Agent 32 doodle dump
Happy moments together, all filled with cuddle and kisses after the chaotic trip 8 had
Nothing better than to tease your significant other lmao. 4 find 8 extremely soft and squishy and can't help but always wanna pinch him, he does not find that amusing
Meanwhile, 8 has a weird habbit of rubbing his hand (or face) on 4's flat surface head, and she has no idea why that is.
Also, the "Cute!" Look that 8 is giving at the bottom right, i drew this last year, and BOY did i hit jackpot with how i drew him there, he looks ADORABLE I CAN'T!!
Rommies waking up in the morning, but 4 is so not an early bird like 8, be she tries, and 8 is there to try and help heh
Oh look! I finally drew these lovebirds! These have been sitting with all my wips for quite a while
Like
A few months
Oh also, the 2nd and 3rd ones are just doodles i did on paper last year that i decided to digitilize lol
But yay! Meet my agents 32, Minke (agent 4) and Finn (Agent 8).
I need to see more of male agent 8. He's like, my favorite, and I barely see him YwY
I'll probably have to be the sole provider for the m/f ship version of them ngl (which sue me is my favorite, mainly cuz male 8 is my fav). But seeing busy i am rn, this will probs be my one rare post for this month
But who knows, I've been thinking up on Minke's family quite a bit, that might be my next topic, family meeting
Also fun fact, the doodle of 4 going "oooh you missed me" was originally gonna be a sad moment of 8 comforting her, but i couldn't get the pose i wanted right, so i went for a more cheerful tone. And yes it is after side order hehe
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an excerpt of the newest chapter of the halfway house fic based on this past post. Enjoy :)
“Steve, come get your furry little menace! He’s chewing up my laces again,” Robin grumbled.
“Maybe if your laces are ruined, you’ll finally buy a new pair of shoes,” Steve snarked. Steve walked to the living room to find Robin attempting to tie her old Converse only to snatch back her hands every time the kitten took a swipe at the laces in question. “He’s just a baby. He wants to play.”
“He can get his own laces to play with, then. And there’s nothing wrong with my shoes. I’m not going to go buy new shoes when these are perfectly functional. And my favorite color.”
Steve scooped the kitten up even as he kept reaching for the laces and cuddled him to his chest. Steve rubbed gently behind the kitten’s ears until the kitten relaxed into tiny purrs.
“What do you think, Dustin? Should Robin get new shoes? Raise your paw if you agree with me,” Steve said. He lifted the kitten’s right paw and waved it a bit, making the kitten squirm. “See, he agrees with me.”
Robin snorted and rolled her eyes at his teasing smile. “I still can’t believe you named him Dustin.”
The kitten chose that moment to start climbing up Steve’s shirt to reach his shoulder. His tiny claws pricked at Steve’s skin through the thin fabric but they were so small, they barely hurt at all. Steve laughed as the kitten settled on his shoulder and began to mew at the top of his lungs.
“It’s not my fault he looks like a Dustin,” Steve insisted. When he brought the kitten home two days ago, Robin tried to name him something else but Steve put his foot down about it. He found the kitten, and he thought the kitten was a Dustin, so no other name was allowed.
Dustin let out another mew so loud he nearly toppled over. Steve pulled him off his shoulder with an amused huff. Dustin wriggled incessantly in his hands. Steve lost his grip on him but thankfully he had gotten him close enough to the ground by then that the fall was negligible to a cat.
“Okay, okay, we’ll play for a little while, you needy baby.”
He and Robin were waiting for payday to run to the pet store for more supplies. They were lucky that their neighbor across the hall had an old litter box that her cat had outgrown, and a couple of spare food bowls. She had even given them a few cans of wet food, cooing over the kitten all the while. Dustin, apparently, was a charming little guy. He obviously took after Steve. Robin had punched him on the arm when he said as much.
In the meantime, they were using old bits of string and a little orange ball Robin had stolen back when they worked at a mini-golf place. The kitten seemed to enjoy them well enough but Steve planned on getting him fancier playthings and some catnip. He rolled the ball across the floor and the kitten chased after it. He pounced on it, wobbly, which sent the ball rolling again for another chase. Steve laughed. Robin giggled along with him.
“He’s lucky he’s adorable. Otherwise we’d be having problems, him and I,” Robin said with a grin. Her mischievous demeanor softened slightly. “I’m glad you found him, you big old softie. Now you can stop moping so much.”
Steve ducked away when she reached to ruffle his hair.
“Yeah, yeah,” Steve said, lightheartedly. “Maybe if I do a good job with him, someone will finally let me have a kid.”
The kitten had apparently gotten bored of the ball and was attempting to climb up the back of the couch. Steve quickly grabbed him so he would damage the upholstery. He booped the kitten’s nose.
“What do you think, baby? Will I be a good dad? Be honest.”
Dustin grabbed his finger and gnawed at it while making the most precious sounds. A purring mew. Steve’s heart melted; though from what he had read, he really shouldn’t let Dustin get accustomed to using his hands as playthings.
Steve resigned himself to losing half his paycheck to cat toys.
Continue on Ao3
ps: i do not do reader tag lists or whatever those things are called. i tag all my writing with 'trensu tells stories' so please just follow that tag if you wanna keep up with my stuff, thank you
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Cw: personal, whine about art and writing and not knowing how to improve my writing so people will want to read it.
So... here's a confession:
I think my writing is good, actually.
This is an admission of defeat.
You see... no one likes my writing enough to stick with it.
So when I say I think my writing is good... I'm saying that I don't know how to make my work better. I don’t know why my writing doesn't hook people.
Comparing that to my art... well. My art is bad. I know it is bad, and I know what makes it so. I lack the ability to improve it, but I know what a more skilled person would do to fix it. I understand the flaws. This gives me peace: I can just focus on making art, with no hope or expectation of positive response from others.
With my writing?
I think it's good. And so, when it meets the cold indifference of others, it *hurts*.
I try to play it off as "haha I'm such a shitty writer lol" the same way I do with my art. But the truth is that while my art is genuinely not great... I don't think my writing is bad. I don't understand why people don't like my work. I can't instantly envision what a more skilled person would do to fix it.
I feel like such a pretentious shithead saying that, but I mean it in a decidedly negative way. I think my writing is good like someone tonedeaf might think they're a good singer. I can tell it must be bad because people don't enjoy it, but I don't understand why.
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