Apparently, my decision to be silly and make fanart of someone's writing (because I genuinely enjoy the story the person is writing and I was struck with inspiration upon reading a particular scene) has benevolent and wildly unforeseen consequences.
I apparently gained a bit of control of the canon because said writer really loved the art and decided what I drew/draw is canon.
2. Writer put said artwork into the document of his story right below the scene, so now it's IN the story where people who read the story will see it (with a link to me)
3. He sent the artwork to all his friends and people he knows because he was so excited
Wholesome interaction and I watched him do all that in real time, good stuff. However...there are two more consequences I was notified of today...nearly a full week after I gave the artwork.
Seeing the artwork caused his friends to become interested in reading and hearing about his story, which means more people are reading what he's writing and giving him critique on the story (which he actively asks for).
Apparently, upon seeing the art, his writer friends got a sudden second wind to pick back up writing they'd abandoned for a few months. Because, I quote, "seeing that someone enjoyed {his} writing enough to take the time to make art of it gave them the motivation that maybe THEY can write something that will inspire someone to also create something." I have accidentally caused a writing frenzy among his writer friends and my silly idea to make art for someone has had a butterfly effect for people who I don't even know.
Uhh...I'm pretty sure there's a moral here but I am tired and have a great deal of emotions about this.
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I kinda want danny who's been adopted by the wanyes to be schmoozing it up at a gala (because listen nothing is funnier than the image of Gotham elites being like oh whats this one's gimmick cus all the other's have something only for danny to just be a dude) only for like the giw to raid the place to get danny ( cus he's a ghost? Cus he's a Fenton? Who knows)
Only for danny to pick up a bottle chug it smash it and vault out a window shouting you'll never catch me alive
Now this increases his reputation with most Gothamites and rouges and absolutely worries the fuck out of the batfam why is the government chasing you danny and hiw are you so good at running
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I am once again thinking about how in The Naked Time, Spock has an emotional breakdown after contracting the virus and cries about the regret he feels for not loving his human mother vs his shame he feels for his ongoing friendship with Kirk, but before he contracts the virus, Spock finds LOVE MANKIND written on the wall. And it's been written and discussed to death about what it means, I know this, but it's telling that Spock not only loves in spite of his Vulcan upbringing and continued adherence to their customs but that he holds regret and shame deep down inside because the love is still there, regardless.
Whereas Kirk likewise has his virus-induced breakdown over the opposite: his self-inflicted pressure to not love an individual, either due to fear of distraction from duty, losing his position as captain due to the ethical conundrum of "How can a captain date one of their crew?" (no, I do not know the details of how Starfleet manages crew relationships, but I'm assuming rank is an issue, especially where captains are concerned), or even the unspoken taboo of the show's production era, his sexual orientation, hence his focusing on the ship as the only safe and constant outlet for his love. But after this, Kirk finds SINNER REPENT written on the wall, as if to say his altruism isn't the full truth, as if what he desires is what he denies even with the virus lowering his inhibitions.
And like my god. What foils to each other! How damned telling the literal writing on the wall is for them! I am going to eat my fucking sweater!
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(this is def inspired by htgawm s4e7 but) simon is totally the type to propose to you in a way that is quite mundane, if not a little unexpected.
thinking about simon taking you out for lunch by the cafe close to your work; you ordered a light lunch, paired it with iced coffee, and simon scrunches his nose in mortification but backs off with a chuckle when you tell him he can’t say shit after ordering steak and paired it with a cup of tea.
and you’re within the moment of recounting your morning, waving your hands around in excitement as you tell him about completing a project given to you by your supervisor, when simon just gets hit with this realization. this feeling that pulses within his heart—“you. i want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
so, while you’re lost in your story, simon plucks out the discarded straw wrap you tore off for your drink, and hides his hands underneath the table. he twists the paper, makes soft tears to cut it shorter, and pinches the ends so they stick together as best as they can. it’s sloppy but it’s a circle, small enough to fit around your finger.
“so,” you begin, sipping on your coffee. “what’cha hiding under there?”
simon shoots you a cheeky smile. “oh but you’ve seen it, haven’t you, lovie?”
you groan, chucking a balled-up tissue paper his way. “y’r gross.”
“that’s not what you were crying last night,” he playfully snarks back with a quirked up brow. your cheeks burn and you duck down to hide from his knowing gaze, trying desperately to tamp down the laugh that is making your lips twitch.
simon chuckles, shaking his head softly, trying to pretend that his heart isn’t quite literally lodged in his throat right now, before coughing lightly to capture your attention again. you give it to him readily with a small and confused smile dancing on your lips, and your eyes crinkled in the way that makes him swoon.
“si?” you ask, a little worried now that he just sits on in his silence. “are you okay?”
“yeah,” simon replies, a little breathless. “more than ‘okay’, actually. i’m-” he pauses, clearing his throat, his fingers still playing with the straw wrapping.
you watch as he breathes in deeply before his posture straightens and then he is pulling his hand out from under the table. you blink your eyes down to his hand where, pinched between his fingers, is the straw wrapping twisted and pinched to look like a small ring.
“this is a placeholder for the real one, s’just that i’ve always wanted to ask you when the timing is right but every time i’m with you always seemed to be the right time so…”
simon’s eyes are unwavering—they are pools of gentle storms—but you notice the way his hand trembles, taken by tremors that would have made you worry if his words had not seized your beating heart and cradled it with such tenderness that you feel like weeping.
“will you marry me?”
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