#*ask.

ugh. i’ve been percolating on writing a somewhat satirical noir detective character for over a year now so this is fanning that.

"I can do it. Give me a minute." The tie hangs from Lee's neck—impotently. Some things a man ought to be able to do no matter his state. But Lee's hands are shaking. The silk tie—the only one he owns (the one he will wear to his first wedding in a little under three years, he recalls now (perhaps, he thinks, because his hands are just as shaky on that day (his gaze briefly, inquisitively flicks to Castiel's face to see if he can somehow detect Lee's act of remembering)))—is uglily creased in several spots from his last two attempts at tying the damned thing. The future memory does nothing to soothe him. Castiel's words do nothing to soothe him.

Lee's tone was curt, lashing; the distance of a simple minute allows for him to acknowledge that. Only because it has passed. Occurred, committed. The event now only ever as active as a modifier not a verb. His hands pause. Castiel does not deserve Lee's nervousness (knotted, as clumsily as his tie, into frustration). It's not for Castiel; it's immaturely displaced on him like a lazy litterer who doesn't want to walk to the nearest trash receptacle, where it belongs. He breathes. He looks Castiel respectfully in the eye, voice softened with shame: "I'm sorry."

Future memories are active.

Malignant. In ways the past can't be.

i know what you did last summer sentence meme.

Mackenzie leaves Elfgar’s place. Johnson had intended to approach Elfgar upon her departure. But she leaves—walking—without a raincoat or umbrella. He shakes his head, one fluid sway to the left then center, and sighs; the cold air hisses through his teeth and stings a back molar. He runs his tongue over the tooth. The enamel on it is thin, the nerve is exposed and sensitive. Weak. He considers ripping the tooth out—later: Mackenzie is walking. Johnson tilts his head back and regards the sky. Large clots of clouds push-pulse in the same direction like one great, gray vein close to rupturing. In exactly two minutes, it will rain. The walk to her apartment, from here, is twenty-six minutes.

Previously by a window, Johnson appears beside Mackenzie. The displacement of space—dry atmosphere, then suddenly solid body—generates a gentle gust. Obvious and indulgently lambasting: “Did the man not offer you an umbrella?” “I don't need one.” “Your body will grow ill.” “It’s my life, I’ll do what I want.”

Rain falls.

Drops that fall near them flare away like a lit sparkler. Johnson's jaw clenches. He attempts to distract himself: there are thousands of tiny, wet particle parabolas—he approximates to the millionth degree the numeric expression of each one before the drop reaches the ground. One droplet, he calculates, will bounce and hit Mackenzie's open eye. He flicks it (bursting it) with his middle finger before it can.

He is not distracted. The math is simple.

He can redirect the electromagnetic fields of Earth to deflect rain but he cannot ever seem to redirect her.

Johnson stops.

Mackenzie continues for a few steps before she notices. He does not shift the Earth's fields to cover her. She must stay in this small, now-stationary dome with him if she wants to remain dry.

buzzfeed unsolved sentences / accepting

@curseofabel​ sent:

“ the way you shushed me was quite rude ”

✨who's your favorite muse of mine and why?✨

joey has become a staple here I could never have anticipated. we honest to god owe it all to @l-ivestudioaudience. without j plucking joey from the roster to throw a sentence prompt at, none of gooniverse would have happened. he’s a fun guy to write and im always touched when people vocally/noticeably enjoy him because although he’s not my highest brow muse, he’s got a lot of care packed into him. and it’s nice to know my sillier stuff doesn’t feel like junk.

gal guy! i feel it is generally harder to get people invested in and to care about a female character. she’s really meant to be a cheeky fuck you to that. literally cosplaying one of the most quintessential male roles—peter parker—and doing it (HOPEFULLY) better: with more silly and complex layers (gender journey, gender fuckery, race, the hustle of minimum wage, hero origin story with and ambiguous/layered motives).

chilton is someone me from several years ago would not have conceived of writing. he’s fun. a really exciting morally gray character to write and get in the headspace of. he’s not my highest brow muse, but he’s top three. there are a few lines or replies on his account where i feel i really met my peak writing ceiling. I don’t often feel that way (tumblr is mostly a space for me to experiment and to attempt (and fail) to not worry if im not delivering knockouts every reply (this is partially why joey has been so prominent: he’s supposed to be my “don’t think and agonize so much about it just have fun” muse)).