so i finished Folk Tail. and now that i've got a taste for it I want to write more screenplays. but i can't decide which to do first between a few ideas so im putting it to my beloved tumblrinas
Mouth Breathers: Vibes of Smile x Jacob's Ladder. An overworked barista begins questioning reality when she keeps seeing inexplicable wide-open mouths wherever she goes. I have this written out already as a short story but I wanna try translating it into a movie format.
Chasers: Vibes of Ready or Not x They/Them. Eight queer friends are invited to spend spring break at a picture-perfect couple’s private island, and despite some misgivings, it’s a chance they can’t pass up…until they wake up in a deadly underground maze, forced to be dolls in a game of survival to suit the couple’s twisted whims. I have this plot outlined in some detail, but not fully complete.
Morality Overdraft: Vibes of Sucker Punch x RWBY. A team of four young women adventure across bizarre, perilous worlds to perform enough heroism to pay off a debt of sin and earn their condemned friend a ticket out of hell. I have the characters living in my brain for this one but absolutely none of the plot 😭
very intrigued by 'nooo, that duck is Too old' for the tag/ask game..
unfortunately no actual ducks feature in this work lol, it's a taz amnesty fic about duck newton considering potential consequences of starting a family in his forties :') its an oldish one and i never got much past the opening banter, but i do love the opening banter so here it is ^-^
~~
The tally hit ten. Four minutes into talking to this pair of fellow theater parents, and they had just made the tenth pop culture reference that Duck didn’t understand. That was a new record.
“You know, from the last Star Wars?” said the handsome dad with the long hair, whose name Duck had already forgotten--Arthur? Arnold? He knew the guy’s husband was named Seymour, probably. Actually, now that he thought about it, he didn’t remember either of their names. He just knew their kid was playing Lumiere opposite Kelly’s Babette, and that they knew a lot better than he did what was hip with the kids.
“Like, the new series?” Duck asked. “The Mandalorian reboot?”
Arnold-Probably chuckled at him. “No, the movie. ‘Return of Endor?’”
Return? When’d it leave? “I, uh, I guess I stopped payin’ attention to the movies after Daisy Ridley.”
“Daisy Ridley’s in it.”
"She still acting? I thought she retired?"
"A four-second cameo hardly counts as being 'in it,' darling," said Seymour-Probably, lightly squeezing his husband's knee. "Not to mention it just looked like reused footage from ‘Terrace Under The Moon’."
Ah, and that made eleven. When were Beak and Minerva coming back from the restroom?
As if on cue--or probably just a subconscious message through the wormhole in his brain, he never really bothered to figure out what exactly the deal with that was now--the tall brown-and-blue shape of Minerva appeared in his vision, with Beak perched happily on her back. Duck scooted to the front of his seat and waved a hand over his head, a signal for help.
Beak grinned and misinterpreted his wave. “Daddy, catch!”
She didn't give him nearly enough warning; the little bag of Fritos slammed into his face hard enough to send a lesser man unconscious.
"Your reflexes have become rusty, Duck Newton." Minerva swung Beak off her back and into Duck's lap. "Perhaps our children should join our next sparring session."
"Yeah!" Beak chirped, popping open the chips. “But just me, though, cus I think if Kelly joined too she would accidentally actually cut your head off.”
hmmm... yes. *strokes beard* tell me about this project. :3c
oh geez ok haha whee
well my personal project is called “wake up, nerd” and it’s like a contemporary romance but with a lot of focus on spirituality–it’s basically based on my experiences as a gay mormon and it’s about Melody who is angsty and falls asleep a lot and who falls in love with Aggie who has time for netflix but not a social life and loves her mom more than anything. they’re super cute and they Struggle a lot
and then the collaborative thing is about a kid and his team of friends/found family and their quest to overthrow the government. so that’s fun. there’s lots of cuteness and struggling there too and there’s a heck ton of characters and like every character loves every other character so much in like ten billion different ways(of the good guys at least, the bad guys kind of love some of the good guys too but that’s Complicated) and it’s beautiful
i'm at the point in folk tail where things are kind of all coming together so there's several moments that are kinda epitometic of the whole project but i think this one might be my favorite at the moment
@writersstareoutwindows oki so werewolf eats cereal, while the name is fun, is...considerably less fun than the rest. basically, it's using daisira as a vent about self-harm and disordered eating. it's fun at the beginning for a second! but then it's not. i still really like it though and really hope to finish & post the whole thing someday.
~~
“Put that back.”
Daisy looked Basira in the eye, not even bothering to affect a pleady face, and added another chocolate Easter bunny to the shopping basket.
“I am not paying for those.”
"It's on sale." Daisy wiggled a third box. "Feel it. Near on six pounds of chocolate for a quid."
"I know for a fact you need to be on a strict diet to rebuild your muscle mass."
"Can't I rebuild all the fat I lost, too?"
"I'm not cleaning up when you scarf it too fast and get sick all over the toilet."
"Yeah, you will."
She put the box in the basket with the most pleased-ass little smile Basira had seen since the last time she took Daisy shopping. Basira rolled her eyes. Arguing further now would just make her look more the fool later.
"Don't worry about it," Daisy teased, nudging Basira with her shoulder as they meandered down the aisle. "Next time, I'll pay for it."
(less fun but more tasty bit under the cut. content warning for the aforementioned self-harm and disordered eating.)
Basira crossed to the fridge and pushed on Daisy's chair. "You're letting all the cold air out."
"That's not how that works," Daisy mumbled, but she acquiesced to scoot forward and let the refrigerator close. Its humming quieted abruptly.
Uncomfortable in the sudden silence, Basira pressed her back against the fridge and tried to focus on her other senses. Touch of cool metal on her fingertips. Scent of milk and grain and sugar, and Daisy’s skin. Sight of Daisy's skin. Almost all of it was familiar, from the great old starburst to each freckle and mole to the flowery tattoos across her shoulder. She'd gained some new scars in the Coffin, too, and some marks that Basira knew would heal in time if she managed to leave them alone instead of picking at everything she could reach. Basira let her gaze drift down Daisy's forearms. Some of the straight marks there were decades old, souvenirs of a fraught, angry youth. Others were newer. A couple almost looked fresh.
Not that Basira had any right to say anything about them.
"It's a good thing you're getting those Institute checks," Basira said lightly, slumping into the adjacent chair and folding her arms. "Otherwise you'd eat me out of house and home."
Daisy lifted her spoon, and Basira realized it was actually a soup ladle. "D'you want?"
"I'm kidding. Eat all you want. Not like I'm gonna."
"Oh, shit, is it--" For a second it looked like Daisy was going to get up from her chair, but then she paused, brow wrinkled. "Wait, no, it's before sunrise. Nevermind." She sat back. "And it’s...April right now. Yeah? And Ramadan’s May this year."
"I'm not fasting. Just not eating."
Another second. Daisy looked at her. She looked at her cereal. She dropped her shoulders, caved in, took another ridiculous bite. She was pouring the cereal into her mouth like a toddler, just with a dash more grace. Less spillage.
Basira tapped her fingers on her bicep. When Daisy moved her arm, the beads of dried and drying blood there caught the light, shimmered. The cuts were fresh.
"Did you take my boxcutter?" Basira asked as monotone as she could.
Daisy swallowed, closed her eyes, and lowered the ladle. Her face was pointed at the ceiling almost restfully. She didn't nod or say yes, but she didn't have to.
After what felt like a very long time, Daisy said, "There were three full days where nothing moved. And I know that for sure because I counted. Out loud, long past my throat drying completely out. I whispered the numbers. Seventy thousand fifty eight, seventy thousand fifty nine.”
Her shoulders caved deeper, and the ladle sank like a lost oar against the boat of a bowl’s side.
“I had my arm in this crevice,” she said, curling her fingers, “my hand felt completely crushed, one knee was stuck up by my face, one twisted stuck somewhere else. I reached a hundred thousand and I didn't stop crying until fifty thousand more. Two hundred thousand and I knew it was never gonna move again. Don't know why I kept counting after that, but...at two hundred sixty thousand and eighteen, I heard somebody else scream and the rocks started shifting, and I. Wailed.”
Her fingers formed a fist.
“Just...shouted and cracked and croaked. And I guess to punish me for having a bit of relief, this wall fell and scraped my forehead open.” She pointed to one of the more heinously-picked scabs, a garish scuff the size of a thumb right above her left eyebrow. "And that pain and that blood coming down over my eyes was the warmest, wettest, most alive thing I felt until Jon found me.”
“How long was that?” Basira asked.
Daisy shook her head. “Long time. I didn’t count anymore after that.” She took a deep breath through her nose. “Anyways. That’s my excuse. So what’s yours?”
A Normal Girl Sleepover Where Girls Do Normal Things
nooo, that duck is Too old
I hope I unleashed something weird!
old duck here!
A Normal Girl Sleepover is based on various Environmental Story Clues in Cazador's Palace, primarily the Favoured Spawn Ledger. The Favoured Spawn room USUALLY belongs to Leon and his daughter, but there is one point in time where Violet is the favorite, and in other notes Violet is shown to be...scary and mean, to say the least. So I wanted to see how a roommate situation between Scary Mean Vampire Violet and Innocent Living Child Victoria would play out :3
~~
She yanked the bedsheets free from her face. “Papa, help me!”
“Whiny bitch!” Violet snarled. Her hands seized on Victoria's suddenly exposed face and ripped away the rest of the sheets. Victoria flung her bare feet at Violet's middle, but Violet pinned down her thighs with knifepoint knees and pinned down her wrists with a wrought-iron grip. The thudding and shouting at the bath wall crescendoed, accelerandoed, cries and protests and arguments in equal fervor to her fearful wails, and Violet’s teeth were at her neck.
And they stopped.
Her father’s shouting and fighting with the others didn’t stop. But Violet stopped. And Victoria stopped. She could feel the points of her fangs, tapered to finer points than they looked—fine enough to pierce at the slightest of movements. A feather-light sting at the curve of her throat. If she moved, if she breathed…
“Victoria? Answer me, darling, please—”
Violet exhaled, loud and hot on Victoria’s skin. The hair on the back of her neck prickled.
“Thinking creatures.”
Violet spoke without removing her mouth from Victoria’s throat. Her lips were wet, leaving cold spots everywhere they touched. She breathed out again, hideous feverish nerve-wracking sensation, and sat up. She was straddling Victoria’s hips and she looked down at her like a cat at a wounded moth.
“Please, please, Violet, tell me she’s all right. Victoria, tell me you’re all right.”
“Shut the fuck up, Leon.”
Violet jerked her head toward the wall. “Answer him.”
Victoria swallowed her fluttery breath and called out, “I’m fine, Papa.”
“She’s fine, Leon,” Violet affirmed, her tone sickly sweet again. “We’re best friends now. She might not want to share a room with anyone else anymore.”
There was some more muttering and irritation from the other spawn after that, but Victoria didn’t hear it. Violet had her hands where her lips had been, and gently trailed the back of her knuckles through the drying saliva, and Victoria could hardly think of a world existing at all outside the terrified pump of her pulse against those cold fingers.
“Unfortunately, it’s true,” Violet pouted. “Father forbids us to drink the blood of stinking creatures. And if I start to shed your blood, I might not be able to resist sucking you dry.”
Victoria pursed her lips and tried to breathe through her nose, tried to control her heartbeat, tried to seem brave. “So there. You can’t hurt me.”
Violet bared her fangs. “But I can scare you.”
Victoria didn’t look at the fangs, just kept her eyes fixed on the bright apple red, and didn’t close them. If she closed them, she knew it’d push tears out, and she would not cry today. She was brave.
“Untie my corset, Vicky,” Violet ordered softly. “It’s what best friends do for each other. Isn’t it?”
