#hopefully that clarifies things

[starflungwaddledee]

also i want to again apologise for how phenomenally behind i have been with reblogging/responding to artworks on here, including art drawn for me or propaganda for the tournament!!

i'm hoping to start getting to my backlog for this VERY soon, ideally within the next two weeks. so you may start to see an increase of this on your timelines. and if i haven't yet gotten to your artwork don't worry, i most likely have it in my drafts!!!

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Hello! I love all your AU's, and wanted to know if you still take animorph au ideas? I figured that you most likely have a big backlog of them and didn't want to add to it if they aren't wanted

Oh lord, I don't know. I guess? Like, the backlog thing is spot-on. As is the fact that I think I answer about 1% of the AU requests I receive, just because I get so many and so many of them are outside my expertise. So I haven't explicitly closed my askbox to AU requests, but I do have 6 in progress and want to try to finish at least 3 of those before I start any others.

Also: I think most people know this, but it takes me a long freaking time to write those AUs. I think my fastest-ever turnaround was about a week for the controller-Naomi one, and the slowest was over six years (!!!) for the Maximum Ride crossover. Most AU requests gotta stew for a couple months before I have an answer I like.

So like, if in the span of a month I get asks like "what if the Animorphs were in a world with no shrimp?" then "I guess my idea sucked, but I was wondering about an AU without shrimp" then "Sorry for bothering you but I had this idea about no-shrimp Animorphs" I will ctrl+F "shrimp" and delete every instance from my inbox. And then delete any half-drafts I might've started. Because that crap is demoralizing as hell. And it'd suck every iota of joy out of writing fan fiction if it could.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[soviet-siscon]

the mum to girlfriend pipeline is possibly real but i don't really have enough data at the moment to confirm or deny

[billpottsismygf]

I don't think I've ever taken in before how much Wicked Act I (and thus Wicked Part I) takes its structure from The Wizard of Oz. It opens with No One Mourns the Wicked, which is an obvious response to Ding Dong the Witch is Dead* (the first song once Dorothy gets to Oz, and only the second overall), and ends with our heroes arriving in the Emerald City (Merry Old Land of Oz/One Short Day). Our hero is then asked to perform a task so that the wizard will grant her heart's desire. Having completed this task, she then discovers that he is a fraud and that he cannot do what he's promised (nor could he have done the task he set her), so she has to make use of the power that was inside her all along to get where she needs to go.

*Bonus connection between these two songs is the little musical motif ("ding dong the witch is") that the movie version of No One Mourns the Wicked uses in its newly triumphant orchestration at the start (roughly 1:01 and 1:19 in the official soundtrack).

[itsamenickname]

So you know how in the Frog Prince story, the prince got turned into a frog and the only way to break the spell is for the princess to give him an kiss of true love on the lip. So imagine that tiny Bowser, locked up in the cage, threw a tantrum and hurt his nose against the bar so Luigi decided to kiss his boo-boo on the tip of his nose just like how his mom kissed his boo-boo and…

BAM!

Bowser returned back to his normal size.

So I think part of the reason why it took me a while to answer this ask (besides irl personal stuff) is because while I do really like this idea, the main concern I have with this particular idea is that it conflicts with the movie’s idea that people can to return back to their normal size if they get hurt (whether someone else hurts them or they intentionally hurt themselves).

Now obviously, this is purely based on the assumption that this idea would take place in the same timeline as the movie (most likely after the events of the movie based on the context clue that a tiny Bowser is locked in a cage). You certainly don’t have to include the events of the movie in your idea/au and you can always make a completely new timeline where the events of the movie either just flat out don't exist (like the Yoshi's Island series for example) or change 1-2 details of the movie (i.e., Peach telling Mario that he returns back to normal size if he gets hurt) enough to where you can then include your ideas with the movie timeline.

But regardless of how you would incorporate this idea into the Super Mario universe, I do want to reiterate that I do really like the idea of a retelling of the Princess and the Frog featuring the one and only Bowuigi. I can definitely see this either go into a wholesome route where Bowser develops feelings for Luigi while he's a prisoner and officially becomes a good guy after he returns to normal size or more towards the angst(ish) route where Bowser immediately escapes and forcefully takes Luigi with him back to the Dark Lands after he returns to normal size (or you could even do a little bit of both).

But either way, Luigi kissing tiny Bowser's nose is 100% absolutely adorable and I thank you for the cute imagery anon. :)

[phoenixmuses]

♡ Continued from here ♡ For @devildungeondm

He had been on edge since last night, when he had received the aforementioned, somewhat swollen bruise on his face. It was better than getting the belt — that was saved for when Neil was on his real power trips. However, it was enough to make him leave the house and sleep in the Camaro near some trailer park, where Munson had found him. Thankfully, Eddie didn't seem to be the type to ask questions.

Billy's jaw was set, fists clenched tightly at his sides, and piercing ocean-blue eyes locked onto the metal head before him. Jesus Christ, this guy was an idiot. It took everything in him not to step forward and knock some sense into Munson. Too kind to the boy who was full of rage, too naive and altruistic and laid back and —

The complete opposite of everything Billy Hargrove was. Maybe what he could have been, had circumstances been different... He took a long pull from his cigarette, nodding ever so slightly, the end of it glowing a vivid orange-red against his palm. For a minute, the air was still and tense around them, as if Hawkins itself was holding its breath and waiting.

The way Eddie had looked at him with those big doe eyes, offering to get him stoned and trying to provide some sense of... normalcy? Comfort? Support? Whatever it was, it was foreign to the blond and it left him feeling conflicted. So, he processed it the only way he knew how.

"Really, Munson?" he growled lowly, stepping forward. Billy exhaled a white-grey, translucent plume of smoke and flicked his cigarette away onto the ground. Then, his hands shot out, grasping Eddie's collar and pinning him against the nearest wall with a dull thud. Leaning in so he was inches from his face, gaze intense as he raked over the brunette's features, he was silent for a long moment. "Why the hell are you like that, huh?"

The question was vague, although the implication heavily lingered between them. He hated how much he had grown fond of this nerd — the dungeon master, the freak, the guitarist. Probably one of the only people in Hawkins that still stuck around him, and God only knew why. Most people either stayed because they were intimidated by him or because they could be just as bad, if not worse. Eddie was... different.

[the-wrat]

thoughts on solipsism?

I assume you mean the philosophical theory— ngl, I hadn't heard the term until i googled it after getting your ask. From my extremely limited knowledge of it, it seems thoroughly pointless and the sort of thing that middle school assholes use to annoy their classmates.

[mimicrygrievous]

Fanfic Attempt Snippet 2. Advice? Help?

Astilbes were third. Feathery crescents brushed into existence as partial rainbows of pastels resting right above the aforementioned eyebags, taking on the role of closed, heavily mascaraed sockets. Nightmare had been almost disappointed to realize that the fuzzy flowers didn’t feel as they appeared, though he certainly wasn’t complaining about the silky thread used throughout all of the mask. (Especially not after Error had reportedly verbally slammed Nightmare into the metaphorical dirt for being a ‘pįc̨k̸͝͏-̷͢͠i͏̢͞c̴̨̛̕k̡͘-̷͡icky ass P̵̷̽̕R̷̨̢̆ͣ̕҉͏͜I̟̔̈́͘͘҉M̶̝ͥ̚̕͟Á̛͎͟͞͠҉̸̛͞͠͏̨̢D̛̫̍ͯ͜͏̨́́̀͏̷O̴̡̩̊͑͞͏̡̧Ņ̴̨́̀͟Ņ̵̛̘ͦ̀͟͜͢͜͠͞͝Ạ̵ͤ who’d B̶̵͜͝Eͪ̀͝T̶̴̶͗͘̕͞͡͞͝Tͮͨ͡҉̶҉̸̛̀͞E͂͜͡͡͏̵́́͡͡Ȑͭ be grateful I’m bothe̡͜͜͝r͡-̸̧̧͡e̸r̡-҉er̶͝ing with this S̷̡̡̛̬̅͘͞Ļ̵̸͡͏͟IͮP͈̤͘P̡̨̋͢͡E̸̛̛̱ͤ̀͝͠͞R̨̘̖̔́͢͝͠Y̬̦͒͟͞ ̷͉̺̕B̯͚͟҉̨̡͟U̧̦҉̛L̸̸̡̧̢̡̖̭͘L̷̛̤̼͟͠Ś̸̨̨̩H̶̨͔́͡I̴̴̘͏̷͟͟͞T̤̺̀—’)

{“We have grace, refinement, and hardiness to start with what’s already been listed.”

“At least you’re consistent.”

“It’s difficult to find complete deviations when one is scrolling through lists of ‘top twelve plants for so-and-so category’ whilst wishing for the best. Forty-eight of the leading specimens didn’t make the final cut, just an FYI.”

“How thoughtful—” Laughter choked back and substituted.

“The main draw behind the addition of Astilbes is this phrase that’s soundlessly associated with them.

“Be careful not to share their trade secrets with me, then. Wouldn’t want to disrespect their vow of noiselessness.”

“The quote goes—”

“Dream. Don’t.”

“—as so: ‘I will still be waiting for you.’”

“A cold-blooded snitch, through and through.”

“Unless you’d prefer to spend our whole day doing this, call me a sweetheart and let me finish. To summarize—”

“Despicable hearteater, betrayer of all trust.”

“Patience, dedication, promise, understanding, and the power of love.”

“I must lack understanding and dedication because I promise my love isn’t powerful or patient enough to grasp the concept of being related to you.”

“We should go back to mutually ignoring each other. You were much more tolerable when we both refused to acknowledge that the opposite was even alive.” A notebook aggressively shut accompanied by a surly glare.

“I agree. If I desired to be brothers with a greeting card, I would’ve bought one at Dog Dollar Greens.” Nonchalant insolence.

“Let’s duel, Night. Immediately.” Standing in indignance.

“What about the remaining two—”

“Now!”}

Fourth. Impatiens. Multicolored floral leaves invading the basins left in the wake of the astilbes, overthrowing any notions of ordinary darkness in favor of advanced prismatic eye shadow. Sporadically spotted and shredded powdery petals sporting an air of fragility, draping along pale lashes in a misty mimicry of a threadbare cloak. Touch-me-nots feebly coiling and committing themselves to the safeguarding of the feather flowers, heedless of their own apparent weakness.

{Rather possessively placed, are they not?” Inquiry.

“I thought you couldn’t breathe anymore.” Attitude.

“I recovered. Go on, now. Disregard my chatty nature. Onwards with your exposition.”

“No. It’s my bedtime. Night, Night.”

“Dream.”

“Mare.”

“ . . . Please?” Manipulatively adorable eyelights speckled with fuchsia stardust.

“I hate you.” A frustrated frown of surrender.

“Isn’t that typically my line?”

“With your usual emotional control? Hate would be too passionate a feeling for you to dare convey, apathetic brother mine.” A clearing cough of preparation.

“How could I forget?” A halfhearted return.

“Did you know that I tried, at first, to find flowers—well, actually the original attempts targeted moths, but nocturnal pollinators evidently have nothing in the way of symbolism—with high amounts of toxicity? I thought it would’ve been quite fitting, if not for the heinous storylines attached to their poisons. Ultimately, jewelweeds are the only flora weaved into this blackout mask that evoke any illnesses out of mammals, and they simply cause vomiting at worst.”

“Terribly dissatisfying. I’m immeasurably distraught. My own bone and marrow is far too soft to cast me as the supreme harbinger of mammalian death as I do deserve. Dishonor and dish dirty upon thee.”

“And that display is exactly why Ink and Blue beg you to join their D&D nights.”

“Pass.”

“For shame. Ooh! I think you’ll approve of this next little quirk, though! Snapweeds grow seed pods that, when ripe, explode! Well—They erupt exclusively when touched, hence the nickname touch-me-nots. Initially I assumed—”

“Are you not aware of what ‘they say’ about assuming?”

“—it was a defensive mechanism, which honestly would’ve better benefited my bristly brother narrative here, but I digress.”

“When don’t you?”

“The real reason is seed dispersal. Setting into motion the evolutionary advantage of explosive dehiscence in order to produce enhanced odds of reproduction whilst simultaneously avoiding competition with the mother plant.” A smarmy smirk that anyone less familiar with Dream would call uncharacteristic.

“Blast it. Why didn’t we develop such instantaneous methods of departure upon being birthed?” A disdainful huff.

“Mistakes were made.” Arrogance raising his chin.

Twin titters at another’s expense before reverting back to business as usual. “I’ve noticed that I’m hearing a lot of sesquipedalian terms elaborating on the intricacies of plant pregnancies, yet not a peep concerning the embodiment their fables allegedly attribute to my personality.”

“Oh, pardon me! Did I accidentally pass over my allotted allowance of big words for this month? It is unacceptable that I’ve uttered paragraphs of plant jargon conceived by a mind with greater diversity in information than your highness in incompetence? Are you—”

“You’ve thoroughly demonstrated your point, Athena. The faster your cranky cranium relays aloud what you’ve so painstakingly written on my behalf, the faster I allot you bedtime allowance.”

“I’m going to strangle you in your sleep.”

“How fortunate I am to lack lungs.”

“Lovely. They represent the enduring and nurturing affection of a mother. A perfectly apt comparison of utmost regret, indeed. Just like our mother. What a dreadfully maternal brother I have.”

“Someone must keep your fire contained, and trees have scientifically proven themselves on a multitude of occasions to be ill-suited for the task.”

“Their primary namesake, impatiens, is a L—”

“—atin term that blandly translates into impatient. Yes, I’m aware.”

“By the—Whatever. I don’t care.” Airy irritation. “I was getting mixed messages on whether or not impatient actually meant impatient, or if symbolism was having an opposite day, because on one distal we’ve got a section saying anything worthwhile requires tireless intervals of tenacity, and an alternative article claiming that the speed and eagerness exhibited by the seed pods are obviously a sign of plain impatience.”

“Perhaps whoever published the page wished to ensure everybody could sufficiently comprehend the base source before introducing a concept as complicated as prefixes.” Slithery sass.

“Thank You. Nightmare.” Hitched hissing.

“You’re most welcome.”

“Maybe it’s the duality aspect of the flower coming into play. Emotional balance, ya’know? Corroboration and contradictions proffered in equal measures.”

“Maybe you’re trying to reiterate how you find me to be Janus-faced as a misguided means of manipulation—”

“I Am Not In The MOOD!!!”

“—and subconscious compensation—”}

Last. Alternantheras. Leaves. Shrubbery in lieu of inflorescence; a laurel in lieu of a wreath. Washed out edges in hues of heather, the dyes deepening into indigo towards the center. Verifiable blades crafted in the image of opal-touched galaxies. One final adornment—a circlet of capability—to hint at intensity lurking beneath sparkly shallows.

{“Nickname: Purple Knight. Beautiful. Striking. ‘Tough-As-Nails.’ Glamour With Character. Joyweed. Needs So. Much. Light. To Survive. Herbal Histories. Royalty. Luxury. Wealth. Dignity. Pride. Success. Admiration. Tradition. Purple. Something About Coats And Cloaks. A Dozen Different Aliases. I REFUSE TO WASTE ANOTHER SECOND ENTERTAINING YOUR LATE BLOOMING TENDENCIES!!! YOU CAN TAKE MY NOTEPAD!!! HAVE IT!!! READ IT YOURSELF!!! FIGURE IT OUT!!! I’M DONE!!! PLEASANT NIGHT, NIGHT!!!” A journal thrown at his counterpart’s skull and the fading sounds of stomping calcanei.

“Muahaha—Dream—Wait—Muahaha—I’m sorry—I love you—Muahaha—” Uncontrollable cackling sprinkled with adoring particles of aubergine.}

Nightmare jolts back into reality—visor wrapped snug around his crown, metacarpals smoothing over the sleeping mask held in his hands—as Dream slams the trunk, urging Nightmare to swiftly shove their combined bedstuffs into a pile pressed against the rearseats’ left door. When Dream walks up to the now half-blanketed window, he momentarily ducks away from sight. When he reappears in Nightmare’s line of vision, withdraws a step, and begins to glow with the telltale honey hue of his magic, Nightmare opens the latch.

Everything falls out of the car, but nothing hits the ground. It all lands in the ethereal radiance emanating from within the entrance of Dream’s life-sized duffle bag. The lemony luster disappears along with the rest of their nest accumulated creature comforts, and that’s Dream’s cue to zip shut the tote.

“I guessed you wanted to forgo your mantle today? Since you didn’t have me ready any of our normal sun precautions ahead of driving?” Dream prods for approval whilst tossing his brother his staff, then effortlessly slings his gaudy, ink-covered inventory sack securely across his shoulder. (Nightmare can barely lift the duffle himself if the need arises; Dream’s always been the athletically superior twin. Even before he took up training with the professional powerhouse that is Blur.)

“You guess correctly. I crave the demolition of the sun, not the suffocation of myself.” Nightmare affirms whilst Dream extends to him a helping hand as to exit their vehicle, then mutters an accusation. “I notice that you didn’t grab your staff.”

“Do you wish to carry the bag?” Dream questions with false sugar—salt—as they match each other’s stride. The mosaic pathways memorized, thus snubbed.

“No.” Nightmare acquiesces. He readies his wand as they reach the portal of their mother’s cottage. (A literal portal, in a sense, but it’s usually just a simple door.)

The slumbering scepter has a shaft in shades of ametrine—gold and iris—but Nightmare cannot be bothered to remember whether or not that exact gemstone was actually included in the creation of this artifact. Similarly, the chiseled crescent moon and apple-shaped orb affixed to the respective apex and base of the rod seem to share a resemblance with fluorite. Predominantly white, bleeding into borders colored of onyx, turquoise, amethyst, and citrine.

Ultimately, no matter the pigments, the spirituality their mother embedded into the crystals contains no authentic benevolence directed towards Nightmare. It was always ‘positivity,’ perfection, and oneirology with that woman; never anything personal. So unlike Dream, who manages to trace absolutely everything back to his twin in some manner. Of course Nightmare’s memory would favor his brother’s more sincere fascination for symbolism over Nim’s shrewd shortsightedness. It’d be delusional of Nightmare to even deliberate on an alternative sentiment.

Shifting his stance, Nightmare taps into his mana with an appropriate amount of belligerence, forcefully tugging at his plasma until he holds the majority of his bodily ‘fluids’ in his palms. His bones are left bereft and vulnerable, but if he stumbles, Dream is sure to support him.

With a strenuous shove, Nightmare pumps his lifeblood into and throughout the lunar rod, flinching a tad as his magic meets the ambient daylight. Not an abnormal reaction, but Dream is still quick to raise some miscellaneous veil in an attempt to shield his twin’s sore and unprotected MP as it’s used to activate and fuel the nameless wand. It doesn’t really make any difference, but Dream doesn’t need to know that. Nightmare appreciates the gesture nonetheless.

The strokes of disjointed flax solidify into bands of gold as clouds of lavender flood into Nightmare’s baton, strips of gilt spilling into the atmosphere that mold themselves into rectangles revolving around the pole’s centerpiece.

Honestly, it’s an absurd surplus of figurative hair-whipping flair for an endeavor that is fundamentally nothing but a waste of energy.

Geometric frames spin until the entirety of Nightmare’s lended vitality is wrung from existence. In the emptiness left behind, topaz returns to its rightful place alongside heather.

“Open Siamese.” Nightmare quips boredly as the board of wood—no doubt exotic in some capacity—opens. Shocker.

Dream snorts mildly as he snatches Night’s staff in order to store it out of sight. (Read: Bag.)

writing is hard ya’ll. ugh. i’m trying here. got two little arts and crafts things i’m going to reblog to this a bit later for reference for the little eye mask and staff thing. i’m no artist but just having a rough little view to work off of really helped me with my attempt at fancy word visuals

[littledesertfox]

Kinda thinking about whether I should post some of my art on here should I find the time to draw again ... on one hand I think it'd be nice to share it, but on the other hand I'm worried that somehow, people who know me from my regular account will stumble across this one and recognise my art style, and I'll be called out/cancelled because they probably won't understand this community🤐

[cubicpeebles]

ibisPaint just added the ability to animate stuff! Have a goober grooving (quite begrudgingly by the looks of it).

[spectrum-color]

I am confused by the scene with Mat seeing his past lives and them all featuring him being an abuser. Are they really leaning into dark!Mat and making him struggle against his innately evil nature to be a hero? Was Ishy lying about what the tea does and it’s actually a manifestation of your fears? If so, why did we have hanging Mat? That seems like pretty big foreshadowing. And is this going to somehow replace his visits to the finn? Of all the EF5, Mat is the one I am most unsure about how the show is approaching him

[conhex]

ok so switched medications and now im less filled with hatred (^^)

[bloodtwin]

𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄: OLD DOG LEARNING NEW TRICKS ;  𝐁𝐆𝟑  。

Default verse set during the events of Baldur's Gate III. Each act of the game has its own specific tag because there are very distinct differences in Puck's characterization & the amount of knowledge he has about who he is, depending on where he is in the journey.

𝐕. 𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈. ➷ WHAT’S WITH THAT HOLE IN YOUR HEAD … ？

At the start of the game, Puck is at his most naive & most malleable. At his core, he has an idealistic mindset with recklessly heroic tendencies due to a strong sense of justice. However, he remembers nothing from his past & has no concrete basis for his beliefs. He can be easily swayed into giving in to his dark urges. That being said, he is deeply afraid of himself & his urges. He does not know the full extent of his strength, but he knows that he is more powerful than he'd like to be. He intentionally tries to make himself seem weaker than he is to be less intimidating. Whether or not he is successful in this endeavor is up in the air. He has a scar at the base of his back that he believes used to be a tail that got severed somehow. He cannot remember how it happened. Canonically, he is very open about the Dark Urge & does not attempt to hide the fact he killed Alfira. He chooses to save the grove.  

𝐕. 𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈. ➷ YOU CAN BREAK A SHOVEL WHEN YOU BREAK NEW GROUND！

During this act, Puck is starting to lose his grip on his meek persona, asserting himself more aggressively & giving in to his urges more frequently ⸻ even if he is attempting to resist the urge ⸻ especially upon entering Moonrise Towers. His self-sacrificial behavior will also increase as he spreads himself too thin by trying to save everyone he possibly can. Also much more reclusive, not as open with his thoughts & emotions as he was in the previous act. Whether or not Puck chooses to kill Isobel ( default: sparing her ) , he will re-grow his tail overnight. Later in the act, he will learn it got chopped off by Kressa Bonedaughter after he attempted to strangle her with it during her experiments on him. With this verse, I will default to Iago being recruited at Last Light Inn, post-Marcus fight unless plotted otherwise. From them, Puck will have learned that he used to be their ❝ childhood friend ❞ & co-worker in the Guild. He will not know they are actually twins nor will he know anything about being a bhaalspawn, but he does know they are keeping things from him.   Canonically, he convinces Shadowheart not to kill the Nightsong. He also attempts to persuade Ketheric to surrender.  

𝐕. 𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈𝐈. ➷ HE MADE THE WORM！HE HAS TO KILL THE WORM！

Post-Durge reveal, Puck now knows that he is a bhaalspawn & Iago is his twin. He also learns about his involvement in the plot of the Absolute. He kind of goes insane & has a, uhh, I Love It by Icona Pop ( feat. Charli XCX ) vibe going on. That's the best way I can describe what's going on in his head, sorry. I tried to write a serious description, but similarly to Puck's attitude in Act 3, I had to get silly with it. Canonically, he does not agree to an alliance with Gortash, rejects Bhaal & defeats the Netherbrain. 

[biro-slay]

I hate seeing people say "he/she" in a sentence. Like, just say they. It's Grammatically better, easier to say and includes non-binary people(or general just people who use they/them pronouns). I can understand accidentally saying he, when you don't know and then adding "or she", but it's easier to just say they

[the-way-astray]

16 is a reference to your year of birth. You are 8 years old.

"average kotlc fandomer thinks stria is ten years old" factoid actually just statistical error. average kotlc fandomer thinks stria is twenty years old. fin georg, who thinks stria is eight years old, is an outlier and should not have been counted