working from home

😉

“Most importantly, he’s available,” Price says definitively. “Simon… You know I trust you to run the kitchen, and in any other circumstance I would be happy to stay out of it. But you weren’t here—” Simon opens his mouth to object, to point out that Price was the one who’d sent him away and told him not to hurry back, to take the time to grieve, but Price holds up a hand to stop him. “No, let me finish. We all understand what you’ve been through and no one at 141 blames you for taking time away, but the decision had to be made and you weren’t here to make it.” “I’m here now,” Simon argues. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself so his voice stays level, measured despite the emotion ripping through his body. “Yes, I was gone. I was away for nine days. But I have spent nine years building this kitchen and I won’t have some Scots prick fucking it all up.”

didn't get much writing done today but here's some more #GhostSoap chefnanigans for #SnippetSunday

buck nap
#buddie

There is music. In his kitchen. And a man he doesn’t know, standing at his pass. Talking to his rôtisseur, who sees him and smiles, and says warmly, “Welcome back, Simon.” “Rudy,” Simon says, returning the greeting. The man talking to Rudy stops and turns, eyes wild as his hair, and bounds over like an overexcited labrador puppy. “Chef Riley,” he says, grabbing Simon’s hand and shaking it. “It’s such an honour to be in your kitchen. You’re legendary. Your food is magnificent. Your timbale de ris de veau toulousaine is a thing of beauty. I’d do anything for the recipe. I mean it. Anything.” Equal parts stunned and pissed the fuck off, Simon extracts his hand from the stranger’s grip, and marches out of the kitchen and into Price’s office. “Ah, Simon,” Price says, looking up from the clipboard of invoices he’s studying. “Welcome back. I hope—” “Who the fuck is in my kitchen, Jonathan?” he growls. “And where the fuck is Farah?”

this #WIPWednesday, i'm serving you some more cheffy #GhostSoap shenanigans (chefnanigans?) and this time Soap's actually on the page!

"But shouldn't we be allowed to give criticism?"

If you know how to give useful artistic critique, yes. But most fan input is useless, the average person is bad at verbalizing WHY they like it, WHAT makes it work.

So when you deny them agency over YOUR work, they throw fits and begin abusing you.

Infograph about censorship. It compares it to magnets.

Sorted my thoughts about censorship, so I can stop thinking about it.

when i was a teen navigating the internet, i engaged with a lot of fanworks that were extremely graphic in nature, and not once did i interpret fictional content as endorsement of those acts irl. i don’t understand why that’s so difficult to grasp

more relevant than ever today

Remember to make art with your boner. It doesn't have to be a horny boner, it can be a brain boner or a heart boner. Make art that makes you happy and appeals to your own freakish sensibilities. This is imperative.

🙌🙌🙌

My beautiful wife,you are like a dream...
#ghostsoap #ghoap #soapghost

🧼🖤

#soapmactavish #cod

hello, 9-1-1? the narrative is haunting my spam folder... #911onabc

some days, you just gotta get yourself a little treat

image from inside Artemis II text: i need more men to understand that two men crying and hugging in space after one of them announced they were naming a moon crater after the other one's late wife is actually what peak masculinity looks like.

Screenshot of draft words, Ghost feeling a certain kind of way about threats to Soap and Johnny in general

Quick and messy strangevampire!Ghost words

✨️Happy #wipwednesday ✨️

This is what only having 30mins to think about draft words go us 😔✌️✨️
#anniewrites #ghoap

Soap is breathing heavily, cold night air feeling freezing on his clammy skin. His nape prickles, feels like someone is following him, feels eyes on him. Then a bark cuts through the night, a loud and bone-chilling sound that has Soap instinctively start running again. He's so fucking scared, keeps looking over his shoulder, thinks he's seeing eyes flashing in the dark. He shouldn't be out here, he should have just kept quiet and good. Should have fallen into line just like his siblings. No, he's running through the dark gardens, blood stained and lost. A second bark rings through the night and Soap screams in fear and surprise. Tears are starting to fall and his vision is blurred, he just knows he needs to escape, to get somewhere safe. Soap looks over his shoulder and runs straight into something hard. Arms close around him and he's screaming and struggling until a hand clamps over his mouth.

It's barely not WIP Wednesday for me anymore, but I didn't want to leave you guys hanging for another week :'3

So have a rough "Build Your Gwenny Fic" snippet, as a treat

"You know," Simon says as he hands John his tea, "It's Chaucer's fault I was late that day." "What day?" "The day we met." "How'd he manage tha' then?" "Unplugged my charger. Phone died. I was late." John smiles. "Remind mae tae slip him some cat nip as a thank you." Simon chuckles at that. "Why? I immediately disliked you. If we'd met under normal—" "Nae," John interrupts, putting his tea back on the tray without drinking it. He draws his leg up and turns sideways so he can face Simon. "What do you mean 'no'?" Simon turns to mirror Soap; their knees touch. "If we'd met any other way, Ah'd never have tried to befriend ye 'nd never asked ye tae dinner and we wouldnae be here tonight." John pins Simon with his gaze. "Ah'd say the lad deserves a reward for tha'." Simon's stomach does a funny little flip when John looks over. He feels that something pulse between them. Feels an urge to lean in, to be closer. And damn…he's so handsome.

For WIP Wenesday have a preview of Chapter 5 of my Bookshop/Tattoo Parlour #Ghoap Au
Link to the fic below

He pets Ghost's tongue idly, staring up at the sky. "There's no real danger, Simon," he says, though he knows he doesn't have to. Ghost would follow him anywhere. "No," Ghost agrees. "Not yet." "Are you worried?" "A little," he admits. Price looks down at him, withdraws his thumb so Ghost can talk properly. Ghost swallows, wets his lips, his lovely amber-topaz eyes half-hidden beneath his lashes. "But more for after. Gonna be a hard sell to convince the brass that there was something that took down four dragons, let alone us." Price huffs. There's the rub, at the end of the day. Black dragons are fast, and greens are sly and masters of mimicry and camouflage, but they're much easier to kill than a copper or gold. Defended by one of each? It'll be a very, very hard sell. "One of us should 'survive'," Ghost whispers. "You, Sir, you should survive." Price's lips twitch in a small smile. "Can't even pretend for me, love?" he murmurs, smoothing his wet thumb over Ghost's cheek. "Break your heart too badly, that it?" Ghost swallows again. He won't admit it, but Price doesn't need him to. He knows. He's always known. "Come to the nest, Sir?" Ghost pleads.

maybe a lil teaser of a giveaway fic for #WIPWednesday

words for the word gods on this fine WIP Wednesday (pls god ignore how many times their names repeat in such a short span, i have not retouched any of this since i put the words in the doc)

Simon moves like molten gold, beautiful and easy. Johnny's throat tightens around a purr, his hands trembling finely. Simon meets his eyes. By unspoken agreement, they set their wrappers down on the coffee table, turn to face each other. "How will it work?" Johnny breathes, taking Simon's hand. "Injections, at first," Simon tells him, just as softly. "Need to take one a day, then up to twice after three doses. Need constant knotting, scent-marking. Need to be…dominated. Brain needs to surrender any Alpha instinct." His lips twitch in a small smile. "Shouldn't be hard. Already kind of feel it, sometimes, when I'm with you. Just want to shut my head off and let you take care of me." Johnny's breath catches in his throat, his fingers tightening around his mate's. "We'll know it's working when I start getting slick," Simon continues, swallowing. He lifts his other hand to touch the small knot of tissue at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, shivering as he pets over it. Johnny has bitten down plenty of times, but Alpha bites simply don't take with another Alpha; another reason Alpha/Alpha mating just isn't recognized. "One day it'll just…take. The doctor said it'll be intense, like a heat or a rut but worse. Short, but overwhelming. You'll have to keep at it, she said, if I get pregnant during then it'll settle faster, but sometimes the injections make the first heat a sterile one. Hit and miss, she said." Johnny tries to pay attention, truly, but the thought of Simon in heat is distracting, unfairly seductive. His nostrils flare, breathing in the sweet scent of his mate; paper and ink, honey and lemon. Soothing and settled. "Do ye want tae get pregnant first try?" he rasps, voice low. Simon smiles at him and shrugs. "I'd like to give you a pup, Johnny," he confesses. "But it doesn't have to be right away. I can be patient." "Not sure Ah can," Johnny admits wryly, pushing closer until their thighs touch.

and perhaps a teaser of a different fic for #WIPWednesday (omegaverse, bitching, mpreg mention)

"Wish Ah could marry ye all over again," Soap murmurs, his voice also loose and slurring with alcohol. His breath is warm on Ghost's shoulder even through all the layers, his hands digging determinedly beneath his suit jacket and white vest so that he can clutch at Ghost's waist with only his shirt separating their skin. Ghost can feel the hard press of his wedding ring and as it always does, it makes him shiver, grow warm. "Every damn day." Ghost huffs. "'D get expensive." "Yer worth it," Soap sighs, and turns him around so their eyes can meet. He's flushed and beautiful, his eyes shining brightly in a way that has nothing to do with the lights overhead or the alcohol in his system. He always looks at Ghost like he's simply reflecting radiance, like Ghost is the sun that he will always orbit around, and happily. Ghost cups his face and leans down to kiss him, soft and lingering, chaste even when Soap parts his lips to try to coax Ghost's mouth open with his tongue. Ghost forces himself to pull back, his blush dark, teeth sinking into his lower lip. Soap's eyes sharpen immediately. He says, "Not tonight?" No judgment, no disappointment, just the gentle kneading of his fingers on Ghost's waist, the attentive and adoring look on his face. They'd planned this scene only recently. In a moment of weakness, Ghost had voiced those tiny, mournful thoughts in this head - the plaintive wish that Soap had been the only person to ever touch him, that Ghost had been virginal and innocent when it came to how two bodies could fit together. A single, somewhat sly comment; "Do ye want tae wait until the weddin' night, darlin'? First time together as man and wife?" Ghost's blush had given him away. The wife comment hadn't bothered him, he loves it as much as he loves being referred to as Soap's husband. As long as he's Johnny's, it doesn't matter.

and fuck it, a third #WIPWednesday, since I'm feeling generous. the next installment of the married kinksters' 'verse, with some virginity roleplay on their wedding anniversary :3

Yeah sure, why not a snippet of the next chapter of Lockjaw for WIP Wednesday. Been writing in my journal a lot recently, but I won't subject you to trying to read my handwriting 🤭 I can't remember if I teased which character Catriona's mate is. Any guesses?

“Rudy,” Simon yells as soon as he’s through the door. “Fire a new steak for the dickwad at 14. Blue.” “Yes, Chef,” Rudy replies, and the sound of the grill kicks up immediately. “Fuck’s sake, Simon,” Price says, dumping the — perfectly cooked — old steak on an empty surface for someone else to deal with. “That is why you’re not allowed out front.” Simon scoffs. “Allowed? I have no desire to be out there. Less than no desire. I have negative desire to interact with the diners. I have a kitchen to run. And may I remind you that you were the one who insisted I go out and talk to the Shepherds?” There’s a momentary silence, and Simon thinks he’s won the argument. But then Price says, in a dangerously cheerful voice, “You know… If you weren’t the second best chef in the city, I’d fire you.” Rudy appears next to them and slides the freshly grilled blue steak — plated to perfection — over to Price, who takes it without another word, turning on his heels and walking back out to the dining hall.

cooking up a different bit of #GhostSoap with some cheffy shenanigans for this #WIPWednesday (i know Soap isn't in this snippet. he isn't even in the story yet. but i promise the fic is GhostSoap.)

there was only one bed
#buddie

Current status.

They’d played a few rounds of Mario Kart — which Buck had lost through the sheer distraction of having Eddie next to him on the couch, shoulder-to-shoulder and thigh-to-thigh, the faint bergamot and black pepper scent of Eddie’s soap coiling around him — and had now turned to reading. Eddie had an ebook on his phone, and every time Buck tried to get a look at it, he shut the screen off. And were it anyone else, Buck would tease them about reading porn at work, but in Eddie’s case it was more likely to be something self-help-y that he was ashamed about. Hen was making her way through a stack of magazines that had appeared in the loft without explanation. And Buck was, at least theoretically, reading a book on the science of interpersonal synchrony. Except that he couldn’t settle into it. The words seemed to slip and slide off the page rather than let themselves be pinned under his gaze. He’d ‘read’ the same paragraph more than a dozen times, but he’d be at a loss to explain what it said if anyone asked.

still working on the #Buddie WIP... i promise i'll get back to GhostSoap eventually...

i'm crying for you! they're such good little critters 😭😭😭😭😭😭

this is a very valid reaction. i cried at Healesville because platypus exist