#its just an idea that rotates in my mind

[justaz]

i “read” this one klance x descendants au and it literally altered my brain chemistry (i recently went back and reread it and honestly nostalgia gave me some rose tinted glasses but it was still fun LMAO) so like the idea of a descendants au for my ships has been in the back of my mind for years but see heres the fucking issue. my ship rn is merthur and i cant exactly do a descendants au as they’re literally in disney and it would be confusing as all hell. i mean. i guess if i ignored some things. maybe.

[superbellsubways]

now im thinking about t4t yuri.. sighs loud

[giftplane]

guideswap 2: unwanted advice

[thebrainrotsreal]

Hypothetically, how do you think Mark would turn out if he never got his powers? What would he be doing? How would it change the original story? If the original Mark met this version of himself, how would they react to each other?

This took me a min to respond to because I am extra and had to draw something about this, but thay just means I was so delighted to take this ask, holy shit. I love thinking about AU's, tysm fo the ask, anon! :)

I don't know of the comics add any details about Mark's interests other than being a hero like his Dad (ex. even comic hobby seems to go right back to that). Nothing about school life stands out either, (besides struggling with geography, a detail I love sm), so he's probably an average student who fumbled hard when he started to get busy with Invincible stuff! So, while I can see the possibility of him working hard and striving for career that also helps saves lives ergo paramedic, fireman, emergency dispatcher, etc I actually adore the idea of him interning at the GDA???

(Okay, note, while I do see him training or getting experience in random roles, Cecil would not EVER let Mark actually be a GDA solider because imagine telling Omni-Man his son got killed. Yikes! So, intern/trainer uniform and not the official solider one.)

I can see him diving into it wholeheartedly, eager to not only prove himself, but help people like his Dad does, kinda trying to get as close to his dream as he can be. And honestly, Nolan would probably be thrilled the last reminder for Colonization Time is permanently delayed (ergo Mark never getting his powers), so I can see him either encouraging this, or being slightly conflicted? I don't know how much he actually trusts the GDA or Cecil, so it could just be bittersweet?

But, I love the idea of GDA!Mark for the potential strain in their dynamic. See, while we can't have the kind of unfolding drama in s1 considering Nolan's slaughter spree might not necessarily happen, the idea of Mark having to process the weight of his own idolization, unable to stand side by side with him on the field, feeling like Nolan feed into the idea he'd get powers, only to end up disappointed year after year could foster some bitterness and/or desperate need to prove himself. He would see Nolan slightly more, but maybe that's just a reminder of what he can't do. Where he can't reach. Nolan having doubts in GDA, would only worsen the strain, how exciting!

Plus, GDA seems to be the classic kind of trust nobody type of government agency that may to try detach Mark's (almost) unshakable faith in his Dad, and could push him to look into what exactly his Dad's past/planet/history is exactly like for documentation, as Mark tries to grasp how much he trusts Nolan and the GDA. If Slaughter Time does happen, then that's incredible drama!!! As Mark, who feels aligned with both the GDA and his Dad, now has to work to find the truth, probably to prove his Dad's innocence, only to find the horrible news instead.

Does Nolan tell Mark and Debbie at the same time, who both already know, haven't told the others, and you got family drama of the fucking century again? Ideally? Yes. I love dramatic irony a normal amount.

I think GDA!Mark and Canon!Mark wouldn't get along tbh. While C!Mark is relieved by the lack of maliciousness, GDA!Mark is literally seeing where his entire life could have been if he'd only gotten powers. 'Cause, while I do think Mark is a fundamentally kind person, it's also clear he's incredible hard on himself which I think crosses over to alternate selves. So, he'd be bitter as fuck. Yeah, they both suffered, but I think the envy would go crazy. GDA!Mark would start questioning everything, like if that Nolan loved his son more for having powers, and if C!Mark just fucked it up somehow, so if GDA!Mark got powers maybe he could've done something different? Said the right thing? Like there's this desperation to know could it have turned out any other way? Was it truly his fault? Was it something he should've said better? I think there's a quiet spiraling despair in seeing the distorted mirror version of oneself and still seeing them suffering. Was there really no other ending? It had to be this way?

Thanks for the ask tho :D !!! Currently trying to remember I have this blog while I fight art block fjgkfg.

Oh! And Bonus idea of interning at GDA still means he hangs out with Teen Team!!! Maybe he helps log injuries, reviews battles, handles reports, memorizing villain weaknesses as base support, but there's this underlying part of him that still feels so useless next to them? I can see Rex and Mark getting off on the wrong foot immediately, but Kate and Mark bonding? Mostly because I want Kate and Mark bonding like please.

[glass-noodle]

Your comic is having a great quality! So go on and take your time, I can say that I'm going to wait all the time you need! 💙✨

We adore your work! 💕🥺

Thank you so so much!! 😭💕

Been a tough start to the year health-wise, but I’m determined to see it through and keep the quality as consistent as possible! Thanks for sticking with me. We’re in the home stretch, but rest assured I’ve still got plenty of love and plans for the sad merman and his grumpy janitor. They have my heart 🥰💙

[liamstorm]

the reason harry potter has so much fanfiction is because it has an interesting world that is not well explored, or even well-written enough so fanfic writers start taking matters into their own hands

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

thinkbing about. him

[mirrortouchedsea]

⬛⬛⬛ was seven years old when his mother died. He remembers being sad, mourning her sudden loss in the way children process death. He stayed by her bedside as she took her last breath, holding her hand and crying, begging her to stay. She loved him. She had spent her last moments making sure he knew that he wasn’t alone and never would be, as long as he could keep her in his memory. 

He remembers crying out as her casket was closed for the final time, lowered into the ground. Something snapped in him and he was begging her to stay again, begging them to not take her away. 

⬛⬛⬛ didn’t come out of his room for weeks afterwards. He sat in his room, cradling a photo of his mother in his hands. His father would leave food for him and he would eat it, never taking his eyes off the photo. 

So when his father came home after only two months of his mother being dead, ⬛⬛⬛ was not what one would call happy. Even though he’d started going back to school a few weeks ago, he wasn’t ready for someone else to take her place. Nobody else could ever be his mother. 

He got into an argument with his father that night. At seven years old, ⬛⬛⬛ decided that he couldn’t bear to live in a house with a man who could so easily replace the woman he claimed to love. He didn’t know where he was going but he took the clothes on his back, the photo of his mother, and some cash he’d been saving up and just walked out. 

He made his way to the bus stop and got on, thinking about where he would even go. He wasn’t sure he could make his way to his mother’s family on his own, as they lived on the other side of the country, and he definitely didn’t want to see his father’s family. So he stayed on the bus as long as the driver would let him stay. 

Eventually though, he did have to get off. It was sprinkling out, not enough to make him uncomfortable, but it was a sign of heavier rains to come. ⬛⬛⬛ made his way from the bus stop to a restaurant that looked like it was about to close, but still had the lights on and maybe they could give him some shelter from the rain, at least for a while. He stepped inside and stared at the workers cleaning up the dining room. They looked…concerned that a child his age was alone at night, especially in this part of town, one would say.

They asked him what he was doing out, if he lost his parents, if he was from the area. It’s not safe out here for kids like you, they told him. He doesn’t remember responding, but he must have because they shuffled him to the back of the restaurant to their boss and asked what to do with him. None of them could really afford to take a child in but he hadn’t told him where he was from or where his parents were. They suggested calling the police, but ⬛⬛⬛ started crying at the suggestion, not wanting to get them involved. I can’t go home, he told them, my father is a bad person.

The restaurant manager agreed to allow him to stay for a bit, giving him a meal on the grounds that he’d leave by the end of the week. ⬛⬛⬛ agreed, scarfing down the food like it was the best thing he’d ever eaten. 

Over the next few days, ⬛⬛⬛ bid his time by doing dishes, greeting customers, learning to read from the menu. The staff treated him kindly, but they felt distant, unsure of what to do with him, though by the time the weekend came, he hadn’t figured out where he wanted to go. A few of the staff pointed him towards an orphanage in town, but one of the cooks slipped him a one way train ticket to a few cities over, somewhere he could get out of that area, a note attached with directions on where to go to meet someone who would take him in. 

He held the ticket in his hand, scanning it as he walked through the station to the loading area, the note clutched in his hand. ⬛⬛⬛ was practically shaking as he entered the train by himself. A few adults asked if he was okay, if he knew where he was going. Yes, he said, I’m just not used to traveling by myself, but my uncle is going to meet me at my stop. That was a lie he’d rehearsed on the way there but they let him be. He had to fight himself to keep from falling asleep and missing his stop, but he must have succumbed to it at some point, as one of the adults next to him gently shook him awake as they approached his destination. He thanked them and hopped off his seat, getting ready to depart the train car and start his new life. 

He stepped onto the platform and was greeted by a bustling crowd. It was overwhelming to say the least, so many strange people just going about their day. ⬛⬛⬛ made his way to the staircase where someone came up from behind him, introduced himself as the person who would be taking care of the young boy. He could call him “Priest”, as his true name was of little importance. He asked if the young boy had a name, which the boy muttered under his breath. When asked to repeat it, he said he wished to give up his name, as he no longer wanted to be associated with the person who gave it to him. The Priest agreed with him and said they’d find a suitable name for him soon enough. There were many names in the world, but for now he’d be referred to as the Prodigal Son, or simply the Son for short. The Son found this amicable and agreed to the change. He remembers wondering what that meant, as he had never heard of the word “Prodigal” before, but he would come to understand it in due time. 

The Priest taught the Son many things, reading, writing, the history of Japan, things that he remembered being taught in school before his mother passed, but he also taught the Son many other things one would never find in a normal school. The Son learned the art of disguise, impersonation, how to manipulate his voice. Some day, the Priest had told him, he’d be called upon to use his gifts for the greater good. The Son, not knowing any better, accepted this and that his skills would be useful in the future. 

The Son went through many identities in his time studying under the Priest. His hair had been cut, extended, dyed and bleached, his eyes were a dozen different colors and none of them. He could mimic any voice after observing the speaker for ten minutes. He went by many different names, though he always came back to the Son. In due time, he forgot his father entirely, but he carried the last photo of his mother with him in his pocket wherever he went. It made him feel at ease, as if she were watching over him from the afterlife still, protecting him from the harsh realities of the world. The photo had faded with time, the wear and tear on it having almost removed her face entirely, but the Son could still picture it perfectly. It had been burned into his mind on the day he watched her take her last breath.

The Son started University at age 17, younger than many of his peers in Japan, and he graduated at age 20. It hadn’t been easy, but he had honed his skills and developed them on the stage, playing off his talents as being simply that, talent and skill, not something he had used to bring about political upheaval in the past and likely in the future. 

The Son had kept his distance at University though, going by another fake name and only attending the bare minimum of classes and extracurriculars that were required of him by the Priest. He had begun proper vocal training to learn how to sing, something that he had been told would be useful soon, though he had not been given the details, and further developed his voice by participating in several musical performances, though he still remained rather distant from the rest of the cast and crew, exchanging only the bare necessities of pleasantries and making excuses to get out of bonding time outside of scheduled practice hours. 

The Son was a lonely man, and he knew this. He knows this. He is a lonely man. He was about to turn 23 when the Priest finally told him about his newest mission. Do you remember your father, the Priest had asked over the phone. No, replied the Son, not more than I need to, anyway. So you remember you had a father, and he had another wife after you left, the Priest continued. The Son hummed in agreement, Yes I ran away because of her, you know this. Of course I do, but I just wanted to make sure, Anyway did you know he had another son with her? What do you mean by another son? I mean that you are an older brother, and your younger brother needs help. I do not want to speak to anyone else related to that man. Oh but you’ve been training to help your brother, haven’t you, he dreams of being an idol, someone who sings and dances on stage like you. Theater performances and being an idol are two different things. Yes, well it wouldn’t exactly be easy to get you to train to be an idol with no intentions on debuting, so we had to make do. Why should I help him? Out of the love in your heart for your own flesh and blood. I do not consider that old man my father, nor that boy my brother. He has a secret he needs to keep, something I’m sure you’re familiar with of course. What secret? All in due time, Son, will you help him or not? 

The Son refused to meet his brother in person for the first few months, preferring to instead communicate only by phone. He had been studying at Reimei academy, he told him, as part of the idol course. His mother loved idols, loved them so very much and it was the only memory he had of her. The Son understood his brother on that level. During their phone calls, the Son learned about his brother’s rival at the school, a boy by the name of Tatsumi Kazehaya who happened to be in the year above him. Tatsumi Kazehaya was perfect in many ways, something that his brother found infuriating. Why couldn’t he be like that? He lamented in one phone call. The Son told him that some people are simply born with talent, and Kazehaya was one of them. His brother relented and continued to update the Son on his progress. 

Despite the Son knowing his brother’s name, Kaname Tojou, his brother did not know his, instead choosing to refer to him only as “Onii-chan,” a word that grated on his ears. He was not a cute older brother to be looked up to and in fact he’d rather be doing anything else than be there, and yet. He stayed calm. Once Kaname debuted and got on his feet, the Son would fade back into the background as if he never existed. That was the plan, anyway. The Priest had told him that he would be free to do as he pleased away from his watchful eye if everything went according to plan. 

After a year of guiding his brother in the ways of being an idol, the Son wanted to see how he was progressing. Kaname hadn’t said anything about a performance, but since the Son was very good at keeping an ear to the ground, he had found out about a performance between Kaname and Tatsumi to be put on for the entire school. He wasn’t entirely sure what the purpose of that was exactly, but it would be a good time to gauge Kaname’s progress and how well he had followed the Son’s instructions. The Son made his way through the crowd, finding a spot near the front but not where Kaname could see him and he watched the empty stage, waiting for any sign of life.

The projectors came on and a video began playing, a video about the exact secret that the Son had been safeguarding even from his brother. It was a video about Kaname’s mother and how she had ruined the career of one of the best idols that had ever existed in Japan. The energy in the crowd was agitated, vibrating with anger as they waited for the two aspiring idols to take the stage. The Son wanted to run backstage, warn his brother of the impending danger, but could only watch in horror as the curtains raised and the crowd rushed forward. The Son looked on as the two young idols were yanked from the stage, a scream lost to the noise of the crowd, unable to do anything. 

When it was over, he had found himself in the hospital waiting room, pacing the length of it as he went over the potential outcome of the surgery. His brother had suffered greatly, that much was obvious to the Son as they loaded the two boys into the ambulance, but how much damage was done had yet to be seen. 

Someone approached the Prodigal Son while he was pacing and placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. Thank you for coming home. 

[varjopeura]

.

[daisywords]

girl help I'm having ideas above my ability-to-kill-my-darlings level

[cherry-bomb-ships]

Sobbing I wanna talk abt my ship with Cortex but I'm sOOO no thoughts head empty right now he just has me like ⚫️w⚫️ 💖💖💖💖

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

Thinking about Mandela Prophet au.

But brain isn’t coming up with new ideas- 

[planetamarte]

i have to keep writing shadomega one way or another and this time its in comic format

[stump-not-found]

the reviews are in bill cipher is a bastard man

glad to hear this scene is driving EVERYONE insane and not just me! 👍

great fic by @stump-not-found; great outfit by @stemmmm

[cjhartley]

the new guys theyre seperate i cant put robots in egg theory . thatd be crazy. this does unfortunately mean i have 3 ideas rattling in my brain arguing foghting for territory rn

[floorpancakes]

lately im too busy+also just not very consistently good at drawing the characters but i have 5000 ideas for holic art in my notes app notes. lately this crossover idea has been on the brain because im HIGHLY predictable in my idol gacha game biases

actually fuck it one more for the list I REALLY want to draw watanuki in calm night archer mafuyu....its one of my fav outfits in the whole game the blue and gold and archery theme is so fucking based. oh boy i wonder why that appeals to me...