#developmental writing

[freya-fallen]

Freya's tips for writing or something

Don't always rely on the characters not saying what they mean; people say what they mean all the time. The real miscommunication issue is that everyone overthinks the meaning of what others say or second-guesses their reactions to it/their own words. ex, "She said she liked my dress. Was she being sarcastic? I don't think she was, but maybe she was. Or maybe she was trying to make me feel better about it because it's so ugly."

Use the second metaphor that comes to mind, not the first. The first metaphor will be trite, overused. If you think of it a second longer, you'll come up with something that applies, but isn't overused, and it'll slap because of that.

Just get the words down. You can't write well if you don't write at all, and, like anything else, practice makes you better.

Read, note what you like in others' work.

Experiment. Have a whole fic (or ten) just to experiment.

Write different fics differently-- different tense, different person, etc. Have one in first person, past tense. Have another in third person, present. Yes, even do second person. Heck, why not try a future-tense short story for the hell of it?

Write for yourself.

Write for someone else.

Write with that angry voice inside that you always try to hide.

Skip the scenes that you have trouble writing; sometimes they aren't important anyway. Sometimes, they'll be easier to write later, when you have the consequences of said scene laid out.

You can read through and edit later. It's fine. Good writing and good editing are different skills anyway.

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

disabled children not allowed be children.

especially. intellectually and/or developmentally disabled (I/DD) children, & children w behavioral or “behavioral” struggles (aka many I/DD children) not allowed be children.

which may be weird thing say at first because I/DD famous for be infantilized, be treat as forever children. so would think children be only thing they “allow” be, n say they not allow be children contradicting—

but not actually.

as general whole, nondisabled children “allowed” tantrums. allow emotional immature. allowed childish quirks.

what be normal child tantrum fuss in (white) nondisabled children, even with child health/care professionals who whole entire job be understand that nondisabled typically developing child have underdeveloped brain n not yet have self regulate skill n that developmentally appropriate that normal, it may be talk as annoying & inconvenient, but for I/DD children every. single. time. where they “tantrum” “fuss” even in developmentally appropriate ways, chance be write as sign of their disability, sign of behavior problem, sign of emotional problem. be evidence of disorder. of abnormal. of something wrong. which be “okay” reason dehumanize, abuse, be talk about like animal, like not in room, like difficult problem to be solved.

nondisabled adults fondly look back at childhood comfort objects that maybe still have now, stuffed toys blankets or maybe less usual things that mean something to them. but when disabled children have them it be more likely *automatic* see as problem, as something need be weaned off, need be taken away, as unhealthy overattachment, be write into behavioral plan, only allow x minute per day, see as “impractical” & “useless”.

as general whole, nondisabled children allow say no, allow act out “no,” allow prefer, allow not want do something so protest by not doing, by not listening, by pretend not hear you. it may be see as funny or annoying but meanwhile for disabled children it largely see as oppositional as noncompliance as inattentive as something need be trained out of by all means possible.

nondisabled children do things because they kids. disabled children do things because there something wrong with them.

nondisabled children rights n autonomy not fully respected by any means but disabled children get even less of it.

disabled children often not allowed many leeway’s as nondisabled children, what be developmentally appropriate for same age nondisabled children often be over label as disorder as problem as something abnormal need be get rid off in disabled children.

n especially when come to behaviorally, white nondisabled children get be the most “child,” n Black n other disabled children of color get “child” stolen from them in multiple ways.

[theaceace]

Hob is woken, not by the shrill cacophony of his alarm or the sunlight hitting his face where they'd forgotten to pull the curtains last night, or even the warmth of Morpheus' hands and mouth, but by the sudden dip in the mattress as another person flops onto the bed with them.

Several lifetimes' worth of instincts see him jolting awake in an instant, heart racing and sweat already beading on his back and brow. Hob may not be able to die, but he's been ambushed in his sleep more than enough times to be getting on with, ta very much, and he's not keen to do it again. Suddenly he's twenty-five, and exhausted after days of marching on Troyes, feet sore and heart sorer, waiting on a battle that never came. He's twenty-eight, and the knife that flashes in the darkness misses his throat only because Herry has ears like a bat and enough blind-foolish loyalty to leap on their attacker's back. He's seventy-three, and lying barely-conscious among the dead that need burying or burning, and he knows that he needs to rouse himself even with the arrow still in his chest, or he'll be burnt or buried with them. He's two-hundred and sixty-four, and they've come to the home he'd made for his family, to drag him from the bed he had shared with his wife some thirty years before, and haul him away as a witch.

He's gripped now by the same fear, and it has him up and moving, one hand fumbling at the bedside table for anything with enough heft to dent a skull before he realises that none of his attackers have ever smelt like peaches.

Beside him, Morpheus shifts just enough to free his face from the clutches of his pillow.

“That key was given to you for use in emergencies, my sibling,” he says, voice thick with sleep and the cotton pillowcase.

Desire stretches luxuriously between them and smiles, fox-sharp, at Morpheus. They roll their head to look at him – beneath the perfume and sweat and wet pavement smell of them, Hob catches a sour waft of alcohol.

“Oh but my dear brother, this is an emergency,” they say, and – look, Hob has been drunk enough to recognise the exquisitely deliberate care at the edges of their words. He huffs a little, pushes himself up so that he can slap a hand on the bedside lamp and blink furiously against the sudden light. It takes a few seconds for his vision to clear, and he rubs his hands over his face in a vain effort to convince himself that this is some new nightmare that Daniel is testing out, before he gives in to the inevitable and turns to examine their guest.

"And what could possibly be so pressing at –" Morpheus snatches Desire's wrist up to stare blearily at their watch "– two thirty-seven in the morning? That could not be expressed in a phone call or wait until a reasonable hour?"

"Do you know, brother mine, how many partners I found to dance with? Whose desire for me, once so integral as to be a given, I had to simply guess at? To read in the curve of a smile or the enticing lull of a question? I didn't know them, not a one, and can you guess, sweet Dream, how many of them took me to their beds?"

And Hob has heard quite enough of that. He stretches and tosses back the sheets, while Morpheus shoots him a filthy glower that softens immediately into a plea for respite with his sole visible eye. Desire either doesn't notice this silent communication, or doesn't care.

“None!” They crow gleefully, clasping their hands, and Morpheus scowls as he's jostled in place.

It's not that Hob wants to leave him to fend for himself against his sibling, only that he doesn’t fancy being in the firing line when Morpheus inevitably snaps and thumps Desire with a pillow.

Doing an admirable job of ignoring Morpheus' wounded expression, Hob groans and lurches himself in the vague direction of the kitchen. Might as well put the kettle on for this.

"Jasmine or apple tea, love?" He calls. No sense having any caffeine now. If they're lucky, Desire will wear themself out quickly and they'll be able to go back to sleep before the alarm goes off.

"Apple, if you would," Morpheus replies.

"Ooh, I'll have jasmine if you're making."

"Didn't ask you!" Hob shouts back, already adding a spoon of sugar to the third mug he'd fetched down for them. 

“Oh, so forceful! You know, if you ever get tired of my stick-in-the-mud brother here…” Desire trails off meaningfully, and Hob snorts, smiling a little to himself. They know full well it's not going to happen, however much or little they remember about his desires, and even if he were – impossibly – to change his mind about Morpheus, they'd get bored of him soon enough. 

He sets all three mugs on a tray, and grabs a pack of chocolate digestives while he's at it. Morpheus would never admit to being fond of them, but he doesn't need to. Hob's watched him absent-mindedly devour most of a packet while he pecks one-handed at the keyboard. Besides, Desire could probably do with something to line their stomach. 

“Is being human always this delightfully contradictory? So baffling and solid and… damp?” Desire asks, lifting their head just enough to peer at Hob as he re-enters the room. It's a moot question, of course. They've been human long enough now to know that the answer is, largely, yes. 

“Often. But do you know, my sibling, the very best part of being human?” Desire turns lazily to look at Morpheus, smiling wide. Their lipstick today is dark purple, and smudged at the corners of their mouth. 

“Mm, do tell. You know how much I crave your… wisdom,” they say, rolling the words indulgently over their tongue. Hob sighs and nudges Morpheus’ book to one side so he can set the tray down on the nightstand on his side of the bed.

“It is that it is no longer against the Old Laws for me to do this,” Morpheus says, planting one foot against their side and shoving hard enough that they topple off the bed with an outraged squawk and undignified thump. There's a blessed moment of stillness, the same kind of breathless anticipation that Hob remembers from the battlefield, before the charge and the mud and the pain. Then they pop back up over the side of the bed with a cry and launch themself at Morpheus. He'd be more worried if he couldn’t hear the laughter in their voice, nor see how their outstretched hands target Morpheus’ ribs and armpits, rather than his eyes.

Hob's sisters have been dead for centuries now, but he remembers this well enough.  Maybe if the Endless had ever been anything like children, they might have gotten all of the murderous posturing out of the way before they grew up enough for it to be a problem, he muses. Still. Better late than never.

He takes a sip of his own tea and grabs a biscuit. Lord knows he won't get a look in once Morpheus has finished trying to jam his elbow into Desire's stomach and realises they're there.

“It was never against the Old Laws for you to be a bastard, which is lucky because you always were one!” Desire gasps, writhing away from Morpheus’ pointy limbs. Hob's been at the receiving end of those elbows before, and even when Morpheus is being gentle, they're decently sharp. He wonders idly if either of them'll tire of this before their tea goes cold, and decides not to intervene either way. Serve them both right if they have to drink cold tea.

“You tried to kill me!”

“Don't tell me you're still hung up on that?”

“I am, because you tried to kill me!”

“Well it's not like it worked!”

Not really the point, Hob reckons, but then again he's had plenty of mates that have tried to kill him. 

“More by good fortune than good judgment,” Morpheus hisses.

“Oh, so you admit to your poor judgment?”

Hob snorts, and the wounded look Morpheus swings towards him would fell a lesser man. Hob takes another biscuit.

“Ha!” Desire takes advantage of his momentary distraction to lock their arms around his shoulders and blow a loud raspberry against his cheek. Hob doesn’t think he's entirely successful in hiding his smile. Morpheus doesn't even try to hide his look of disgust. 

Well, he had to learn the downsides of being an older brother at some point, Hob supposes. 

Judging that the worst of the scrapping is over, he perches on the edge of the bed and pats Morpheus’ flank idly. Desire, loose-limbed with alcohol and triumph, flops over him to reach for their tea. Morpheus magnanimously doesn't jab his fingers into their exposed side.

“Thank you, Robert darling,” Desire says, eyes half-lidded as they drink. It comes out far less coquettish than Hob imagines they intended; too genuinely content. Morpheus sighs, and frowns, and doesn't quite do a good enough job of hiding his own ease as he sits up and leans against Hob. 

“I suppose you intend to stay the night?” Morpheus asks. There's nothing of the dignified dreamlord about him now, with his hair flattened on one side and just a little lank, and pillow creases on his cheek. He peers at Desire, half of his weight still supported by Hob, who takes another slurp of tea and polishes off the last of his biscuit. It's still unbelievable, sometimes, that he may see his dour and distant old stranger like this. Something tangible, something grounded, something he can hold. Unbelievable, too, after the way they had almost parted, after the way Morpheus had almost –

Well. Doesn't bear thinking about, really.

“Mm, yes, if you'll have me.” Do they have to work to make everything they say sound like a double entendre,  Hob wonders, or does it come naturally? He's not entirely sure they even notice they're doing it. 

“You're always welcome,” Hob says. “Guest room's all made up, and there's a spare toothbrush under the sink you can have.”

“How very kind. Dream, dear, isn't your man kind?”

“Unreasonably so.”

“Ta, love,” Hob says, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Desire rolls their eyes theatrically, as though that might mask how their expression softens. “Now drink your tea, I'd like to get a few more hours’ sleep before I need to get up.”

Morpheus grumbles but straightens up, plucking his mug from the nightstand and cradling it in one hand while he reaches for a biscuit with the other. 

“Should we expect any of our other siblings to join us tonight?” He asks, managing somehow not to spray crumbs everywhere as he does so, which is a bit unfair. Hob has centuries more experience talking through mouthfuls of crumbly biscuits, and he still can't do as good a job of it. “I take it you did not venture out alone this night.”

“No I didn't, but don't worry,” Desire says, tilting their head back as they drain their mug, a neat ring of purple left behind on the ceramic. “My sweet twin is unlikely to make an appearance. I certainly hope, at least – she went home with that little exorcist friend of yours. If she comes here, then something’s gone dreadfully wrong.”

They grin, cat with the cream pleased at the expression on Morpheus’ face, and flick their hand in something like a wave. “Well, goodnight brother! Robert.”

They flounce away towards the spare room, and Hob presses his smile into the curve of Morpheus’ shoulder.

“I hate them,” Morpheus grumbles. Hob kisses the bony jut of skin where his t-shirt has slipped, once, twice.

“No you don't,” he says. Morpheus sighs, sets his mug down, and returns to hold Hob's face still for a proper kiss. Not that Hob would try to get out of it. 

“No,” he agrees softly, pulling Hob down with him for a cuddle onto pillows that still smell a little of peaches. “No. I do not.”

[assblastergaster]

it’s actually crazy now that i’m thinking about it. with absolutely no side quests the story of veilguard is like 20 hrs long at most. that is SO SHORT. insane insane insane. we should all be on our knees thankful that they got any amount of good character writing in there at all. we really got dragon age 2 2

[novella-november]

A random, good video I found about why good Editors are so important for your works!

[fryandleelasbigfling]

writing fry like a child:

unoriginal

flanderizes his stupidity in the same way as every other flanderized 'stupid' character out there

vaguely ableist

makes his relationship with leela very weird

writing bender like a child:

comically surreal for his species

reframes his egotism in a more funny/compelling/sympathetic way by just having him in a perpetual developmental stunt

somewhat canon compliant (he started the series as a two-year-old)

makes his relationship with fry and leela even funnier

[badkarma1998]

least popular Fallout as in one of the first 2 or as in Tactics? 👀👀

Ok I may have completely forgotten Tactics even existed lmao.

But no I was referring to Fallout 3.

Anyone I've talked to who played the first 2 seems to really love them, and when I say I love 3 the most the question tends to be "why?" Lol

Maybe its that I only ever hear endless praise (rightfully so) for New Vegas, but 3 has such bad writing and level design I fully recognize my adoration is filtered through nostalgia

[vimesbootstheory]

oh I don't think I said here -- finished my second draft on wednesday! yaaay

I'm on a writing break until after my bday's passed

[boyslit-moving]

i think people trying to reclaim the r slur need to be really fucking careful about using it

it doesn't stop being a sharp-edged word just because you say "I'm reclaiming it"

if you're using it as a self descriptor, that is reclamation. aiming it towards others as an insult is decidedly not reclamation. that's taking the weapon of the oppressor and harming your fellows with it

[mishy-mashy]

Oh the temptation to write a Resistance fic where Kudo learns to take care of a baby during terrible times

[guacamolleee]

WIP Word Game

tagged by @the-bear-and-his-sunbird. this looks super fun, thank you for the tag 🥺

“Rules: you will be given a word. Then you share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that starts with each letter of your word.”

my word was SYMBOL

S - She cried out and gritted her teeth, one hand staunching the wound on her upper arm, blood dripping. “Stay away from him!”

Y - “You're just so cool,” she said in a rush, “We have all these stories of heroic wardens conquering the Blight and dashing champions protecting their city, and I thought, yeah, Rook's just as great as the Champion of Kirkwall, she should get her own story too. The Hero who fought two gods and, against all odds, saved the day with the help of her friends.”

M - “Ma lath.” Ellana lifted her head from Solas’ chest, her hair spilling between them. “I have… an idea.”

B - Before she could think, Rook wrapped her arms around Bellara's shoulders, embracing her friend tightly. “Bel, that is the nicest thing anyone has said to me. Ever.”

O - “Onions are a fundamental ingredient in almost every kind of dish. They add depth and flavor. And they’re healthy for you.” Lucanis looked at her like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

L - Love — or lovesickness — curled low and hot in his gut, and his cock twitched in his trousers. A wicked grin spread on Rook's face. “Oh, I see.”

do you know how hard it was to look for a sentence that started with O that wasnt just "oh?" lmao thank you, lucanis 🙏🧅

tagging (if you wanna!!!) @vivispec @broodwoof @caughtnyact @holdingontojupiter @redheadsramblings @theyearningghoul @rook-de-rivas

your word is: Danger

[left-to-write-edits]

Let's get one thing straight

...and two things bi:

I'm a trained editor

I'm taking freelance clients

I'm a fandom girly

I will be posting about writing and editing. I will happily share my sources—and names of/links to resources—with anyone who asks.

I will also be your biggest ally, because tumblr people are my people too. If you're worried an editor will balk at your language, themes, or humor, come sit by me.

Xx —Tiana

[editthat]

Welcome Fellow Wanderers! Let’s Talk Writing, Editing, and Fixing Messy Drafts ✍️🔧 📖

Hi writers and editors!

I’m Lu, a freelance editor (and data scientist by day) who geeks out over character arcs, pacing fixes, and sentences that just hit the spot. This blog is for:

Breaking down editing techniques (from line edits to big-picture rewrites)

Celebrating fanworks and original fiction—because yes, I will happily analyse your WIP’s lore consistency and your blorbos/OCs' characterisation

Sharing my own writing struggles—I’m drafting a sci-fantasy and a historical novel, so I feel your pain

What to expect: ✅ Before/after edits (with permission!) ✅ Rants about common manuscript pitfalls ✅ Occasional memes about the writing process

Want help? Ask me anything—or submit a snippet for a free mini-critique!

(Also accepting prompts like: “How would you edit [famous book’s] opening?” or “Fix this terrible sentence I wrote at 3 AM.”)

Let’s make words better together. 💻✨

P.S. What’s your biggest writing struggle? Drop it in the replies!

[libras-interactives]

I have two questions about the utdm gang, mostly just for fun. How would they dress in the modern age and what would their ideal day off look like?

Marius:

Dresses very well (when he can afford it...), clothes are always clean and hair always done even if his apartment is shit lol. In modern times he'd stand out bc he'd wear "old fashioned" 1920s dandy styles, or clothes "meant for women" like crop tops and cute shorts, and bright colors.

Ideal day off in both modern and 20's is going out to eat and dance with friends. You could convince him to stay in, but he'd still want to do something engaging and invite lots of people over. It's actually nice when he gets a boyfriend bc then hes out on dates all the time instead of bugging the far more introverted Jack and Eveline.

Jack:

Already has no sense of fashion lmao,,, doesnt change much in modern times. Jeans, work boots and a tanktop. Maybe a button down or flannel if he's gotta look nice. Denim overalls if he's gotta work, a baseball cap he got for free at a feed store to keep the sun outta his eyes. Owns more work clothes than "regular" clothes for sure, and knows how to mend them.

A day off where you actually got Jack to relax: walking in a nice nature reserve or forest with no people, or a friend or two. Maybe some fishin', and grilling said fish in the evening with some friends over a fire. Going to sleep actually at peace and content with himself. God bless.

Lottie:

Wears whatever's on trend at the time, albeit with her own spin. She can look good in basically anything, would def be one of those fashion insta girlies. An ideal day off would be a nice spa day followed by shopping or a night out with her best friends. They could be doing anything - restaurant, dancing, a horror movie marathon.

Eveline:

Likes thrifting (and antiqueing in general), and prefers to alter and sew her own clothes. She's very opinionated against fast fashion haha. She'd be the one buying handmade jewelry at festivals. An ideal day off would be some restful fucking sleep with no one interrupting her enjoying a quiet morning at a cafe, browsing an antique shop or little bookstore, and going home to cook something while listening to a podcast/radioshow. Marius can come over and bring his friends if they do the dishes afterward lol.

Little Lottie:

Buying clothing for LL is an Endeavor (tm) bc of her sensory sensitivities and the fact like, trying on clothes in Walmart or Old Navy would be an awful experience for her. Also, when she likes an outfit, she doesn't want to wear anything else. So when they find a favorite thing, Lottie buys like three or five of them in increasingly larger sizes so LL can still have that specific shirt or dress when she gets bigger. She'll wear her halloween costume for months if she loves it.

Little Lottie's ideal "day off" in modern is much the same as it would be in canon; she wants a warm, secure home with no sudden noises or women shouting or strange men coming and going. She'd want to have space to lay out her legos and books and stuffed animals, and not be bothered or interrupted, but not alone - she wants to look up and see Lottie or MC close by in case she needs them. And when she's done playing she wants to go to their side for a snack and juice and be read to.

(Playing outside would be fun too, but parks and zoos are overwhelming and have lots of people - so a big backyard with a sandbox would be like, perfect)

Slyvester:

Still dresses like he's in the 50's; he is not that old in the modern times, he's just stuffy and overly fastidious. At least he doesn't wear a hat and jacket all the time. Supposedly, there's photo evidence of him in a hawaiian shirt and sandals with socks in the myriads of family photo albums his wife keeps.

As for a day off - lord this man needs it - he has a list of places his wife Viviana wants to go, anywhere from museum exhibits to weird performative art installments to a tiny hole in the wall Greek place she heard about 4 years ago to the local Renfaire. In modern times it'd be much easier for her to get about with a wheelchair, so they can go out more. They're more restricted in the 1920s, but they try to make it work whenever Slyvester's off for a few days. Alas, big shocker, Flynn doesn't allow many of those.

Lightning bonus round Malwina is a normal happy teenager who likes going to ☆spooky☆ dead malls and doing tiktok dances with her friends and little sisters. Máire never left Ireland, is the reluctant mom-friend to her coworkers at the lesbian bar, and is v active in the Dublin punk & queer community. And is properly divorced LOL.

[topazadine]

I have to rave about @dlbookediting's work!

I sent her over a copy of my upcoming book, Pride Before a Fall, for a final once-over before the ARC release. Dominique was incredibly thorough, even taking the time to double back and ensure that her comments were consistent. She even went ahead and read the first book, 9 Years Yearning, without prompting so that she was fully caught up.

What I especially appreciated about Dominique's comments was her ability to offer solutions that strengthen my voice rather than change it.

Her suggestions considered both my narrative vision and readers' needs. As writers, it's so easy for us to get caught up in what we want our text to look like without thinking of our readers, but Dominique seamlessly bridged the gap between my intention and an audience's experience.

I loved her reactions to the writing, as this is so helpful for knowing what potential readers may find intriguing. These small comments can be quite the ego boost, and I was glad that she sprinkled them in with her thoughtful critique.

She also caught inconsistencies that I hadn't even considered, explaining in depth while they may throw readers off without dictating what I could do. This is just one example of her methodical approach:

At times, I can get a bit too ornate and experimental, but Dominique gently brought me back down to earth, ensuring that I didn't leave my readers confused.

From her comments, I could tell that she had thoroughly pondered every single word and its total impact on the text. It's rare to find an editor with such a keen eye and a true appreciation for their client's work. Her work felt much like a dedicated seamstress gently mending any tears in a tapestry, ensuring it shines just as the creator intended.

I'm deeply grateful for her help in sprucing up Pride Before a Fall right in time for its ARC release, and I strongly encourage you giving her services a try!

You can also check out Dominique at @philosophika and read pieces of her novel-in-progress over at @thesorcerersapprentice!

[the-great-zalmoxis]

Hail the Great Zalmoxis! Thank you for letting me use this ask box. I'm now curious about your headcanon of Oltyx and Yenekh! Could you tell me more about their lives on Drazak? (Including 💕 lives, perhaps?) Do you have any stories before the story / in the Flesh Time? Thank you! (And for your marvellous fanfics!)

Hail accepted! (∩˃ω˂∩)♡oh my gosh !!!! Thank you so much for the ask!!! Yes, I do have a headcanon on what they are doing or what they are up to, (he he he), but it is quite mild and pretty boring, but happy ever afters are like that, aren't they ? I would like to imagine that Oltyx, that beautiful walking disaster, is learning how to be a good leader, and obviously Yenekh is there to help him, and laugh at him every time he makes a mistake, and most importantly to *cogh cogh* *metal banging noises* (✧∀✧) him when he is feeling frisky~ which I imagine happens often ! I imagine it takes quite a while to get through Oltyx's bone head (literally), but he is trying. I am even more sure that their many subjects would work hard to teach their new king how to be a good leader....... by asking him to help them with seemingly endless mundane issues.

ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ Yenekh approves of them all! My favorite thing ever is the idea that those two have to actually figure out the logistic of how to feed an entire planet, and how to get rid of the waste meat and fleshy new fauna that might develop! And, I do like to imagine that the flayed virus brought a level of sapience back to the warriors and immortals, so now this society can exist with more that just scientists, warriors and leaders. I like to think that the flayed ones are quite artistic (I mean, have you seen the many creative ways they were those skin ponchos. They are so cute !!!!) And about the pre-biotransferance headcanons, hu hu hu, I do have a few, I am writing one right now ! <3 I am still stuck on that were-necrons fic inspired by Tunaze ! I have two ships that I want to write about and a cute brotherly bound! Two words: larva Oltyx <3

(˶ˆᗜˆ˵) I am not saying anything more, so I wouldn't spoil it ! Thank you kindly for the ask ~ <3 (and for your amazing fics !!!)