenly feels like not only this talk will be much, much worse than he ever feared, but also like in the end this will be another one of the things he will be blaming himself for. Things he could have prevented if he just tried a little harder.

"Really," he nods, taking a seat opposite from Tucker. "So explain what I've missed."

The boy keeps looking at him for a few more seconds, like trying to x-ray his thoughts for any sign of a lie. But then he blinks — for the first time, maybe — and rubs his face with his palm before all but dropping back in his own seat.

"Okay," he breathes out, evidently trying to collect himself and go back to the strong, focused self, "Okay."

[ part 2 -> ]

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

is murderbot a good show? no. does it do the books far more justice than we dared to hope? yes. will i be watching the show in its entirety buying 3 different types of ice cream to do a celebration marathon watch whilst sighing in relief kicking my feet giggling on the sofa? absolutely

[ysvxnielle]

i took this picture sneakily while MY husband was pampering OUR son , explaining he will be back soon after his match ♡

translation: Itoshi Shohta (our son's name): "Daddy, don't go!!!"

Itoshi Sae: "If you come with me, Mommy will be alone. While daddy can't come home, you have to protect mommy. Can you do it?"

*sniffle..*

translated by - @ysvxnielle (me) reblogs, likes and follows are appreciated !

[forgettable-au]

FORGETTABLE-AU (page 97-100)

* Where could she be?

[BEGINNING] [PREVIOUS] [CONTINUE]

[gojoest]

nanami kento tries so hard not to fuck you on your first date, it makes him feel like a terrible man. he’s not like this, usually. you just frustrate every single cell in him, sexually — he can’t believe this is happening to him, honestly.

it’s a pain, he acts cold and distant — he’s simply trying to hide his boner half of the time. he zones out while you speak — your lips are distracting, he can’t hear a single word you speak. he can only think of the many ways your lips would shape and shift when you moan and whimper his name the deeper he sinks his cock in you. also, can you fit all of him down your throat? oh, can you—

fuck…

his cock gets hard under the table, forcing a sense of panic in him while he ponders whether he’s visibly leaked and stained his slacks or not. terrified to look down, because he knows. he’s so fucked.

he needs to wait a bit before you leave the restaurant, to cool off a bit, calm down. but it only gets worse from there.

he drives you back home, but doesn’t leave the car to walk you to your doorstep. his cock is hard again, aching so bad it limits his movements. besides if he steps out and stands tall before you — you will see, this time you definitely will. he’s embarrassed. and on top of that, he feels like an ass, the lowest of the lowest, for treating you so poorly.

the entire car ride was torturous to him, courtesy of your scent so close to him in the passenger seat, along with the way you tucked your hands between your thighs every now and then — perhaps the awkward silence got you nervous. he wondered all the way to your house how you smelled and tasted, down there.

you think the whole date was a disaster, and that he’ll never call you again but little did you know, the first thing he did when he went back home was jerk off — not once, not twice, but three fucking times, thinking about you. furiously.

later, he texts you. you blink a few times in utter disbelief.

dinner tomorrow? i’ll cook

dinner — at his place, that is. he’ll change the bedsheets in the morning with freshly washed ones, because this time — he’ll fuck you.

[akanemnon]

Shouldn't there be a minotaur in the labyrinth? Who put this goat here? This is not accurate to the mythology! /j

FIRST - PREVIOUS - NEXT

MASTERPOST (for the full series / FAQ / reference sheets)

[mournfulroses]

Megan Nolan, from her novel titled "Acts of Desperation," originally published in March 2021

[squipa]

“i guess i’m stuck forever by the glue, oh, and you”

aka— how jason loves you (acts of service) ⭒

———

jason todd doesn’t know how to love you. he’s been constantly cast aside, beaten down, grown up seeing how the only real parental figures in his life stare at romantic interests with lust and not purest love. he never learned where to press tender kisses or when to whisper sweet nothings, so the unfettered affection that overwhelms him presses so hard against his chest he can feel an aching heart bulging painfully against his skin.

yet, in the center of his being, nestled right under his left ventricle and between the most delicate of his ribs, there is a little boy terrified of losing the only woman he’s ever been capable of loving, the only person capable of loving him.

so he works— day and night, doing all that he can to ensure that this overwhelming fear, a horror that shakes him body and soul, can never come to fruition. before you could even realize you liked him, he never left your apartment, fixing things you hadn’t even realized were broken. your sink, your fridge, your heater— you threw out the little magnets with the numbers of plumbers and electricians, because jason took care of your crumbling home like it was his.

there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for you. not a line he would fail to cross if you looked up at him with those tired doe eyes that pierce his once unbreachable walls and bewitch him entirely.

he can’t quite say he loves you. it’s the most difficult thing he’s ever done and he doesn’t know why. he’s said it twice under normal circumstances, six times if you count intoxication and near death experiences— which he does not. he does love you, without question or doubt, he’s so in love with you it hurts him. he just fails at every attempt to articulate it. he wishes he could tell you every day when you wake up, every night before you fall asleep, and every moment in between— but he just can’t. he’s scared that real ‘i love you’s’ will sour into fake ones and tender goodnight kisses will rot into resentment, so he avoids them entirely.

but he shows you. maybe he doesn’t know that he’s supposed to open every door or cover bare shoulders with his jacket, but he knows how to make himself indispensable. he knows you hate coming home to an empty fridge so he makes sure you won’t. he takes care of your car before you were even aware of an issue— oil changes, flat tires, and anything beyond the norm and he makes sure you never have to pay a penny of it.

and the dates you go on— they’re perfectly planned, itineraries crafted with doting hands and warm intentions. he doesn’t go all out very often, he’s more inclined to spend his evenings at home with you in his arms, but on anniversaries, or your birthday? it’s elaborate and enchanting— fantastic really is the only word proper enough in grandeur to describe it. candlelit homemade dinners and gifts that, while never expensive or over the top, are so thoughtful you tear up every time.

yes, while he is an undeniably clumsy lover, a man who was never given the tools to show just how much he is capable of, jason todd loves you too much to ever let go. it is in no way malicious the way he traps you in a rose colored box, making sure you feel loved and cared for and safer in his arms than anywhere else.

———

1. trying out new things with formatting!! i’d love feedback on it if you like this style more than my previous one!!

2. soooo sorry i haven’t posted in awhile. this week has been HELL. ap testing. graduation around the corner. hours at the vet. flat tire. fanfic writer curse is REAL. i meant to post this like a year ago & i just could not finish it. sorry it’s so short too i’m just exhausted :( hope y’all enjoyed!!!!!!