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reminder that gazafunds is a great website.

each time you load the site, it shows one randomly selected, verified fundraiser that's low on funds.

extremely straightforward, & an easy to remember url. it's my go-to when I'm able to give; removes any room for procrastination or overthinking.

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Me @ me: "Why does it take you forever to write a new chapter, Josh?"

And then this happens every time i sit down to write

[Alt text: POV from photographer/author sitting on a daybed. An orange and white kitty is lying across author's chest and a laptop is in the background on author's legs. The cat is asleep and very much in the way of the laptop's open word doc.]

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clipping a bird’s wings is not recommended as it can result in severe physical and psychological damage to the animal

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remember that time star trek made its own domestic!kirk/spock great depression au?

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grunkle glasses swap

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floaty businessmen

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(trying to give relationship advice) from a narrative perspective i think both of you dying together would be the most emotionally satisfying resolution but i’m guessing that’s not what you want to hear

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Au where when Stan goes to Ford’s house after the postcard, he has a concussion so when Ford checks his eyes the pupils are mismatched and Ford is like wtf and has to treat Stan while he wonders when exactly he got the concussion and if it was in New Mexico, how the heck did he drive all the way to Oregon while concussed

Oh man its one of my FAVORITE flavors of Gravity Falls AUs, where either Stan is fucked up or Ford is fucked up and they dont fight as much when Stan arrives.

Imagine youre Stan. Right, you're living a kinda shit life, not that anyone cares, and occasionally you get the shit beaten out of you for reasons that usually aren't ENTIRELY your fault. You've had more head trauma than is certainly healthy, you've lost an organ (or maybe two) past what's considered normal, and you've lived in your car for so long that if you told anyone that they'd look at you with pity, not that you'd want that. Life's not GREAT, but hey, you woke up the morning after you got hit in the back of the head with a crowbar and you can still count to five, so that's not so bad!

And then a postcard arrives. It's your brother, and judging by the fact that he's writing in that rushed blocky handwriting you only remember as the style he writes in while sleep deprived and stressed, you understand he's in deep shit.

Well. Fuck. Because so are you.

But YOUR type of deep shit (massive head trauma, malnourishment and withdrawals) is nothing compared to HIS type of deep shit (how bad does it have to be for him to call YOU?!) so you back your shit, kiss the roach infested motel room goodbye, and start operating heavy machinery to get to Oregon. (Which you KNOW you aren't supposed to do.)

As you snap back to actual consciousness for the sixth time in a row (WHILE DRIVING) you understand that maybe driving under the influence of a metal stick to the brain might not be the best idea. In fact its a bad idea. There's nothing more youd like than to pull over and just wait it out.

But Ford called you. And possible tramatic brain injury or not, you'll go.

Besides. Its not like Ford's gonna KNOW. The nerd is unobservant about people on a good day, and FORD, asking for HELP? The nerd is probably so wired on stress alone that he's not even gonna notice until the concussion has faded to a manageable level (or whatever problem Ford's calling you to fix is fixed) either way, it'll be fine.

And then your brother opens the door and shoves an honest to god CROSSBOW in your face, because apparently thats how he answers the door nowadays. Great. And THEN, because the Universe thinks this situation is hilarious and likes to fuck with YOU specifically, Ford drags you inside by the front of your sweatshirt and shines a flashlight DIRECTLY into your eyes.

One eye. Then the other. At first Ford starts to loosen his grip, and then all of a sudden the light comes right the hell back (Those are your EYES goddamnit Ford, that's too bright-) and even more intensive.

You can't actually SEE, but you can feel it in the air when Ford goes deathly still, going back and forth shining a light between one of your eyes and then the other one. Ow. You can't actually pull away, because your legs are a little weak, head trauma really just-oh. Right.

Ford's face looks very serious, and very concerned. Shit.

Imagine you are Stanford Pines. Paranormal Researcher turned horror movie main character, you haven't slept in days, haven't had anything but coffee in probably longer than that, and as a last resort, that final safety net, you send a postcard to your brother to help you with your little demon problem.

He shows up faster than you might have thought. It's been two days since you sent the postcard (granted you did send it via magical mailbox) but still, its a welcome sight.

You check your brother's eyes before he comes in. Its a safety procedure, and its perfectly normal in context, which is not something you'd share with your twin.

One eye, perfectly round pupil, the same solid brown as it's ever been. The other eye, brown, pupil tiny in the sea of Stan's eye.

Great, outstanding, not a single hint of yellow in either one, No Bill.

Wait.

You check again. Brown, brown. Something is wrong with this picture.

It takes you an embarrassingly long moment to realize Stan's eyes are different sizes. One is blown up wide, the other a pinprick.

That's not normal.

You were never one for medical research. It's certainly interesting, but nothing is as fascinating to you as weirdness. But everyone knows, or everyone should know, that someone with different sized pupils who doesn't NORMALLY have different sized pupils, is probably under the duress of a medical condition.

You tell your brother to smile. Its a common question to a possible stroke victim.

Stan does, wide and yet utterly confused, and he's missing a canine. You file that away for later.

Not a stroke. Probably a concussion. You drag your brother further into your house and as you do you realize he's walking funny, unbalanced and dizzy, and while his words dont slur you can hear that he sounds bad.

You remember that he DROVE to get here. Your brother does not look capable of driving.

He does not look capable of driving. He does not look alert enough to take your journal and get on a boat going anywhere. He does not look currently capable enough to stand on his own, let alone leave again.

Brain injuries are very serious. Your BROTHER'S brain injury is more serious to you than your current situation. You can't find yourself to actually be upset about that, especially with the knowledge that when you tell Stan he has a concussion, he waves it off.

When you tell him he shouldn't be driving, he asks you how else he was supposed to come help.

You lock the journal in a kitchen cabinet. You put the key into the toaster. Bill has problems with fine motor skills. He won't be able to fish it out properly.

You need to deal with this first.

That night, neither of you sleep.

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Look I don’t care how implausible it is, I don’t care how ridiculous it is. Dick is eight years old when he becomes Robin. It’s the funniest fuckin thing and I refuse to ever make him older than eight when he bullies a grown ass Bruce into letting him go out at night with him.

Does Bruce take him on kiddie runs until he’s a little older? Maybe. Does Batman stand menacingly behind a brightly colored little bird to threaten the goons while Robin can’t see him? You know he does.

But Robin is still actually terrifying when he first appears on the scene, because he’s a teeny tiny fluttery little thing that does cartwheels and handstands and makes puns then launches himself full force to kick a man in the nose and then cackles when he bleeds. His laughter makes goons shiver, they hear it bouncing around warehouses and half of them bolt, because they learn very quickly what happens when a feral Robin appears.

The Gotham rogues all immediately have beef with a literal third grader because he took the bats attention away and also because he’s roundhouse kicked them all in the shins at some point and that shit hurt like hell, and then he laughed in their faces while making a pun about their villain name.

Majority of the rogues everywhere hate Nightwing because they all know he used to be the feral child that they all thought Batman should have put on a leash, half of them have been straight up bitten by him before he lost all his baby teeth, and they’re all so bitter about the fact that they’ve been beaten by an actual elementary school student. And now he’s all grown up? He’s fucking terrifying.

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what if they met when they were kids :’)

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Chapter 9 of All of These Things, All of the Time is up! I don't think I've ever written 3.5k faster -- I spent most of my time editing and cleaning it up. All that to say, I loved writing this chapter. I hope you all enjoy!

This is my witsec AU, where Stan enters the Witness Protection Program and winds up in Gravity Falls in the 1970s. Ford also happens to be there. Shenanigans ensue.

Read Chapter 9 here, or start from the beginning!

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oda pls call me back i have some ideas

(bonus colored ver. because im trying to make myself practice)

come on… there are too many crazy devil fruit users. give my cowards a FIGHTING CHANCE out there.

also itll be so much funnier when she whaps luffy with this.

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unfinished but here you go

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