#it was a pretty good year actually! I'm proud of how much I pushed myself to draw this year :>

[aimer-arts]

Another year of mystery dungeon art! I love this game series a normal amount, I swear 

and thanks to everyone here who enjoys the silly stuff I create <3 it means a ton

[drchucktingle]

Chuck, how do you deal with people who are rude about you and your work? I write queer romance and I want to put my writing out there for people to read, but I'm a very sensitive person and I know it will be hard not to take insults personally and let them affect me. I don't want to let that stop me from expressing myself and sharing my art, but I'm scared!

very good question buckaroo. i am a good example of this as pretty much EVERYONE was rude about my work for many years calling it 'so bad its good' (it is just good) and 'terrible photoshop' (i think it has a great and instantly recognizable style) and 'intentionally stupid premises' (i dont think there is anything stupid about sex being fun and whimsical and playful). even these days the reaction of the VAST majority of buckaroos who discover chuck have this reaction AT FIRST, and then learn to appreciate the tingleverse in a more sincere way over time.

all that is to say BEING DOUBTED HAS WORKED OUT VERY WELL FOR ME. art that changes meaning over time can be very powerful, so if someones initial reaction to my trot is one thing and then it evolves into another thing, well that is just good art. while it can feel bad to get a bad review, i would say a bad review just means you have entered a realm of tension and change and discord and WE ARE TALKIN ABOUT ART BUD so that, in itself, is very exciting.

i think of what i do as 'punk writing', and a big part of that means pushing against preconceived sensibilities. not many other authors will proudly say 'there SHOULD be some spelling errors in my erotic shorts because i wrote it in a day and edited it once. that is the FEELING i want to create', but that is my way. by creating what is in my soul i KNOW i am going to bother some buckaroos and that is okay.

now i am NOT assuming you are also doing punk writing (that is okay of course we all have our own styles. what i am doing with tinglers is pretty rare), but it still stands to remember that there are 7.8 billion people on the planet of this dang timeline and some of them are bound to be bothered by your creations. that is not a problem, that is just part of baring your authentic self.

the other thing to remember is theres no REAL right or wrong in art. it can be analyzed in different ways and i tend to look at it in a way of comparing intention to result, but even THAT is not strictly correct. therefore any bad review of something you make is not actually BAD it is just someones information and feedback for you to take or leave. a one star review is just another opinion, it is no more right or wrong than your own opinion, and that is wonderful. it is freeing.

if i see a bad review of my own book, lets just say CAMP DAMASCUS for instance, i do not get upset because i know this: that reviewer is not wrong. camp damascus is five stars for me, but it is one star for someone else AND THAT IS OK. THAT IS THE WAY IT SHOULD BE. THAT IS GREAT ART. also MAYBE THEY KNOW BETTER THAN I DO. just because i wrote the book does not mean i am the authority on it, and the conversation and tension between those that enjoy something and those that despise it is a creative act. the audience engaging with your work is just your art emerging from its cocoon and saying 'here i am. lets see where i flutter off to now'

do not fear the river of this timeline sweeping away your creations and carrying them where it will. this is inevitable, but it is also beautiful and freeing. you cannot swim against it and that is okay bud, because YOU HAVE ALREADY WON. you have already created something and given a piece of yourself back to this timeline and that is a great honor and privilege. it is literally all there is

by creating ANYTHING you are proving love is real, and that is something to be proud of

[onismdaydream]

build me up

sweet stepdad!leon x fem reader

tags: mdni. 18+. stepcest. afab reader. sex toys (dildo). slight voyeurism. masturbating. pet names. oral (f receiving). multiple orgasms. daddy kink. not proofread.

notes: first actual fic i'm posting in.. 2 years? pretty proud of myself even if i'm really rusty lmao anyway, this is based on an ask i sent to @lipglossanon of sweet stepdad, so hopefully i did it justice!

You didn't hear the creaking of the old wooden floors as Leon came home — you didn't even hear him call your name when he didn't find you in your usual spot on the worn couch. He said he would be working late tonight, that an emergency came up at the office and they needed his expertise. So, needless to say, you didn't realize he was watching you from your door, his tall and muscular body leaning against the frame, enjoying the show you were unknowingly putting on for him.

Quiet moans escape your lips, your face scrunching up in pleasure, as you work the toy in and out of you. You’re on your back, flimsy shirt pushed up so you can tease your perky nipples, while your other hand holds onto the thick base of the dildo, pushing as much of the length in as you could. A deep blush covers your cheeks and stretches down to your chest, coloring your skin with a pretty shade of pink. Your legs spread slightly more as he silently observes, almost as if your body knew of his presence, giving him a better view of your glistening pussy. Evidence of your arousal make the light shine off of your inner thighs and the silicone toy, drawing Leon's attention even more. Who could blame him for the way his cock twitches, stiffening at the irresistible sight in front of him.

"Feel good, sweetheart?"

You start from the sudden voice, eyes shooting open before they settle on him and you visibly relax, shoulders falling back to the mattress.

"My poor baby just couldn't wait for me, huh?" His voice is thick with arousal, the rough sound making your pussy clench around the thick dildo. Leon takes a few steps forward, licking his lips as his eyes rake over your captivating body. You open your mouth to say something — apologize, maybe — but he cuts you off before you get the chance. "Don't let me stop you. Keep going, darling."

You hesitate for a moment, suddenly feeling self conscious despite everything the two of you have done together. Masturbating and pleasuring yourself with a toy just seems so… intimate.

"Go on, show daddy how good you can take your little toy." Instead of teasing you like you initially anticipated, he watches you with rapt attention, palming the front of his jeans. A surge of arousal flows through you at the movement, feeling your heartbeat quicken at his heated gaze. Licking your lips, you nod shakily and begin moving the silicone dick again, quickly returning to your previous pace.

“Such a good girl,” Leon praises, grunting softly as he squeezes his shaft through the rough material. “You were made f’r taking cocks.” You gasp sharply at his words and rub at your clit with your other hand, feeling the familiar build up in your abdomen.

“D-daddy.” Your needy whine is barely audible over the loud squelching noises from your pussy. “G’nna cum.”

Leon hums, taking the last couple of steps necessary before he’s at the foot of your bed and climbing onto it. He walks on his knees, stopping in between your spread legs and placing his large hands on your thighs. “C’mon, baby. Wanna see your pretty face when you cream on this fake cock.” His touch sends electricity through you, rubbing your soft skin as your legs begin to tremble. You cry out his name as you feel a gush of slick oozing from your still stuffed cunt.

You’re only vaguely aware of your surroundings, the soothing timbre of his voice making the come down feel syrupy and slow. Blinking up at him, he smiles at you — a soft one, filled with adoration and love — before he leans forward to press light kisses to your neck.

“Did so good, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his slight stubble scratching against your skin, breath warm. “‘m so lucky to have a girl like you.”

You sigh contently, your fingers finding their way into his silky hair. One of his arms rests next to you, holding his weight up, the flexing muscle visible out of the corner of your eye. He continues to cover your throat in kisses, all sweet and caring, before his teeth gently scrape at your skin. It’s a barely there sensation, but it makes you whine nonetheless. Leon lifts his head enough to look you in the eyes, his hand trailing up your side before it stops at your ribcage.

“Want something, pretty baby?”

You nod, shivering at the warmth of his hand, your eyelashes fluttering shut. “Want you, daddy.”

He groans faintly and moves his hand up to cup your breast, kneading the fat gently and rolling your sensitive nipple between his fingers. “Mmm, so lucky…” Leon watches in reverence as you react to his touch, committing every single detail to memory. Ducking his head back down, he leaves a trail of wet kisses down to your soft tummy. When he moves his hand to grab at the toy that’s still partially in you, you expect him to replace it, filling you up with his thick fingers or fat cock like he always does.

But he doesn’t.

Your breath is knocked out of you as he pushes it back in.

The angle that he has allows the toy to penetrate you even deeper. Each thrust has his fingers brushing against your swollen clit, making you writhe in pleasure. You can barely keep your eyes open when the tip rubs that sweet spot, back arching off the bed.

“That’s it, baby,” He whispers. You aren’t even sure when it happened, but Leon’s mouth found its way back up your body, his tongue darting out to lick at your areola. His breath teases along your skin, your nipples hardening as he places more sloppy kisses around your breast. “Want you to feel good.”

Leon’s spent enough time with you to know how to coax an orgasm out of your body and he uses the knowledge to his advantage. He presses the toy as deep as it can go, the tip pushing against your cervix, making your legs kick out under him. “Pretty girl like you shouldn’t have to lift a finger.” He uses his thumb to rub at your clit, fast circular motions that make you see stars.

“D-daddy, please,” you manage to whine out, panting as you feel yourself getting closer to the edge. It’s hard to focus on anything other than where he’s touching you, making you feel lightheaded as another climax washes over you. A pleasant, almost numbing feeling courses throughout your entire body, your cunt weakly spasming around the toy as he slowly begins moving it, easing the fake dick out of you. You whimper at the drag of it against your raw pussy, but he just shushes you, pecking the corner of your lips.

“Such a good girl.” He mutters, tongue pushing easily into your mouth. Leon kisses you slowly, savoring each moment, until the need for air becomes too great for both of you. He’s breathing heavily as he pulls away, his eyes taking in your swollen lips and flushed cheeks. He just can’t get enough of you.

He shifts again, this time pressing his mouth against your lower thigh, right above your left knee. A high pitched whine leaves your throat when his lips travel higher. He gently nips your skin, his warm tongue soothing the slight pain that follows it. “Just one more, baby. Wanna clean your pretty pussy.”

He waits for your shaky nod, squeezing your doughy thigh lightly before he laps at the slick that’s still drooling from your cunt. You’re a little looser than usual from your earlier orgasms, so he can effortlessly press his hot tongue into your hole, fucking in and out. Your hips buck up, pushing his nose against your sensitive button. The vibrations from a deep moan makes you cry out his name, body thrashing weakly underneath him.

“Always so sweet,” he groans, drawing back slightly to sloppily kiss your clit. “Could spend ages here.” He sucks the bundle of nerves in between his lips, latching onto it, making your third climax sweep through you. You can’t even form a coherent thought as you coat his lower face with your cum, his tongue cleaning up everything he can.

You feel too spent to try and move, your entire body feeling heavy with exhaustion. He pulls away from your sore pussy, pressing a loving kiss to your stomach. You don’t catch what he says as your eyes begin to droop, but when you open them again, he’s carefully wiping your thighs with a wet towel. You make a low whining sound, looking at him with pleading eyes, wanting him to come closer. He smiles as he notices you’re awake, gently brushing his lips against your forehead.

“Feelin’ alright, darling? I didn’t overdo it, did I?” He grabs a water bottle that he must’ve brought with him, offering it to you.

“‘m fine,” you mumble groggily. “Just tired now.”

He hums and opens the bottle for you, helping you drink some, before laying you back down fully. You fight to stay awake longer, but your body feels drained and the warmth of Leon holding you against his chest makes it nearly impossible. You drift off to sleep as his hands rub your back soothingly, whispering hushed praises against your head.

[u10como]

"Perils of High Society"

Brooke and Mark were dating for a year now. They met when they were both still college students working at McDonald's and immediately came to like each other. Mark never liked to talk about his family, so Brooke never pushed him too much, until one day he confessed: Mark was actually Marcus Bancroft-Agnelli, the heir to large hotel empire, who decided to handle his own life during studies, not relying on his family fortune. When asked about why he doesn't want Brooke to meet his parents He explained: His family has an odd tradition: All women in the Bancroft-Agnelli family had their arms amputated when they hit puberty, to signify their status of perfect trophy wives: Their bare armless shoulders proudly displaying the fact they never have to resort to manual labour - and never will. "Pretty terrible, right?" said Mark "Actually, " said Brooke, "It's kinda hot, you know?" "A what?" "Can you imagine me without arms? I mean, wouldn't i look really elegant? And if that's what it takes to meet your parents..." "Baby, you don't need to do that, i don't need you to be part of my family, in fact, i don't really want to be part of them myself..." "I know, but... i kinda want to, you know? I don't think i would be very much of a 'trophy wife' anyway, as that sounds a little posh and lazy and i would prefer to learn how to use my feet rather than just stand around being pretty, but i could do without my arms i guess..."

Two months later, Mark and Brooke came to attend a party at one of Bancroft-Agnelli five star hotels. Brooke, still feeling a little clumsy, but proud of her armless shoulders, was overwhelmed by everything around her. Being born in rural area just outside the city, she wasn't used to being anywhere this fancy and nothing Mark told her could prepare her for the reality. Entering the hotel's ballroom, they were aproached by two women: One young, dressed in grey uniform with white gloves, the other about fifty years old, with aura of authority and perceived superiority, dressed in white and gold, the dress showing her perfectly smooth armless shoulders.

"Mom, this is my fiancée, Brooke Miller. Brooke, meet my mother, Beatrice Bancroft-Agnelli" "Pleased to meet you, dear. I see my son finally came to senses and found himself a woman befitting of a proper Bancroft-Agnelli man." said Beatrice to Mark's annoyed eyeroll. "Pleased to meet you, ma'am" said Brooke, twitching her right shoulder in an instinct to accompany the greeting with a handshake." Looking at Brooke's gesture with a mix of surprise and disgust, Beatrice replied: "Oh dear, but look at you, you hold your body like an arm person!" "Mom..." Hissed Mark. "And those scars! Oh my goodness, did a butcher do that to you? I could have refered you to our family surgeon in France, his handiwork is ex-qui-site, you know? He would never leave ugly scars like these behind." "MOM.." said Mark, now significantly louder. "And that make-up, dear oh dear... I would fire that maid who did that to you, such a shoddy job..." "Ahem... Actually," replied Brooke before Mark could interject again, "I did that myself - i mean, it's not perfect, but applying make-up with a foot is harder than i thought..." "You did what?" said Beatrice with overly dramatic expression, her eyebrows so high up they could pop out of her forehead any second. "Oh my lord, sweetheart, you aren't some common working class cripple or..." "MOM! That's enough! Come on, Brooke, we're leaving!" Yelled Mark to his mother's astonishment and put his arm around Brooke's shoulders in a protective gesture, guiding her swiftly away towards the elevator. "I'm sorry, did i say something wrong?" asked Brooke with surprised expression and hint of tears in her eyes. "Not you sweetheart." replied Mark, visibly angry, but keeping his voice down not to upset Brooke even more. "She did!"

[risriswrites]

Mary's Song

summary: bradley bradshaw is in love with his best friend and it takes them years to figure out how to tell each other how they feel. loosely based on taylor swift's song "mary's song (oh my my my)"

pairing: best friend reader x bradley bradshaw, fem reader

author's note: so this is my first time writing a fanfic and actually posting it anywhere. i'm actually really proud of it so if anyone reads it and actually likes it feel free to like and reblog :)

word count: 7.8k words

She said, "I was seven and you were nine"

I looked at you like the stars that shine

In the sky, the pretty lights

And our daddies used to joke about the two of us

Growing up and falling in love

And our mamas smiled and rolled their eyes

And said, "Oh my, my, my"

It was a sunny summer day in Santa Barbara, California. Carole wasn’t sure if it was going to be a good beach day with the temperature being in the mid 70’s. A subtle breeze could easily take that seemingly beach friendly weather and turn it into a frigid nightmare.

In the end the absence of clouds made her commit to packing up her beach bag, loading up the car, and dragging her only son to the beach to soak up some much-needed sun.

Their lives had changed since losing Nick. Even though five years had passed, the loss still impacted them every day. Thankfully, having Mav around softened the heartache a little.

Pete had given Carole a call earlier that week letting her know he would be in town on his “completely unnecessary” vacation. And after humoring him with some back-and-forth banter and mild guilt tripping, she was able to convince him to come to Santa Barbara for the week.

Carole had never known Mav to have a sister, so when he shows up with a seven-year-old girl in tow claiming it’s his niece, she’s a little flabbergasted.

“It’s just so hard for me to wrap my head around that I’ve known you for years, and never knew you had a sister! Let alone a niece.” Carole squints at him accusingly.

Maverick, who had decided to take full advantage of the California sun, was laying out on an old lawn chair Carole had brought out for him. Peering over his aviators at her he smirked, “I’ve gotta keep some secrets to myself, don’t ya think? Besides, my sister and I weren’t close until a couple of years ago, so there wasn’t much to tell anyway.” He deflected. He wasn’t going to tell Carole the reason behind the reconnection of the two siblings being the death of her late husband.

“Still, when you first brought her out here, I thought you had finally found someone to settle down with and had a kid. Albeit I would have been offended for not getting an invite to your wedding if you had decided to have one, but I digress.” Carole brought the bottle of water she packed up to her lips gingerly, sipping at the refreshing liquid. Turns out she had left the umbrella at home and the sun had taken no pity upon her mishap.

“Definitely not the case. You know how I feel about settling down and it hasn’t really changed since Charlie.” Maverick let out, breathing out a laugh in the process.

Carole rolled her eyes, pushing her sunglasses further up the bridge of her nose, “It’ll happen one day when you least expect it to Mav, I can guarantee you that. Can’t be the heartbreaker forever.” She huffed, glancing over to the two children currently chasing each other on the beach.

Pete followed her gaze and focused on the scene playing out in front of him; hoping to derail Carole from lecturing him about his past lovers.

“She’s gonna have him wrapped around her little finger before the week’s over. I can see it now” he smiled, nodding his head in the direction of the two kids. Mav watched on as his niece looked up at Bradley with a small pout forming on her face, seemingly disgruntled with the game after playing it for so long and is now trying to convince him to partake in something else.

With a soft smile and another roll of her eyes Carole leaned further back in her chair letting her eyes flutter shut, knowing her son was safe with Mav’s own eyes on him.

“I mean seriously Carole, they’re gonna grow up and end up disgustingly in love with each other. Mark my words.” His gaze never leaving the two kids who had stopped chasing each other; after Maverick’s niece had successfully changed Bradley’s mind.

Now instead, opting to dig a tunnel from the water to a little pit they had made further up the beach. Mav had overheard his niece calling it a “hot tub” but he’s certain that whatever they were making had no resemblance to one in the slightest. Bradley didn’t seem to mind though and had gone along with the small build anyway, glancing over to the seven year-old girl every now-and-then to see how she liked it.

Carole didn’t even bother with glancing up at the two when replying to Mav with a very sarcastic “sure Pete” and allowing herself to slip back into brief relaxation.

Oh My My My

*Nine years later*

I was sixteen when suddenly

I wasn't that little girl you used to see

But your eyes still shined like pretty lights

“Relax sunshine, you’re gonna be fine.”

“Bradley, I swear if you tell me I’m going to be fine one more time I’m going to throw the nearest object to me at your head.” You growled.

Bradley glanced at the scene in front of him, his best friend of nine years (and counting) sitting on the floor of her bedroom currently pouting angrily down at her latest grade, with the closest object to her being an old textbook. Cute.

You have terrible aim; he’ll take his chances.

“Sunshine” he breathes out. “I’ve told you before Mr. Greenwood is just a hard-ass who likes knowing his class is one of the most difficult to pass in all of high school.” Bradley sighed.

You let out another huff of frustration swiping a lock of hair out of your face, “I know, I know, it’s just so annoying. I’ve spent weeks preparing for this exam and the most I can show for it is a B-.”

“You’ve only got a month left and you’ll be out of there, don’t stress about it, you’re passing and that’s what matters.” Bradley reassures.

“Easy for you to say, you’re graduating in three weeks, leaving me behind at this poor excuse of a school. Who knows when I’ll see you again! You’ll probably move to another country to become a hippie, learn to speak a different language, and change your name to something obscene like Holden” you sputter out waving your hands around in the process.

Bradley scrunches his eyebrows and wrinkles his nose at the obscene set of words that just left your lips, “I’ll have you know I would not become a hippie.” He pauses briefly before continuing, “I’d be a musician, thank you very much.” Bradley mocks offence.

You finally glance up at him from your spot on the floor, almost instantly regretting that decision. He looks too attractive laid out on your bed like that, it’s almost unfair.

Bradley had filled out a little over the summer, rambling on and on about how he wants to be in top physical condition for when he starts training to become a naval pilot -like his dad had been and consequentially like Uncle Mav. Last time you looked over to him a mere two minutes ago he was laid out on your bed looking up towards the ceiling like it was some humongous puzzle piece.

Now as you look at him, he’s propped himself up onto his forearm; his bicep muscle making itself very apparent; supporting his body weight on it, while simultaneously leaning his head on his fist, gazing softly down at you. Stop looking at me like that or I swear I’m going to fall in love with you.

You visibly swallowed before casting your eyes back down at your paper lying on the floor beneath you.

“I like that you’re more offended by the job title than the name change,” she scoffs.

“Also, there’s no way you’d become a musician, I refuse to believe you possess such a talent.” You threw back, giving your head a shake.

Bradley scoffed before jumping into a spiel of how he’s “like a magician” when he’s on the piano. Lecturing about his many talents and capabilities in an attempt to pull you away from staring at that stupid piece of paper any longer.

A smile pulls from your lips before you let out a few giggles regarding his exaggerated so called “talents”.

Bradley perks up at this and fixes you with a teasing glare, “What are you laughing at? I’m serious! I'm one of the best pianists of all time! I even give Beethoven a run for his money.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do, given that Beethoven has been dead for over a hundred years.” You chortle, tossing your head back in another round of laughs.

Bradley raises his eyebrows in offence, “Oh now you’re in for it.”

You look up between your fits of laughter only to see an eighteen-year-old Bradley Bradshaw launching himself off your bed and tackling you to the ground.

Bradley immediately starts wriggling his fingers up and down the sides of your ribcage, knowing that you’re extremely ticklish, sending you into an uncontrollable amount of laughter. You push away Bradley’s hands a few times in futile attempts to get him away from you; throwing yourself around in the process, before abandoning that plan and instead trying to push at his chest.

You manage to hook your leg over one of his and give his chest a hefty push using all your weight to send him over your shoulder. He grabs ahold of your arm in the process, bringing you with him. Both teenagers now laughing uncontrollably.

Bradley is currently holding both of your arms captive against his chest, laughing at your adorable attempt to try and tickle him. And you joining in because, why did you think you were going to be able to out-muscle him?

You look down at Bradley, stopping your assault and just enjoying the moment. His head is tossed back on the hard-wood floor, eyebrows scrunched while his eyes remain tightly closed pinching at the sides, his mouth is open letting out little breaths of laughter. He’s so beautiful. Your laughs have stopped now, just staring down at him with a soft smile.

Bradley notices your laughs have stopped and chooses that moment to look up. Oh. You’re peering down at him with a smile on your lips and a look he can’t quite decipher in your eyes. Your eyes are so pretty. He gives you a sheepish smile back. It’s too quiet now, and when did his hands move to your waist?

At that moment a loud, shrill pinging rings in the pair’s ears throughout the room. Making both teens scramble away from each other in a mess of “Oh I’m sorry” and “Shit” as your limbs get caught up in your hurriedness to get away from a moment neither of you know what to do with.

Bradley crosses the room in a few long, hurried strides successfully turning the obnoxious alarm off.

He huffs out a breath in mild relief. With the alarm off, your room is once again blanketed in quiet, which funnily enough he’s not sure if he prefers the silence or the pinging of his alarm. He turns to look at you and decides then that he definitely prefers the alarm over the silence. You’re standing at the opposite end of the room; your hair is a bit of a mess and you’ve got a subtle blush to your cheeks making your skin glow a little differently. Fuck.

He swallows, deciding to break the silence “I gotta go. Gotta be up for school tomorrow.”

You nod your head peering down at the floor afraid to look into his eyes, “Yeah” you breathe out. A beat passes, “Yeah of course. It’s late, I’ll walk you out.” You ramble out, before running a hand through your hair, hoping to compose yourself quickly and pray he doesn’t pick up on the massive crush you have on him.

You’re swinging your bedroom door open and stepping out hurriedly before Bradley can even grab his keys and wallet. He takes a breath once he’s got everything and forces himself to follow you out of the room.

You didn’t make it far without him, just a few steps down the hallway of your room before he’s right behind you again.

Before he knows it, you’ve made it to your front door and you’re swinging the cream colored door open for him. “See you tomorrow?” you ask as nonchalantly as you can, throwing him a tight smile as if it were a bone.

He steps over the threshold of your home, putting a little space between the two of you. Something’s different. He glances up at you, eyes wandering over your facial features. It’s still you, but something’s different.

He gives you a soft smile shoving his hands into the pocket of his jeans deciding to let that thought go for the night, “Yeah I’ll swing by to pick you up.”

You glance over at the blue bronco currently sitting in your mom’s driveway. Your eyes quickly flitting from him to the bronco and back to him before you give him a genuine smile, “Sounds great!”

He gives a short nod before he’s pulling you away from the door into a quick hug, giving your waist a squeeze, then begrudgingly letting you go. Bradley turns away from you then, and starts walking down the gravel of your driveway.

You watch from your front door, making sure he gets into his truck safely. Leaning against the doorframe as you call out, “Let me know when you get home!”

He looks back as he opens the door smiling, shaking his head with a short breath of laughter leaving his lips, leaning his weight onto the door tilting his head up as he shouts back to you, “I’ll call you!”

And then he’s climbing into the driver’s seat, starting the car, reversing out of your driveway and speeding down the road to get home to his mom, who no doubt is wondering when her son will be home; he said he’d be back by ten and it’s almost twelve in the morning.

You watch him speed off before deciding you should really close the door and stop watching after him like he’s going to turn around and come back.

With that thought in mind, you grip the door and shut it softly. Leaning against it in hopes to not wake your mom; at least that’s what you’re telling yourself, who’s got a shift at the hospital in a few hours.

“Bradley leave?”

You nearly jump out of your own skin at the sound of your mom’s voice. “Jesus don’t scare me like that! At least make a noise or something before talking, I swear I almost shit myself.” you huff. “But yes, he just left, and I really need to get ready for bed sooo… goodnight.” And with that, you’re quickly making your way back to your room to start your night routine.

Your mom watches you make a quick escape before rolling her eyes and laughing softly to herself.

Oh My My My

*Nine years later*

“I’m just saying, there’s no way you guys didn’t date back then.” Jessie emphasizes, punctuating her statement by pointing an accusing finger in your direction, slurping her strawberry milkshake obnoxiously.

You roll your eyes, glancing away from your friend to look through the window at the traffic piling up outside of the small diner. “Nothing happened Jessie” you huff, mumbling an “unfortunately” under your breath. Jessie doesn’t notice, thankfully.

“Well, you guys had everyone else fooled in school then. I’m pretty sure Kimmy was going to blow a gasket when she asked Bradley to go on a date and he shot her down because of you.” She smirks, swirling a fry into her milkshake before biting into it.

You huff in annoyance, “Okay that was like nine years ago first of all. Second of all, I had nothing to do with that! He could’ve easily gone on that date. He knows I would’ve been fine with rescheduling our weekly movie night.” you follow your statement quickly by sipping from your own milkshake, trying to avoid having this conversation with Jessie for what seems like the billionth time.

“That’s my entire point! He could’ve if he wanted to! But instead, he turned her down to spend time with YOU!” she all but shouts.

You tuck into yourself, scanning the diner to see if anyone was paying attention to Jessie’s loud proclamation. No one’s looking; to your relief, so you quickly return your gaze to her. “Look, Bradley and I have been best friends since we were seven. I’m pretty sure if he had any romantic feelings for me, he would’ve acted on them by now.”

“Where is your loverboy anyway?” Jessie asks, quirking a perfectly arched brow.

Another frustrated huff leaves your lips, Jessie was never the type of friend to let something go. You grab at a fry from your own plate and casually dip it into the pool of ketchup before tossing it into your mouth, “I think he has training today.” You punctuate your guess with a shrug of your shoulders, “I don’t really know, I’m not his keeper.” That’s exactly where he is. He texted you this morning saying so himself.

“Why? Do you want to go on a date with him?” you tease.

“God no! He’s not my type, you know that.” Jessie scoffs.

“Mhm, sure he’s not.” He’s not. You’re just tired of Jessie trying to make something out of nothing. False hope sucks, so reversing the accusations onto Jessie allows you to have the upper hand.

Jessie flicks a strand of wavy black hair out of her face, takes her last sip from her milkshake, then fixes you with a pointed look, “I know you want me to drop it so I will. But please just think about it. There’s something there, and I’m ninety-five percent sure if you were to kiss Bradshaw the next time you saw him, he wouldn’t pull away.”

And with that, Jessie scoots from her side of the booth, grabs her check, and proceeds to walk up to the cash register to pay for her meal, and to flirt with the cashier of course.

With a small smile and a shake of your head, you grab your own check and start to scoot out of the old booth.

Once Jessie has secured the cashier’s number you pay for your meal and you both exit the diner pausing outside to give each other a brief hug before parting ways to your respective vehicles.

Once inside of your car you immediately lock the doors and glance briefly down at your phone. A new message from Bradley has popped up.

Bradley: “Hey sunshine, I’m going to be finishing up here in two hours, do you want to meet up at the hard deck for some drinks?”

Your heart jumps at the idea of seeing Bradley later. Fucking traitor.

You: “Hey!”

You: “Yeah I’m down for that! What time are you thinking?”

You put your phone down in the cupholder of your car and pull out of the diner’s parking lot. Halfway back to your apartment your phone vibrates inside of the cupholder. Knowing that it’s probably Bradley has you going a little over the speed limit to hurry home.

Once you’re safely parked in your designated spot, you grab at your phone, unlocking it to see what he’s said.

Bradley: “7:15?”

You quickly send a quick “that sounds good” text before hopping out of your car and making the trek up to your space.

By the time you’ve ascended the elevator to your room and locked the door behind you, your phone has vibrated again.

Bradley: “Perfect, I’ll come pick you up.”

With a few hours to kill you kick off your sneakers and jeans, throwing on one of your favorite oversized shirts and make yourself comfortable on the couch.

A power nap is just what you need in order to liven yourself up to go out to the bar with Bradley. So, with that thought in mind you set an alarm for an hour and click your phone off, slipping under your old throw blanket and drift off to sleep.

Only to be awakened by the blaring noises of said alarm, what feels like only seconds later.

Sure enough, it’s been an hour. You huff in annoyance throwing the blanket off your face and take a few deep breaths before forcing yourself to sit up from the couch and make your way to your bedroom to pick out an outfit for tonight.

The little yellow sundress you bought a few months ago peeks out from your closet and you quickly pull it from its hanger before you can talk yourself out of it. Discarding your oversized shirt onto your chair you slip the sundress over your head and pull it down to settle at your midthigh.

Glancing at your reflection in the mirror you decide a touch up of your makeup and fluffing of the hair should be enough for tonight.

Once you’re finished, you glance over at your phone to check the time, pressing on the screen making it come to life. There’s a text from Bradley telling you he’ll be at your place in five minutes – four minutes ago. Your eyes go wide, and a panic runs down your spine before you’re scrambling around your room for a pair of shoes to go with your dress and where the fuck did you put your purse?

A few knocks land on your door moments later and you curse under your breath deciding to just go answer the door and forego searching for your purse. Only to see it sittin pretty on your kitchen island.

Swiping the forsaken piece of faux leather off the counter you stride towards the door, opening it in one swift motion.

And there he is.

Bradley Bradshaw in all of his sun kissed glory, hands in his jean pockets looking down your hall before he’s turning to look at you.

He sucks in a quick breath, barely audible, but you heard it.

Fuck, stop looking at me like that.

“Hey” he breathes out.

“Hi” you smile.

A second passes by, both of you just looking at each other before you come out of your daze and decide you’ve been staring for too long.

You breathe out a laugh and step out into the hallway, “ready to go?” you ask.

He takes a small step back from you as you turn to lock your door, giving his head a shake before fixing his gaze. Once you’ve turned yourself back to face him he has an easy smile on his face grabbing your hand in his, leading the way down the hallway, “Just waiting on you sunshine.”

You roll your eyes, he can’t see it, but he knows you’ve done it as soon as you quip out, “Coming from the guy who sets aside time to groom his barely-there pornstache I’ll take as much time as I please, thank you very much.”

He hits the “down” button for the elevator before turning to you and settles his hands on your hips pulling you a little closer to him. Your breath hitches at the action and your eyes widen for a second before you’re forcing yourself to appear normal again, unbothered.

“So now you’re hating on my stache,” he fixes you with a questioning look.

You stick your chin up a bit in defiance, “yes.”

You say it so confidently he almost believes you.

“Oh really? Then who was the one protesting against Nat, just last week; about the ‘stache’ being one of my best features? And how I can’t shave it off,” he raises an eyebrow.

The elevator button dings allowing you a brief escape from his grasp and question. Sidestepping out of his hands into the elevator, you press the “ground floor” button before looking back at him cocking your head to the side smiling, “Wasn’t that Jessie?”

He jumps into the elevator before the doors close and scoffs out a laugh nudging his shoulder against yours, “No sunshine, pretty sure that was you.”

“I don’t recall saying that.” You hum back.

“That’s because you were too busy downing those fruity drinks of yours.”

“Okay first of all, it’s called a fuzzy naval, second of all, it’s not my fault beer is disgusting, I don’t even know why you guys drink that shit.” you scrunch your face at him.

The pair of you step out of the elevator, Bradley once again slipping his hand back into yours, “Don’t worry sunshine, I won’t judge you.”

You decide not to comment on that and just let Bradley guide you to his blue bronco. Seriously, that car just screams Bradley Bradshaw and you’re not sure if you like the car so much because of the way it looks, or if it’s just him.

“Bradshaw, you have got to let me drive her one day.”

Bradley opens his passenger door for you and keeps a hold on your hand, helping you into the bronco. Totally unnecessary but you’ll allow it. One side of his mouth quirks up in a smirk, “in your dreams baby” and then he’s shutting your door and jogging over to the driver’s side.

That’s new.

Before you know it, he’s reversing out of the guest parking space and turning onto the main road to get to the bar of choice, the Hard Deck.

He’s got his window down letting one arm lean out of it and the other has a grip on the steering wheel, looking completely relaxed and carefree. You turn to look out your own window, leaning your head back against the headrest letting the soft sound of ABBA playing through his speakers to be the only thing you focus on.

Once he’s parked, Bradley has already made his way to your side of the vehicle and is opening your door, before you can even reach for the handle. He offers his hand to you again and you take it as you step down and out from the bronco.

You smile at him mumbling out a quick “thank you” before letting his hand go again and start heading towards the entrance of the Hard Deck. He follows behind you quickly grabbing the door for the both of you and letting it swing closed behind him.

The Hard Deck is a little crowded tonight, so Bradley decides to make his way in front of you to make it easier for the both of you to head towards the bar. This time you slip your hand in his as to not lose him in the mass of people.

Bradley’s heart jumping at the feeling of you reaching for him this time.

Once you’ve reached the bar he grabs Penny’s attention, waving her over to him.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favorite troublemaking duo.” Penny smirks. “The usual?” she quirks a brow.

Bradley smiles before replying with a “you got it”, and Penny glances over to you for a confirmation on Bradley’s request, receiving a small smile and a nod promptly followed by a “yes please”.

Penny lets out a light laugh before heading off to get Bradley a beer and to teach one of her new girls how to make a “fuzzy naval”.

Bradley looks around the bar looking to see if he can find Nat in the sea of civilians and naval aviators. He knew that more often than not, she’d be floating around here once they’d finished up for the day. Most of the naval aviators would come here to destress after training, so it’s not much of a surprise to him when he sees her leaning against the pool table, baiting another civilian into playing a round of pool.

Once he’s spotted Nat, he makes a mental note to head over to the pool table she’s currently occupying. He knows you find comfort in Nat’s company and considering the amount of people crowding around the bar tonight, he can already see that you’re ready to make a run for it.

He slides his arm around your shoulders, trying to provide some comfort before you two can move away from the bar.

Bradley gives your shoulder a light squeeze to gain your attention before he points casually over to Nat. You smile up at him before turning back to the bar, relaxing into his side.

Finally, Penny returns with your drinks, flashing the two of you a smile and giving Bradley a knowing look before she’s turned away and rushing to the opposite end of the bar. Bradley grabs your hand pulling you towards Nat.

Natasha sees the two of you making your way over to her and the grin she had on her face widens even more seeing Bradley holding your hand.

Once the pair of you have reached her, she hits the cue ball towards the black eight ball. Easily slotting it into the pocket, shooting a hand out to the shocked civilian; who she has successfully hustled for the night. He lays a fifty-dollar bill in her hand and walks away in shame before she’s turning and looking at the two lovestruck dumbasses in front of her.

Smiling she says, “Look who decided to drag her ass away from work to make it out tonight.”

You smirk, “How’s the best naval aviator I know?”

Natasha’s smile turns into a smirk, “She’s doing great, already made fifty bucks off the civvy who’s sulking over there in the corner.” She gives her head a nod, gesturing to the man who’s now looking like a kicked puppy, chatting with his buddies.

Natasha turns back to the duo, “Head was a little big when he came over here, figured I’d help him deflate it a bit,” she shrugged.

You laugh and Bradley just looks up to the ceiling with a small shake of his head.

“Good, someone needs to do it.” You say, exasperated, sipping on your drink in the process.

Bradley just let you and Nat carry on conversing with each other, listening in on things that he deemed important, but he was mainly just looking at you. Eyes roaming over your features as you talk.

He is definitely enjoying the view. You’re giggling at something Nat had said, occasionally sipping on your drink, usually followed by flicking a strand of hair out of your face. Don’t even get him started on how the sundress is making him feel. Where did you even get that from? You never wear sundresses. The color complements your skin and makes you stick out in the sea of khaki and jeans like a sore thumb.  

He's suddenly pulled back into the conversation when Nat smugly starts talking about training earlier today.

“Oh, and you’ll never guess who finally got their callsign today” Nat laughs, exaggeratedly leaning over towards you, sneaking her eyes over to Bradley.

You whip your head over to him with widened eyes, “You didn’t tell me that you got your callsign today!”

“It’s not a big deal sunshine,” he smiles warmly at her, happy to have her attention on him instead of Nat.

That statement grants him an eyeroll from you, “sure it isn’t. It’s not like you’ve been wanting to know what your callsign would be since you were five.”

He lets out a laugh, bringing his beer up to his lips and taking a sip, eyes trained on yours.

Your eyes flicker to his lips for a second before you catch yourself and focus back on his eyes again.

He smirks and drags the bottle away from his lips setting it down on a nearby table, “they decided to pay homage to my dad” he breathes out. “So, Rooster is what they came up with,” a small smile graces his lips. “Keeping it in the bird category.”

You smile warmly at him, squeezing his arm, “I like it.”

“Definitely beats Holden by a landslide.” you scoff.

Bradley snorts and glances over to Nat, who’s watching the exchange with a knowing smile.

“Has Nat told you hers yet?” he inquires.

You shake your head before fixing Nat with a questioning stare.

Nat lets out a huff, “It’s a long story”.

“Well, how about you two talk about it while I grab us another drink.” He suggested.

With approval received by both women he quickly makes his way back over to the bar ordering two drinks and a water for himself.

He’s drumming his fingers on the bar waiting for the drinks, casually bobbing his head with the music, when he catches movement out of the corner of his eye. Knowing you and phoenix were in that general area he turns his head to check in on them, only to see some dick, leaning on the pool table attempting at starting up a conversation with you.

He watches as your face, once relaxed and happy, turns sour. With narrowed eyes and pursed lips, you start talking back to the stranger.

Bradley hasn’t moved yet, but the longer the guy stands there talking to his girl, the angrier he gets.

Bradley thinks he could’ve been fine with letting you and phoenix handle the dick who looks like he walked straight off the set of jersey shore. However, the second he put his hand on your wrist Bradley lost all resolve and was moving swiftly from the bar to make his way back towards you.

You scowled down at the unwanted hand on your wrist before yanking it back towards your body, “Yeah, that’s great, glad you’re having a good night, but don’t touch me.”

“Oh, come on sweetheart, I was only being friendly. Let me buy you a drink?” He reached again for your hand, prompting you to take a step back, bumping into a hard, familiar chest.

“Pretty sure she already told you to keep your hands to yourself.” An arm sneaks around your waist, “And I’d hate to have to tell you again.” Bradley’s hostile voice rings in your ears, crystal clear over the music coming from the jukebox.

The Vinny wannabe scrunches his brows at the pair, “hey man, maybe if you don’t want your girl to be approached, maybe you should tell her how to dress. You can see that ass for miles.”

Bradley clenches his jaw and starts to make his way around you when he feels his hand being pulled back. Turning to face you, he gives you a questioning look, furrowing his eyebrows in the process. You mumble out a quick “I’ve got this handled” before moving around him and slapping the greasy-haired asshole.

The sound reverberates through the bar and effectively catches Penny’s attention, and without another thought she’s wringing the bell. You don’t disrespect women or members of the navy in her bar, and from the way both Bradley and Natasha are glaring down at the man in front of them, she’s guessing he did both.

Two naval officers appear out of the sea of people and roughly grab at the guy’s arms, dragging him from standing in front of you, Bradley, and Natasha to landing in the sand outside the bar’s parking lot.

Penny locks eyes with you receiving a smile and giving one in return before directing her attention towards Bradley, who’s glare is still transfixed on the door where jersey shore was thrown to the wayside.

Penny frowns and locks eyes again with you nodding her head towards Bradley before turning her attention back to serving the crowd that has formed at the back of the bar.

You take a step towards him and grab his arm, giving it a subtle squeeze. Bradley breaks his glare from the door to meet your sparkling eyes, and just like that his anger melts away and he refocuses on getting his girl a drink. Nat had started another round of pool with a naval officer so Bradley decided to bring you with him up to the bar, finding one stool unoccupied and allowing you to sit while he stands and waits.

Not much is said between you two while you wait for their drinks, the sound of Billy Joel’s “uptown girl” muffled by the chatter that has resumed throughout the bar.

Bradley’s eyes are scanning the bar, while yours are focused on Penny who is putting the final touches on your drink. And before you know it another fuzzy naval is placed in front of you, along with a brand of Natasha’s favorite beer. With both drinks finally accounted for, Bradley grabs your hand once more and makes the journey back over to Nat.

Casual conversation ensues between the three of you for a few more hours before Penny calls out to inform you that she’s closing up for the night. Bradley closes out his tab for the night and you guys make your way out to the parking lot.

Nat is still walking towards a vehicle that has pulled into the parking lot when she turns her head lazily to face her two best friends, “well, it’s been fun troublemakers, but I need to get back to the base. Early morning and all.” She waves a hand out to them and a small smirk spreads across her face before she calls out, “Rooster, don’t forget what I told you earlier!”

Bradley gives her a mock salute before she’s hopping into the vehicle and riding out of the parking lot.

You look over to him with a goofy smile on your face (possibly from the amount of alcohol you’ve consumed in the past few hours), “what’s that all about?”

Bradley looks down at you and laughs at the ridiculous look on your face. Hooking his arm around your shoulder he leans down towards your ear and whispers, “you wanna walk the beach a little, before I bring you back to your place?” effectively avoiding your question.

Your eyes light up at the idea and you immediately b-line it past the Hard Deck and towards the pitch black sea. Bradley shakes his head before bolting after you, “Hang-on speed racer!”

Giggling erupts past your lips, “hurry up Roo!”

Bradley’s smile faulters for a second as his heart lurches in his chest at the new nickname.

He finally reaches you and grabs for your hand yanking you back to him. You’re all giggles and messy hair with a light flush on your cheeks, definitely from the alcohol.

You place your hands on his chest, feeling the warmth through the white t-shirt lying underneath his Hawaiian button down. Classic Bradley.

“You know my callsign for all of five hours and you’re already shortening it sunshine.”

You push your body away from him, only keeping one hand in his as you lead him further down the beach, “I like it, it’s cute.”

“That is not what callsigns are for. But I’ll let it slide just this once.”

“I don’t know, I’m quite fond of it, Roo” you smile back at him this time, clearly teasing. Teasing is always easier than admitting your feelings after all.

“Makes me think of that cute little kangaroo from ‘Winnie the pooh’. Oh! And you’re tall, and kangaroos can be tall!”

“So, what I’m hearing is, you think I’m cute and tall.” Bradley teases.

You blow out an exasperated breath, “No Bradley, I said that kangaroos are cute and tall.”

“But I remind you of a kangaroo from Winnie the pooh?”

“Yes.”

“And kangaroos are cute? And can be tall?”

“Yes.”

Bradley quirks a brow up at you, “So, by association of being nicknamed after a kangaroo. I’m cute and tall.”

You scrunch your nose up at him, “Not everything is about you Bradshaw.”

You let go of the hand you’re holding and continue your walk forward, hyper focused on the ground as you walk.

“I’m taking it as a compliment anyway.” He states, following after you.

After a few minutes of just ambling down the beach in comfortable silence Bradley decides the two of you should probably start heading back to his bronco.

He quickens his pace to reach for your hand and is once again pulling you back towards him.

Being slightly tipsy though doesn’t forebode well with trying to stay balanced and you manage to trip over your feet, falling into Bradley. He stumbles back trying to keep the both of you upright before he loses his balance as well and is falling into the sand.

“Shit” you breathe out, “Are you okay?”

Bradley has one hand on your waist and one hand cupping the back of your head.

“I’m fine sunshine, are you okay?” eyes currently wandering the expansion of your face checking for any signs of pain or visible injuries.

“Well, I was fine until you pulled me down. I was looking for seashells,” a small pout forming on your lips, Bradley’s eyes instantly falling down to them.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to ask if you were ready to go home.” He whispers out, afraid that whatever spell your under right now will be broken at the mere mention of leaving.

“You coulda just asked? Didn’t have to pull me to the ground to get my attention.” you mumble out.

“I don’t know about that sunshine; you were pretty focused” fingers playing with the fabric of your dress. “Besides, I think I have a great view right now.” His eyes have moved from your lips back up to your eyes.

A beat passes. Your cheeks are flushed pink and you’re painfully aware that you’ve been laying on top of him for longer than what can be considered normal, but you can’t move. He’s pinned you to where you’re at with his honey brown eyes and you’re positive you can’t move away.

You’re holding your breath above him, he’s too close. Too close for you to pretend that you only see him as your best friend. And the way he’s looking at you right now, isn’t helping.

Closing your eyes, you take a breath in, “You’ve gotta stop looking at me like that.”

And then you’re making an attempt at getting up and off of him.

Bradley’s eyebrows furrow before he’s catching your arm and pulling you back down to him. Your eyes are still closed.

“How am I looking at you?” he whispers.

“Like you can see my soul.” You suck in a breath and open your eyes; fuck it, “Like I’m the only person you want to look at for the rest of your life.”

Exhaling the breath you’d been holding you murmur, “and I can’t sit here and continue to pretend it doesn’t do anything to me when it does.” You look up and out towards the sand dunes that lead back over to the main road.

You really don’t want to hear the rejection, let alone see it.

Completely prepared to get up and off of him again you’re about to do just that, when he lets out a small chuckle.

A few tears begin to form in your eyes as you begin to whip your head down to tell him off for being a fucking asshole when you see that he’s still looking at you with the same adoration on his face.

Bradley’s bringing your face closer to his, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “sounds about right then” he whispers, lips ghosting over your own.

Five seconds is how long it takes for you to understand what he just said before he’s slotting his lips against yours.

The world feels like it’s stopped and the only thing grounding you to it is Bradley and the feeling of his lips caressing your own.

The kiss is tender and sweet, there’s no rush or clashing of teeth, it’s calm and patient. Like the love you’ve had for each other that’s been building over the years. His hand that had a hold of your arm has moved to cup the back of your neck, keeping you close, where you belong. Your body once cool from the sea breeze, now feels as though it’s on fire as you melt into Bradley; his mustache tickling your top lip.

Bradley sits up bringing you with him as the two of you explore each other’s lips for a couple more seconds, before you’re breaking the kiss to get some air. Leaning your forehead against his, you smile, eyes still closed.

Bradley has his own smile on his face as he nudges your nose with his, “Only took eighteen years of being best friends, but we got there.”

You let out a short laugh, “Speak for yourself, I was ready for you to kiss me when I was sixteen.”

Bradley lets out a chuckle, “I think we need to make up for lost time then, shouldn’t we?” he mumbles against your lips.

“Definitely” you whisper before capturing his lips with your own.

You pull away again all too soon for his liking as a groan leaves his lips, mouth chasing after yours.

You laugh, running your fingers through his soft curls and he lets out a hum, “I still wanna know what Phoenix said.”

“Calling Nat by her callsign now huh?” He pecks your lips trying to bring you into another long kiss, before sighing out an, “Okay.”

“She told me to grow a pair and ask you to be my girlfriend. Said something about how she couldn’t keep dealing with all of the sexual tension.”

“Which speaking of by the way, I love this dress on you.” his hand bunching up the material around your waist as he says it.

Giggling you lean forward again, catching his lips, letting out a hum of appreciation, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Bradley leans back and looks you in the eyes again. You’re glowing brighter than the moonlight shining down on you right now, and if the sun was out he’s certain you’d be shining brighter than that too.

“Do you wanna go on a date with me?” a confident look has settled across his face as he bites his lip, waiting for your answer.

You hum again, looking over his shoulder in mock contemplation. Head moving from side to side in an attempt to look like you’re weighing your options. Bradley squeezes your sides earning a squeal from you as you try to block his hands.

He stops long enough for you to catch a breath and look back over to him, “Yes” you breathe out.

His lips quirk up into a surprised smile, “yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Bradley surges forward towards you again and brings you into another blinding kiss.

He breaks the kiss this time, before murmuring, “Any chance I can stay at your place tonight?” his tone hopeful.

“Keep kissing me like that and I don’t think I’ll ever let you leave.” you smile.

He grins at you, “That’s the plan, sunshine.”

Oh My My My

[tellmegoodbye]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thank you @sznofthesticks for the tag!

How many works do you have on ao3?

10. I used to have around 30, but I orphaned a bunch of my old stuff recently.

What's your total ao3 word count?

112,750

What fandoms do you write for?

Shameless, 911 Lone Star, and hopefully 911 in the future? I really want to but I don't have any ideas atm.

Top five fics by kudos:

I excluded fics that I cowrote, so this is all completely my own writing. These are all more recent too, so this is much more representative of my current writing style.

shut the door and let go

lover, please stay

when all is said and done

our love will guide us home

will the pain stop (if we go deeper)

Do you respond to comments?

I try to respond to as many as I can! Sometimes I run out of words to say (communication has never been my strong suit) but I read every single one and they always make me smile.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

will the pain stop (if we go deeper)

This is the most I have ever projected my personal experience onto a fic. I was going through a breakup at the time and not handling it very well, and writing a breakup fic really helped me cope with it at the time.

I'm doing much better now, and my ex and I are on good terms. Even though the ending to the fic itself was angsty, I'd like to imagine that the characters are doing better now as well.

What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Most of my fics tend to have happy endings, but if I had to pick the most satisfying happy ending it would be lover, please stay.

Most of this fic is pretty angsty, but the ending makes it all worth it I think!

Do you get hate on fics?

Thankfully I haven't received any nasty comments. I did receive a kind of weird comment once, but I completely forget what it even was.

Do you write smut?

I never did before I got into the shameless fandom, and then I kind of went crazy with it after that.

Craziest crossover:

I've never written a crossover before. It's not something I've ever considered or even know if I would want to do.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Hopefully not!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Many times with my ex, back when we were still dating. It was a lot of fun and definitely something I'd like to try again in the future! I've always enjoyed collaborating with other people.

All time favorite ship:

Favorite ship I've written for? Tarlos. Favorite ship I've never written for? Tiva, aka Tony and Ziva from ncis. I also love Densi (Deeks and Kensi) from ncis la.

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I have not written a chaptered fic in years and it is something I would really like to do. I have several ideas including a detective au that I've floated between two separate fandoms, but I still haven't been able to make any progress regarding those wips.

What are your writing strengths?

Angst and introspection! I love getting into a character's head and psychoanalyzing them (I am a psych student, after all 😂) and I also love writing sad shit. I'm a sucker for pain, it seems.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Transitions. We all know them, we all loathe them.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

If it makes sense for the situation/characters, of course! I wouldn't go overboard with it though, since I don't actually speak any other languages myself.

First fandom you wrote in:

Minecraft youtube, but like the old school kind. Around 2014-2015ish. And I physically wrote everything down in little journals. Fanfic was only something that existed in my head at the time until I discovered the likes of ff.net.

Favorite fic you've written:

My most recent fic always becomes my favorite, and that holds true today too!

My push coda, my baby, our love will guide us home.

This is something I'm incredibly proud of, and it's also my longest fic to date and something I wasn't sure I would ever be able to finish. I'm still kind of in disbelief that it's finally real.

Tagging (with no pressure ofc) @strandnreyes @carlos-in-glasses @freneticfloetry @welcometololaland and @lemonlyman-dotcom

I do remember this tag going around a few months ago so if you've already done this, you can either do it again if you want to or just accept this virtual hug from me. 🫂

[reimeichan]

We've been working on integration and fusion and it's crazy just how everything is snowballing faster and faster. It feels like each day is a new fusion or two; I'm certain we have a lot of undocumented parts fusing in the background, and we've found several other parts having fused at some point without the rest of us knowing. The buzz in our headspace has been getting quieter and quieter, but not in a bad way. It's like we're more focused and in sync, as opposed to losing people into the ether.

A year and a half ago, I wouldn't have ever dreamed of being at this point. I'd just (re)discovered my system and my entire life was thrown in disarray, to the point I lost my partner that I'd been with for 14 years and, eventually, my job. I remember my therapist talking about setting therapy goals, and asking if 1 year in therapy with her would be enough time for me to recover, and I laughed at the notion. One year?! I had a lifetime of trauma, how could one year be enough for me?

And yet, here I am. Well, not quite a year. But a year and a half later. And... it feels pretty fucking awesome. I'm seeing so much good stuff from myself and the other members of my system. Hell, I actually let myself feel my own feelings for once instead of pushing them away onto someone else. The me from a month ago could never.

My healing journey is so far from over. As we fuse down within our own subsystems, I've noticed that the amnesia between different subsystem parts have actually been getting worse, as we have fewer fragments co-fronting together in tangled messes. We still have our traumas and trauma responses, and we haven't done nearly any trauma processing yet. But even so... I'm celebrating just how far we've come. Hell, at the rate we're going, I wouldn't be surprised if our system is basically fused down into just the Big 3 by the end of this year.

Anyways, super proud of us.

[nimarts]

trying to figure out how to make art for myself again is genuinely, like, one of the hardest things I've ever had to do.

going to art school and then freelancing full-time for two years made me beat as many "inefficiencies" out of my art as possible. for a while, making illustrations became purely a matter of streamlining my process to take as little time as possible in achieving a result. even now, I feel a little demon in the back of my head screaming at me when I try out a new coloring technique, or take a little too long settling on a sketch.

the demon is also always screaming at me about marketability. you know, like:

"how will this fit in with the rest of your portfolio?"

"what skills of yours will this piece highlight in the eyes of recruiters?"

"will the dimensions of this canvas be eye-catching on twitter? what about instagram?"

they get a little quieter every day. but not by much. not as quiet as I want them to be. not quiet enough to keep me from still being too intimidated to draw on a lot of days, because god forbid I draw anything that looks a little rough, or imperfect, or abstract. when you have clients paying you for art, there's a standard of quality to be adhered to. there's a way they expect it to look. anything else wouldn't make for very strong branding as an artist, now would it?

I don't think that my art is bad. I think I'm pretty good at it, actually. it's why I tried taking a professional route with it in the first place. I thought that with my passion driving me, I'd always be able to strike a healthy balance between making art for a living and making it for myself.

but I... I don't think that I can. I don't think that I ever can. not even in a self-depreciating way; it's just, how can I pour my heart and soul into creating just for the sake of creating the way I used to... while also making sure that I stand out amongst my peers? making sure that I can work consistently and efficiently? making sure that my art is appealing to others?

I don't think that I can get the two to coexist, personally. and that sucks to figure out. I wish I had figured it out before I'd pushed my relationship with my truest passion to the brink of destruction. it sucks to figure out now, after I've gone to art school because art was the only thing my teen self had ever loved for so long, so wholeheartedly. because it was the only thing I ever felt I was kind of good at. like it was the only thing that could possibly get me anywhere in life or make people proud of me.

I think I pushed myself so hard to make art for a living because I couldn't let go of those ideas for a really long time. of course, as an adult, I've learned plenty of different ways at this point to be proud of myself, and that other people will also be proud of me outside of my career and the material things I'm capable of producing. crazy!

even so, trying to draw now after everything feels like trying to coax a hurt, traumatized animal out of its hiding place, knowing that it used to be so sweet and full of love and life. like, I'm trying to make it understand that if it comes to me, I'm not going to yell at it or try beating it with a stick.

and... I'm making progress! I definitely am. it'll sniff my hand now before scurrying away again. and if I'm patient, maybe soon I can give it a pat on the head, too. it's an agonizingly slow process that I know I can't rush, no matter how much I want to.

trying to figure out how to make art for myself again is one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. but there's a certain comfort in knowing it is something i have to do- for myself and myself only.

[ilkkawhat]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 🤍

aw 🥺 thanks for sending this to me

Half Past Midnight: My first fic I wrote after a...idk how many years it was hiatus, right at the start of me falling back in love with CSI again and creating things for it; I took such a deep dive into Nick's head and part of what I did in writing this was watching only Nick's parts on a loop, in the dark, with headphones on and I distinctly remember a point where it really got to me and I gasped for air and spooked my dog (don't worry he was okay just startled lol) It was also the first fic I started playing around and including my own headcanons in there

Last Breath: I just...have a lot of good memories from writing this fic. It was probably the most interactive, like I would go so far as to say it was almost even like a collaboration because so many people pitched ideas (the idea for the fic as a whole was straight up handed to me on a silver platter) and made the fic better for it, and I also really got to know my Stokes children OCs in doing this fic--I did do a handful of fics for them before this, but I feel like I really hammered down who they were and it won't be the last fic on this list but I do also have the sequel (First Flight) to use as a chance to cover things I missed in the first one and explore more universe altering headcanons. It was also my first like, longer fic at around 64k word count wise, and right now my longest completed fic lol

Atrophy: I swear this list I'm just going off of fics that I have distinct memories of attachment to; this one I started writing on my way to a wedding and brought back an OC I created back when I was a teenager. After the wedding I had to go to this university for a class paid for by my job and I spent the car rides there and back brainstorming, and even writing in between classes (and if I recall...even during class at some points shh.) Its sequel Agony is uh, giving me some challenges and I regret a lot of things like maybe pushing it out so fast and then losing steam and wishing I did some things different/toned it down, but Atrophy I still feel mostly good about (though man imagine if I went as hard on it as I am with Agony as long and drawn out as it is lol) and the ficverse as a whole is definitely a favorite of mine

For Your Viewing Pleasure: Surprise, another Grave Danger fic. I wrote this during a pretty rough time and just remember being proud of myself for doing it, and wrote it all within a week and the ideas and words just kept...flowing. It felt like I was truly in my element when I wrote it and helped me remember why I love writing so much.

Specimen Stokes: God I know this fic also went off the rails like Agony did where I worry it became like...too much and should have held back a little (no pun intended) but I will never forget the day I ran out of work to go start writing a one shot in response to an anon who I don't even think technically asked for it as a fic, it was like "choose between these scenarios" and as I started to think about it I just...couldn't help myself. Like Atrophy I have sequels in mind and all sorts of things I want to do and I swear I actually have the rest of this fic installment planned out it's just...writing it lol. And taking the plunge into making it sci-fi and twisting the characters in the AU has been a blast and I feel like a great amount of my creativity has shown through in this fic, the edits and stuff I made for it, and the ideas I have coming up.

[blackjackkent]

4, 24, 36, 48 :)

(Fanfiction Writing Asks)

4. How do you choose which fics to write?

Vibes? Haha. Most of my fics are definitely focused around missing scenes within the existing story framework, expanding on character relationships and adding detail to events. So I look for places where it feels like something could be expanded upon or where there's missing detail or emotional implications. (My liveblogging adventures have been very good for helping me notice where these points are I think.)

Plus requests when I am lucky enough to have some in the backlog. :D Which I do at the moment yay!

24. How do you choose whose POV to write in?

I was actually just thinking about this the other day as I was working on "Broken Little Puppets"; I'm much more practiced/familiar with Karlach's POV so I was a bit surprised that I ended up writing from Astarion's. "Open Your Eyes" was also originally going to be a Rasaad POV except I just randomly started writing it from Jaheira's instead (and this was before I really went down my current Jaheira fan rabbit hole XD ). A number of little liveblogging ficlets in Hector's run (this one and this one come to mind) were about his emotional turmoil but all ended up being from Karlach's perspective watching how that turmoil manifested outwardly.

Ultimately I'm not entirely sure I ever actively CHOOSE if that makes sense? I just sort of start writing and see which perspective starts centering itself, and I often surprise myself. XD

36. What fic are you proudest of?

Ahh, the dreaded self-compliment, my greatest struggle. XD

I think probably "The Two Sides of the Coin" is at the top of the heap right now. It's the deepest I've gone so far into exploring Karlach and Jaheira's friendship, it's one of the more emotionally intense things I've written, and I made a lot of strides forward in my writing and editing while working on it.

"Prayers and Hellfire" (nsfw) also pushed me way outside my comfort zone and I think turned out really well so I'm pretty proud of that too.

And if we wanna do a big throwback to my Mass Effect fic days many years ago, "Huerta Memorial" was the only longfic I've ever actually completed (hopefully "Open Your Eyes" and the as-yet-unnamed Nine-Fingers fic will join it eventually) and I'm still pretty proud of it.

48. Who is your favorite character to write for? Has this changed since you’ve started writing for that fandom?

It should surprise no one to learn that my answer for this is Karlach and Jaheira. XD

One thing that I've noticed about the fanfic community that I find kind of fun is that even within the niche of writing about a particular fandom, different authors seem to carve out their own little niches within that fandom, and I think Karlach content and Jaheira content have definitely become my particular niche corner.

This is fun partly because it's nice having a little area that I am comfortable exploring in great depth, and also because it makes trying other things (like my recent Astarion experiments - Astariments?) feel like a fun challenge/change of pace. :)

[pens-swords-stuff]

Nanowrimo 2022 Day One

Nano Project: Always the Bridesmaid

Word written today: 1062

Total words: 1062

I think I might reframe my Nano goal into writing everyday, rather than the full 50k. Now that I work full time, I don't have a ton of time to dedicate to writing anymore, especially since I'm busy doing things after work too.

Trying to write while my partner played video games was a brave effort, but I cannot write with people around. And especially if my partner is playing a video game that we're playing together because I get distracted.

That being said, I'm actually pretty proud of how much I wrote today! I felt like giving up and just going to sleep at around the 300 word mark, but I decided to push myself a little further and got more done than I thought I would.

I'm also pretty proud that I didn't start over with my draft. I actually had around a page or so already written from last year when I was attempting to start the AtB draft, and I wasn't super happy with how I started it back then. But I just pushed through, continued on without editing or deleting, and I think it's going to turn out okay for now.

Also my first time completely pantsing a draft! I'm pleasantly surprised that I'm not getting completely stuck in not knowing what to do. Pacing is all over the place, but I actually had a pretty good idea of what I wanted to accomplish today writing-wise (if not word-wise) and I think it took shape pretty decently.

Plus, on top of my actual drafting, I managed to write up an entire character introduction too, not included in my word count!

Note to self: Come up with a better format for Nano update posts. If anyone has any suggestions or things they want to see in update posts, please let me know! I'm all ears.

[dp-marvel94]

Fanwork creators self rec! When you get this, reply with your five favorite fics/art/podfics/etc. that you've made, then pass on to others. Let’s spread the self-love 🌼

(No pressure if you don't want to though!)

Hope you have a good day! ✨

This is too sweet! 🥺🥰🤗

In no particular order:

Face to Face should be a surprise to no one. I've been writing it for three and a half years. It's almost 280K long. I'm so proud of myself for sticking with it this long. A lot has changed in my life since I started this. Writing the story actually was very important to understanding and accepting myself as an autistic person. I'm in a much better place emotionally now. And I literally just have the epilogue left to write. 😭 I'm going to finish it after Invisobang, I swear!

Speaking of Invisobang!

This is the 76K monstrosity I wrote in three months for the first Invisobang. There was a lot of tears in writing it. I'm pretty sure I gave myself headaches just about every day with the stress I was putting myself under. Honestly, I never want to do that again. 😅😓💀 But there were a lot of emotions in there I think I needed to get out of me. It helped me deal with some things; there were a lot of emotions I needed to get out of me so I'm happy I wrote in, even if it hurt.

So apparently, I'm going to be a debby-downer for all these. :( This was the first multi-chapter fic I ever wrote, my first real dip into writing fanfiction (after a one shot I wrote near by birthday in 2018 to cheer myself up). I wrote it in the month or so after graduating from graduate school. I wrote with a fever and excitement I hadn't felt in a long time and my sister beta-read it with me, just as excited as I was.

*Religious discussion to follow*

Honestly this story saved my life. For the past year or so, especially the last semester of grad school, I was in the deepest depression and anxiety I've ever experienced. I kept running into road blocks in my research. Nothing was going the way I wanted. I never got to see my family; with my sister being my best friend (and still is) that was a big deal. I did many things I am deeply ashamed of and I felt so alone. And I was so angry at God for letting me get that deep. I felt like he'd abandoned me. I was convinced if He didn't even care about me at all. Which was absolutly earth-shattering for me; I'd never had my faith shaken like that. In all honestly, I came really close to leaving the church. I'd already checked out mentally. I stopped listening to Christian Music (yes even Disciple) because I couldn't enjoy it anymore; all those promises in the songs felt like getting stabbed when I knew that God had forgot about me.

The point, the depression and guilt and running from God (because I was running from Him; He never abandoned me) turned into a vicious cycle, driving my deeper and deeper, farther and farther away. Things only started getting better once I graduated. And something finally pushed me to start writing. And writing Double Discovery was the first step in climbing out of that depression and coming back to church. Or rather.... it was what Jesus used, completely oblivious to me, to start to pull me out of the pit and bring me back to Him. Looking back now, I have no doubt. God lead me to the DP community. He gave me the special interest I have, the passion, my talent for writing, the ideas. I remember praying (ie begging), before things got really bad and I can't even stomach the thought of talking to God, for Him to help me. It didn't come when I want it to or how I would have imagined or even wanted. But He did help me. He never abandoned me.

*End Religious Discussion*

Okay, these last two will just be fun, I swear!

I wrote this for my first Phic Phight. It's the first story of mine someone made fanart for. Check out this piece by @paenling

Another Phic Phight offering, this one from 2021. I had to include one of my numerous clone sibling stories. XD

[bakurasilver]

Mathieu spitting incident roleplay???

So after the spitting incident I knew I needed to do something with this, it just did not feel like I could ethically ignore it. Provoked or not, and he very clearly was, spitting at people is just not a great thing to be doing (now all I can think of was that this was an unenriched and stressed Mathieu demonstrating a natural threat response 😭). It was probably a spur of the moment dumb decision, but I just didn't feel as though I could pretend it hadn't happened. Definitely not saying anyone else could or should have to write about it, but for me at least I needed to write him accepting the fact that it was Not A Great Decision (tbh I imagine I spent far more time angsting over this than real Mathieu, who usally seems to sail through controversy) before I could go back to writing him being emotionally mature enough to look after Wout.

Anyway so I'd just written that fic where he wants to play on the swings because he never got the chance to as a kid, so I was still thinking about the idea that Wout had worked very hard through the years with his therapist to ensure he stayed mentally well-balanced, and Mathieu just... hadn't.

So it starts off with them agreeing that they'll roleplay this out with Wout pretending to be some sort of therapist that young child Mathieu's been sent to talk to (Wout is reluctant, because he's not an expert, but he knows Mathieu won't talk to anyone who's actually qualified. Mathieu is blithely confident, sure that they'll faff around for half an hour and then Problem Dealt With, he can move on.)

But as soon as they begin, things begin to go off the rails. As soon as Wout comes back into the room, it's obvious that despite his I Don't Care I Was Right front, underneath it Mathieu's terrified that if he isn't perfect then he's flawed and only worth discarding, and that only when he's successful does he have any value. The two of them start building a house out of Lego, but Wout doesn't know how to help Mathieu deal with what is at its root the product of being praised and feted when he won a race, and being told to use disappointments to push himself harder... and neither did I.

Now I absolutely need to say I really don't think real Mathieu is angsting every time he loses. I just don't think he does! I think he's annoyed about it for a day or so maybe, but like he said in that recent Matt Stephens interview, he sleeps pretty well. I'm sure he doesn't lie awake thinking about all the might-have-beens if he'd lived a less gilded life, and even if he does, it's none of my business what goes on between real Mathieu's ears.

But, at least in the land of fanfiction, he's got such a tantalisingly narrative shape that you can shine a light on him from so many angles and get an intriguingly-shaped shadow. You can project almost any reading onto Mathieu and think, oh huh yeah I can kind of see that making sense. He's so plausible in so many scenarios because there really aren't any inner depths visible. Whether or not they exist in real life, it's so tempting to give in to the urge to give him some thematically-appropriate ones.

Anyway, there it sits, waiting for Wout and me to work out how to convince Mathieu that making a mistake does not mean he's an irredeemably bad person. Which I would very much like to do, because as it ends currently Wout is having a one-sided discussion inside his head about how Hitler isn't a helpful example, and Mathieu is curled up in a ball with his face buried in his knees having a cry. I can only hope that at some point I'll work out what comes after this:

“That was a good choice you made just now, telling me how you’re feeling,” said Wout, gently rubbing Mathieu’s back. “I know it isn’t easy, but I’m really proud of you for coming to see me today. Sometimes we all make bad choices, that’s part of being human, but

(Mathieu feels he's disappointed Wout, it ends in a note to myself at the bottom, as though I didn't know that!)

[magpiefngrl]

do you think writer's block is an actual concrete thing? / what is writer's block to you?

Hey anon! When I wrote the post seeking asks, I'd added writer's block to the end of the things I'd like to chat about, and then deleted it because it is included in woes. But you read my mind!

This is going to be looooong. I'm putting it under a cut x

I've had debilitating writer's block in the past. Debilitating. I used to write and post fic regularly back in 2017-18--and then I stopped. For a time, I'd write but would hate everything. I'd feel empty of ideas and robbed of the ability to convey thoughts on page. I'd cross half my sentences out and doubt every word.

And then: I couldn't look at the page. I would think about opening a doc and I'd immediately distract myself with something else. The dishes, the cat, a new tab. It was like even the idea of writing touched some wound inside me and I'd flinch, I'd get that visceral reaction of "ouch, avoid avoid".

So, for me at least, writer's block is a real thing. It happens, it affects people, and it is so prevalent that thousand of articles have been written about it.

I've come to realise, though, that writer's block doesn't exist on its own. It doesn't just come at someone randomly like an unwelcome lottery ticket. It's an indication of something else.

(a pause here to say that writer's block isn't the time when a creative brain needs to rest. The fallow periods. That's normal, esp if you've overextended yourself. Pushing yourself to write at that time might make the brain rebel, and you might think you've got writer's block when all you need to do is take some time off and fill the creative well with fun activities.)

So what might the writer's block indicate? Anything from fear of failure, to insecurity, to perfectionism, to depression. When I'm depressed, I don't write. I have to treat the depression to get rid of the block. That's easy, in the sense that I know what depression feels like and I know how to deal with it. Or at least I know that it passes.

But fear of failure? Perfectionism? These aren't as easy to pinpoint, not for me, anyway. Also, those of us who have posted fics in fandom have the added stress of disappointing readers/followers. You've no idea how terrified I was about finishing my WIP, 9 1/2 days. I was sure that readers would be like "it's been years in the making so the story must be extraordinary" and then they'd read my normal, totally ordinary story and feel let down. At other times, I'd mentioned/promised birthday gift fics to people and I felt the pressure of time passing and me having nothing to show for it. So much stress.

We say that fandom is a fun place and we're here for the joy of being a fan, but this excessive positivity often doesn't allow for the negative feelings of having a story you're proud of go unnoticed. It happens. To all of us. It hurts like fuck. It hurts to see rec list after rec list and not see your name on it. And you feel like a dickhead for feeling resentment and anger about it, because you're not here for the stats, you're really not, but fucking hell--you thought that was a pretty good story and if no one really agreed, then you're not a good writer, right?

Why does writer's block come after you've posted ten fics and not before the first one, when you're a lot more inexperienced and new at this? I guess, higher stakes. Also, times of vulnerability come and go. Once, during my writer block years, when I was trying to get over it and go back to writing, I received a piece of feedback that devastated me. It hurt me so incredibly much that I couldn't (and didn't) think about a certain story for over six months. It was like this person, unwittingly, reached inside me, found where I was hurting, the soft, wounded part of me, and stabbed me right in the middle of it. It was a good lesson in learning to protect myself when I feel vulnerable emotionally.

Imagine trying to write, worrying that you'll let your readers down, certain that your best story is in the past and you've peaked already, anxious about making little progress and falling behind, upset that no one recs or talks about your latest fic--in other words it was a massive failure--(all of these were things I experienced at multiple times) and that's on top of the author's normal worries about trying to figure out the plot and the characters and whether this POV works for the story. Who wouldn't get blocked?

I'd better stop around here, this is something that I could discuss forever. My leaving thought would be that to treat writer's block one should:

first, see if it is writer's block and not burnout or fallow period, in which case: REST

second, try and reflect on what the block is hiding, and then deal with that.

third, care a lot less. I think, at the end of the day, writer's block comes because we care so much about writing a good story that it becomes an impediment. It helps to care less. I've been posting stories unbetaed in the last couple of years. It's a deliberate decision to take back the sensation of being an amateur writing for the fun of it.

send me an ask!

[hexfloog]

2021 - 2022 - 2023

Here's my art summary for 2022! In 2021 I had hoped that the inspo kick would last well into the new year, and... here we are. I produced WAY more this year than I initially thought and actually ran into the strange dilemma of having too much to choose from for this template :0

What a year for art.

I think because of the slow speed at which I produce-- and the relative stylistic consistency of what I do make-- I tend to fall into this trap of thinking I'm not actually going anywhere with my work, but looking back at my portfolio... this really isn't the case.

To put it bluntly, I see improvement from last year to now in the form of risks.

I hit a lot of milestones and firsts since January: I drew another comic, dabbled in several projects in grayscale, drew plenty of complicated backgrounds (or "whole pieces," I suppose), put together at least one .gif sequence, made mockups for merch, made real merch, zine entries... And even beyond 2D work, I wired up my first custom model kit, experimented with new materials, archived an entire TCG set, put together another cosplay, and (maybe most significantly) started writing fic again!!

I'm genuinely surprised by my output. While this year was creatively fruitful, it was maybe one of the worst on my health-- and by extension, my funds-- all around (an ER visit, COVID, some Mystery Issue with my feet... still a mystery to this day, actually) so I am pretty stunned that I managed to tap as far as I did into my creativity overall, especially when compared to 2021, a year I also thought went surprisingly well for art. Deadlines and community events and contests all pushed me into making more than I would on my own terms, so challenging myself a little definitely paid off... who would've thought? >___<

(while shoving my 2022 body of work under the bed) On the flip side, it turns out that throwing my dignity to the wind and shamelessly indulging pushes me to create, too! How many Evil Conans can one person depict in a single year??

...On a more personal level, aside from challenging myself with external motivators I think I was only able to produce as much as I did on account of simply learning to love what I make the way I make it. The vast majority of what I drew this year falls into what I've been referring to (to myself) as "drafts." But they're not drafts as most people would think of them - they're just not fully-polished works. March/November are good examples - contrast against June/August, which are definitely "polished."

It's probably not that big of a deal to other people how I refer to my work in my own company, but this year I seem to have realized that thinking of it in this way-- dismissing the time and effort spent on any one piece as merely "unfinished"-- is actually quite harmful. I have a habit of being harsh on myself and to call these works "drafts" undermines the amount of effort I put into them, and for what? Because they're not "clean" enough for (my own, self-imposed) impossible standards? That alone implies that there's only one way a work can be for it to be good enough, when the truth is that no-one would be none the wiser if I called them "finished" instead.

That's not really to say that I would stop trying to achieve this high-effort "finished" standard since I can get the same amount of mileage for lesser effort or whatever. I don't operate that way, there's a lot of pride and self-esteem tied to my art and I subscribe pretty unconditionally to delivering something that I'm proud of. I guess the key here is that "high" standards should not be "impossible" standards.

Starting from March (probably right around the time of the first DCMK FF Server Exchange), as year the progressed I slowly started warming up to this idea that I don't have to make something perfect to "get credit" for creating it. Perfectionism is an itch I'm still learning not to scratch every time it calls for my attention. And, relating to the exchange, there's something about a gift well-received that puts my guard down, and maybe it's because I'm always bracing for the worst (some imagined rejection of effort, perhaps) that I don't really expect people to so plainly like things I don't consider "good enough" for myself.

I guess what I'm saying is it's probably not an epiphany I would have just had for myself one day. I really don't think I would have realized the inherent hurt in my system if people didn't indirectly point it out to me time and time again, whether that gushing over artwork to my face or in tags or whatever, so... for that I am very grateful T___T

On that note, it has been a rough year for me so I want to express my deep appreciation for everyone who has supported me, whether you're just an art appreciator or an internet buddy, whether you came for ponies or animal mecha or ducks or detectives, whether you've donated at any point or bought something from the shop, commissioned me, etc ;___; I appreciate you all very much and truthfully I would not be creating so much if I didn't think I had an audience who could enjoy it with me. Thanks from the bottom of my heart <3

Wishing everyone a creatively fruitful and healthy 2023!!

if you've gotten this far tysm for reading i'm very stingy about good feelings and being this saccharine about anything takes effort, capital E

[official-kenralie-fanbase]

also i’m curious about your thoughts on the empath ability and how you think it works

My first official ask about KOTLC stuff! :D :D

Before I start because I have so many thoughts about Empaths and probably won't remember them all here, I dive into a lot of my thoughts about how Empaths work in my fic Perfect Match, so check that out if you want (my ao3 account is linked in my pinned post)

This is going to be long so I'll put it under a keep reading thingy (which I figured out how to do! I'm so proud of myself)

Though he's the most prominent Empath in the series, I don't think that Keefe is actually the best Empath to analyze to know how the Empath ability really works because of all the treatments Gisela did to him, especially with the recent development of his new abilities. Basically, I think that Keefe is much more powerful than a normal Empath, and probably doesn't share a lot of the same limitations as them. So to answer this ask, I'll mainly be looking at Oralie and a bit of Vespera.

First off, I think that Empaths have a lot of trouble distinguishing their own emotions from others', especially as a new Empath. Because of this, I think a lot of them learn to push their own emotions to the side when they're in an emotionally fraught situation or simply when they're surrounded by a lot of people. This is one of the main reasons I think that Oralie has made a lot of the decisions she has. She's used to pushing her own emotions to the side for the sake of her career, which is something I think a lot of Empaths struggle with.

This can be good, in some circumstances. For instance, Oralie is often the only Councillor who doesn't lose her head in particularly fraught situations (unless, of course, the situation involves Kenric and/or Fintan). Because of this, I imagine that Empaths have really good poker faces. They're so used to pushing their feelings aside that sometimes they have to remember to actually feel their emotions. There are a lot of times it says something along the lines of "Oralie's face was emotionless" or even the same thing with Lord Cassius. Both of them are characters who are known for being calculating and sneaky, but I think that has a lot to do with their ability.

But that can only go on for too long, and when Empaths let themselves feel their emotions, they break. Keefe hides his emotions by being funny and making jokes, but when he feels guilty, he becomes reckless. Oralie hides her emotions by immersing herself in her work and trying to help Sophie, although she's obviously masking a lot of guilt. We haven't really seen what happens when she breaks yet, but I have a feeling she's going to reach her breaking point in the next book, which will be very interesting to see.

This is why Empaths are known as being weak or fragile. I bet there are a lot of Empaths we don't know about whose minds have broken because they simply feel emotions so strongly. They're sensitive, which is why they learn to push their emotions to the side. That's the only thing they can do to avoid letting grief or guilt consume them.

But there are also a lot more weaknesses, such as the three-skipped-beats thing and the going numb. Three skipped beats is really interesting to me, since it isn't touched on much in the series besides, you know, *the scene in Legacy* and I think it could be really interesting to dig deeper into. My theory-ish is that Gisela manipulated Keefe enough that he might not have this weakness. That's why Keefe never brings it up, and why he's such a good liar. (It's more likely that Shannon Messenger just didn't think of this until late in the series but we're just gonna ignore that and pretend it was intentional.)

Empaths are notorious for being terrible liars, but the two most prominent Empaths in the series are both actually pretty good liars- Keefe lies all the time and Oralie has kept a massive secret from the entire world for fifteen years. I think that Empaths are really bad at lying, but because they have such a good poker face, they're good at keeping secrets. So no one will ever suspect them of keeping a secret, but if they're called out on it, they can't lie to save their life. I also imagine that there are more physical effects on them when they lie- I mean, your heart literally skipping three beats can't be good for your health. They probably avoid outright lying as much as possible but are experts in half-truths and clever wording.

Sophie first learns about the three-skipped-beats weakness from Lord Cassius. I find that particularly interesting because he's also the one who came up with the head and heart theory. So I think that Empaths' hearts will skip three beats whenever they lie, whether it's an intentional lie (a head emotion) or an unintentional lie (a heart emotion). I imagine that Empaths could say something, confidently believing it's true, and then feel their heart skip a beat, realizing that, deep down, they were actually lying to themself.

And then there's the whole going numb thing, which happened to Vespera. I also think that what happened to Keefe's empathy numbing out is different from what happened to Vespera, which may not be a "big" revelation but is still important to look at. He can't read others' emotions but he can still feel his own feelings. Keefe's abilities and genetics had been manipulated and tested, not to mention the fact that he was around humans, who have stronger emotions than elves. His empathy, strong as it was, probably couldn't take it all and numbed out to protect him.

Vespera, on the other hand, still can feel others' emotions, she just can't feel any herself. I think this is probably because of something that happened to her, not the emotions she was sensing from others. Based on what we know about the other Ancients- Bronte is allergic to happiness and Fintan is probably *slightly* insane, I don't think it's unreasonable to assume that a lot of terrible things happened that caused her to numb out and lose her ability to feel.

Or maybe she intentionally did that to herself. After all, wasn't she experimenting on the humans to see their tolerance for violence? But that's something to dive into later.

Oh! One more thing- Keefe can read Sophie's emotions even when he's not touching her. I think that Empaths can, in very strong circumstances, read others' emotions, especially when they have a strong bond with this person. I'll dive into this a bit in my fic, but at one point in Stellarlune Oralie says that she and Kenric had a very special bond, and I've often wondered if she could read his emotions without contact. (That might just be my shipping self coming up with it, but I think it's worth thinking about.)

When Sophie enhances Keefe, he can send "calming breezes" into her mind. There's a moment in Everblaze where Kenric enters Fintan's mind and gets a headache, which Oralie is able to calm. Maybe she was able to do the same thing that Keefe can? I'll definitely be making a post at some point about the Kenralie/Sokeefe parallels, but the bottom line is: Keefe is able to do a lot of things that only really skilled Empaths can do or that they can only do when they have a strong bond with someone, because of Gisela's enhancing of his genetics.

So... that went way longer than I intended, and I'm sure there's more I forgot to say. Let me know if anything is inaccurate; I didn't have the books with me when I wrote this and I also wrote most of this late at night so I'm bound to have made some mistakes.

Hope y'all enjoyed my first analysis! In case you couldn't tell, I have a lot to say about this series. If there's anything you want me to talk about, just send me an ask!

TL;DR: Empaths are so used to pushing aside their emotions for the sake of feeling others' emotions that they can let their emotions control them after too long; the three-skipped beats thing illustrates how both head and heart emotions can be lies; numbing out happens when Empaths' minds naturally block out part of their ability to protect them.