#I HAVE AN OUTLINE OF THE WHOLE STORY

[elbdot]

How long will it take till El and Guzma start showing *CANON* feelings towards eachother?

*looks at planned story arcs* Ok so we have regular bonding shenanigans, then we have a vital Guzma arc in here, an El arc planned as well, plans for Season 3, scheduling time for comics between commission work and other projects, calculating... ...ah shit we'll be here for another 7 years again, won't we

[thosedamnedghouls]

and when i tell you all ive unfortunately fallen down the Dick Grayson parents Peter Parker rabbit hole

[leupagus]

Me before writing this GOT fic: this will mostly be about Sansa, my main squeeze, my best girl and beloved

Me while writing this GOT fic: so instead of the whole dumb shit that happens to Daenerys in seasons 5 & 6 what if instead she’s presiding over Meereen while it invents democracy so it can vote her out of the city. Along the way Meereen invents journalism and soccer.

[spitblaze]

Anyway I didn’t say anything at the time bc I was stressed out but I will now. I changed my pronouns to they/them publicly, no he/they unless we're good enough friends. He/him in the way I like (as opposed to 'this stranger cannot possibly know at a glance what my pronouns are and it's still more correct than the alternative, so') is reserved for closer friends, who I know for a fact understand that I am not a man and do not identify in the vicinity of the gender binary. It's a bit of a 'don't bro me if you don't know me' situation. I feel like there have been a lot more instances in the last year where he/him was used to either malgender or degender me by people less close than a certain degree so. He/him privileges revoked. I'm they/them only and please do not call me a man, because I am not one. I'm nonbinary and genderfluid but none of the fluid genders are binary either. Thanks 👍

[a-writing-otter]

WIP Wednesday

“I can’t believe you fucked that old man.”

Bill’s head snaps up so quickly from where it was inside of the air duct that he smacks it on the metal internals. When he reappears cursing and rubbing at his head, there’s dust bunnies in his hair and clinging to his eyelashes.

“You can’t believe I what?”

“You fucked that old man,” Red repeats, feet up on the counter as she lazily reads something called “Lumberjack Layabouts Weekly.”

“I—“ And Bill lets out a grunt as he comes down from the ladder to slam his hands on the counter and lean into her space. The action does little to phase her other than make her look up.

“Neither of those things are right!”

Red takes a second to turn the page of her magazine, but doesn’t look away from Bill.

“That’s not what I heard.”

Bill’s eyes roll back into his skull for a second. He thinks of what he was told to do both by the therapium and Question Mark’s fiancée: deep breaths in and deep breaths out, count to ten, don’t visualize throttling them no matter how fucking annoying these fleshbags are.

“First of all, I’m older than him,” he begins, like that’s the important part.

“You don’t look it.”

“That’s because I take good care of myself.” Which is only partially true.

When the Axolotl and the entire therapism decided Bill’s methods of rehabilitation weren’t working, they’d sent him here. To hell.

…to earth.

Stripped of his powers, they’d shoved him into a meat suit that was an “appropriate approximation of his natural form” (Bill resents that statement entirely, but the appearance has grow on him). The dark skin and golden eyes are quite a contrast coupled with the golden hair offset by strays strands of grey or white hair. Melody has helped him figure out how to wash and maintain it, which is far more maintenance than he was expecting after watching Ford for years barely do anything more than occasionally wash it and wake up. Bill’s currently picking dust bunnies out of an individual lock, throwing them into the trashcan by the counter (like hell is he sweeping up in this damned place more than he has to).

He has it on good authority that this is a desirable fleshbag form, both from the open way that people compliment him and the way people stared. …he’s getting used to the staring and has stopped threatening to flay people alive who let their eyes linger too long.

Question Mark calls it progress; Bill calls it not wanting to see that haunted, barely contained disappointment on Melody’s face again. She is simultaneously the kindest and cruelest person he’s met on this plane. In spite of literally everyone’s reservations about Bill being on the same plane as the rest of these humans, she’d been willing to hear him out, offer him accommodations here at the Mystery Shack, and even provide a job if he could behave.

She also detailed to him with a sunshiney smile and no insignificant amount of knife waving that if Bill started anything, anything looking like world domination under her roof, not even the Axolotl would be able to save him.

If nothing else, she’s done more than a little to earn his respect and compliance than anyone else in this entire reality.

So, he’d gotten used to people staring and it doesn’t bother him.

At least, until one particular person started staring.

“Second of all, I didn’t—“ And he looks around, makes sure no hide or hair of thirteen year-old menace can be seen before he continues, “—fuck Sixer.”

Red closes the magazine entirely and shifts to take her feet off the counter and lean on it with her arms folded—this is what she’d wanted to hear.

“I heard Stan caught you two in the bathroom.”

Bill clears his throat and starts back up the ladder to avoid having to look at Red even as he feels something warm in his face.

“Stan doesn’t know what he saw.”

Red lets out a raucous laugh that makes Bill wince and wrinkle his nose as he sticks his head back in the vent to continue clearing it out.

“I heard that you two also got into a fistfight at dinner before that. Weird foreplay, but I can respect it.”

Everyone, mostly Question Mark and Shooting Star, have insisted on family dinners since both sets of Pines twins returned to Gravity Falls. And, somehow, Bill gets lumped into that because he sleeps in the Shack (specifically, the sofa in the living room because everywhere else is off-limits). It’s been three weeks and most everything has been simpatico, Shooting Star was the fastest to warm up after her initial talk too of “unspeakable horrors” she’ll unleash on him if he steps a toe out of line. The fact that he’s powerless seems to make her willing to humor him.

…also something about him looking like a wet rat? And it was a good thing? Bill didn’t ask. Or, rather, he had asked and she brushed him off and because he knew Stanley will flay him alive if he lays a finger on either niece or nephew, he let it go.

Pine Tree has been a lot more hesitant in his behavior, sure, but he’s recently started being in the same room with Bill and musing aloud in ways that Bill knows are directed at him without talking to him. Pine Tree will state something stupid about the state of the town and when Bill corrects him, he’ll scribble it down, go silent, then rinse and repeat.

Stan has been… well, they were avoiding each other without problem. The closest they get to a conversation is when they’re both sitting in the living room after everyone else has gone to bed and before Stan goes to his bed and Bill passes out on the sofa. Their talk is a roundabout back and forth about complaining about what’s on the television and saying there’s “never anything good on”. Occasionally Bill will liken something on the screen to something he’s seen on television in other dimensions, Stan will grunted, and then they go back to silence.

They’ve also worked out a system where they’re allies in their silent agreement to watch The Duchess Approves as long as no one else finds out about it.

…and then there’s Ford.

They haven’t been in the same room as each other outside of dinner even remotely. Bill doesn’t look at him, Ford doesn’t acknowledge him, and it’s fine.

It’s fine.

It doesn’t bother him even a little that Ford won’t even look at him, won’t talk to him. Doesn’t bother him that when Bill does talk, he rolls his eyes. It doesn’t bother him either that Ford gets up every time Bill enters the room even for a moment. It’s not like he cares about the asshole or wants to see him. It’s fine for Bill.

Fine, fine, fine, fine, fine.

And because it is so fine, he’s not sure what exactly caused him to get mouthy with Sixer the night before.

Ford had made some inane comment and Bill couldn’t help but correct him. Over a trillion years in the multiverse, he knows when he’s right about something.

Ford bit back.

And Bill argued against.

It’d devolved into a petty back-and-forth, both of them digging their claws in places it shouldn’t go without caring for the carnage it spread.

It ended when Bill called Ford “my shining star” like this was just a philosophical disagreement thirty-one years prior.

He shouldn’t have done that.

The next thing Bill knew, he and Ford were rolling on the ground, fists flying and snarling at one another. Ford caught him in the nose, Bill punched him in the mouth, both of them scratching and pulling hair like a pair of animals.

It took Stanley and Soos both to pull them apart, both of them still swinging until they were forced to calm down.

After that, Bill had left his unfinished dinner to sit on the roof and wait out everyone else’s dinner. It was only because the blood wouldn’t stop flowing from his nose while the blood on his knuckles had dried uncomfortably to the point he kept accidentally ripping it when he flexed his hand that convinced him to go downstairs.

He’s still figuring out this whole human thing and, yeah, he was fumbling with the tape and his nose was dripping all over everything and he was fighting not to get it on the stupid sweater he got from Shooting Star and—

That’s how Ford found him.

There were no words as he crowded into the small bathroom with him, took off his gloves, and started to doctor Bill.

Neither of them say that there’s something familiar about this, them being together while cleaning up blood and puss and setting bones, usually injuries inflicted on Ford by Bill. There’s probably something funny about the idea of it being the other way around now.

They’re both too tired or embarrassed to say anything for awhile, but then Ford makes an innocuous statement that raises Bill’s hackles and there goes the peace. Then they’re shoving and pushing into a wall, Bill effectively having Ford cornered against it, chest-to-chest, spitting in each other’s faces, and then—

Then they were decidedly not fighting.

“Yeah, well, Fordsy is a know-it-all prick who doesn’t actually know everything,” Bill defends. “He started the fight.”

“That’s not what I heard,” Red replies in a singsong voice.

“And who’s telling you this?!”

“Don’t worry about it.” Red goes quiet for a moment, but he knows she’s still staring at him. “Did you two really make out though?”

Bill is quiet, can’t quite find the words he wants to say about this. Was his tongue in Ford’s mouth? Yes. Were Ford’s hands in his hair? Also yes. Did Stan walk in while Bill’s hand was halfway down the front of Ford’s pants? Regrettably.

“It was a… heat of the moment thing.”

“Wow. I mean, I knew you two were something back then, but I figured you two had, you know, moved past that.”

Bill doesn’t respond for awhile, leaning back to sweep the dust into the garbage bag he’s holding.

“So did I.”

[bookshelf-in-progress]

No matter how many times it happens, I'm always shocked by how reliably all my problems with any given story are solved by making it shorter. If I go into a story with the idea that it'll be long, that I should use as much detail as I want to craft a full-length and fully-fleshed-out story instead of a short one, it always turns into this rambling, meandering, soulless thing that's no fun to read, and I get tangled up in so many flimsy, sprawling layers of character and worldbuilding that the plot becomes unworkable.

The minute I tell myself, "Let's make this as short as possible," the problems fall away, I find the heart of the story again, the pacing is brisk, scenes get multiple purposes, the world feels deeper because I'm implying things that spark the reader's imagination rather than trying to put every threadbare, boring detail on the page. Every time. You'd think I'd have learned by now.

[autisticrosewilson]

Okay okay, but what if- Talia is the doctor that Catherine goes to when she starts getting sick. Maybe Jason is interning at the same hospital Talia works at (she moved to Gotham for Bruce but they're...not working out) when it starts getting bad and so he brings Cathy to the best doctor he knows. Technically, Talia is supposed to do any of these procedures for free. In fact she could get very fired for it, but she's the best damn doctor in Gotham and her work son needs help. So she agrees, and it's a very good thing because without intensive treatment Catherine would certainly suffer until the gruesome end.

Well, they go through with the treatment, and somehow manage to hide it all from the higher ups (likely with bribery), and Talia starts getting to know her patient. Catherine is...a lot. She's sharp and clever and sweet. She used to bring coffee and pastries to share for lunch before she was confined to her bed. She likes braiding Talia's hair since her own is too brittle to touch these days. Sometimes she asks Talia to do her makeup, to make her look a little more alive than she feels.

Talia thinks they both know that the treatment isn't going to work for long, at most Talia can keep her on enough painkillers for it to be painless but time is running out. The most Catherine can hope for is making it to Jason's graduation. Sweet, worried Jason who visits Catherine as often as he can, diligently doing his homework at her bedside as if he can rush his graduation anymore than he already has. Maybe he knows that she doesn't have much longer too. Catherine hopes so, because she can't bear being the one to tell him. Talia thinks it might ruin her as much as Jason if she has to tell him their Cathy has a scant few months left.

Ra's doesn't mind sharing for a good cause, the pit is constantly regenerating itself after all, it's not like he's really losing anything. But Gotham isn't exactly known for birthing people who are pure of heart, he fears what a corrupted soul might do to the pit. He demands to meet the woman Talia is so insistent on saving. He knows better than most that his daughter's heart can be soft, often for people who don't deserve it. It's that same love that stole her away to the cursed land to begin with.

And Jason insists on coming with, naturally. So for the first time in months Catherine is out of bed to go on what might be her last trip if this experimental, vague cure doesn't work. Her last trip as her if it doesn't work as intended. She's nervous, and not just because she's never been on a private jet before. She agrees that Jason can come but she refuses to let him in the room. She doesn't like the sickly green glow beyond the door and she won't risk him getting radiation poisoning,nor worse.

Ra's as it turns out, is far more interested in Jason than Catherine when they get there, which Talia is hardly surprised by. Damian is still a baby, just beginning to toddle around and while he just adores his grandfather, babies aren't the best company. The fact that Jason is a humanities buff and a child prodigy certainly helps. Talia hardly has to convince him of anything, he's ushering them into the basement before the week-long trip has even reached the third day.

He insists he be the one to conduct the procedure, however. Jason and Talia are left to sit on the stairs at the end of the hall as Ra's wheels Catherine into Lazarus room.

Talia has to put her full weight into holding him when Catherine starts screaming.

[amikothegreat]

GRAVITY FALLS DUNGEON MESHI AU an idea im cooking and might make a comic about ! anyways, new dungeon lord stanford pines and his muse bill who makes his dreams and desires possible

[boatboys]

actually on the topic of old drawings; the first-ever drawings I did of Rich, Liam, and Sol turned up on my deep-dive of old discord messages and I was compelled to redraw/compare!

Rich very much predates the worldbuilding of the Michigan Fleet universe, as one of Key/rollerskatinglizard's oldest OCs, and was originally just a normal amount of un-tweaked big and buff dude, although I also sucked at drawing people with body mass back when I drew these lol. It does make me laugh that the huge crooked nose and sad, downturned eyes have been a constant from sketch one!

Liam predates the Michigan Fleet as well and was originally mine! He..... hasn't changed much actually haha. Although his size/prettiness/temper being a genetic modification is new, from the first lengthy discussion of mods where fourhands and hastings both got established (although not by those names). It looks like I coined the mod name "Babydoll", which I do NOT remember doing.

Sol was the most Group Effort of these three, looking back at the messages: Key invented a salty little gorgeous asshole with modded hearing for a snatch of interaction in a wildly different context than his new introduction; roach was the one who suggested the elf ears and iridescent hair to go along with it, I was the one who suggested he was from New York and threw several large pinches of "a big tsundere about Rich" into the mix, and a lot of the much later patrician worldbuilding was roach.

[queen-lucy-the-valiant]

Each of the seven Narnia books has a moral message or theme at its foundation. Every major beat of the story is centered on and refers back to this theme, so if you take away or alter the theme, you alter the entire foundation of the story. Obviously these themes/messages align with Christian principles because this is Lewis we’re talking about. So, my interpretations of the themes are the following:

 Magician’s Nephew is about taking responsibilities for your actions, LWW is about being selfless but also about forgiveness, Horse and His Boy is about the golden rule, Prince Caspian is about belief without proof, Voyage is about conquering temptation/evil within yourself, and Silver Chair is about trusting in God’s plan even when it doesn’t make sense, and Last Battle is about hope and doing what you think is good even when it seems hopeless. 

Which I think is one of the reasons the Voyage movie falls flat when compared to the other two. One explanation is that it changes many things from the book, but Prince Caspian does that too. Both movies make drastic changes from their source material, but Prince Caspian doesn’t feel (at least to me) as drastically changed as Voyage, because Voyage’s changes go down to the very foundation of the book’s theme. Lewis is saying that there is ‘evil’ in everyone that we all have to repeatedly overcome while the movie is saying that evil is outside of us and that we can overcome it once and be done with it, which drastically changes the central theme of the story. Prince Caspian on the other hand adds a lot of the story but all of the changes stay true to the central theme of belief without proof (or they correct some of Lewis’ inconsistencies). You can change the details all you want for the most part, but the core theme of the story has to remain the same otherwise it’s just not the same story so it won’t feel the same.

So there’s this really big essay I want to write detailing all the changes and how they alter the theme or go along with the theme etc.

[helielune]

powder keg (full under the cut)

[penn-dragon]

Hey, on the topic of my own fic writing, I’ve got a question for my followers/fic readers.

I have a tendency to never post any of my writing, because my various unmedicated (I’m working on it) neurodivergences and mental illnesses make it very hard for me to ever finish pieces, and I feel really bad about starting a fic that someone could be really into and then potentially never finishing it when my brain suddenly decides I’m not allowed to write any more of it. So a long time ago I made it a rule for myself that I never post anything until it’s 100% finished, even if I have like multiple chapter that are perfectly ready to be published. Which ultimately leads to me never posting anything and sitting on a hoard of writing that only myself and select friends ever see.

So my question is, it more upsetting to read part of a story that might never get finished? Or to know that there’s writing out there that you don’t get to read just because it’s not finished?

[androgynousblackbox]

Currently I have three appleradio ideas for fics I want to make. 1. Lucifer heals Alastor after a drunken dance competition and Alastor starts seeking him out, but only with a few conditions that the king will impose on him. 2. My Hellsing AU in which Alastor is a demon that made a deal to serve and protect the family Van Morningstar in exchange for a bit of their blood, dealing with supernatural bullshit and other threats.

3. Inspired by Dead Plate, kinda. Lucifer works as a chef on this restaurant that his homophobic piece of shit father runs and Alastor is hired there. Alastor becomes instantly smitten with Lucifer while "strange" disapearences happen in town. The restaurant becomes more popular than ever with the new chef and the cut of meats he brings.

[uwuinator]

ok ok bc i wanna talk more about this au i wanna dump some info about it that won't be too much of a spoiler

each star has unique powers when going super that vary person to person- based on how they are or parts of what they've experienced.

now i would TELL you what they are but that in of itself is a spoiler for some of them so ahaha. ill give you shadow and silver's

shadow's extra power is the ability to boost the power of any nearby stars (whether super or not) including himself. when he takes off his limiter rings this is also boosted, but it does burn him out, as usual.

silver just gets an insane boost to everything except his endurance, AND he can also just launch pure, hot energy from his hands- almost like fire. (there's a reason for this don't worry)

but !! they're very cool and they each are important for everyone and the overall story

especially sonic's :)

[sporesgalaxy]

ok now its slightly more legible.

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Gosh, do I love discovery writing. The freedom. The sense of play. The way you have to hold the material lightly and follow where it leads, never being afraid to scrap things that don't work or to rewrite to emphasize things that do. You have the fun of discovering the story you're writing rather than the frustration of being unable to capture the ideas in your head. This way might wind up taking ages, but it makes the writing process such a joy.