#already have the ideas and plots and shit

[genericpuff]

What are your thoughts on the whole Hestia x Athena thing in LO? Personally it always infuriated me with how hypocritical it was of them to date each other despite them both being members of/Hestia being in charge of TGOEM. It especially annoyed me how Hestia constantly told Persephone that as a TGOEM member she can't date anyone but later saying that her relationship with Athena doesn't count. I give some credit to Artmeis for calling them out when finding out, but it wasn't enough

The hypocrisy is one thing but it at least could have been expanded on as a plot point (Hestia didn't even have the spine to return the coat and apologize, Artemis had to do it ???), but what REALLY ticks me off is that Rachel clearly tried to include queer rep through Hestia and Athena who are two traditionally aro/ace goddesses. So really all she did was erase their original queer identities, both of which are still massively misunderstood and argued over whether or not they're "real". And shit, we even see that in her old asks that lesbian sex "doesn't count" and that asexuality is somehow just a sliding scale / stepping stone towards "becoming" another sexuality (in this case, gay).

Like... you can be asexual and also still be romantically attracted to the same sex, "becoming gay" doesn't automatically erase someone's asexuality. Artemis can be gay and aroace. Lesbian sex is still sex and isn't a "loophole" to retaining one's virginity. To be fair, the whole "vestal virgins are flaming lesbians because you can be a virgin and still have hot lady sex" thing came from an anon, but like... she doesn't do anything to challenge that idea in LO either, if anything it's reinforced through Athena and Hestia using their relationship as a "loophole" within TGOEM (and the narrative never actually stops to analyze that.)

And then the cherry on top is Rachel removing the sexualities - sometimes even entire character identities - from canonically or commonly-accepted queer gods and giving them to others. Crocus is no longer a lover of Hermes, but a one-dimensional nymph who was killed as a plot device and then never spoken of again. Ampelos is no longer a satyr loved by Dionysus, his name now belongs to Psyche, a heterocis black woman who doesn't know how to read and has been basically forced into slavery. All of Aphrodite's children who ranged in gender and sexual identities are now replaced with one-dimensional cutout characters with no specific labels or characterizations beyond the translations of their names. Eros has been reduced to the "gay best friend" whose first introduction into the story is inebriating a 19 year old girl with the intent of dumping her in an older man's car. Apollo has been turned into a generic big bad whose only goal is getting his hands on Persephone and nothing else, with zero nuance to his actual characterization or plot arc, he's just "the rapist" who conveniently becomes a pawn in some bigger nefarious plan that makes zero sense. Dionysus and Achilles have both been turned into babies.

If Rachel wanted queer rep, she was already in the right place. The entire Pantheon was her oyster. But instead she managed to go the complete opposite with it and not only erase the queer identities of Greek gods in LO, but went the extra mile of egregiousness by replacing those queer gods with token-queer stereotypes and one-dimensional characters who are just there to say they're gay for the brownie points before being shoved back into the closet. They're out, but they're still not seen.

[wrongdodo]

Fractured

Pairing: M!Whitney! x AFAB!Reader (reader wears a skirt)

Genre: 18+ let’s call it “porn with plot” this time.

Warnings: Unprotected sex

Word count: 1771

Summary: You visit Whitney, who’s in hospital with a broken leg. Only the company of his favourite slut can lift his sad little spirit.

A/N: It I had so much fun writing this silly idea. Just enjoy writing this total dickhead.

It’s a Wednesday afternoon, and it’s raining again. Usually, that’s exciting.

Because usually, wet weather means bothering Whitney in the park - but today, your plans are different. After an uneventful bus ride, you alight on Nightingale Street. It’s not particularly late, but the sky is full of dark storm clouds. Headlights from passing cars reflect softly off puddles on the pavement. The intimidating hospital building stands before you – towering and clinical, windows illuminated against an otherwise featureless concrete exterior.

You weren’t bothering Whitney at the park because Whitney wasn’t at the park. He was here; Ward 5 Room 12 to be exact. He hadn’t shown up to school on Monday, which was only a little unusual. It wasn’t until yesterday evening he’d finally replied to your messages – by then you’d already heard the story from his friends. Well, you’d heard the version they’d given, which painted Whitney as some kind of daredevil superhero.

It's a short journey from the foyer to the lift; you punch in the required floor and make your way through an echoey, beige corridor. Pass the nurse’s station, take a left, and through a set of double doors. Somehow, he’d secured a room all to himself – cunning git. There’s no time to wonder how he managed it.

“Fucking finally,” Whitney groans from bed as you enter, rolling his eyes dramatically. Clearly, he’s tired – he looks pale in the artificial light, and there’s a little puffiness beneath his eyes. But he’s smiling. You idly wonder if you’ve ever seen him look more pleased to see you.

There’s a small bedside table, covered in chewing gum wrappers. An untouched bottle of orange juice, and a half-empty bottle of sports drink. Whitney lays on top of the sheets, wearing a loose t-shirt and grey shorts. His right leg is elevated by several pillows – a large plaster cast covering everything between his toes and upper thigh. You don’t know much about broken bones, but even to your untrained eye it looks pretty serious.

“What have you been doing?” you chastise, slinging your bag on the floor and settling on a nearby chair. You already know, of course – fucking around on a roof on Harvest Street last Sunday night after too many drinks. He blamed you, obviously – if you’d joined him at the pub, this allegedly never would have happened.

“Compound fracture. Bone sticking out and everything - super fucked up. Wanna see?”  Without waiting for a response, Whitney grabs his phone. Because who wouldn’t want to see that? He was grinning almost proudly.

“No, that’s okay…”  you assure him. There’s a brief pause as he shrugs, sliding his phone back under the pillow. “Are you okay? Heard you had surgery…”

“Yeah, it’s full of metal now. I’ll have a fucking massive scar,” His fingers run the length of his cast, showing just how massive the scar was likely to be. You noticed how badly his fingernails had been bitten. Of course – no smoking in hospital.

You chat. Whitney manages to shuffle up a little, insisting you join him on the tiny bed – so you perch on the edge. It creaks in protest of your combined weight. You tell him about the general comings and goings of the school week so far – things he’d never usually give a shit about, and didn’t particularly seem to give any more of a shit about right now. You casually mention how you’d never seen River look so relaxed.

“Yeah, well, they’re letting me out real soon, so you tell River not to relax too much,” he was trying to sound confident, but you weren’t sure Whitney would be back on his feet as soon as he was suggesting.

As the conversation dies down, he rests his head sleepily on your shoulder. Neither of you seem to mind the comfortable silence. You consider how tired and miserable he looks, now boredly scrolling on his phone under the fluorescent lighting.

“You… had many visitors?” you ask, running fingers through his hair. He allows it.

Whitney nods, but you’re not convinced. He wraps an arm around you awkwardly – he can’t move very much which makes cuddling difficult, but you make it work. “You’re my first slut-visitor, though,” he mutters softly.

Then, phone abandoned, he turns towards you with sudden liveliness. “C’mere, I wanna fuck around with you…” he mumbles, trying to pull you closer. Whitney would die before admitting it, but it’s clear he’s missed you - quite a bit. Sighing dramatically, just to wind him up, you crawl onto the bed and press a kiss to his bitten lips. He’s minty. You don’t even notice the muddy marks your wet footwear leaves on the sheets. It’s pretty surprising that he does, though.

“Shoes off, slut,” he scolds with a mock-gasp – it’s clear Whitney doesn’t really care, judging by his dumb smirk, but he’ll never miss an opportunity to tease you. “Who fucking raised you?” In the time it takes to shoot Whitney a sour glare, he seems to remember exactly who raised you. “Oh, my bad,” he laughs.

Kicking your shoes onto the floor, you climb over to return to the kiss. It’s comforting and familiar. As his tongue slides past your lips, your hands instinctively wander, delicately tracing what can only be the upper edge of his cast.  Wait… “You’re already hard?”

Instantly, Whitney’s defensive – maybe even a little embarrassed. “What do you fucking expect? Fucking WIFI here blocks everything... I’m dying, slut!” he snaps dramatically. Then, just as quickly, he’s clingy and beggy, pulling you closer. “Come on, get on top…”

He’s pathetic, but somehow it makes him even harder to resist. Summoning every ounce of poise and bracing against his chest for balance, you straddle his middle, taking care not to knock his bad leg in the process. But the thin, foam mattress bends in a way you weren’t quite expecting – your knee bumps his cast slightly.

“Fuck,“ Whitney hisses. You freeze like a startled deer, not daring to breathe. He softens. “Just… be careful, alright?”

But it’s difficult. You don’t want to hurt him – he’s pitiful enough without you causing any further damage. “It’s just not gonna work, Whit,” you sigh, frustrated. “I could suck you off?”

But he grabs your hips, pulling you down against his erection – grinning, tongue-between-his-teeth, with a much more familiar gleam in his eyes.

“Stay put, slut,” And you notice his jaw steel in determination. “I can do it.”

Bravely, or stupidly, Whitney repositions, slithering awkwardly down the bed, his t-shirt riding up a little in the process. If it causes any pain, he does a good job hiding it. Then, in a familiar, practiced motion he frees his cock from the loose confines of his shorts. You’re lucky he has the presence of mind to slick a single gob of spit over his length; a necessity rather than any consideration for your comfort. With his other hand, he’s reaching under your skirt to pull your underwear to the side. His gentle hiss of pleasure as he slides inside is apparently all the foreplay you’re getting today.

He’s inside you, but… you don’t dare move, and it’s pretty clear that Whitney is more-or-less immobile too. So, you sit on his cock – realising that any fucking that takes place will be squarely down to you. His arms flail impatiently.

“Crack on then, slut.”

If Whitney notices your eyes rolling, he lets it slide. So, you begin moving up and down his length, just kinda… jacking him off with your hole. It surprises you when his hand gently clasps yours, thumb gently rubbing in appreciation. It’s rare for Whitney to be sweet – and even rarer for him to be so fucking still. You really aren’t sure if you’ll be able to ride him hard enough – too nervous to cause any further injury. It was no secret Whitney usually enjoyed a pretty severe pace. This was steady and gentle… but in fairness, it was beginning to feel pretty good.

Eventually, you tune out the repetitive, irritating squeak of the hospital bed, settling into a rhythm. It’s not long before you notice the early signs of climax sparking in your belly – something that felt impossible at the start. He’s got to have noticed the way you’re beginning to tighten and squeeze his cock, punctuating each determined fuck. You hum in response to Whitney’s silent encouragement as he guides your hips in sustained rhythm.

It’s not long before you’re lost in it – eyes fluttered closed, alternating between greedily rising and falling on the length his cock and grinding yourself hungrily against his base. You gnaw your bottom lip. It’s getting hard to focus – especially when he starts thrumming your clit with spit-slickened fingers.

“Ride that dick, slut.”

Your eyes pop open – it’s almost unfair how he can tip you with just his fucking words, and the smirk on his face tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing. When it hits you, it’s like the orgasm snaps you in half – doubling you over to bury your face in Whitney’s neck, quaking and creaming on his cock. He smells like antiseptic and fresh sweat.

“Don’t fucking stop,” he warns - hoarse and urgent against your ear. In a more attentive state, you might have wondered; has he found a comfortable rhythm, or is he just fucking through the discomfort in his broken body? Either way, he’s doing an excellent job of rutting your cunt, it’s oversensitive walls slick and squeezing as he chases his own climax.

You’re pulled tight against Whitney, and he fills you up - cock twitching and breath heavy against your ear, arms crushing your body into his heaving chest. It’s several delicious seconds before he loosens his grip, and you sit up. He’s already grinning smugly.

“Told you I could do it,” he teases. Fair.

There’s no graceful way to lift yourself off him – regardless of his broken leg, you’re so filled with cum it’s… unreasonable. You imagine his load drizzling out of you, pooling darkly on Whitney’s grey shorts. No, much easier to stay put than deal with that mess, at least for now. It’s not like you have anywhere better to be, right slut?

There’s a sudden click, alerting you to the door and causing your head to whip round. Through the small, frosted window, you see a uniformed figure making a very quick exit.

“Nurse,” Whitney explains, completely unbothered. “Probably bringing painkillers or some shit,” he folds his arms behind his head, a relaxed gesture. “You shoulda seen her face though...”

Fucking lovely, you think to yourself. Can’t wait to pass her on the way out.

[yuurivoice]

has it ever happened that there was lore/plot in an already-posted video that as you're writing you thought of something better than it and wished you could go back and change it?

Not particularly, no. I learned fairly early on if you're busy overanalyzing work you've already done, you're not focusing on the work you need to be doing.

Obviously, if I had known that my narrative work would be successful, I probably would have tried and planned further ahead rather than piecing together things as I go. But that's not how shit works.

The only thing that I've ever considered remotely altering is BitterSweet Chapter one in an upcoming Director's cut with more artwork to reflect the quality of what we've done with chapters 2 & 3, which would simply be to add a little scene to the start of the series that adds some context to Al and Boo's relationship for those who haven't watched all of the pre-BS content. Because it wasn't intended to be a whole series at the start, so it could really use a little extra something to get new viewers on board.

Other than that? No. What am I gonna do, beat myself up? Feel bad about work that has clearly found an audience and led to growth, success, and joy? There are a million things that could have been better, but it was what I accomplished back then. Now I look to accomplish greater things in the future.

That's my mentality.

There is no "thought of something better" because frankly, if you're good enough to come up with something better than you did before, you damn sure better be good enough to take what you wrote the first time and make it work well.

No idea is good enough to make you feel shamed or regretful about what you already created. You gotta shed that ego and respect yourself more than that. I wrote what I wrote in the past and I know what challenges I faced back then.

That mentally ill mother fucker fought his ass off to get that shit done. I won't spit in his face. I'll pick up a hammer and build on that foundation, and honor what we birthed by nurturing it and watch it evolve into something even greater. Or it'll suck!

That's just how making art works. 😂

[whineandcheese24]

so this post floated the idea of a Lucy/Eddie romance and I really like it. I wouldn't be too mad if Eddie didn't end the series with a love interest, but depending on how long they go, he's going to get another one eventually, and I think Lucy could be a really good candidate.

Eddie's previous LIs have had the same problems as Buck's where they're siloed off into their own little story and don't really have any connection to the greater plot. And like Tommy, Lucy solves those problems, being a character both the audience and 118 already know, and a fellow first responder who can show up occasionally without needing specific time carved out for her. It even works better with her being at the same station Tommy's at, because then she can be reintroduced next season by either showing up at an emergency with Tommy or being invited to a group hangout with him.

We don't know if Lucy and Eddie, or Arielle and Ryan have any chemistry because they've never really had a scene together, but I do think their characters could be really good together. While we don't know much about Lucy, she doesn't seem very naturally maternal, which could be great both as a way to show that if she and Eddie date it has nothing to do with Chris, and as a storyline we haven't seen yet of Eddie's gf having to adjust to him being a single dad. I also think that her personality could be really good for Eddie. She's loud, unashamed of herself, and goes after what she wants, and I think she could really challenge Eddie and vice versa.

If they do go this route, here's what I would do:

Let's assume that by the end of this season, Eddie has at least broken up with both Kim and Marisol. He may not be out of the woods yet, but he is for all intents and purposes, single. Lucy is reintroduced close to the beginning of the season, maybe as another first responder in the Big Emergency. Eddie, still feeling isolated, runs into her and the two do not hit it off. I mean he is being insufferable (as he tends to be when he's repressed) and she is just not dealing with his shit.

Eddie eventually starts healing, and Buck thinks he's good enough to start going out again (not on dates, just out of the house), so he and Tommy take Eddie out for drinks, and Tommy, not knowing that Lucy and Eddie don't get along, brings her so Eddie won't feel like a third wheel. Eddie and Lucy resume their not-so-friendly banter, but because they're out with Buck and Tommy (aka perpetual heart eyes times two) they end up gravitating towards each other anyway, and end the night something like friends. This would be around the mid-season finale, maybe episode 7ish (assuming s8 is 18 eps).

The rest of the season they get closer and closer, and they end the season as good friends who can rely on each other and will hang out together without the pretext of hanging out with bucktommy or the other 118ers, but nothing romantic yet. Then in s9, something happens that acts as a catalyst for Eddie and Lucy, and they kiss or hookup or something and start dating. I do think they should be less Ross and Rachel and more Monica and Chandler. As in, not really pining, just they were friends until they weren't.

anyway, just some ideas. I do realize there is absolutely no reason to expect this, but I saw they idea and it just kind of unfolded in my brain.

[prettyheung]

what if i write a toxic bf series,,,,,,

[dolokhoded]

my one season 4 complaint is Where The Fuck Was Aneesa

[theresthesnitch]

Me: i'm definitely going to finish some old WIPs before I start anything new

Also me:

[dizzybevvie]

If I die within the next week know it wasnt an accident

[lobotomy-maybe-bestie]

i think trans people SHOULD get famous for bad art. i think trans people SHOULD get a major following for things they don't really put their whole heart into. i think trans people SHOULD be huge stars on the internet for decidedly mid quality content with problematic themes.

[thetimelordbatgirl]

Ngl youtube videos suddenly got me slowly turning into a Justin Russo hater.

[icewindandboringhorror]

Hrmm... Revising my game and I feel like there's still sooo much writing left to do, for something that probably won't even amount to much, so.. I do want to narrow my focus more (especially given my health problems seeming to get worse/less energy the past few years), but I'm not sure how would be best to...

I currently have 5 characters as the Main ones with full planned questlines and such, with each character having 6 quests you can do for them. But I haven't really started the writing for the 5th main character. So then I was thinking, if I were going to write 6 full quests worth of content anyway... is it better to allocate that time on just doing a Complete 6 Quests for ONE single character, OR would it be better to do something like.. choose THREE side characters and do 2 quests for each of them? So that people have a wider variety to interact with and sort of sample around (of course with the idea that, once the first version of the game is released, IF people actually care about it enough to make it worth the effort, I would then add additional content to complete those 3 characters stories as well)

-

SO... If you were playing an interactive fiction sort of game centered around talking to & doing quests for a cast of characters (like there's no larger plot, more it's just about interacting with people, every character kind of has a self contained story, the focus is just learning about them and the world and exploring the area) --- Which would you rather have?

(and of course it would be stated up front which characters have only partial questlines, so people don't expect them to have full quests like the others and then get disappointed, or etc. etc.)

Basically, is it better to just focus in specifically on having one fully complete questline? Or for there to be a few stories that are not complete yet, but have more initial options available?

[jonny-b-meowborn]

This is so sucks

[showrunnerihardlyknowher]

we've hit 10K words and we're about halfway done lets go lads

[coldflasher]

the flash should have ended with barry quitting his job at ccpd to become a stay-at-home husband and that's on that

[lemonsrosesandlavender]

Planar Tears, pt. 2// Rolan/GN human Isekai

yeah ok I have so much brainrot and plot thoughts so here’s some more. Will I just write this fic properly in the end? Who knows.

2

After initially panicking, Rolan decides that the best thing to do is keep the stranger hidden in this cave - where there is at least a little fresh water, and a hole in the roof that lets the moonlight through. The druids are already on high alert about intruders, and Rolan does not think Kagha will take lightly to one who can’t even explain themselves. He doesn’t wake Cal and Lia either, ashamed of his own foolishness in attempting far too difficult a spell.

Instead, he and the strange human have a difficult, abortive conversation in charade, unable to communicate much beyond (Rolan hopes) that they should trust him and do as he says. He tries to go back to the bedroll he slipped from in the first place, but cannot sleep with worry and self-recrimination. How is he supposed to care for this person, and get them alive to Baldur’s Gate? At least there, perhaps Lorroakan can send them back to the right plane. And right now, leaving them defenceless in a cave to sleep, where they might be discovered and killed on the spot -

He takes the damned bedroll, and moves it to the cave.

In the morning, he wakes to see the stranger pacing the cave. The moment he sits up, their eyes are on him, their mouth speaking alien words that they must know cannot be understood. It sounds like questions, frustration, confusion. None of it angry, just tired. Eventually, they run out of words, and mime that they’re hungry.

Sunbeams are beginning to dance through the hole in the roof, and Rolan realises he needs to get back to the other tieflings, before Cal and Lia realise something is off. After breakfast, he needs to find a way to communicate. They could be stuck together for a month - or - permanently. No. He can’t allow himself to think about that.

‘Eating for two?’ Ethel snarks at him, as he goes back for seconds from the vast cauldron of porridge that constitutes breakfast. Gods, he never wants to eat porridge again. Especially not like this, made with watered-down milk because the druids will only spare so much. And the porridge sits so much worse in his stomach when Ethel smiles and tells him she won’t tell anyone about his ‘friend’. After all, she likes desperate people. They’re the easiest to cut a bargain with.

3

Rolan watches his stranger eating their breakfast in worried silence. No-one else seems to have noticed the trail of malignant magic that clouds Ethel like rotting seaweed. If only the damned druids would leave their ritual alone long enough to notice her presence - but that will never happen. Having ceded the caves to the tieflings, they are determined to avoid them as much as possible, until the moment the thorns expel them forever.

The human smiles at him, a smile that makes him feel an unbidden flicker of warmth. Gods no. Rolan hurries to his feet and leaves in agitation, knowing very well what he felt and denying it anyway. This person is practically his prisoner.

He drowns it out with practicalities. It seems to him that they must learn some Common. But to do that - with any ease beyond the years-long agony of teaching a child, a task Rolan thinks of with horror - he needs magical assistance. He’s heard of a spell called Tongues, but who here could cast it? Or - perhaps Detect Thoughts. That way, he can at least show them things beyond the cave. Communicate other ideas.

In the end, he goes to Arron, one of the few original grove inhabitants who will still have anything to do with the tieflings, and produces much more than he wants to from his coinpurse to beg for just one mind-reading potion - only for Arron to refuse. He won’t say why, but it’s obvious; Kagha herself probably told him not to sell the tieflings a single thing that might threaten the Druids. Arron is unrepentant in his refusal, and Rolan snaps in his face, tells him he’s a pathetic, snivelling coward who he would drag to Avernus personally if he actually knew how to. No tiefling does, of course, but if the people of Faerûn are so damned determined to believe it, he’ll let them. They can all sink to the Hells, when he becomes a great wizard.

Before they all get summarily cast out from the Grove, Cal intervenes, but he can’t wrangle a single word of explanation from Rolan about why he needed the potion in the first place. And then Rolan retreats, right back to his hiding place, no further forward than the last time he left.

It seems the same questions are on his stranger’s mind, because when he gets back the floor is covered in writing, strange letters etched into the dirt.

[mutalieju]

just transitioning would not fix Kendall Roy but becoming a rich lady in an agatha christie mystery who gets to dramatically faint when the lights come back on and there's a dead body in the dining room 100% would