1, 2, 3, 4, 5, and I bet your undercut looks cute af.
Anon… you’re the best anon that could ever be.
Describe your comfort zone—a typical you-fic.
There’s always either going to be some kind of insane sex or some kind of surrealistic shit if I’m writing in my comfort zone. The other stuff is a little harder. Plotline. Characterization. The best stuff.
Is there a trope you’ve yet to try your hand at, but really want to?
I’m working on a one bed fic! But I also love huddling for warmth and life. One day I’m gonna do lesbian buddy cup for Scully Reyes but I say this in the same way I say “one day I’m going to own a house and a stable job.”
Is there a trope you wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole?
(TW) There seems to have been a pretty common one in the 90s – where Mulder would assault Scully and like it’d be forgiven a couple days. Because drugs or love or some shit. Any rape trope tbh.
I will also avoid the ice queen thing with all of my might. I just don’t understand it. I never got that vibe from Scully… and why Jack was the one rumored to call her that beats the hell out of me. It’s very clear he shut her out?? If I were to write about it it’d be a fic about sexism in the bureau. Which, actually…
How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Care to share one of them?
A fic about sexism in the bureau. Oh jesus, so fucking many. I’m working on a long and detailed fic about Mulder’s depression starting after 2012. And then I actually want to write a 2012 fic where Mulder and Scully are preparing for end times. The Scully Reyes mermaid fic. A fic where John Doggett takes care of Mulder’s fish until they die. Just a lot of shit.
Share one of your strengths.
I’d like to think I’m good at picking up on behaviors/physical actions we do and don’t often write about. Which is really helpful for writing smut and horror, tbh.
“Not emergent but I literally have 2 dollars” Commissions
HEY EVERYONE so usually I don’t offer up commissions like this, but somehow someone stole my credit card and I spent all my money in my savings account before realizing this (disclaimer: i am a major ding dong and this is my fault i know). I’m currently waiting on a big pay check, so in the meantime I’m going to do really cheap and quick commissions!!! HERE’S THE DEETS
Refined Graphite Sketch: $5 for portrait, $8 for full body
B&W Line Art (optionally w flats): $10
Colored Portrait: $20
i probably won’t be drawing you a foot but that’s kind of the finished coloring style it’ll be (unless you actually need a medical illustrator, then we can talk) also everything will actually be photographed well/scanned so don’t worry about my piss poor cell phone quality photos there
so yeah!!! please hit me up via email (firstname.lastname@example.org) preferably if you’re in the mood for some art bc it would be really greatly appreciated!!! any signal boosts are v appreciated as well
“I’m full of shit, okay? No I’m… I’m knowingly full of shit. Because,
uh… because uh, uh… I have… I have never cared about anybody or
anything in my entire life. And the thing is, everybody just kind of
accepted that. Like, “That’s just Natasha.” And then you!… Jesus. You. Steve. You didn’t see me that way. I have never known anyone who actually
believed that I was enough. Until I met you. And then you made me
believe it, too. So, uh… unfortunately… I need you. And you need me.”
Note: Feel free to ask any kind of artwork about #Romanoger! It will be a pleasure making them for you!
A sort of Merry Christmas / Happy New Year fic for gospeloforange, you wonderful, dangerously kinky soul <3. Angbang and from Mairon’s POV as is customary, and NSFW as all hell. Oh, and tw: piercing. Enjoy!
x x x
His hands clench within their bonds, the sculpted back of the chair digs hard into his bare shoulder blades as nervously he shifts, as he glances to the dark silhouette of his master standing a few paces away.
So temptingly his master had spoken to him, entreated him; so gracefully had he taken him by the hand. Each caress of his fingers as he stripped the clothes from him was laden with care, each loop and knot of the rope securing his wrists at the chair’s back had ignited a burning cinder of arousal in the pit of his stomach, and yet with his master’s every movement, a curl of trepidation had gripped him.
For before him now his master turns, stepping aside from a low table mostly concealed from his view.
“Do you want this, little one?” His master saunters towards him, all splendour and concern and such devastating allure, and at the throbbing tenderness in his voice, his breath hitches in his throat.