#powderkegging

[acorrespondence]

4 and 13 for the fic asks!

4. How many WIPs do you have right now?

Two have chapters already posted as I actively work on one and have plans to finish the other. There are two more that I will periodically update the docs for when I have ideas but they’ll probably never see the light of day, they’re mostly just for me when I feel nostalgic for those characters/canons. Another one I’m on the fence about but it would need a lot of attention that I can’t pay to it because my focus is on the posted WIPs in question.

13. How much planning do you do before writing?

In one sense, none at all, but in another sense, a lot! As writing fanfic isn’t my job (though I confess if it was, I doubt much about this process would change except my commitment to forcing myself to sit down and work at it every day), I don’t actually want it to feel like work. To me, traditional outlining feels like work; but more than that, it feels like busy work, and it’s the quickest way to get me to lose interest in a project. So, instead of sitting down and creating an outline, I simply have the fic idea in my head and write down whatever little scene/description/scrap of dialogue comes to my mind whenever I think of it. Sometimes I’ll let it play out in my head for a bit until it solidifies itself into a longer scene, sometimes it’s two sentences of back and forth that I figure out how to incorporate later. This happens completely achronologically; sometimes I’ll write the ending before the beginning, and sometimes the ending will be the last thing I write, but usually the beginning and ending come randomly somewhere in the middle. For my currently updating WIP, I wrote several scenes past what I thought would be the ending, and still don’t have a solid idea what the true ending will be.

I actually struggle very much to place my own memories on a timeline in that I can never really remember how old I was when any specific thing happened. My memories are not sorted chronologically; rather, they’re connected by content, sometimes very loosely, in that a minute detail from one can correspond to a minute detail in another and a different minute detail links it to another minute detail in a third memory, and so on and so forth. This is both a boon to me and a setback, as if you were to ask me, “do you remember what it was like to be sixteen?” I’d have to tell you, unequivocally, “no.” I remember what it feels like to sit alone in the sound booth during the school play. I remember what it feels like to fail the driving test. I remember what it feels like to breathe from a scuba tank for the first time. I know I must have done these things at sixteen because the driving test and the scuba class weren’t available to anyone younger, and I was the sound tech for two years up until my graduation, meaning I must have been sixteen and seventeen. If you asked about what it felt like to be eight, or any age without the benefit of such life-altering milestones, I might conjure up memories from when I was six or nine and be unable to tell the difference.

This is obviously somewhat tangential to the question, except that it helps to contextualize my absolute comfort with achronology in my writing process. Skipping around this way feels very natural to me, where writing completely chronologically is something I have to force myself to do. And it’s a boon to me here, I think, more than a setback; if I’m interested enough in a fic concept, I’ll keep adding these achronological scenes and details until it turns into a passable outline: the critical mass needed for an idea to turn into a story. And unlike a traditional outline, most of those words in mostly that order will show up directly in the finished product. Finally, I go through (mostly) chronologically and add detail, clarify blocking, finish half-started conversations. I add the connective tissue that gets me from one scene to the next. Luckily I don’t have to rearrange too much, as I’ll add the new scenes to the doc in the rough place they’ll end up instead of placing them all in the order I thought of them—for me, this is where digital writing has a massive edge over paper.

I love this rounding out process, because it allows me to focus on the prose itself; I love language, so I enjoy this part very much. I also don’t find the connective pieces to be boring, because I love the puzzle of figuring out how to get the characters from A to B in a way that makes sense and enriches the story, and it allows me to find ways to set multiple things up rather than just the very next scene. I also think this style of drafting is what allows me to do something that several people have talked about when commenting on my fics, where something that comes up early on will have echoes throughout the work, or a recurring symbol or metaphor will keep popping up, or a thought a character had a long time ago will suddenly become relevant again.

So I guess the short answer is, I prepare to write by writing.

(Questions here)

[arrgh-whatever]

[darksilvania]

TINISTEE & POWKEGEIST (Fire/Ghost)

Convergent forms of SINISTEA & POLTEAGEIST, this pokemon were born when the souls of miners that perished in a cave explosion posessed the left behind gunpowder used to blow open the mines, using the abandoned detonation boxes and powder kegs to contain their new bodies.

This pokemon can create small explosives by compacting their gundpowder into sticks and balls, which then can be lit and thrown, in order to repair their bodies and recover the lost gunpowder they feed on the minerals required to craft more.

Their shiny colors are based on the colors of SINISTEA & POLTEAGEIST

TINISTEE, with its name being a reference to T.N.T. is based on a detonation box, the ones used to remotley detonate dynamite, it constantly carries sticks of compresed powder ready to be thrown or hide them around their territory, as they are able to make them explode from afar to take any enemy by surprise

POWKEGEIST is based on a Powder Keg, its body contains enough powder to craft a lot of bombs before having to replenish, and if necessary, it will go into its keg and light itself up to create a massive explosion

[beardedmrbean]

[extrasnet]

and you wanna know what here are my skwisface propaganda

-I ship them not as a couple but as good friends with periods of benefits that they use as a healthy outlet for sex and emotions.

-They’re both soooo deprived of intimacy in their own ways.

-Just being genuinely good pals and having somebody to relate to in a weird-different-but-same-situation way. Talking about feelings and watching horror movies, platonically cuddling.,, yeag.

-Definitely starts with a drunken one-off fling. (in my mind it’s soon after the body count competition in Fertilityklok). They have the sloppiest grabbiest most desperate sex in skwisgaars bed and it’s the most gratifying thing either of them have felt in forever.

-Rinse and repeat, they’re closer because of it and theyre able to cope with their issues in a semi healthy way.

[biinaberry]

So... in the au, does tumble town have residents at all? Cuz atm i'm picturing either a lonesome jimmy building up a town for mysterious, he can't explain it reasons (his mum's death right? So smthn smthn, he subconsciously knows his ma's helping populate the place, he just needs the place to exist) or it's a town full of... puppets? Like jimmy but they all believe they're human regardless cuz they're also made of the extra life wood (forgot the name lmao)

After Jimmy was born Finch set out to try and gather some people to move into the desolate Tumble Town in order to try an rebuild it. He found some luck with some bandits who he made a deal with. Luckily Wallace, the leader of the Powderkegs, was surprised when he mentioned a man named Jebediah Solidarity as he was his uncle. The Powderkegs decide to move in, yet when they arrived they only found the 5 yr old Jimmy and decide better to do something rather than nothing. Eventually over time Tumble town slowly starts to grow as more bandits who either want to retire or find a permanent home, move in. Jimmy then gets raised by the entity of the town, so its safe to say he is very ingrained in bandit culture. Jimmy is the only one who is made like a doll. Everyone else who joins Tumble Town is either human or some mix of a desert animal.

[pynkhues]

https://x.com/rueroyalest/status/1834087809378132041

they're soulmates for real 🥹

Yesssss, I love this!

[nerds-yearbook]

Marvel relaunched Captain Marvel Vol 2 with a cover date of November, 1989. The issue introduced Powderkeg/Frank Skorina created by Dwayne McDuffie and Mark Bright. ("The Dream is the Truth", Captain Marvel 1 Vol 2, Marvel Comic Event)

[jesteraunt]

A height chart for six of my hunters (and scholar) along with @mapleglazedpeaches's choir member!

[justdealingwithsomeissues]

Yup... some... late Trimpe art, and it is rough. I know people razz Liefeld but like... seriously he really is miles ahead of this. Also, check Ock's right pinky, it has 5 knuckles...

[moonlight-seraph]

♡

@powderkeg-dogs

●●●●● | DUSTINESS

○○○○○ | AFFECTION

●○○○○ | INTEREST

●○○○○ | LOYALTY

●●○○○ | TRUST

LOW | ●○○○○ | HIGH

-

●○○○○ | EDIBILITY

○○○○○ | AFFECTION

●○○○○ | INTEREST

○○○○○ | LOYALTY

●○○○○ | TRUST

LOW | ○○○○○ | HIGH

(You are very covered in ash. And I do not trust you personally but you can be trusted to stick to your principles. At least.)

(The ash and age makes you inedible. If I had to? Sure. Otherwise? No, I'd pick someone else first.)

[karekuat]

Call of the Witch

I did a short creative writing piece from the perspective of my Bloodborne OC. If you don't know much about Bloodborne lore it probably won't make much sense, but it follows my character from the Hamlet as he's sealed asleep.

I don't tend to write a lot, and I'm not like super confident in my writing but I'm okay with how it turned out so I figured I'd post it cuz why not

Headsup warning that this ofc involves some of my headcanons/interpretations of the Bloodborne Lore

I slumbered…

I watched them through their nightmares. It was the only place I could open my eyes. See, nightmares tend to mirror the reality, with the fine details only being slightly warped by fear and greed. I understood the world as it had progressed around me, and there was a deep burning inside my heart. 

It seemed sickening to me, that there was a clear double standard nobody living within the wretched city of Yharnam dared to confront. That the monsters they purged every night on the hunt were treated the same as the ones who live in hamlets far away. For them it was a disease, the mistake of filthy intemperance made manifest under the guise of faith, and for us it was a blessing, it brought abundance and life. And yet, in the eyes of the envious, our monsters were the same as theirs. 

Perhaps I am being too inconsiderate. 

Over the years I have watched the hunters evolve over generations, from scholars to priests, and I have only seen the same cycle of abuse as Yharnam matured into the hell it is today. The vilebloods, Kos rest their soul, struggle to keep their kind alive as they hide in the shadows. Their Queen lies eternally imprisoned. Yharnamites both poor and wealthy succumb to the illness, victims of the institution dedicated to their health. There are only a handful of souls who I’ve found carrying within them a sense of justice, who see with eyes unclouded by faith and fortune.

When I watch them, I smell smoke and gunpowder. I feel the fear of slow poison and the warmth of flames. Their monsters are their people. It reminds me of home. 

I called out…

For the first time in what felt like decades, the burning felt bright. I could almost feel my body again. There was a man amongst these smoke-scented hunters who’s mind felt balanced. He was not opposed to violence as a means of justice, not unlike the others, but he carried within him a sense of morality and soulful strength that was… Different.

I called to him. Gentle. He would not hear my voice in the way he’d think his own thoughts, he was not the first person I’d spoken to in this state. Others had perceived me like a song they’d never heard before, or the sound of rain during a clear day. He would not see me, but he would know my presence. I beckoned his thoughts when he was asleep, and I learned of him, of his family and desires. I learned his skill and his craftsmanship. 

While I’m sure he had felt offput the first few times I approached him in his dreams, as time went on it seemed almost as if he enjoyed my company during the resting hours. His mind would open to me every night in a welcoming effort to connect to my presence. I could exist comfortably in both his dreams and nightmares. He wouldn’t fight me. 

I need to wake up…

There was a lurking desperation I felt every time I sensed the moon rise. My existence in the waking world was that of darkness. My body was numb. I could not see nor use my voice. Sometimes, when I tried, I could hear the sound of rain and thunder in the hamlet outside. There was always the presence of two with me, but they were not comforting. They’d been appointed there to make sure I never woke up. 

In the beginning I had tried to beckon them in their dreams, but they’d quickly become aware of my efforts and had their allies develop new substances to keep me out. 

Those who used the substances sparingly did so because their hatred and fear outweighed their guilt. They had nightmares about me breaking loose. Waking from my forced slumber and killing them with their own sins. In their dying moments they’d watch me emerge from where they had kept me sedated: a dark cave blocked off by an intricately carved door, water flooding down into my cell. The cavern path led to the basement of a hamlet house that was boarded up from the inside. The only entrance was through a window on the second floor, and a trap laid in wait for any who dared to seek my prison.

I knew all of this because they knew all of this, and in those nightmares I would venture past the hamlet and return to Yharnam to bring vengeance to those responsible for the death of my people and Our Mother. 

It was the only time I felt peace… 

[jollmaster]

shiver my timbers, shiver my boat

[plateup]

i’ve decided to split max’s london verse into two separate verses because i really want to add a verse specifically set after paris but before his arrest– when he’s working in some second-rate ( for him, anyway, considering he did just come from jean-luc’s ) restaurant in london and trying to deal with the still-fresh fallout of paris.

[feydrautha]

oh my god your larycent post. lays was the only man to ever """court""" her. she has a whole ass knight by her side in criston but larys has more power that he can lend her. he is the prince charming she wished for in her girlhood but it's all a twisted fantasy

Alicent lives in a funhouse full of mirrors where she has two men utterly devoted to her, one upholds her as the incarnation of purity and moral goodness but would never desire her like a lover, the other might be the only one who sees her as a person in her entirety but he also gladly indulges in every terrible thing he does and claims it's all for her sake.

And they say romance is dead 🥴

[meeeeeeese]

When Rowan (who I never talk about) wants to humiliate someone in a duel, this is the outfit he brings.