#tinykings

[maschinen-mensch]

thecdnacademy: ✨Shawn Doyle✨ - #CdnScreenAwardWinner for Best Guest Performance, Drama Series for Cardinal: Until The Night (x)

[terribleoldwhitemen]

for the time-based fic ask meme: september, october, forever!

share a comment or review which still warms your heart? honestly there are SO FUCKING MANY, and I am extraordinarily grateful for all the beautiful feedback I’ve gotten over the years. recently, someone left a comment on Devils that exceeded the character limit (!), and I still remember with a smile the fact that one of my favorite Terror authors recognized my Yuletide entry by my writing style while submissions were still on anon <3

name the darkest or angstiest fic you have written and/or posted? my first instinct is to say that I don’t see anything I write as “dark” or “angsty,” because if it does feature those elements, they’re balanced by other things, such as catharsis or h/c. then I went and checked my works page and realized I’ve written some depressing shit lmao. I think if I had finished it, my galennic longfic Sum Total would’ve been the most unrelentingly angsty because it would have ended canonically--ie, galen and krennic’s relationship having run its course, both embittered, and both dead :’)

do you balance fic writing with original concept stuff? A Bitch Wishes. but someday I’ll assume my final form and spend five years writing an extremely niche novel which no one wants and which sells poorly, and then I’ll do it all over again; because that’s the definition of madness, and coincidentally ADHD

[terribleoldwhitemen]

👀👀

bless you!! I know you haven’t quite finished terror yet, but seeing as this is from a coffee shop au wip (my weakness), I think you should get the gist:

“Tea, please,” Francis says to the young man behind the till. 

“What kind?“ 

“Just tea.“ 

“Well–we have a few different kinds.” The man points behind him. 

Francis follows his finger to a list of words scratched on a blackboard. He squints. Without his glasses, he can’t make out any of them, and tea is tea, after all. "Regular tea,“ Francis says. 

The man stares. 

In case he hasn’t heard over the chatter of the coffee shop, Francis repeats, “Regular tea.” 

The young man shakes himself. “That’ll be two pounds eight.”

//

Francis sits at the most secluded table still available. The nicest window seats are occupied by couples enjoying a weekend coffee and college students prematurely starting their week.

A few tables away, a man several years younger than himself sits alone, white earbuds trailing from beneath long hair and into laptop in front of him. His nose is sharp enough to cut bread and his jaw is wide enough to eat it off of. 

Francis stares, tea forgotten. The man is tapping silently and busily at his laptop, but, as Francis watches, he suddenly closes the lid and takes out his earbuds, lacing fingers together above his head in a cat-like stretch. The man seems to grow in both height and languor as Francis looks on. 

In the manner of one suddenly remembering where they are after a period of sustained focus, the man glances slowly around the cafe. Francis remembers that he’s staring a moment too late. Their gazes lock. 

Francis looks down at his cup as though slapped, flushing nastily from neck to ears. He busies himself with his tea and doesn’t feel the heat in his skin recede until he’s taken several steadying sips. He counts out a few more, and then, unable to resist the temptation, he raises his head again, casually glancing back at the other table.

He meets the other man’s eye almost instantly. As though he’d been waiting for Francis to look back. The man flashes a full and bright smile at Francis across the coffee shop.  

It’s been years since Francis last attempted casual flirtation. He isn’t sure he remembers how it’s done. It’s all he can do to muster a wobbly, uncertain smile in response, half-hoping the stranger looks back at his laptop; mostly hoping he doesn’t.

–he doesn’t. Instead, the man gathers up his things and makes his way over to Francis’s table with loping strides in tailored pants. Francis wonders, unwillingly, how those razorblade legs might feel wrapped around his waist. Warmth suffuses his face and neck again. 

This time, he welcomes it. 

send me a 👀 and i’ll post a snippet of writing that i never got around to finishing this year (r.i.p)

[terribleoldwhitemen]

i feel like i am not an impartial observer, both because i'm your friend and because i LOVE your fics/writing but... oh man do you (we, comrade) love those illicit affairs... also you (again we) like putting your (our) characters Through It physically and/or emotionally, and i think that's very westley 'life is pain, your highness' princess bride of us <3

....you know what this is Not Wrong

[terribleoldwhitemen]

my first choice isn’t actually white oops (doyle eternally is my first choice) but uh… fredric march. sure.

Yikes, I Don’t See The Appeal || Not My Type || He’s Alright || I See The Appeal But I’m Different™ || Cute But On Alternating Wednesdays || He Has A Kind Face And That’s Good Enough || Pretty || Gorgeous || I— I Love? We Don’t Deserve Him.

[maschinen-mensch]

I'm so glad you like what I've made!! I was mostly just shouting into the void when I made these things, with the exception of a few friends :) Thanks!!

oh I am so thankful you shouted into the void! :D You actually inspired me to post more about my own niche interests again! In the last few years, I made less fandom stuff, thinking “oh it wouldn’t get many notes anyway” etc. But actually, it’s just fun to share and even if there’s just one person who understands and appreciates it, that’s already great. Plus there’s always the chance that more people will find the content just a bit later and be super happy about it as I was when I found all your Shawn Doyle posts :’)