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You’ve heard of one shots, now get ready for none shots! It’s when you think of an idea for a fic and then don’t write it

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tumblr friendships are hard to maintain like im sorry i know i havent talked to you in 5 months but you’re still super rad and i still consider us friends im just dumb

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I think it's mean how some people talk about fics on AO3.

'Oh you gotta wade through literal trash to find the good stuff'.

Were you not a beginner once? Did you not write crack fic or self indulgent things for your own entertainment?

Maybe don't speak that way about your fellow fic writers? Just because some fics aren't as polished as others, or involve fetishes and tropes you don't enjoy, or are not the style you want your fics to be doesn't mean they're trash.

It's a horrible thing to say and beginners are going to be discouraged from writing knowing that their fics might be considered trash because they're just starting out.

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A fan animation where Shuri wants real life reference for her Black Panther designs :) 

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the babysitter’s club is my favorite TV show

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Daryl: The fuck’s wrong with you?!

Y/N, sipping her coffee: Wow, could you at least say good morning?

Daryl: Good mornin’, the fuck’s wrong with you?!

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COMMISSION! in the source link, you’ll find FOUR HUNDRED AND FIFTY gifs of the actor JOSH HUTCHERSON in BURN (2019) and THE HUNGER GAMES: CATCHING FIRE (2013). all gifs were made by me from scratch, therefore i’d appreciate if they are not edited, redistributed, added to other gif hunts or claimed as someone elses. if you enjoy or plan on using them, please like or reblog the post. if you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee! tw: gun; blood; fire; fighting.

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*  𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐜.    at  the  source  link  below,  you  will  find  access  to  #144  gifs  (  268x150  )  of  emily  rudd  in hunters  (  2023  ),  s02e01-08.    emily  is  of  european  descent,  &  born  in  1993,  so  they  should  be  cast  accordingly.    you  may  edit  in  any  way,  but  do  not  claim  as  your  own  or  use  in  other  hunts.

check  my  pinned  post  for  commission  information.

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"I don't have a type-"

oh apocalyptic father figures...

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Some writers: *meticulously plan out every plot point and the tone and meanings before they start writing*

Me:

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holy trinity of dilfs

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mewguel

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Hi! For your blurb weekend can I get #1 and #2 from the clumsy prompt list please?

Love your work 💜

here’s #2 for you babe!

“where did you get that bruise?” “I have a bruise?”

Steve was well aware of your proclivity of collecting small injuries. Bumps and bruises, watercolour blooms over your skin, paper cuts on your fingertips, scraped knees and the likes.

So he shouldn’t have sounded so surprised when he watched you tumble into his bed one night, his boxers ridden high around the plush of your thighs. His gaze narrowed in on your leg, just below your hip and partially hidden by his Calvin’s.

“Where did you get that bruise?”

You turned, already thumping the pillows with small fists, brows knitted together as you concentrated on getting comfy for bed. “Huh?” You peered down at your body, confused, even though you shouldn’t have been. “I have a bruise?”

Steve huffed, exasperated because the mark on your skin was spread wide over your upper thigh, mottling your skin tone with old blues and dark lavenders. “Baby—”

“What?” You dropped from your knees to your ass, forgetting the pillows, the mattress rocking as you raised your arms, elbows twisting as you tried to find the offending culprit. “Where?”

“Baby—” Steve tried again, a laugh caught in his throat and it coated his words with a sticky affection. “Christ, woman, c’mere, stop—”

You squeaked when Steve grabbed at you, one large hand wrapping around an ankle, pulling at you easily until you flipped onto your back. You were grinning as Steve fussed, tugging until you were half in his lap, your legs thrown over his and you only laughed harder when Steve hiked the leg of his underwear up your hip.

“Buy me dinner first, god—” you joked, but you let Steve do as he pleased, your cheek pressed to his sheets as you looked up at him and his frown.

“Dinner?” The boy laughed, rough and exasperated. “M’buyin’ you a bubble to live in.”

“You’re dramatic,” you told him huffily. “Is it big?”

Steve soothed his fingers over the mark, brows knitted on concern. He shouldn’t have been surprised that you had zero recollection of gaining your new bruise but it still made his heart ache a little. It looked like it should’ve been sore.

“Gargantuan,” Steve confirmed, a small smile on his face.

You snorted, stretching out until your pyjama shirt rose up over the soft of your stomach and your toes poked Steve’s pillow. “Big word.”

“For a big bruise,” Steve shot back mildly. He leaned down, hair tickling your leg as he pressed a soft kiss to the mark. “You gotta be more careful, babe.”

You wrinkled your nose, fond and aching with it as you stared up at Steve. He was pouting, fingers still stroking over your hip. You leaned up, nose nudging at the bridge of his until he tipped his head to you and let you kiss him sweetly.

“I’ll try,” you told him, words mumbled against his mouth. “For you.”

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A reminder to all my lovely fellow writers: progress is progress, even when it isn't. Writing four thousand words in a session is progress. Writing a hundred words in a session is progress. Removing an entire scene because it doesn't flow well is progress. Rethinking your plan for the plot in order to get unstuck is progress. Development looks different for every writer and every story.

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Dacre Montgomery is a full course meal