#scribble out a version of the third idea

[fictionadventurer]

I have three stories that I would like to write at least some part of before the deadline for the Inklings Challenge.

I am scrolling tumblr and obsessively looking up book recommendations online.

I see some problems here.

[mitamicah]

More Pride Scribbler Outs!!! This time my muses/bias, Bojere xD

Janace (x)

[gf2bellamy]

I had this idea while watching CM i just know you’re THE person to ask!! So i’m picturing established relationship with later seasons Reid and reader sees a pic of early seasons maybe his FBI badge or smth ? And she’s like gosh i wish i met you sooner and Spencer thinks she wouldn’t have liked him back then and she’s like bitch ???? i have this feeling that people started to find him more attractive after the prison trauma and i just want to give some love to early seasons reid like baby i would have smashed u in season 1

badge — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: established relationship, post!prison spencer a/n: hii !! loved this idea sooo much <3 because yes ! i would've literally thrown myself at s1 spencer

Spring cleaning.

It was something you had insisted on, and Spencer was reluctantly going along with it. You loved his apartment, with its cozy clutter and towering bookshelves, but there was a fine line between charmingly lived-in and needing intervention. Currently, you were seated cross-legged on the floor beside one of his many bookshelves, sorting through stacks of old files, loose papers, and, of course, more books than any one person could reasonably own.

Spencer was across from you, carefully removing each book from the lower shelf so he could dust beneath them.

You pulled out a well-worn novel, only to find four more identical copies tucked behind it. You held one up, raising an eyebrow. “Why do you have five different versions of the same book?”

Spencer barely glanced up from his task as he answered, “They’re all different special editions. That one—” He gestured vaguely toward the book in your hand. “—has annotations from the original editor. The one next to it has a foreword by a critic I like, and the third has alternate chapter endings that were cut from the final draft.”

You shook your head, amused. Only Spencer would need multiple copies of the same book. Flipping through the pages, you noticed scribbled notes in the margins.

“I haven’t read that one in ages,” Spencer admitted, suddenly abandoning his dusting to scoot closer to you. His knee bumped against yours as he leaned in, his fingers gently taking the book from your hands. He opened it to a random page, and his expression softened as he traced his old annotations with his fingertip.

A small, nostalgic smile tugged at his lips.

You watched him. His hair had fallen into his face again, obscuring his eyes as he focused on the text. You reached out, brushing the unruly strands behind his ear. He barely seemed to notice, too absorbed in the book, but his free hand caught yours, lifting it to his lips to press a quick, absentminded kiss to your knuckles before returning to his reading.

You bit back a laugh.

Of course.

You had come here to clean, and now Spencer was going to reread an entire novel instead. By the time you finished unloading the second shelf, he’d probably be done with it. You reached for a file that had been tucked between stacks of books on the second shelf. Curious, you opened it slowly, peeling back the cover to reveal its contents and then you froze.

"Oh my god."

Spencer, still absorbed in his book, didn’t even glance up as you carefully pulled out what you’d just discovered.

His old FBI badge.

You stared at it, lips parting in amusement. The photo showed a younger Spencer, his hair meticulously gelled to the side, so much more tamed than the unruly curls he had now. It was shorter, too, neatly styled in a way that looked almost foreign compared to the man currently sitting on the floor beside you, lost in his reading.

You didn’t even realize Spencer had finished his book until you felt the faint tickle of his hair against your cheek as he leaned over your shoulder, peering at what you were holding.

“What are you looking at?” he asked, voice warm.

You grinned, twisting to face him as you held up the badge. “Your old FBI badge.”

Spencer blinked at it for a second, processing, before his eyes widened slightly. “Give me that,” he said immediately, reaching for it but you’d predicted that reaction, and you yanked it out of his reach with a laugh.He didn’t even try to fight you for it, just slumped back with a sigh, though the faint pink tinge creeping up his neck betrayed his embarrassment.

“You looked so cute,” you teased, scooting backward just enough to keep the badge safely away. But Spencer wasn’t having it. In one swift motion, he hooked his hands around your ankles and dragged you forward until you were knee-to-knee with him again.

"No, I didn’t," Spencer insisted as he stared at the badge held between you.

"You totally did," you grinned, tracing the edge of the picture with your fingertip. Spencer had stopped looking at the badge entirely, his gaze instead fixed on you, the way your lips curled in amusement, the softness in your expression as you studied him.

"Your lips are still all pouty and pink," you murmured, tapping the photo where his mouth was set in a firm, professional line. Then you glanced up, only to find real Spencer mirroring the expression, his own lips slightly pursed.

"See?" you teased, meeting his eyes.

Spencer shook his head, but there was no real annoyance in it, just fond exasperation. "I wish I’d met you sooner," you said softly, your thumb brushing over the badge before your gaze flickered down for a second.

He stared at you like you’d just spoken in riddles. "You wouldn’t have liked me back then," he muttered.

Now it was your turn to look at him in disbelief. "Spencer, you look adorable," you insisted, holding the badge up again for emphasis.

"Adorable," he repeated flatly, as if that only proved his point, like adorable was code for not worth liking.

So you doubled down. "Attractive. Handsome. Pretty. Hot," you added, each word punctuated with a pointed look.That finally cracked him. A smile tugged at his lips, and he shook his head, but his ears had gone pink.

"Spencer," you pressed, bumping your knee against his, "there’s no way I would’ve missed out on that." You jabbed your finger at the photo for good measure.

He chuckled, finally tearing his gaze away from the badge to focus on you instead. His fingers brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering just a second too long to be casual.

"Don’t deflect," you accused, pointing a finger at him.

"I’m not deflecting, I’m reprioritizing," he countered, but the way his thumb traced your jawline betrayed him.

You pouted, hard, and Spencer’s eyes flickered down to your lips like he was physically restraining himself from kissing the expression right off your face. (Which, given the way his fingers twitched against your skin, he absolutely was.)

"I’m serious, Spencer," you insisted. "I would’ve literally asked you out the first second I saw you."

Spencer raised an eyebrow. "You stuttered for six seconds straight when I asked you out," he reminded you, grinning when your mouth fell open in embarassement.

"That—! That was different!" you spluttered, swatting at his shoulder. "You caught me off guard!"

"Mm-hmm." His grin widened.

"Point is—" You waved the badge between you like a white flag, refusing to let him derail you further. "—I would’ve adored you, Spencer. Any version of you."

Your voice softened at the end, and just like that, his teasing expression melted. He exhaled a laugh, shaking his head like he still didn’t quite believe you, but when he leaned in to press his lips to your forehead, the badge forgotten between you, it was answer enough.

(And if he stole the badge back when you were distracted by his smile? Well. You’d let him have that one.)

[akanemnon]

I wanted to create a version of Frara/Squeezo in your style (which I really like) along with a possible form for the Dark World. I’ve made three versions of the same drawing, but now I don’t know which one to choose, so I’d love your opinion or advice as an artist. (I draw on physical paper because it’s easier for me that way.)

There’s not much to say about the "Light World" forms; I simply took the sprite of Frara/Squeezo and adapted it into a drawing. There are a few differences, but I’ll briefly mention them:

The color of the fringe changes: in the first version, it’s rainbow-colored because I thought it looked nice; in the second, it’s gray as a sort of contrast to the first one; and finally, in the third, it’s red, like the classic fringe of Kris and Frisk.

The color of the pants and socks, some details of the sweater, and the hairstyle also change. Lastly, in the third version, there’s a visible eye (to avoid making it look too much like Kris) and a kind of pseudo-nose (which I’m not sure came out well).

The Dark World forms are more interesting:

In the first version, I was inspired by a simple knight, and I used all the colors I had available, thinking it would look good that way. The skin is gray to resemble a doppelgänger in fantasy games (since Frara/Squeezo is a kind of "double" of Frisk/Chara).

The second version, on the other hand, is inspired by a dark wizard (it seemed cool), with white and gray hair. The cape resembles Chara’s shirt as a sort of parallel, since Frisk has a cape with colors similar to Kris’s shirt, and vice versa.

The third version is inspired by this image:

(Doppelgänger from Forgotten Realms).

In this version, I added a weapon, as I realized I hadn’t included one in the previous versions. If you’re wondering why I chose an umbrella as the weapon, it’s because I found this fan art during my research:

(Credit to: @Art-in-heart4va)

I thought it was a cute idea. Finally, I added a few minor details.

Bonus: If you’re wondering why there are red cross-outs on the drawings and why I scribbled on them, it’s because I didn’t want to ruin the drawing.

I tried to come up with a made-up name for Frara/Squeezo. In the first version, he was called John (literally the first name that came to mind...). In the second version, I called him Ulan (because it was the first name that started with “U” that came to mind. Why the "U"? Well, take the first letters of the names Frisk, Chara, and Kris, put them together, and you’ll figure it out (; ). Finally, in the third version, I gave up and still haven’t decided on a name for him...

P.S.: I’m sorry for writing such a long text, but these drawings are very close to my heart, and I wanted to specify every single detail.

Hi there! Thanks for showing me all this art and going though your thought process behind it. I couldn't help but cobble something together on my own, based on all these concept pieces. You might find bits from all designs in there. Also played around with the colors a little, because I do like me some color theory.

Anyway, I REALLY hope you don't mind! I don't wanna undermine your work!

[0omillo0]

BIKER! BANGCHAN X BUSINESSWOMAN! READER

Warnings: Fluff!!

masterlist

The low hum of engines filled the night air as a group of motorcycles came to a halt outside a popular club on the outskirts of the city. Among the riders, Chris "BangChan" was the most prominent figure, known for his sleek black bike and the commanding presence that drew eyes his way. He took off his helmet, shaking out his tousled brown hair, and glanced toward the neon-lit entrance of the club. Another night, another distraction from the endless humdrum.

Meanwhile, inside the club, you were busy sipping on your third drink. It had been a long week at the office. Being a businesswoman was rewarding, but today was particularly exhausting with the never-ending meetings, reports, and deadlines. You needed this — an escape. A little buzz to let loose, even if for just one night.

Your normally polished and professional demeanor was unraveling, and while you knew it, you didn’t care. The alcohol was bringing out a version of yourself you hardly recognized — free, wild, a little reckless. It was the exact opposite of the poised businesswoman everyone knew during the day.

BangChan walked into the club, scanning the scene. It didn’t take long before his eyes fell on you — a woman in a sleek black dress, swaying to the music, drink in hand, with an air of confidence that matched his own. Except there was something different about you. A look in your eyes that drew him in.

“Hey,” he said, leaning against the bar next to you. His deep voice had just the right amount of casual charm.

You turned, your gaze landing on him. Normally, you wouldn’t entertain some random guy at a club. You were busy, driven, and too focused on your career to waste time on flirtations. But the alcohol had loosened your walls.

“Well, aren’t you handsome?” you teased, a playful smile curling on your lips.

Chris chuckled, surprised by the boldness. “And you’re… interesting,” he replied, a smirk tugging at his lips. “What’s your name?”

“Why should I tell you?” you teased again, feeling bolder than usual.

“Because I’m curious.” He leaned in slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. “And you look like someone worth knowing.”

Something about the way he looked at you made your heart race a little. Without thinking, you grabbed a napkin from the bar, scribbling your number down and sliding it toward him. “Here. Don’t make me regret it.”

BangChan raised an eyebrow, glancing down at the napkin with a smirk. “I won’t,” he promised, slipping the napkin into his pocket. “I’ll see you around… maybe sooner than you think.”

---

The Next Morning

The alarm blared loudly in your ear, pulling you from your deep slumber. You groaned, rubbing your temples. The throbbing headache reminded you of your little escapade last night, and flashes of the club came back in hazy fragments. Your eyes widened when you remembered the guy… and the number you gave him.

“No way,” you whispered to yourself. “I gave him my number?”

You threw off the covers and rushed to get ready for work. There was no time to dwell on your mistake — if it was a mistake. You had no idea who this BangChan guy was, but something told you he wasn't just going to let you forget him that easily.

---

Later at Work

It was a busy day at the office, as usual. Your professional mask was firmly back in place — sharp suit, high heels, hair pulled back in a tight bun. You were the embodiment of efficiency, commanding respect from everyone around you. No one would ever guess the carefree woman dancing in the club last night was the same person striding through these halls.

As you sat down to check your emails, your phone buzzed. A text message. You glanced at it, half-expecting it to be from a colleague, but your heart skipped a beat when you saw the name.

Chris (Motorbike Guy):

Hey, boss lady. Rough morning?

You stared at the message for a moment, the memory of last night hitting you all at once. How did he manage to look so effortlessly cool in just one text? You quickly typed a response.

You:

How do you even know I’m at work?

A moment later, your phone buzzed again.

Chris:

Because I’m outside your office.

Your breath hitched. What?! You stood up quickly, peeking out the window of your corner office. Sure enough, there he was — leaning casually against his motorcycle, sunglasses on, looking completely out of place in the corporate landscape but somehow making it work.

You grabbed your phone and called him.

“Are you serious?” you asked as soon as he picked up.

“Dead serious,” he replied with a chuckle. “You didn’t think I’d just forget about you, did you?”

“I was drunk,” you hissed, glancing around to make sure no one was overhearing. “That doesn’t mean you can just show up like this!”

“I don’t mind if you were drunk. I still liked what I saw,” Chris said, his voice deep and teasing. “Come down and have lunch with me.”

You sighed, torn between your work responsibilities and the allure of his bold, carefree attitude. You had meetings lined up, deadlines to meet… but a part of you couldn’t shake the memory of how alive you felt last night. Maybe this was a side of you worth exploring.

“I can’t,” you said, your voice firm. “I have work to do.”

“Alright,” Chris said, a hint of a smile in his voice. “I’ll wait.”

And wait he did. Every day for the next week, he was there — waiting outside your office, sending you playful texts, making it clear he wasn’t going anywhere. One day, he even left a small gift at the front desk — a sleek, custom-made helmet with a note that read: “For when you finally agree to ride with me.”

Your resolve was slowly breaking, but you held on. Work came first. It always had.

---

A Week Later

It was another long day at the office, and as you stepped out of the building, there he was again. But this time, instead of waiting by his bike, Chris stood right by the door. He had a bouquet of white lilies in hand, looking out of place in his leather jacket, but somehow, it made your heart flutter.

“Flowers now?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’re really pulling out all the stops.”

Chris smiled, handing them to you. “Figured you deserved something beautiful after a hard week.”

You stared at him for a moment, something inside you shifting. This wasn’t just a guy who wanted to get your number or flirt for a few days. He was serious. And despite your better judgment, you found yourself wanting to let him in.

With a sigh, you took the flowers and smiled softly. “Fine,” you said. “One ride. But if I regret this—”

“You won’t,” he interrupted, grinning as he handed you the helmet. “I promise.”

---

The wind whipped through your hair as you clung to Chris’s back, the city lights blurring around you. For the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t thinking about work, or deadlines, or responsibilities. You were just… living.

When the ride ended, you couldn’t wipe the smile from your face. Chris parked the bike and turned to you, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Told you you’d like it.”

You laughed, feeling lighter than you had in years. “Okay, maybe I did.”

Chris stepped closer, his voice softening. “I like this side of you.”

You glanced up at him, your heart racing for an entirely different reason now. “What if I can’t always be like this?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Then I’ll wait for the moments when you can. I like all of you, businesswoman and all.”

Your breath caught in your throat as he leaned in, his lips brushing softly against yours. It was gentle at first, a tentative kiss, but soon it deepened, filled with the unspoken connection that had been building between you both.

When you finally pulled away, you were breathless, your mind swirling with thoughts of everything that had led you here.

“I think I made the right decision,” you whispered, smiling.

Chris grinned, his hands still resting on your waist. “Told you I’d make sure you wouldn’t regret it.”

And for the first time in a long while, you knew he was right.

[ilium-ilia]

i need ajcs polycule like i need AIR beloved mother ilia do you want to deprive me of AIR????

since i am an all kind and loving mother, I will allow you to look at this old version of Slow Cook that I wrote ages ago when the idea first popped up into my head.

Slow Cook (First Draft)

content: alternate universe to in limbo, aelin x john x chip x simon polycule, but all i have written so far is really just a sapphic blurb for aelin x chip, this is written in third person because that's what got my brain worms wiggling, so Chip is treated more like an oc than a reader character, abrupt ending because this is just a little blurb, may or may not make it into the actual slow cook cut, we'll see, but i gotta give my children air

It starts like all things do—with an ache. 

For now, it’s dull. Nothing but a quiet throb that rustles in the pit of Aelin’s stomach as her fingers rap against the wooden table she leans against. Familiar faces occupy the seats around the table as shimmering eyes read through the menus held up by manicured fingers. Their features have changed over the years since their time spent in university together. Accomplished women—powerful women—yet, Aelin finds herself bored. 

Sighing, she eyes the beef tagliata. It’s expertly described in a way that makes her mouth water. Balsamic vinegar, rosemary, arugula—Aelin enjoys red meat. Savors the flowing juices. 

But Aelin prefers her meat fresh, and right now there’s nothing better than the waitress scurrying up to the table, pen in hand. 

Though, she doesn’t look much like a waitress. Her uniform is different from the other’s Aelin has eyed throughout the night. Pure black clothes, and no apron, she nearly looks the part. Yet with disheveled hair and sweat lining her brow, the girl seems out of her depth. Still, she musters up a polite smile, though it’s easy to make out the bobbing of her throat as she swallows. 

“Good evening ladies. My name’s Chip, and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. Uh… can I start you off with something to drink?”

One by one, the ladies prattle off their orders all while Aelin watches their waitress; Chip. Her brows pinch in concentration as she scribbles down each order thrown her way. Rolling lips. Polite nods. Cute thing, this waitress. Even the slight tremor in her fingers is endearing; borderline adorable. 

“And for you miss?”

Chip’s eyes land on Aelin for only a split second before they flicker away, pretending to be occupied with her notepad. Fingers still tapping the table, Aelin has been looking at her for quite some time. Learning. Analyzing. Smiling, Aelin tilts her head just as she wets her lips. Her tongue lingers between her teeth for a beat too long. 

“Chip. What a unique name,” Aelin comments. 

She’s hoping it gets a laugh out of the girl, and it nearly does. Chip exhales sharply before mustering the courage to make eye contact again. “Well it’s… it’s just a nickname, really.” 

Nodding languidly, Aelin hums. “I see.” 

Her fingers cease their tapping. 

“Well, Chip, I’ll have a glass of wine. Red. Amarone, if you have it. If not, I’ll trust your judgment on a replacement.” 

Just as she did with the others, Chip notes Aelins’s words. “Perfect. I’ll, uhm, have that out for you shortly.” 

As she turns around to leave, Aelin eyes the sweet waitress. She devours the sway of her hips with wide pupils, enamored by the way the fabric hugs her rump and the swell of her thighs. Oh, how she enjoys fresh meat. 

That quiet throb lurking in Row’s stomach slowly ripens into a dull purr. A pathetic kitten with a pitiful cry settles into her core like it’s a safe haven. She fantasizes about the ways she likes to enjoy her meals. Warm. Quivering. Pinned. Splayed. Even now she can see it. Taste it. Legs spread wide, shaky fingers covering parted lips. Sizzling gasps escaping from a throat that feels too tight, all while her mouth drips, and drips, and drips. 

Aelin focuses her attention back to the present the moment a generous glass of wine is placed in front of her. Red like blood but not nearly as thick, she swirls it. Lets the aromatics waft around her nose, yet it’s not enough to drown the daydreams. It’s not enough to rip her eyes away from the undone buttons on the top of her waitress’s blouse, or the beads of sweat that peek between the cloth. 

“And for you?”

Once again, Aelin has been staring at Chip for quite awhile, and it flusters the poor girl all the same. Averting eyes, an anxious huff; quite a skittish thing. Some alleyway cat with curious but improper manners. 

“The beef tagliata, please love.” 

Nodding, Chip writes down Aelin’s order where she then taps the tip of her pen against the paper. One by one—little dots against scribbled words. She’s checking the order. Recounting it. Making sure she has it correct. 

“Are you new here, Chip?” Aelin asks. 

This question perplexes not only the waitress, but Aelin’s friends as well. A stillness falls over the table while other patrons buzz and chatter around them. Glasses clink, cutlery scrapes, and still the most interesting thing in the room to Aelin is the anxious woman in front of her. 

“Yes. Well, erm, no. I’m actually a hostess but they needed extra help tonight so I’m doing my best. This is my first time waitressing,” Chip explains. 

“How sweet of you.” Aelin pauses. Using the tip of her middle finger, she traces the rim of her glass. Slowly. Fingers flexing and relaxing. “I’ll have my steak medium rare, sweetheart.” 

Blinking, Chip glances back and forth between Aelin and her notepad before an anxious chuckle expels from her mouth. “Right. Yes, of course. Medium rare. I’ll have these out for you soon.” 

And to think Aelin nearly skipped out on girls night.

[crypticsketchpad]

havent had much drawing motivation lately so *throws pile of old AU scribbles i made months ago and never shared directly at you*

basically the result of a random scenario i came up with ages ago that spiraled out of control juuuust a little

introducinggggg. Splice! (it/its) the... i guess you could say love/hate child of Matrix and Alva my favorite toxic yuri/yaoi/whatever the fuck you call it when theyre both nb.

the first and only instance of a common/rare "hybrid", informally dubbed an "uncommon" wubbox. neither alva nor matrix have any idea how they managed to bring splice into existence.

despite its parents' strained and conflicted relationship, splice is well loved and taken care of- spoiled, even. alva is very protective of it, and despite letting matrix visit every now and then, never lets splice out of its sight.

believe it or not matrix is actually a decent parent! a little dumb and irresponsible sometimes but loves their kiddo very much. splice is one of very few beings in matrix's life that they truly, genuinely care about (not enough to stop their horrid experiments, though...)

somehow managed to inherit one of matrix's robot arms in place of its right arm, resulting in splice having to deal with a disproportionately long and hard to control limb from birth. it's lightweight enough to move, and its hand functions just fine, just very unwieldy overall; splice (at least when it's a kid) seldom uses it properly, mostly just letting its arm drag on the floor or keeping it in its mouth.

more drawings under the cut

rough growth chart/ref thing; third pic is its teen/young adult stage! this au is connected to my semi-anthro wubbox universe, so as it ages splice's body gradually becomes more humanoid

(and in case it's barely legible the text in the preteen pic says "matrix went missing when splice was around 10". what do i mean by this?

:] )

more grown up splice! had a silly idea where it retains its arm-chewing habit from when it was a baby throughout its life

i <3 making aus of aus. heres organic au splicey and a peek at human au splice (aka Spencer; haven't really drawn them much yet)

organic!splice is missing an arm, but its prehensile tri-tipped tail makes up for that- manipulation wise, anyways. it prefers to walk on two legs rather than on all fours (or. all threes). as a common/rare hybrid of sorts i guess it'd be the monster equivalent of intersex? inter-rarity? just generally an oddity

spencer was also born missing an arm, so maddox made them some sort of experimental prosthetic (hence the robot arm. it probably looks more normal canonically I just like drawing it as the noodle version). but, no matter how many times maddox (sometimes Alva too) tries to fix or upgrade it, it’s pretty uncomfortable/doesn’t work all the time and spencer doesn’t like it very much. it's kinda just dead weight to them

pictured here is 10-11 year old spencer dealing with the newly acquired knowledge that one of their parents is a wanted criminal and serial killer. poor kid

anyways splicey baby I love you. sorry you have the most shitty parental situation

[adobe-outdesign]

Origami brush review?

Origami was released in 2018 as the third-place winner in a pet poll featuring new colors (surprisingly as a brush—would've expected this to be a Lab Ray colour, but then again Lab Ray colours are a pain so I'm not really complaining). I think the idea behind this colour is solid—paper-craft pets is a unique idea that has both flexibility and consistency. Granted, I don't think most origami pets actually legally qualify as origami due to the clear use of scissors, but hey, that's just me being pedantic.

One big thing about origami as a colour is that it's gone through three distinct visual changes since its release. Originally, origami pets tended to be a single color with drawn-on features, and they tended to look somewhat flat. This was fine, albeit a little bland given that it's just a paper version of a base/simple colour. Then they started to become more three-dimensional, and started having normal eyes and mouths; pets from this stage might also have two colors in their design. I think these pets tended to be the worst looking, in that they neither look like paper nor look all that appealing in general.

Stage 3, however, brought a welcome shift: starting with the origami Korbat, the colour gained a distinct visual identity by including colored paper (usually with more muted/pastel colors, though not always). This was a fantastic move that added some much-needed depth to the color, and it fits perfectly with the theme. This stage also brought back the drawn-on eyes and a slightly more paper-y look. TNT seems to be sticking with this route for the time being, and I'm all for it, as all of the best looking origami pets fall into this category.

Origami was released post-customization, so no need to cover conversion this time.

Favorite Species:

Yurble: The origami Yurble has a lovely muted brown palette with a flower-patterned mane, and I think it looks lovely. The eye is drawn-on and manages to be two-dimensional without looking too flat, and the folds are pretty decent (the mane in particular looks very papercraft-esq.). The shading might be a smidge dark for paper, but that's a nitpick—otherwise, this one's very nice.

Korbat: The first origami pet to use patterned paper, the Korbat really knocks it out of the park. The patterning is kept subtle on the body to not overwhelm the design but is allowed to be more prominent on the accent areas, and the use of three colors works surprisingly well even though the darker blue wings aren't technically needed. I do think the face could've been a smidge more scribbly, but it's not too noticeable here as their eyes are already black.

Koi: I really like how the paper used for the fins here is both incredibly flat looking and also has a wave pattern to it, which makes a lot of sense thematically for a fish. The subtle patterning on the body is also a nice touch, and kind of mimics a Koi's natural markings. My only minor issues are that the eyes feel a bit dark, and I wish the whiskers were both the same pattern as the fins and flatter. Still, it's good overall.

Least Favorite Colour:

Kougra: The Eyrie was also a strong contender here, but I have to give it to the Kougra for not even looking like paper. Instead, between the very normal eyes and the weird flat folds overlaying a very three-dimensional body, it looks more like a regular Kougra wearing paper armor. The design is also just mostly solid orange (technically two different shades, not that there's enough contrast for that to matter), so there's not a whole lot of visual interest. The scribbly stripes are cute, but that's about it.

[asteroidzzzn]

stargirl | part 3

pairing: rockstar!ellie x bartender!reader

warnings: cursing, smoking, eventual sexual themes, ellies kinda an asshole, reader is delulu (are u sensing a pattern here)

songs in this chapter: crybaby - the neighborhood rip 2 my youth - the neighborhood knee socks - arctic monkeys true blue - boygenius cool about it - boygenius why'd you only call me when you're high - arctic monkeys

word count: 2.1k

a/n: i just couldn't resist

summary: the fireflies is a new band consisting of three people. after being cheated out by their former bassist, they needed to find a replacement, and quick. who better than you, the cute bartender that hasn't touched an instrument in years?

fireflies gc🌟

dina <3: you guys better prepare i have great news

your phone flickered with dina's message as it lay on your chest. the ringing broke the unbearable silence between you and ellie.

ellie sat on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, scribbling in her journal. you figured it must be some sacred text, considering how she never let anyone read it but herself. it probably included random blurbs and ideas, but she would only let the rest of the band see the finished versions of her writing.

you interlaced your fingers together. cracked your knuckles. looked around the room. twirled your finger in the stray string hanging off the bottom of your shirt. pulled it. you were very bored.

dina had urged you to be early to practice today, but she got caught with jesse in traffic on the way. she was an estimated fifteen more minutes away. leaving you and ellie alone. together.

"dina says she has great news for us," you told her. you got no response.

her eyebrows furrowed and she flipped her pencil around, erasing a whole half page of information, flicking the excess off that landed on her shirt. it was the third time she erased a major section. you figured she had writer's block.

"can i read what you have so far?"

"no," she responded promptly, not taking her eyes off the paper.

"but i could help."

"no, you couldn't."

"rip out a page for me."

"what?"

she looked at you like you killed her whole family.

"yeah, could i try writing something?"

"you—ugh. sure, fine, knock yourself out," she flipped to the back and handed you an uneven sheet of paper. you grabbed a stray pen from the coffee table.

"have you ever written a song before?" she folded her arms and leaned against the arm of the couch to face you.

you hesitated. "one."

"about?"

"an ex," you mumbled, embarrassed at the recollection of your angsty teen attempt at writing a sad love song.

she groaned, shoved her pencil into her journal, and shut it aggressively. now that she was done with her own writing, she seemed to want to bother you about yours.

"let me read the lyrics. or listen to it," she said while throwing her journal somewhere to the ground.

"only if you let me read one of your songs."

she scoffed. "ultimatums are rude."

"you've probably done worse," you bit back.

she couldn't argue with you. she waited for you to pull up the doc to the lyrics before she gave you the journal. she reached for your phone, but you pulled it back before she could grasp it.

"i don't want feedback. it's old and bad and i'm aware. also there are three on this, so i get to read three of yours."

"fair enough about the feedback. thought we agreed on one for one, though?"

"i know you well enough to know you'd read the other two anyways."

she tilted her head down to smile out of your sight, but you caught it before it was hidden. "yeah, you're not wrong," she dropped her journal in your lap and you handed her your phone.

it was very vulnerable for both of you. song lyrics tend to be very intimate and personal. you hoped she liked them. but also that she wouldn't share her thoughts.

her opinion mattered an odd amount to you.

you noticed her fingers tapping on your phone. her knee bounced. maybe she was just as nervous as you. you wondered if you were the first person she shared this part of herself with. probably not. but the thought lingered on your mind for a while.

you carefully opened her journal to where the pen was. apparently, this was also her sketchbook. countless messy faces, animals, and instruments littered the pages, to the point where there was no blank space left.

there were only eraser marks on the right page, and a song titled crybaby on the left.

crybaby didn't seem like it was written by ellie. it was too...honest. it revealed things about her. while reading the lyrics, you felt connected to her. you understood what she was feeling.

crybaby (name is work in progress).

i think i try too hard

how i look, what i do, what i'm sayin'

i spend too much time explainin' myself

i hope there's a chance some time to change it

you glanced at her beside you. she avoided your eyes, continuing to scroll on your phone, knees tucked up to her chest.

note: keys heavy for this song.

i've got this anxious feeling

but it goes away for a minute when I'm with you, being breathing

i can't fake it i can taste it, my heart's breakin', please don't say

that you know, when you know

you flipped to the page before it, with two new songs.

(??? no name)

note: shit ton of treble or i'll sound dumb

i don't believe it if i don't know you

i don't believe it if it's on the news or on the internet

i need a cigarette

i'm just telling what's true the truth

and you could play this at my funeral

tell ******, "don't cry and don't be sad

i'm in paradise with dad"

close my eyes and then cross my arms

put me in the dirt, let me be with the stars

you almost wanted to stop. it was too personal. you skipped to the third song.

knee socks

when the zeros line up on the 24 hour clock

when you know who's callin' even though the number is blocked

when you walked around our your house wearin' my sky blue lacoste

and your knee socks

note: this part repeats like 4 times. we'll see. maybe would sound cool with reverb?

you and me could have been a team

(zeros)

each had a half of a king and queen seat

(lined up)

like the beginnin' of mean streets

you could be my baby

you cleared your throat.

"i'm done."

ellie nodded, lip in between her teeth. "almost done."

you waited for a few more minutes, trying to remember which three songs you wrote all those years ago, and imagined what she was thinking at that exact moment.

"ok, i'm done too," she gave you your phone, and you handed her the journal. there was a moment when neither of you dared to breathe too loud.

"so... what did you think?" she asked, not moving her head up from her lap.

"oh? thought you didn't want feedback?"

"only if it's good."

"well, then i couldn't say anything," you teased her, which drew out a chuckle.

"i'll only tell you good things, too."

you sighed. "ok. you first."

the two of you shifted on the couch to face each other. you propped your head on your hand, staring at her with anticipation.

it was a long moment before she spoke. "true blue is really good, and cool about it is... kind of tragic. why'd you only call me when you're high is a fucking mouthful of a title, but the lyrics aren't bad."

you smiled. "so, which one was your favorite? and why?"

"depends on my mood. if i'm...angry, i guess, or bitter is the better word. it's why'd you only call me when you're high. if i'm sad it's true blue. even more sad, it's cool about it. that's an evil song, man. like really. heartbreaking."

you shrugged. "i tend to have that effect on women."

"yeah, whatever," ellie rolled her eyes. "tell me about mine."

"it's kind of the same for you, actually. a sad-ish one, evil and heartbreaking, and a little angry."

"and your favorite?"

"definitely crybaby."

she groaned in disgust and covered her face with her hands.

"damn, i thought i ripped that page out. that one sucks."

"i thought it was great. it's honest. and relatable."

she scoffed and turned away from you. you had noticed it was a habit of hers to avoid the situation when she became defensive. and being rude usually never helped. "yeah, totally relatable—"

"i'm serious, ellie. you're a good writer. they're good lyrics. why haven't you performed it yet?"

"it's not really your business."

but it is, you wanted to say. you were part of this band too, now. but she didn't act like it, and it made you furious. you sighed. it wasn't worth it to start a fight now.

"ok, fine," you at least made it evident in your voice that you were disappointed. ellie had let you read her journal, but it wasn't enough. you wanted more. to learn everything about her. to figure out who she really was.

it was extremely difficult to accept the fact that it would most likely take a very long time.

in almost perfect timing, dina and jesse pushed through the door.

"guys, i am so sorry, traffic was a bitch and i had to pick something up for us."

you shook your head, "don't worry about it. come on, sit down," you moved to the left slightly so dina could take up the space in between you and ellie. jesse took the white box dina held into his own lap and sad on the floor near the couch.

"so? what's the big news?" you asked dina, who was beaming.

"this is huge for us, it could mean—jesse, don't open the box yet. i haven't told them."

jesse swiftly placed a cupcake back inside the box. "sorry, i'm hungry."

dina continued, "ok. drumroll, please."

everyone patted their thighs.

"we're going on tour with the fucking strokes! we'll open for three of their shows on the east coast in two months!"

"oh my god..." you breathed. "that's huge!"

ellie blinked. "you're serious?"

dina nodded fervently. "yeah, dude. we could get so much recognition for this. it's the opportunity of a lifetime."

you brought your hand to cover your mouth, and realized you were shaking. were you ready for this? would they find a better bassist to go on the tour? would you become famous? no... this was a part-time thing. just something on the side.

you swallowed, and spoke just barely loud enough for them to hear.

"would you want me to go...or....?"

the three turned to you, unsure of what to say. you had made it clear you were simply a temporary fix for the real bassist that would be joining the band. and you would leave, and be on with your life.

dina bit the inside of her cheek, eyebrows furrowed. "that's up to you. i... i'm not sure we could find a different bassist in the next month and a half that's like... you. y'know? don't feel pressured, though. we could make—"

"i want you in the band," jesse shared while licking the sprinkles off of a blue cupcake. "you're basically already in it, anyways. not much would change. think about it, we'd love for you to be apart of it officially. right, guys?"

ellie and dina shared a quick look. dina nodded, "of course."

"yeah," ellie added, giving a brief, small smile.

your heart raced. this would change everything. but you were willing to try.

"ok. i want to stay. i'll go on the tour with you."

dina pulled you into a hug.

"welcome to the fireflies, y/n. for real this time. now, let's get to work."

༊*·˚

the next sixty days flew by before your eyes. you sat down with the band and allowed them to read one of your songs. you did a bit of revising, and they loved it.

you urged ellie to share knee socks with the others, telling her that it was the perfect "tour song", and that everyone would adore it. she didn't understand what you meant. she did it anyways.

it was two days before your departure to the first destination: seattle, washington. you had to take a few weeks of leave from work to go on tour. your boss was very understanding. with a laugh, you promised you would remember her when you were out and about as a famous rockstar signing tits.

ellie, dina, and jesse sat on the floor on their phones. you yawned and gripped the couch to help you stand up. as soon as you were upright, you fell back down again.

with your face pressed into the cushions, you mumbled, "g'night."

dina chuckled. "you want a ride home so you can sleep in your bed? that couch probably has rabies and it feels like a rock."

"don't care," you sighed, sinking into it.

after a few minutes, you had nearly drifted off to sleep. you suddenly felt a chilling leather material cover your upper body. you heard someone sit down.

"aw, you're so sweet, taking care of her," dina teased under her breath.

"shut up," ellie whispered back immediately.

"just saying."

"a—what's that supposed to mean?"

their voices became fuzzy as you drifted into sleep.

"whatever you make it mean."

a/n: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH ellie putting her leather jacket over reader when she's asleep oh i'm ill i need a doctor ASAP! hope u enjoyed !!!!!!!!!! so excited to write the next chapter i'll actually die. i do need to go to sleep rn tho it's 12:44am so, goodnight (❁´◡`❁) also,,,,, since reader's officially part of the band now should i change the pairing? since she's not a bartender anymore,, really,,,, i don't know.

taglist: @ximtiredx @gold-dustwomxn @elliesinterlude

[conundrumoftime]

Collecting up my Celeborn fics!

People were being weird to me about Celeborn elsewhere once again (why, whyyyyyyyyy), and this reminded me I wanted to collect up all the stories I'd written about him, so! These are a collection of Silmarillion/LOTR and Rings of Power canon (but since we don't know much about him in that yet, my headcanon TROP Celeborn is the Doriathrin prince version of his many canon backgrounds).

Softest of Tongues (Silm-LOTR) - Galadriel/Celeborn, from the First Age to the Third, canon-compliant, tagged ‘Sapir-Whorf hypothesis as metaphor for pain at the heart of your marriage’. Silmarillion and LOTR.

Fair as the Sea and the Sun (LOTR) - Galadriel/Celeborn, Galadriel takes the Ring from Frodo.

All the kinds of alive you can be (TROP) - Sauron/Galadriel/Celeborn and all component ships thereof. What if Sauron shapechanged to look like Galadriel, wouldn’t that be fun :)

Say it like the sunrise when it’s talking to the fog (LOTR) - Celeborn/Glorfindel, Celeborn/Galadriel. Glorfindel has come back from the dead a little too bright.

Civil Twilight (TROP), Galadriel/Celeborn, Galadriel/Sauron - Galadriel and Celeborn reunion that goes somewhat poorly but gets better. Also Haladriel.

All that Glitters (TROP) - a story about where on earth he is in Rings of Power.

Rarer gifts than gold (Silm) - Celeborn/Annatar. Because I like the idea of one of Annatar’s gifts being to whisper the names of all the dead of Doriath when nobody else in Eregion dares mention it.

A Green Thought in a Green Shade (TROP) - Galadriel/Celeborn, another TROP reunion fic, playing around with the good old amnesia trope.

When all the leaves are gold (Silm) - Galadriel/Celeborn, Doriath is creepy and so are the Noldor.

So Wide a Sea (TROP and LOTR) - Galadriel/Sauron and Galadriel/Celeborn; Galadriel before her final ship departs.

To hold all the promise of blue-velvet dark (TROP) - Celeborn/Sauron and Celeborn/Galadriel, more Sauron shapechanging into Galadriel featuring half-Maia Amroth.

And a collection of TROP ficlets of Celeborn raising half-Maia Celebrían in the best Tolkien tradition of Dad Who Stepped Up, Celeborn/Galadriel and Galadriel/Sauron:

Suo Gân - Arda Sahta - As little might be thought.

Updating with more recent additions:

Brighten my northern sky (Silm) - Celeborn/Glorfindel, background Celeborn/Galadriel, customs in Doriath are different :)

I do not hope to bind the wind (LOTR) - Galadriel/Celeborn, a couple of moments in Third Age Lothlorien.

As certain dark things are loved (Silm) - Galadriel/Annatar/Celeborn, one summer in Ost-in-Edhil when Celebrimbor is away.

And there will come soft rains (TROP, but 4th Age) - Celeborn/Sauron, background Celeborn/Galadriel and Galadriel/Sauron. At some point during the 24352th Twitter ship war discourse I joked that if we're talking about endgame pairings it's Celeborn and Sauron who remain on Middle-earth at the end of LOTR - and then I thought "oh, hmmm, I bet I could write that..."

Lands far away (TROP) - Celeborn & Gandalf, background Celeborn/Galadriel - written during S2, using the idea that he is one of the Gaudrim and that's how he meets Gandalf.

Five places Celeborn hasn't spent the past eight hundred years (TROP) - Galadriel/Celeborn, Celeborn/Sauron - again written during s2, five different ficlets on five different fan theories about where he might be: 1) actually dead and sent back from Valinor, 2) he's Adar, 3) lost with amnesia (featuring single-dad-of-Amroth Celeborn as per one scribbled JRRT note), 4) Gaudrim, 5) just hanging out in a forest.

Always coming home the same castaway (TROP), Galadriel/Sauron/Celeborn, one-shot for a canon divergent post-s1 storyline in which Galadriel doesn't learn who Halbrand is.

The names of our wounds (TROP), post-s2 WIP - Galadriel/Sauron/Celeborn and all ship combinations therein.

[remedyturtles]

death wish facts/stats

entirely complied for my own amusement lol

first of all, this is how long i was actually working on death wish, saved in 5k increments:

now i didn't track my stats for the whole time but here's an example of how much that translates to daily writing. this is some of july:

here's the final count from my word doc. i do my final edit in the ao3 browser so i guess some got cut:

here's the stats of my planning doc:

whatever you're imagining my planning doc to look like, it's probably not that. it's kinda a huge mess, actually. i've shuffled things around constantly bc i boot the 'used' plot points into a giant pile and they get all messed up. it's a shame i didn't save more versions of this honestly bc it probably would've been fascinating. behold the inside of my brain:

to go even further back, mid-may i was left alone at work for like two hours to do a course and ended up scribbling the FIRST ideas i had for death wish on a piece of paper. whited out are unused/irrelevant things:

wild to me to realize which of those lines were literally from my absolute first thoughts of this fic LMAO

at one point i had to track how many days it had been in-story since the invasion bc i lost count. by the end of the fic i believe it had been 25 days, with 10 days at the beginning of leo being not-present. so 155k for 15 days hahahahahaha

i made a death wish playlist at one point and listened to it non-stop while writing. here it is:

it's all so incredibly loud and rosyln were on repeat for the iconic chapter 29 and it makes me so emotional

however then for chapter 30 for some reason my brain only wanted the kim possible theme song on repeat. you know how it is.

when i first decided on most plot points and began writing i said to someone it would probably be like 100-150k. i was right, though i'm surprised to be on the top end for sure. i would not expect this again, it was definitely a perfect storm. i normally do like ~40-80k.

i knew exactly how the fic would end before i wrote a single word. as much as i love and there is a place for wish fulfillment (eg future!donnie gets to come back, sensei gets his own body) my thing was that i knew people reading it would relate to the story. and i want to have... hopeful realism? like, if you have experienced grief and you related to sensei, i don't want to say 'haha your loved ones are actually alive!!!' ... i want to say, bad things happen, you will find other reasons to live. and for anyone who related to sensei and leo's situation (eg DID) i felt like magically giving sensei a body wouldn't be fair, bc that won't happen. instead they can work together and get through. if that makes sense LMAO

i have three side fics planned atm. two of them will be probably 2-5k each, the third will be like... idk. 15k? i haven't started yet i promise i'm still taking a rest hahahaha

thanks for reading hah

[milfzatannaz]

im familliar with the rule of thirds, composition weight, lighting etc from doing photography but i cannot seem to know where to start when i try to draw (painting im a little more comfy with i think maybe bc it forces me to roll with the punches). do you have any tricks and tips to help visualize the shapes etc youre going to use to sketch? ive got ideas but its a lot harder to make them when i cant just set up the scene and move myself around irl and look tru my viewfinder lol

That’s where digital comes in handy bc it’s low stakes, because you can undo/erase/start over. so I map out my composition first with some scribbles then I start the linework process.

But what I learned in my studio classes is to do a thumbnail first! If you’re unsure how you want to place things, start by making a miniature square version and play with how you want your objects to sit. We once had to do twenty five thumbnails of the same still life setup in my one class. It was tedious, but it was very helpful for training the brain to develop a drawing from the barest shapes to a detailed, fully realized piece.

I suggest breaking your shapes into their barest form. If you’re drawing two vases next to each other, draw the oval shape inside the vases first and then see how they would look next to each other. And I also suggest using the gesture drawing method. Take your pencil and whittle it with a knife or box cutter and make a long, sharp point and use the motion of your shoulder to sketch instead of your wrist. It’s kinda hard to describe but a lot of effective sketching is about syncing your body with your eye, and a looser, less refined preliminary drawing session helps develop those skills

[tempest-toss]

Work Evasion

While the pleas for help pulled harshly on their heartstrings, something in their gut told them to ignore it. Maybe it was from dying three times in what felt like an hour, but perhaps investigating voices no matter how friendly would be a bad idea for now. For once in a long time, their gut instinct had come to the forefront of their mind, and they were going to heed the call. Cranking the flashlight they made their way down the basement hall, passing by many piles of left-behind crates.

Entering into the door brought Quill to an expansive warehouse. Rows upon rows of shelves filled the room, with stacks of more crates and miscellaneous objects strewn about. The light was dim, illuminated by a few stray bulbs. At the end of the room was an elevator! Quill rushed over and mashed the button to call the elevator. The arrow dictating the floor creaked as it slowly began to move. "Elevator at: SIXTH FLOOR. Arriving at: B3" The automated message shouted out. Quill's huff of annoyance was drowned out by something behind them.

"Intruder. In Warehouse. Please leave the building at once."

The voice was booming, and if the heavy footsteps accompanying it were any indication, Quill was screwed. They ducked quickly into a dark corner and spied at the threat. A humanoid figure easily at least 7' 6" lumbered into view under the tiny light. He was immensely brawny, his muscles making his striped yellow shirt and blue pants look painted on him. His faceless appearance alone would've been enough to clue Quill in on the danger. This was like a juggernaut version of the Infinite Ikea Employees! But how could a 3008-1 make it here? Well it didn't matter, what mattered was surviving long enough.

Quill ducked and dodged throughout the warehouse for the next few floor dings, trying their best to not be caught. On one of these narrow misses, Quill tried to search a box for anything to help them against their adversary. Instead of a weapon of any kind, they found an insurgency radio and a hastily scrawled note of some kind.

"This is the end for me, I think. After talking to that man, I think he did something, as I can feel myself changing. I feel myself getting taller... getting STRONGER... but I am losing myself. I'm losing feeling in my face and my thoughts are getting overwhelmed. This is where Nathaniel Cassidy is no more, inst" The rest are fully incoherent scribbles, and the remnants of a broken pencil of some kind. Shit, was Nathaniel the ikea employee? But how could this be?

Quill didn't get a chance to ponder any further as said employee spotted Quill and rushed towards them at inhuman speeds, slamming his fist into them, pulverizing them into the ground. Punch after punch after punch after punch after punch af-

...

Quill woke up sharply, having died once more. However, they found themselves having respawned inside the Warehouse! And the elevator dinged that it had reached the ground floor! The entity walked by, still patrolling, blood freshly dripping off of his fists. As the elevator dinged that it has reached B1, Quill had a plan. They searched the shelf and found a glass figurine. They threw the figurine into the other side of the room, distracting the employee. Then Quill briskly spedwalked to the other side before throwing themself at the shelf, tipping it over enough that gravity brought it down, trapping the threat.

The elevator dinged B2. Quill made their way to the elevator, only to hear a rumble. With a single hand, the Employee lifted and threw off the shelf.

"INTRUDER. THREAT DETECTED."

It growled before rushing towards Quill. The elevator slid open and Quill wasted no time in leaping in and mashing the close door button, which did right before the employee could make it.

Quill breathed a sigh of relief as the elevator ascended. Despite not pressing any floor number, it took them straight to the third floor. The doors opened to a small hallway. A large metal shutter cut off the hall, only leaving two rooms for Quill to explore. A room with an Electrical warning and the other with a church symbol. Once again, both had pings from the radio.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Death Counter: 4

Personnel Counter: 3/12 accounted for

Note(s) Acquired: The Lone Employee

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[branmuffins22]

Moots said they wanna hear about WIPs and I feel like I gotta get this brainrot out anyways so HERE I GO

I've only got three projects I'm actively working on right now, all of which are Owl House fanfics, although I've got ideas here and there for other things (video games I might've made if I weren't so burnt out, ttrpg characters that might need their own goddamn settings and stories to themselves, a Code Lyoko fanfic, music (mostly loads of disconnected song lyrics), 3D avatars, etc).

The Owl House fanfics in question are three(-ish?) fold:

Theseus Who?, a mostly-canon-compliant 5+1 post-titanification headcanon compilation that DOESN'T just let Luz keep her titan form (mostly it's just a bunch of changes along the lines of when Hunter's eyes changed color after Flapjack saved him). - It's actually sort of a tie-in to another, bigger fic I'm writing that's gonna be point 2, so you can assume anything mentioned in this one will happen throughout the timeline of the next one as well. - I've currently already got the 5 written, so now I just need to buckle down and finish the +1, unless I decide to do another sweep of edits (I think the excessive parentheticals might be too excessive). - - I only started it like a week ago, and I've been waiting for motivation to strike again to let me finish it for like half that time.

Masha and the Very Normal Nocedas, a mostly-canon-compliant sorta-multimedia veesha longfic based on the dramatic irony of Masha slowly driving themself nuts trying to piece together what the Deal is with Luz, Vee, and the rest of the Nocedas. - by "sorta-multimedia" i mean its got plaintext segments describing the story, journal segments of Masha recounting events as they remember them and trying to organize their thoughts, chat segments when the characters interact over text, and possibly more if I feel the Need. - I've only outlined the three prologue chapters and the following intermission, only have snippets and vague ideas for scenes for the main bulk of the fic itself, and have only actually written two of the prologue chapters and the intermission. - - won't start posting it until I at least get the third prologue chapter done, so I've got a usable buffer. Hopefully that'll be sooner rather than later.

The Overthinker AU (or "The Artificer AU"? name is also very much a work in progress), a canon rewrite that I think I'll actually split into a bunch of shorter "episodes", so I can appropriately tag each one, rather than tagging one monolithic fic with Everything Under The Sun. The basic premise is "what if The Owl House, but there's more time", both in the meta sense of "not bound by the 20-minute TV episode format" and the diegetic sense of "the broad-strokes plot of the show will happen over a longer in-universe period of time" (though I'm a bit stuck on just how much more time I want to give em). - for the most part, I wanted to put more emphasis on Luz's magical development, and extrapolate a somewhat wider magic system out of what we see in the show, but I also want to go into more detail on how her actions affect those around her, even outside of all the friends she makes (stuff along the lines of the little things the crowd mentioned while protesting Eda's petrification at the end of season 1). - I'm almost (reluctantly) thinking of pulling a Grapes of Wrath with it, structure-wise, by having main plot/character development chapters alternate with shorter intermissions focused on magical exploration, worldbuilding, and so on. - this project is currently just the scribblings of a madwoman in my private discord server and three wildly unfinished fics in my google docs folder - - one of these fics is Something Like a Bible, which is essentially a condensed version of the entire broader project, boiled down to bare plot and occasional commentary. Like a series outline and a plot synopsis rolled into one, though perhaps not quite the series bible it claims to be. - - - honestly I REALLY aughtta work on this one some more, just so I can get most of the Big Ideas out of my head and share them with people. - - the other two fics are currently untitled snippets of scenes from the project, one a sentimental/instructional note from Eda to Luz, and the other sort of a ragefic twist on the ending of Thanks to Them. - this project is gonna include tons of ideas from and allusions to other fics which inspired it/me, such as The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled by IdeaHunter, All that's at Stake by The_Lampman, and Decorative by TheTokenAro, to name a few. - I could make a whole post about this project on its own (and in fact, I have before), talking about all the little changes I'd make, the developments I'd include, the more sweeping changes, the additional themes I'd toss in, and so on, but there are some I REALLY don't think fit well into the "rambling tumblr post" format (and/or just don't want to spoil yet), so I shall Abstain (for now :P).

[punkrockdentalplan]

CREAM OF THE CRAP

From Meatbreath to Meatskid, finding the Worst Band in America just wasn't as easy as we had imagined. Mark Blackwell explains.

Hell is full of musical amateurs: Music is the brandy of the damned. - George Bernard Shaw, Man and Superman

IT WAS THE BIGGEST STORM TO HIT MANHATTAN IN DECADES. Subways flooded. Bridges closed. Scuba divers were deployed to rescue motorists on the FDR freeway. Yet a lone soul braved the torrential rains, stumbling up Sixth Avenue with a massive garbage bag stuffed with packages. That soul was me and that bag was the fourth load of crap sent in by hundreds of bands, each of which swore it sucked worse than the rest. I painfully plunged from Spin to the residence of our ad departments Fred McIntyre for yet another dreary listening session.

It started quite innocently, with a contest under the headline "Do You Suck?": "So you and some other losers got together and tried to start a band? None of you can play your instruments, carry a tune, or write a decent song even if your lives depend upon it? ... Well, congratulations! You win!" The constant barrage of material from pathetic excuses for bands that record companies are forever hawking had sparked the idea: If this stuff is marketable entertainment, i.e. good music, just think what the bad stuff out there must sound like.

The rats come out of the woodwork for the $500 prize. Everyone seemed to have a terrible band, and those who didn't rushed to start one. By the deadline, we amassed six large trash bags of submissions. In the next two days, the mail filled yet another bag. (Late entries weren't disqualified. Any true Worst Band wouldn't;t necessarily be punctual.)

Fred and I convened to begin judgment. The first candidate was Meatbreath's metallic failure, Givin' Grandma the Sausage. Next came Iron Dog's not-so-aptly titled We Know How To Rock. Then Headwound, Rectal Pizza, Uncouth Bastards, Choking Victim, and Up the Horses Ass. It became increasingly clear this wasn't going to be a pleasant experience. Finally Fred lost it. As we listened to entry 68, the Inbreeders from Hazelwood, Missouri, he jerked he repulsive tape from the stereo and began stomping it to pieces. We called it a day.

Every wretched band was eventually given the spotlight. The social calendar of Contributing Editor Jonathan Bernstein, the third prospective juror, suddenly became unusually full, but he managed to show up for a few of the sessions. The "system" became more and more informal. The first day everything was indexed in computer files. That soon degenerated into notebook scribbles for only the worst. Anything that upset Fred's roommates dog Pogue was given special consideration. We lost official count at around 300. It was a mess. It took forever.

"What are you looking for?" people asked. "What makes a band really suck?" Massachusetts contender Mess put it perfectly: "Any garage band that can play out of tune and puke on stage (at least we can). But to truly suck, you have to be a complete disappointment." Very good point. (Mess was disqualified for being too smart.) Musically (to use the term loosely), most of the stuff was poorly recorded, sloppy punk rock -- not much worse than the stuff SPIN's Assistant Research Editor Daniel Fidler can frequently be found enjoying. Anything we figured he'd listen to was disqualified as being too "good." Another large percentage ran the gamut from goofy rock in the Ween vein to pure jokey-novelty stuff. This included bands that simply changed the words to popular hits. (Ohio's Martha McMillan pushed the cover version category to the extreme with her stirring vocal-only renditions of two entire Siouzse and the Banshees albums.) Rap, country, metal -- you name it, we got it, and it was bad.

The dominant trend thematically was , to put it bluntly, shit. Several bands, including Steaming Pile, wrote their bios on toilet paper. Somewhere around the 200 package, there surfaced an odorous entry that included much more than writing on it's roll. We weren't amused. The members of New Hampshire's Flux set out to disgust with a video showcasing themselves throwing up. The wannabe punk pukers were also documented shoplifting and setting dead animals on fire. Sex was a popular theme, but less popular than disease.

Perks were plentiful. Men w/out Underwear sent a "promotional quiche lorraine." Condoms, home-made shirts, soap, chalk, and cigarettes were popular promo items. The Electric Sex Hens mailed the largest package, which included many "bribes" such as a broken watch, cheap sunglasses, and more useless toys.

We somehow narrowed it down to three finalists: Oklahoma's Wood Pussy, California's Sheriffs [sic] of the Apocalypse [sic], and Florida's Scraping Teeth.

Wood Pussy specializes in loud noise rock performed in the nude. Its video included a less-than-lovely segment in which a beer bottle was employed by one of the band's female members in a manner that makes Madonna's mineral water bottle scene look like Sesame Street. Wood Pussy, however, was much more a performance art group than a band.

Interestingly enough, the Sheriffs of the Apocalypse were signed to Indiana's UGCO, a fine label we uncovered, which caters expressly to really terrible music. The Sheriffs were indeed bad enough to be separated from the pack, but upon close examination they weren't much worse than groups on certain metal labels. Finally, after much debate, we settled on Scraping Teeth.

The Teeth are bad. They're painfully boring. They try to shock. They fail. They try to frighten. They fail. They're sort of like what you'd get if you took one of those "scary" monotonous bands such as Skinny Puppy or Swans, and got rid of everything remotely interesting and clever. Tiresome, effects-ridden guitar and weak vocals from Rat Bastard. Flat, plodding bass and weak vocals from Fishfungus. Out-of-sync, sloppy drums and weak screaming from Dimthingshine. And, unlike many of the entrants, they're a real band, not a joke -- three years old and still suck. Congratulations, Scraping Teeth. You're the Worst Band in America.

Those of you who were just too damn good to win, don't despair. Keep not practicing and watch for the next Worst Band in America contest. Not here, of course. You think we'd go through this again?

AND THE LOSER IS ... SCRAPING TEETH

All that young James Rite knew was that the cover of the first King Crimson album -- the big, red face caught in a silent scream -- "looked really cool." He had no notion thhat one day he'd give voice to that scream. Soon he started listening to experimental jazz, then a little Stockhausen, and it all began falling into place. Now he drums and yells under the nom de plume Dimthingshine with the Miami-based trio, Scraping Teeth, whose repertoire of one long dissonant, atonal, relentless ache. Sure, the set list purports to feature individual tunes such as "Blow Me While I Shit" and "Mary Had a Fucking Goat," but this is a journey beyond the pain threshold, where there are no stops and the driver is some sort of Nazi dentist who won't stop screaming!

So James, you are in the Worst Band in America. How do you feel? "I feel like I just won something on The Dating Game," he gushes, breathlessly. "I hope my screams had something to do with it."

The accolade occurred at a juncture in the Teeth's career when the members were rather despondent about the band's local standing. "Other bands hate to open for us or follow us," says Rite. "They get scared. They don't want to talk to me after they've seen me screaming." And the audiences? "There have been a couple of incidents. People try to start fights.

However, this belated recognition has imbued the trio -- Rite, bassist Isaac "Fishfungus" Ersoff, and guitarist Frank "Rat Bastard" Falestra -- with new optimism: "We went into the studio the other night 'cause this got us excited. It's pretty much the same. I say to the guys, 'Let's sit down and work out a tune,' but nobody wants to. We never practice. Anything we do, we make up on the spot." (At press time, Scraping Teeth had gone on something of a hiatus. Apparently, someone just stole James Rite's drums from the back of his car. His luck just never ends.)

JONATHAN BERNSTEIN

May 1993 issue.

[the-dreaming-writer]

Scribbles 1.

Introducing the true low effort section because I am somehow unable to handle sticking to low effort when writing a story. Low effort— by the way, not bad— the latter of which I'm still able to do, consistently, even with the absence of the former.

This is half an excuse for me to delay the actual posts for a day, half an excuse for me to put out thoughts I'm having— maybe organizing them, and half an excuse to just talk about what I'm writing— because like any writer, I love talking about my writings, far more than writing them out.

That's three halves, but I'm not going back to change them into thirds— that's the sort of low effort posting you can (not) look forward to.

I know I said we were taking a break from Crush, but I had a vision of a scene so vivid, I had to put it down into words. It wasn't even originally a part of what I had planned, and yet, now I think it has wormed its way into being one of the core parts.

I'm already wishing I'd handled some of the earlier parts differently, but I guess that's the inevitability of quickly moving forward without revision. It's a good exercise, though I'm now entertaining the idea of producing a final version once I reach its end, although knowing me, that would take another long while. A lot of these sections were written to be independent, with mirrored structures and cliffhanger final sentences. So, we'll see if I decide to go through the hassle to merge these.

This also doesn't mean I'm definitely going back to the daily postings since midterms are here, but there might be more pieces of the story than previously thought as they force their way out of me.

Oh well, that's about it.