#demand good writing

[zee-rambles]

Hey...... uh... like I know we want rise back, but like. Maybe not right now... becuase like, there's. You know. The Writer Strike Going On. If they start making the show again, right now, it's going to be trash

@margoteve

I see you guys…and yeah…that is tough. I am supporting the WGA strike as much as I can…and looking for places to donate what little I have (college is expensive, heh!).

We can��t stop now. We need to keep interest up, prove that people LOVE Rise of the TMNT, otherwise Nickelodeon will not hesitate to pull the plug and shut the door. Nickelodeon will most likely wait until AFTER Mutant Mayhem to make any big decisions about Rise.

And Nickelodeon is looking for ANY reason to give up on Rise. If we stop supporting it, they won’t think it’s because we’re supporting WGA. If fact, none of the big companies, that have shows to sell, will think that way. They will see viewership and interest in Rise go down. They will listen to the numbers and think of it as no more then a phase that does not need to be invested in. When Rise was airing, bad faith reviews were what Nickelodeon listened to, not the small amount of fans saying it’s good, not the fact that covid was happening, not the fact that they did not put it on TV enough, not the fact that they then moved it to another channel that not a lot of people have or watch.

They’re not going to start working on Rise right away, especially since they’re pushing for a new project. BUT, that does NOT mean we should give up. And this is super important. Nickelodeon will be looking to see if interest in Rise persists AFTER The Mutant Mayhem movie, and if people don’t keep coming into the fan base and keeping it alive until then, then it has NO chance. If Both Rise and Mutant Mayhem don’t persist together, then Nickelodeon will prioritize one over the other. They will dismiss Rise as over because another series came up and took its place.

Even if Rise got renewed now…it would still be a bit before we see anything of it. It takes time to create a show. And I hope that, by the time Rise IS saved, WGA would succeed. I SO want WGA to get the respect it deserves. As someone that always wanted to be a writer/creator, I want more then anything for WGA to succeed, because Hollywood needs writers to make its magic work.

All we can do is KEEP RISE GOING STRONG, show that there is interest, that there is demand. And if it DOES get renewed…then it’s up to US to make our demands known. The same way people screamed at paramount until they changed Sonic the Hedgehog’s design, fans need to scream at Nickelodeon to make Rise something of quality. Tell them we want Andy Suriano, Ant Ward, JJ Conway, and as much of the OG cast and crew back, as possible. TELL them we WANT them to support WGA.

Look, right now, I want Rise to come back more then anything, and I fully believe it can return the way we want it to. It takes an ocean of voices to flood that tower of greed that we call corporations. All we can do is keep making that wave bigger. And hopefully, by then, WGA would have succeeded in their take over. So support both!

SUPPORT WGA! SUPPORT RISE! SUPPORT ARTISTS! SUPPORT WRITERS! Don’t stop fighting for the shows you love! (If Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance came back, I would flip my LID!) Get out there on social media and TELL people that you won’t support ANY show unless it’s good and the writers are respected.

[maximura]

[magpie-trove]

Something something the way Jod is the Mentor who’s to teach them about the wider galaxy, and in the classic coming of age tale you take children from a sheltered home and teach them that the wider world is a dangerous scary place. Jod DOES fill that role to a t. He tells them forget about home cause you can’t get back. Trust your gut. This is how you survive because the world is a cutthroat place and you have to be quick or you will always be hungry. People are just waiting around to stab you in the back.

And Jod is a LIAR.

[luxaofhesperides]

"I see you, and I love you" + hurt/comfort ; requested by @oops-i-dropped-the-galaxy!

Danny can handle being a halfa. He’s had years to get used to it, switching between dead and alive, living boy and ghost, always living in flux. He’s settled into his identity as one of the few halfas in existence, navigating the living world and the Infinite Realms with ease after years of practice.

What he can’t handle is becoming an Ancient.

Apparently, while most Ancients are born into the role, ruling over their domain, some can grow into it. It’s rare, practically unheard of, but not impossible.

Danny is growing into the Ancient of Stars, changed from the inside out by his love of space. 

He would be happy if it didn’t hurt so much.

Danny can’t sleep at night anymore. When the stars are out, he can hear them singing, each windchime voice echoing through his ears. Though he can’t see them from beneath Gotham’s cloud cover, he can feel them shining brightly far above him. 

He lays in bed with Duke, curled up in his side, trying to muffle his whimpers as his bones creak and hollow, his soul growing too large for his body to handle. He is space contained in a human body. It wants to be free, to stretch from its suffocating confines and fill every dark space with cold light. His skin feels too tight and his teeth ache. 

All Danny can do is clench his jaw, wrap his arms around his stomach as tightly as he can, and try to weather through the pain of changing.

The agony of it comes in waves. He doesn’t know how long it takes until it recedes enough for him to feel like he can breathe again, trying to suck air in as his lungs are crushed by his ribcage. Slowly, Danny pushes himself up, taking care not to wake Duke, and stumbles out of bed. His throat is dry and feels as if its been scraped raw by sandpaper, and all he wants is water.

He gets halfway down the hall when the next wave hits.

Danny collapses, gasping for breath, and can only watch through tear-filled eyes as his fingers go dark, the same black as deep space. His body shifts, bones cracking and muscles stretching like taffy, and suddenly he’s big larger than life a galaxy a black hole there is darkness everywhere it is alive it is full of stars the stars are singing the stars are singing the stars are si

“Danny? Hey, sweetheart, are you okay?”

That’s Duke’s voice. He’d recognize it anywhere, even from miles away, even when he’s sure he doesn’t have ears anymore. It takes all his effort to pull himself back to Earth, back into their apartment, blinking up at Duke as the stars in his eyes fade away. 

Duke kneels before him, concern clear on his face, gentle hands reaching out to hold Danny steady. The feel of his warmth grounds him, keeps him more securely in his body. The pull of space is still there, tugging at him, trying to pull him out of humanity and into the form of an Ancient, but Danny can resist it so long as Duke keeps him tethered to the ground.

“It hurts,” he croaks, shivering.

“Shh, I know, baby. How can I help? What do you need?”

Danny leans forward, burying his face in Duke’s chest as tears slip out of his eyes. “It hurts,” he says again, voice shaking. “I keep changing and growing and my entire body is being torn apart and—” he gasps, cutting himself off. “I keep disappearing. I don’t want to disappear. I want to stay here but it takes me away and then I’m too big and no one can see me and I’m alone—”

“You’re not alone, Danny,” Duke says, holding him tightly as if his arms will be enough to keep Danny from breaking out of his own body, ridding himself of a mortal vessel, his only remaining tie to this world. “I see you, and I love you. Even if you have to change and go far away to be happy, I’ll find a way to follow you there, okay? I’m with you for as long as you want me.”

“I don’t want to hurt so much,” Danny whimpers, black fingers speckled with stardust clawing at Duke’s arms. 

“Just breathe through it, sweetheart, you can do it. Let it pass through you. I got you, okay? Just let the pain pass and you’ll be fine.”

He wants to snap at Duke that it’s not fine, that the pain will be forever, it’ll linger in every one of his joints, that he can’t just stop fighting it because it’ll hurt even worse then. But his jaws are aching, his teeth sharpening, and there’s a black hole in his throat that he refuses to let loose. He lets out another pained whine, shivering, and in his chest a star is formed, burning bright and angry.

“Breathe, Danny, breathe,” Duke soothes, rubbing a hand up and down Danny’s back.

It’s habit to relax into his touch. They’ve spent so many nights working through night terrors and injuries, comforting each other through gentle touches. The pain eases a bit, and Danny sighs, frost on his breath. 

“There we go, sweetheart, that’s it. You’re doing just fine.”

Another tear slips down his face, but the ache in his entire body as his growing ghost form tries to escape begins to fade. 

He’s spent so many nights in pain, waiting for the sun to rise to muffle the singing of the stars. If he can get any relief, he’ll take it, even if it means losing his human form.

Danny stops fighting. His resistance to this change falls away. There’s a moment where the pain disappears entirely, the world going still, but before he can let out a relieved sigh, the change hits him like an asteroid, sudden and instant and inevitable.

A cry is ripped from his throat, but it doesn’t sound like him. It echoes, deep and inhuman, and suddenly Danny is every dark space surrounding the stars, the arms of every galaxy, suns burning bright and dying, supernova, cold and ice and the slow drifting of planets in orbit. His body grows, expands, no longer a ghost but an Ancient, body curling into itself to stay within the walls of the too small apartment, large hands cupped around Duke to keep him safe. 

He can feel the cold of space. Orbits dance in his mind. Meteorites and asteroids drift without pattern across his chest. Danny can see everything with too many eyes, and he can cup planets in his palms, so much larger than possibility. His chest opens and expands and his body can curl around Earth and keep it safe. 

He feels settled in this new body, senses stretched in every direction and the universe is so much lovelier than he could have ever experienced it in a halfa’s body. 

Danny, Ancient of the Stars, hums and the universe shivers, singing back to him.

The pain is gone completely. He wonders why he resisted so hard; this is what he’s meant to be. He’s never felt so right before.

“Danny?”

Duke’s voice is small, but only because he is small when compared to Danny in his Ancient form. 

Duke, he tries to say but his vocal chords have changed. Instead of words, a deep hum erupts from his throat, similar to the purr of a particularly large cat. 

“Hey, sweetheart. Feeling better?”

Danny nods, pulling himself back together to feel his body more keenly, no longer stretched across the universe, cradling every star in his reach. Duke reaches a hand up and Danny reaches back, folding himself back into his body. His human eyes return and he realizes the apartment is completely covered in darkness with stars sparkling all around them. It recedes as he fits himself back into his body, the black on his fingers fading away until his hand is indistinguishable from a normal human’s. 

He takes hold of Duke’s hand and tries to stand. His legs are weak and unsteady and he falls onto Duke, who catches him with ease and sweeps him up into a princess carry. 

“There you are, honey,” Duke says, voice warm and relieved. “You alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I feel a lot better.”

“Good. Do you need anything? Hot chocolate, heating pad, sleep?”

Danny thinks for a moment, then says, “Hot chocolate.”

“You got it. Let me just set you on the couch and I’ll have it out in a minute.”

He carefully sets Danny onto the couch, then tucks the blanket they keep folded over the back around him. Once he’s satisfied Danny is comfortable, Duke heads to the kitchen, flicking on the light as he does. 

Danny sinks into the couch cushions, carefully moving all his fingers and toes to make sure they’re fine. He’s a little sore, as if all his bones where put through the ringer, but it doesn’t feel any different from when he has a particularly rough training day. 

What’s more important that his physical body is the fact that he can feel his core, settled deep in his chest. It’s no longer the cold of ice, but it burns coldness, a white star embodying his soul, a changed core to reflect his transformation into an Ancient. 

A baby Ancient, technically. He still has some growing to do, but the rest should be easier and, hopefully, less painful.

He closes his eyes and begins to drift off when he hears Duke return. It takes some effort to open his eyes, and his smiles softly and sleepily when he sees Duke set down two steaming mugs of hot chocolate on the coffee table.

“Love you,” he mumbles, freeing a hand from the blanket to try to pull Duke down to join him.

Duke goes to him easily, sitting next to him and pulling Danny in to cuddle against him. It’s been so long since he last felt so comfortable at night, not writhing in pain and biting through his lip to keep quiet, that he can’t help but sink into it. A purr starts up in his chest, and Duke startles.

“Sweetheart, are you purring?”

Danny flushes and tries to hide his face. The purr doesn’t stop. He’s always been able to purr after becoming a halfa, though purr is just an easier way to describe it. It’s less of his vocal chords vibrating and more of his core rumbling in contentment. Usually, it’s unnoticeable, barely able to be felt let alone heard. Apparently, becoming an Ancient and therefore a much stronger ghost means his purrs are also stronger and louder.

“You’re so cute,” Duke says, pressing a kiss against Danny’s forehead. “Drink your hot chocolate, and then we can go back to sleep.”

He makes grabby hands at his mug, and Duke laughs and picks it up for him.

“Love you,” Danny repeats, voice less muffled.

“Love you, too,” Duke says. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“I’m glad you were there to help me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“It’s a good thing you’ll never have to find out. I’ve got you, sweetheart, always.”

Believing him is the easiest thing Danny has ever done. If Duke says he’ll be there for, then he will. 

Always, always, always.

. . .

[send me ghostlights prompts!]

[kiyomitakada]

[to the tune of where is the justice's first lines] this world is rotting from the surface to the core / am i the only one whose life feels like a chore / this whole society needs someone for repairs every day's a little worse and i don't think anyone cares

[tetzoro]

good morning and happy tuesday friendz (ㅅ´ ˘ `) ! these little dudes and i are here to cheer you on to have the bestest day everrr ! ! 🩷💫

[jerys]

saw someone say 'wish he'd tried a little harder' under harry's post.................what if i started shooting people in the head

[lord-squiggletits]

Honestly it annoys me that pride, ambition, and generally having a big ego are always villainous/evil-coded personality traits because personally I think if you genuinely are a prodigy at what you do you are 100% within your rights, perhaps even deserving, of flaunting your skills and being proud of the fact you can do something that only a small fraction of other people can do. Is it even ego at that point if you genuinely are as good at your field/skill as you say you are? Are people not aware that becoming a prodigy at something is something that takes lifelong sacrifice and practice sometimes to the point of giving up on having a normal life, relationships, etc even potentially destroying your own health???? God I fucking hate how pride in your own skills and ambition are so villain coded all the time. As if it's evil to want to be good at something and be recognized for what you rightfully earned

[comatosebunny09]

People don’t like it when you pressure them back. Someone tells me to update a fic without context, feedback, kudos, or anything else. I simply ask them, “Why?” They block me. That’s fine—curate your experience how you see fit. However, you can’t get upset when I match your energy.

[elizabethrobertajones]

jump scared by the 4th Doctor saying "well" with an uncanny intonation to how 10 says it, except I thought that was just a David Tennant-ism considering he does it in everything eventually, like, that CAN'T have started with him copying this cadence and absorbing it into his being? Right?

[tgmsunmontue]

What to write weekend (9-11 August)

Reply, DM or Ask (anon is on) with up to three letters/numbers and I promise to try and write at least 250 words for each one*.

Numbers:

Sagas of Solitude - 9/21

Season to Taste - 2/?

Letters:

A) Upon which our souls touch - 3/? B) I'd know you anywhere - 4/5? C) To wake, perchance to dream - 3/? H) From the top - 2/? I) Life is too short to waste time matching socks... - 3/? K) Caring, Keeping and Collecting Transformers - A Guide - 5/?

Trying to get some of these completed this weekend so have trimmed out the one-shots or ones I haven't started posting at all. Word count spreadsheet.

*Sometimes I run out of time, but if in future weekends I am flailing about what I should write, I look back and what ones I didn't manage to get to I then work on those.

[inbox-to-the-void]

Fresh's Theme: YOO I'LL TELL U WUT I WANT SO TELL ME WH Swap: FML

art source comes from here, fic made by @gaylordscooter

[IMAGE ID: A digital drawing of Swap Sans, visibly tense and hiding behind a broken wall. The wall is an almost-grey blue, the background is a slightly bluer and darker grey, Blue's background color is blue, and Swap's outlines are a paler version of his background. Behind the wall are rainbow all-capitilized words that switch color each line break. The words read "YOO I'LL TELL U WUT I WANT SO TELL ME WH", the words a reference to the beginning lyrics in Wannabe by Spice Girls. The rainbow words are cut off by the bottom of the broken wall. Swap's thought bubble background is his outline colour, while his speech bubble font color is colored in his background color. His thought bubble just reads "FML" in all caps. END ID]

[cineresis]

Angels in America

It's amazing how fast an evening at your favorite club can be ruined by someone keeling over and frothing at the mouth. The band never quite gets back into the swing of things afterwards.

"Angel," sighed one of the men, or nearest approximants, at the table next to mine, "why is it that I can never go anywhere with you without stumbling across a body?"

"Oh, come now," said his partner, a soft, fluffy confection in caramel and cream, rising hastily to make his way toward the source of the commotion. The first gentleman, dark, lanky, and excruciatingly chic, got up to follow him. "It's hardly every time."

I stayed where I was for now, casting my gaze around the room as I went over my memory of the past twenty or thirty minutes. Too many people passing close enough to slip something into the victim's drink, too many others to watch at the same time, too many more opportunities to poison him outside my field of view. I was a detective, not God.

"Stumbling upon, once. Literally. Do you know what it's like to have to clean up after that sort of thing? It takes a personal toll."

"Hush, Crowley," chided "Angel". "People can hear you, and you know how queer they get about these things. Ooh, yes, that's strychnine, all right," he added cheerfully, pulling a small vial from his vest pocket and tipping it into his handkerchief. "Nasty stuff."

I got up. As I approached, I caught the faint, unmistakable chemical sweetness of ether fumes and gave them a wide berth, choosing instead to inspect the victim's plate and glass before turning to scan the room from this perspective.

"Now, just what might you be doing?" drawled Crowley.

I looked him over, too, while I was at it. In Crowley's case, this involved a lot of looking and not much over; he was easily more than six feet tall, even while slouching rakishly. The snake tattoo on his right temple suggested certain things about him. The dark glasses that he hadn't removed since he'd entered just suggested questions, since I highly doubted he was blind. "I'm a detective," I said, leaving the obviously at the end of that sentence to implication. "What are you doing?"

This response seemed to delight him. "So are we," Crowley answered, and grinned. "But if you want to get specific about it, I'm keeping you distracted while my friend saves this man's life. Let's see your license, then."

As I took it out, keeping at least one eye on him and his partner, Angel called out to the rubbernecking crowd around us, "I need someone here to run and call the nearest hospital, and a couple of strong men to help get this poor fellow someplace dark and quiet to rest. Best use one of the tablecloths for a stretcher," he added to the first volunteer who stepped forward.

Crowley leaned in closer to study my license. "Drake Silas Donovan," he read off. "'Silas', really?"

"What about it?"

"I've just always wondered what kind of parent would name their kid Silas."

"The kind who had a grandfather named Silas," I replied coolly, snagging my license back. "Your turn."

He obliged. Anthony J. Crowley, it read, licensed in London since 1905, the year before mine. I wondered how long he'd really been at this; he looked too young for his apparent age, but then, I looked too old for mine. "A. J. Crowley," I read his signature aloud. "Get asked if you're any relation every time, or just most?"

There's a certain motion a person's head makes when they roll their eyes. Crowley's was making it. "The man's an embarrassment to the side," he griped. "I made my name legitimately."

"And your friend?" It wasn't as if I couldn't put two and two together. There's a certain type of person who's got both a nose for trouble and the brains to prepare for it; if it walks, talks, and thinks like a dick, it probably is one. It was just that I wasn't in the habit of trusting people, and I'd be a real schmuck to neglect basic due diligence on the guy purportedly surrounded by bodies. 

Detectives are no better or worse than any other person. They just think it's usually more interesting to solve crimes than commit them.

"Oh, he's as legitimate as it gets." Crowley turned to his companion, who was getting to his feet, brushing his clothes off fussily. Beside him, the two volunteers hoisted the unconscious victim onto a tablecloth spread across the floor, momentarily dislodging the ether-soaked cloth before Angel caught it and laid it carefully back in place over the victim's nose and mouth. "Aren't you, Aziraphale?"

Angel — "Aziraphale"? — looked up, startled. "Pardon?"

"Mr. Donovan here wants to see your detective's license," Crowley explained, enunciating his words with malice aforethought.

"Oh! Yes. Of course I always have that with me. Now just where did I..." He started patting down his pockets, stopped suddenly, and took a lovely calfskin card holder out of his coat. "Ah. Here it is."

Beaming, he passed it to Crowley, who passed it to me with the comment, "You'll find everything in order, I'm sure."

I glanced down at the card, then back up at Angel. "Am I supposed to call you A. Z. Fell or Aziraphale?" I asked, pronouncing the Z correctly as zed.

"A. Z. Fell is how 'Aziraphale' is pronounced in the King's English," said Crowley blandly, affecting a cut-glass Oxford accent on the last phrase. His partner seemed pleased by this comment, rather than annoyed.

"I'm afraid my progenitor bestowed me with a rather unwieldy given name," Fell admitted, raising fascinating questions about just how many syllables the British peerage could fit on a birth certificate when they really tried. "Aziraphale just sounds so much more euphonious, don't you think?" Crowley was right; I couldn't tell whether Fell had meant to say A. Z. Fell or the de-accented gloss. He'd lengthened the overenunciated quasi-syllable between zed and Fell to a full vowel, but some people said zetta.

"I wouldn't know," I replied, handing the license back to Crowley, who was nearest. When Fell didn't take my bait, I added, "Lucky that you happened to have ether handy. I wouldn't like to imagine what might've happened if you'd decided to stay in tonight." I also lied when I said sorry, and when I swore to tell the whole truth and nothing but. Little white lies are the oil in the gears of civilization.

"Oh, I always carry that, too," Fell explained earnestly. "One gets into the habit after one's first run-in with strychnine, and of course ether has so many useful applica—"

"I wouldn't, angel," Crowley interrupted, sounding very amused. "Mr. Donovan thinks you're the one behind this."

"Oh," said Fell, nonplussed. "Gosh. Well, I — I suppose I can't blame him. He doesn't know me from Adam, after all, and has no reason to trust me — I did warn you about giving people funny ideas, Crowley, honestly. Of course," Fell turned to me, laying an elegant hand across his chest, "if you were to search me, you would find only a small collection of antidotes — oh, but a habitual poisoner would probably carry those, too, especially if he were the sort of voyeur with a penchant for playing the hero. I certainly wouldn't be convinced of my innocence. Yes, I can certainly understand whatever suspicion you might feel towards me, however misplaced it may be."

Crowley watched this thought process with an expression somewhere between fascination and agony. "Well, at least now he probably thinks that if you'd done it, you'd have been caught by now," he remarked, presumably because he was thinking the same thing. "You'll have to excuse my friend," Crowley added to me. "He still believes that the innocent have nothing to fear. Somehow."

"First time visiting?" I guessed.

Fell's bemusement answered my question before he did. "Pardon?"

"Never mind."

[raptureshots]

Atlas n Frank...

theyre best buddies (TO ME!!!!!!!!!!!)

funky lil alt under the cut :-)

i hate these guys so much they're literally all i fucking think abt on a daily basis its horrible /silly

(i could go. on and on abt them in this. au honestly . the whole au IS technically abt them anyways sooo)

[inseparabiles]

For the next like, two days, Boys and Wolves will be tagged with Geta & Cara instead of Geta/Cara.

I do not anticipate this state to last any longer than that, but presently the & team of demons in our head has scored a win.

I fucking hate tagging this fic I swear to god. No matter what we do with it it's going to give the wrong impression to someone. The A/N section to explain the relationship tag is several miles long and even that I don't think helps.

Like yes it's platonic. No they're not being platonic about it. Questions? Me too.

[moodymisty]

I very very rarely get upset on this blog, but this email pissed me the FUCK off. I’ve gotten quite a few messages with this tone before, but this one really set me off. It's been a shit week for me, and I didn't need this.

I spend hours a week trying to write shit for free for all of you, because I genuinely enjoy it and love it so so so much. Your ideas and comments make me so happy. But sometimes I need to take a fucking break.

Three days ago one of my birds suddenly went from alive and happy to seizing and dying in my arms while I comforted her the best I could, so I'm taking a few days off. Sorry if that's inconvenient for you.

Jesus Christ. And you guys fucking wonder why so many other writers are so fed up with the 'content' grindstone and just quit or hide in private discords. You don’t update something for a bit and you get people knocking at your door like you're fucking Wal-mart. If you can’t be bothered to add a few more words to your comment, why should I be bothered to write more.

Put some basic fucking human effort into communicating with the people who spend hours creating your self indulgence pieces out of kindness and a love of the community. How about instead of saying "MAKE THIS" you say hello and put some effort into your ask. You're asking someone to spend hours of their life writing something for you, not ordering chicken nuggets.

And if the person who sent this comment sees this? I'm sorry I'm this angry and you're the unfortunate target of it, but maybe next time you notice something hasn't been updated in a few months you remember that there's a human being with a life behind it before sending a one word demand for more. Shit happens. I highly doubt you can't find something else to read.