Thinking about different types of kisses w/ Price
Thinking about Price leaving soft pecks on your nose cheeks and chin because he’s narrowly missing your lips, bleary eyes barely paying attention to where your mouth is, coarse mustache hair leaving a pleasant stinging behind him, lips tasting of toothpaste, and the bitter coffee Price insist on drinking so early in the morning while a warm callused hand sneaks under your shirt, traces shapes into your skin, before fingers clutch onto your hip as he deepens the kiss
Thinking about passionately kissing in the rain after going directly against his orders, standing head to head toe to toe, with his hand grabbing at the nape of your neck and glaring up at your form because remind me again of who you are to go against his orders? His tone is rough so are his words but so is your appearance after going head first into what might as well have been your very last mission.
You try to explain, try to reason with him, it was for the best, for valuable intel, he doesn’t listen only laughs, and not in amusement but like he’s on the verge of tears and laughing is the only thing keeping him from breaking down completely, before he smashes your lips together.
Your gasp mingles with the sound of thunder before you relax into his grip and lean into the kiss, it’s nothing gentle, lips as harsh as the pelting rain, coarse hair scraping against your skin and teeth clashing together, kisses as unforgiving as the hand on the nape of your neck,lips pressing so harshly against yours it almost hurts and tongue roughly licking into your mouth til you’re sure you can taste blood
One of your hands yank at his wet curls while the other hand presses onto his back in an attempt to pull him impossible closer as if your ribcages aren’t already knocking together, as if your clothes aren’t sticking to each other as if the very same raindrop isn’t landing on his cheek before trickling down onto your chin
Thinking about hurried kisses with Price where clothes are carelessly falling to the floor, hands eagerly exploring each other, loud smacking sounds echoing throughout the room, drool dribbling down your chins, while the two of you roll around in the sheets, slow and needy kisses where Price suckles on your tongue to savior the way the two of you taste as he rides your cock, the short and sweet pecks after coming down from your highs, with him looking all fucked out hair mussed face flushed and a soft smile on his face as he falls asleep happy and satiated
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i like this detail whenever it comes up where someone who has JUST met chung myung rattles off very factually correct praise and exposits observations about chung myungs character that we, as the readers, are already aware of or are made to be aware of in that moment, but the disciples, who are so desensitized to chung myung and his behaviour atp, that even when faced w these spot on observations, they find it strange/untrue/a mischaracterization or a misunderstanding from the other party because even after all the time spent w chung myung, ESPECIALLY after spending so much time w chung myung, they see his actions and behaviour as default surface level eccentricism and havent really bothered to look much deeper into why he does or says the things he does, only knowing that he's never acted any differently than the way he did when they first met him and that he couldnt possibly have any ulterior motives or thoughts that they wouldnt know about because they think that the chung myung they can see, his rash callousness and poor decision making skills and bizarre off beat mannerisms and susceptibility to praise, is all the chung myung there is
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The Great Notes App Exodus: Half-Dead and Still Kicking
The thing is, Jason’s been a ghost for a while, okay? Six whole months, and it’s been a goddamn adjustment, being capable of floating through walls and falling through furniture if he’s not careful, if he’s not concentrating. He goes unseen and unheard in a manor too full of grieving to only be residence of two people - Alfred keeps his room tidy and untouched, as if it’s a shrine to keep care of, and Bruce is…
Jason is, was, Robin, so he can’t quite help himself from following in Batman’s shadow as the man patrols, more vicious, more brutal than Jason has ever seen him. He takes more risks, gets injured more often - and it’s terrifying, the way Batman grieves, as if trying to follow him into the grave. So Jason follows, unbeating heart in his throat, and only relaxes again when Bruce is safe in the manor, sleeping off whatever injuries he got during the night.
He can’t interact with the world, but he can watch the shades of past residents going about their lives, and he learns things from doing this even as he fears becoming them one day, mindlessly replaying a life long passed. He can snoop and explore without worry for being caught, and if he ever gets bored he can practice flying (so much harder than it seems - he’s careful never to go too high, too worried that he won’t be able to come back down again, even with the ceaseless curiosity in the back of his mind wondering - just how far can I go? Beyond the sky? Could he touch the stars, if he wanted?) and when everything is terrible, when the memories of his death, his last few hours of life, haunt him, when he is drowning in his own head, he finds distractions; the way the air currents sometimes seem to react to him, trying to move things like ghosts do in those terrible movies, chattering to whoever is around and pretending they can hear him, finding mysteries to solve (what’s up with that camera kid, anyway? He’d never noticed him before…) and trying to read books in the library through sheer force of will, usually ending up just reciting the parts he knows.
(Two months and a bit in to this whole “ghost” thing, he finds out the deal with the camera kid. Jason can only be relieved because, kid’s got a point - and Bruce seems to do better with someone to protect, to teach, to watch over.
He’s not practically tearing people apart with his bare hands anymore. He’s not taking hits he should have been able to avoid anymore. He’s not lurking at the edge of rooftops anymore, staring at the ground as if contemplating how far away it is.)
And Tim… he’s weird, but brilliant, and Jason feels a little protective of him. Follows him whenever he goes out, sharp eyes watching his back regardless of whether he can protect it or not (and maybe it’s his imagination, but the world seems more real when he’s watching over Tim, closer and present in a way he can almost feel, as if he could actually affect the world, if he just tried hard enough - if he just needed to desperately enough).
And then, six months after his-… after this ghost thing started, something… changes.
Something Happens, and he can almost taste the strange Knowing - something, somewhere, has gone wrong, or perhaps right, and the ripples extend beyond the event, slipping into each corner of the universe with the subtlety of a truck, and yet somehow unnoticed.
The ghosts notice. Pale shades lift their heads, existing outside of their own memories for the first time in an age - and Jason, who is new, who is Robin, who lived in Gotham where all things become possible, is hit by the wave of Something Happening Elsewhere Rippling Out and wakes up in a box.
In a coffin.
(But Jason has been a ghost for six months, and the pain of living again is enough to reach for the existence of being a ghost, and by the time he has sorted himself out and half-clawed, half-floated his way out of his grave (again), he doesn’t expect himself to be anything but what he has been for the past six months.)
(And then, of course, he discovers he can interact with the world if he concentrates, if he wants it enough, and he assumes that Whatever That Was made him a stronger ghost.
It’s not an unfair assessment. Incorrect, but not beyond reason.
Why would he think he came back to life, anyway? That’s a bit far-fetched, really.)
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6, 12, 30 for the writing asks ^_^
6. What’s the last line you wrote?
Shaking its head in what seems like disbelief before meeting his eyes again, almost like it wants to say something before it makes a noise like a growl, "oh, you're one of those seraphs, aren't you. A star-eater. No wonder you act like you've lost your mind."
(ignore that that's a couple sentences, the Thought is important)
12. Do you outline your fics? If yes, how detailed are your outlines? How far do you stray from them?
Oh yes! I outline my fics thoroughly. Though, I do allowed myself to deviate as much from the outline as I feel like when things go off the rails.
Some snippets of planning from a couple fics & concepts:
My outlines are very... One for one. With some exceptions. I tend to basically write a very brief version of the fic and try to get the feelings and words right before I actually write it. This is... Also why it can and will take me a month to write a oneshot. I try to get things Right.
30. How much do you edit your fics? Do you edit as you write or wait until you finish the first draft?
So! I edit them a bit? I edit while I work, but often I don't really touch anything I've already written unless it's something longer that might be taking a few months to get through. I think the fic I've edited the most is the prologue of Artificial Stars, which was originally a quickly written 2k oneshot into about 5k of actually decent fic.
Usually I don't edit to make something shorter/more concise, since I tend to only come up with more ways to bridge concepts when I go back to it. Also to be fair... There's usually no difference between first draft and final product. I cannot be asked to edit my fics after I write them, I just release them to the birds and pray for the best. (Unless I actually decide to show it to my beta reader in full instead of just sharing snippets as I... usually do.)
Conclusion: Rarely, those thangs are being given to the world as-is unless something is horrifically wrong with them
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