#writer's shed

[generalsdiary]

Sunday mannerisms I noticed during the 2.7 livestream

when he finds something funny or amusing but doesn't laugh out loud - his right wing twitches

when he is happy or joyous - his left wing twitches

when he is flustered, shy or laughing out loud - both wings twitch

[iancumminsauthor]

Where writers write - 1 - George Bernard Shaw

[iambrillyant]

“sometimes you need to repot yourself in a better environment so you can finally grow. just like a plant outgrows its pot, your soul craves a space where it can stretch and thrive. breathing new air, shedding old habits, trusting the changes, finding the right room to bloom.”

— billy chapata

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Oh, to have a little mushroom office in the garden.

[somuchbetterthanthat]

The love for Jonathan Sims just never stops. Like i'll think about him, even for a second, and i just. he was so good. He was so good. He tried SO HARD. And he was an arse and he was prickly and he was smug and he was not easily liked and yet and yet and yet he was SO GOOD. Unwilling god of an apocalypse still trying to figure out how to cauterize the wound, still stopping himself from indulging in his worst instincts, still CLINGING to what he considered to be humane.

He could have said "Game over" in S4 and we would have all understood. He could have said "Game truly over" in S5 and it would have made sense. And EVERY STEP OF THE WAY he was like. No. This brings me so much horrible joy and it feels so good and so right and /this is not who i want to be/.

[gayofthefae]

We don't envision season 5 right when we talk because what is that actually gonna be like? This isn't a romcom. Mike finds out about the painting but Will is like throwing up blood and slugs in the corner.

edit: to clarify I wasn't saying "no time for romance" I was saying "it's horror show with raises stakes and angst. Mike will have to figure out how to bring up this truth bomb he discovered when more important things are clearly going on and there aren't the most conversational opportunities". I mean MORE juice, not less.

[jackmkelly]

kath orpheus jack eurydice is literally something im so fucking serious about. i love hadestown so bad. it can literally be them.

[talk-nerdy-to-me-thyla]

Lucy lawless would make a sick klingon send tumbl

[quailxcrossing]

thinkingg..............i might want to post some AU content on here. bc my posts are just seen by my awesome friends n moots and most of them can't see my AU work...but they have no idea the beloved antics i put in my AUs.................i want yall to see the waffle fries human au SO bad

[spaghett-onaplate]

i'm saaaaddd and in paaain and feeling oh so very sorry for myself

[pasdetrois]

they were crazy for this

[adhdprincess]

I have an alternate plot idea where Ellie stays in the house for a year before moving to the shed.

The door frame of her old bedroom has her height marks, showing the two inches she grew that year. Then the marks stop.

Before moving, Ellie practiced guitar in the house, and the few times she practices on the porch, Joel takes a moment to pretend she's just downstairs in the living room. Then he goes down to ask about her day.

Joel still finds strands of her hair on his jackets and on the couch.

Sometimes on movie nights Ellie falls asleep and he tries his best not to wake her so she doesn't go to the shed those nights.

Ellie's room looks exactly the same minus the drawings she had up on the wall. Joel hasnt touched her room since she left. It's still hers. He doesn't turn it into a woodworking room.

[cleabellanov]

Time passes differently for everyone.

Even more so after "time" became "times": Different paths, and lives, and outcomes flowing in their own direction like it is genuine and will forever remain unaffaected, with nothing ever going in a different way than the known one, the right now. Most of these experiencing lives don't know what it took to get here.

He does.

He grew so accustomed to handling things when out of time, as an analyst at the TVA, that being on an actual timeline (specifically this one) proved harder than he imagined. It was all outstandingly loud, from the pulse of his heart to the sound of the wind through the leaves.

Some part of Mobius still tingled in the background, maybe not saying, but gently whispering to turn back. That he'll find Loki smirking, and he'll hug his friend once more, because they got together through another end of the world.

Or not. To turn back and simply have the chance to say goodbye. But for the most part, Mobius knows that if he listens to that, the expected disappointment will only tip a finger on his already broken heart and the pieces will fall aimlessy in all directions. So he stay there, feeling the warmth of the sunshine on his face. Only for a little bit.

The world is in constant motion all around. The noon melting into midnight, the change of seasons following their patterns of joy and sorrow and humanity. It is all so beautiful, how time passes.

He tries to let go several times, but finds Loki at every corner that he turns without hiding in. Green lights, golden jewellery and decoration, horns and music and the asgardian language, lies and truth and trees.

But he still lets time pass, as if it needed permission to do so. As if, when he offered this sacrifice for long enough, he'd get something in return: an answer to his questions, a sign that he wasn't just a madman talking with the stars, having a special figure in mind. He should've known it doesn't really work like that.

Time passes. He doesn't.

The God of Stories notices. One day, he'll have the chance to say that out loud, let Mobius know he heard him all along.

One day.

[mugentakeda]

azula and zuko

[reading-burning-books]

I don't post enough stuff on this blog, so enjoy a vocabulary word. I dare you to write a short story based off of it.

Dipalidated

adjective

reduced to or fallen into partial ruin or decay, as from age, wear, or neglect

actually one of my favorite words

[weepingfoxfury]

Cold, damp, jumper upon jumper upon jumper ... anyone would think it was October.

Edith Piaf sings La Vie En Rose ... Biggest Dog snores in syncopation ... I'm clutching my coffee knowing the shiny metropolis awaits and that this morning I must catch Mr Busterson (my 9 year old largest cat weighing in at over 6kg) to take to the vet. He's a ball of scars and cannot turn down a fight.

I'm bracing myself.

There's a new cat on the block. There always is. The moment Floyd was gone ... Alan 'the cat' B'stard began to move in on the territory. At least when Busterson and Floyd fought they just wore each other out. Alan has other ideas. He's younger, fitter, faster ... alternates between full on confrontation and eating the other cats' food in front of them ... or racing through at a rate of knots thereby encouraging Busterson to give chase.

If I catch Alan there will be a couple of fluffy items to be paid to the ferryman. I care not who his owners are. The deal is ... if you come to the Red House and cause consternation, you must pay the price. It won't stop the fighting ... but, as the Irish are wont to say, 'it'll soften his cough.'

Time for more coffee ... another Tuesday in Tuesdayville and the summer (such as it was) is well and truly gone ...