dionysia-does-stories
someone’s in the playhouse with dionysia
I decided to write fanfic again. For the first time in two decades. So, I made an inspo blog. AO3
157 posts
Last active 60 minutes ago
Don't wanna be here? Send us removal request.
Last Seen Blogs
2p-seborga
Vaffanculo.
curse-of-vanishing
majoring in minecraft youtuber
freshtr1rwinner
无标题
kidnplay223
M.M.O.B
Text
Reblog this and let people send you asks (anonymously or not) about how they would describe your fics, your writing style or just anything they've thought about when reading your work
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Yes I re-read my own fics because I wrote them for ME
108K notes
·
View notes
Text
How y’all THINK fanfic authors react when you send multiple comments on different fics: Ugh, another comment from them? Wow, I don’t appreciate how they enjoy what I write. :(
How fanfic authors actually react: OH MY GOD ANOTHER COMMENT? They must be on a marathon! I hope they read my recent whump fic and tell me what they think. Their kindness will be what drives me to finish my current WIP!!!! I WON’T FAIL YOU, NEW READER.
17K notes
·
View notes
Text
Love that you can tell how full of himself Crowley is from just his tongue
If you can't see them they can't see you, right?
10K notes
·
View notes
Text
The Great Beast
Good Omens Valentine Day Flash Ficlet
The trick was to make the sigil of Odegra look like some fancy scroll work in the corner of the valentine gifts. Crowley had figured that out years ago and funded a small cottage business that made chocolate boxes, flower arrangements and those god-awful giant teddy bears.
The sigil was worked cleverly into the design of each, so as to go unnoticed by any being not divine or infernal. When the gift reached its intended recipient every argument and frustration of the relationship suddenly boiled over.
It was elegant work and Crowley was proud of it. Aziraphale had repeatedly pointed out that it was “a bit mean” and couldn’t he at least “leave the young lovers alone”.
Crowley especially loved when the teenagers, hopped up on hormones, gifted one of those giant bears to their love. The sigil worked into the bear’s neck ribbon design. He adored witnessing young love explode before his eyes. Delicious.
On Valentine’s Day, Crowley and Aziraphale sat at their regular bench in the park, splitting a box of chocolates and watching the chaos unfold.
“It’s gotten out of hand,” Aziraphale scolded him.
Crowley just leveled a scathing look over his sunglasses.
“Look.” Aziraphale handed him a magazine ad for engagement rings. One of which featured the sigil of Odegra prominently. Crowley checked the maker and was delighted to see that it wasn’t his company. The design had become self-propagating.
“Don’t smile!” The angel didn’t sound nearly as harsh as he meant to.
Crowley offered him a chocolate. “Hail the Great Beast, Devourer of Worlds.”
#fanfiction#good omens fanfiction#good omens#crowley/aziraphale#valentine's day#crowley#aziraphale#aziraphale/crowley#fluff#ficlet#flash fiction
11 notes
·
View notes
Text
Beloved! (I really like the different types of animal skulls in the pile)
Wanted to draw a monster and settled on the Rabbit of Caerbannog from Monty Python
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Don’t you want to know what they read that made them give it this designation? I think the highest possible achievement in fanfic writing might be “tasteless”.
Whoops. No more reading at work (• ▽ •;)
8K notes
·
View notes
Text
These stories always make me think of Famine from Good Omens.
He’s my favorite character in the book. All the Horsemen are sort of reinvented for the modern era. But Famine is an evil of persistence and insidiousness.
Famine is killing you so softly that you don’t even notice he is here.
#good omens#go#famine#four horsemen of the apocalypse#I’m sure there’s an added layer in there from being a kid that had a weird relationship with food
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Inescapable Library - Chapter 1
On AO3
Rating T - 1,183 words - Teen Titans - Starfire Ficlet
Summary: Post The Kiss, Crowley is an emotional wreck but when he discovers that Muriel is clearing out Aziraphale's bookshop he is determined to find out where the books are going. He finds himself trapped in Aziraphale's Inescapable Library subject to the most dangerous thing imaginable, an angel with good intentions.
Story:
How many times had Crowley heard a drunk at a bar slosh over to some long suffering woman and say, “When did you fall from heaven?”
Crowley had fallen. He’d felt the rush of divine grace as it turned to sharp knives on his skin. He remembered the feeling of God’s wraith. She’d wanted him to suffer, to hurt, to lose. A gravity like he’d never experienced slammed into his body. The force of it was too strong for even his wings to fight against. He’d rocketed down, down, down. Away, away, away.
He’d landed somewhere that never existed before. A new place that was made just for him. Hell. The answer to a question he should never have asked.
No one tried to pick him up in bars. Not with cheesy one-liners about heaven anyway. If someone ever had then he would have told them the truth about when he fell about the windburn so strong in his memory that he felt it even now. He wanted to see the beauty in falling. The attraction of the devilish that humans seemed to operate under.
He wanted to spend his eternity saying cheesy one-liners to Aziraphale.
Aziraphale’s betrayal had been worse than the fall. Worse then the gravity. Worse then the ripping away of all things divine and familiar. Hell was a place made just for Crowley and it could hold no competition for the tortures of his own mind.
He had kissed Aziraphale. He had done it because he loved him. And because he hated him in the way that you can only hate something precious. And because he was scared that they would never seen each other again. Not as friends anyway. He had stopped the apocalypse the first time round, but this one he hadn’t even seen coming.
It was a quiet apocalypse with socks on its feet. No plagues besetting your homeland. No horseman jangling their stirrups all the way to prophecy. No. This apocalypse was like wool socks on a country floor in winter. It felt like the whole world was still with sunlight and frost as the rapture slid through unnoticed. Crowley walked into his last conversation with Aziraphale thinking it was Christmas morning only to discover that the world had ended while he wasn’t even looking.
So, he kissed. Then he left. Then he got in his car. Crowley drove for a long time with no destination. The only place he wanted to be was away. But where do you go to isolate from God and her archangels. All existence and non-existence matter and anti-matter were made of her being, were dominion to the job Aziraphale chose over him. Crowley wished for the archaic punishment of being torn sunder from God. He wanted to be broken open. Broken apart. He already was.
He drove and he thought. Days passed without delineation. He drove to Tadfield and circled aimlessly for a while. When he found no solace or purpose, he drove onward. He drove through rolling hills, sprawling cities. Braying sheep blocked his path. Fragile humans admired the Bentley. All was as it ever had been. The world didn’t even seem to know that it had ended. It carried on with the same shuddering enthusiasm that had compelled it through the millennia. Crowley drove back to London.
He pulled into the carpark for his old flat. The Bentley’s engine cut out with a whine. The plants wilted in the back seat. Everything he loved in the world was now in this one parking space. That was a madness that defied comprehension. To discover that his love was so small.
He decided that he would go back to the bookshop. He wasn’t sure what he would do there. Maybe he would burn it down on purpose. Maybe he would sit quietly somewhere and read his favorite volume. All he knew was that if everywhere in the universe was going to be miserable, then he would like to be miserable somewhere familiar.
When he got to the shop, there were moving trucks out front. Great yellow beasts with stupid slogans, being filled to the brim with Aziraphale’s books. A rage took Crowley over as he charged into the shop to track down what fiend would destroy the archangel’s home.
There was no being in the entire building but the cheerful, nervous angel. Marjorie? No, Muriel. They were no longer in their officer costume. They wore a white cable knit jumper and beige tweed pants. They looked almost human.
They waved to Crowley, pleased to see a familiar face regardless of the familiar rage that darkened it.
“Hey, you,” They said.
“It’s only been a few days,” Crowley’s voice was accusatory. “How have you sorted out pretending to be human?”
Muriel held a clipboard close to them. “It’s been months, Mr. Crowley.”
That couldn’t be right.
“It is, though.”
“I didn’t say anything,” Crowley defended himself.
Their eyes were dripping with pity and Crowley hated it.
“You can’t take his books.”
Muriel’s smile was sympathetic. She reached out a hand to touch his forearm. “Archangel Aziraphale has given orders for the books to be moved.”
“Bollocks.”
Muriel had learned the trick to lying. All you had to do was tell yourself that you were doing it for the right reasons. A month, a year, a millennia ago—Muriel had been a normal angel. A being who told the truth and expected honesty and kindness in return. Perhaps Earth had changed them. They did more in a single minute on Earth then they would have during a century in Heaven.
Mortal life was rich with experience. There was so much of it that humans complained about the type of experience they were subject to. “Oh, that hurts.” and “No, not that movie, it’s sad.” Humans wanted everything to feel good. They had no idea what a miracle it was to feel at all.
Muriel could admit that they became jealous of the humans. It gave new context to the war between the angels. They understood—just a little bit—why they were mad at God. She had cheated them of rich full lives. She had made them to serve and that is what they did.
Today, Muriel’s service was to lie.
“I wish I could tell you more, Mr. Crowley.” The next part was the tough bit. She had to make it sound natural. “But I have strict instructions not to let you know where these books are going.”
“His instructions?” Crowley condemned them.
Muriel had him on the line. Now all she had to do was reel him in. “That’s not any of your concern anymore.” She could see him struggle, flopping around against the force of her deception. “These trucks are leaving at 8 pm tonight and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”
Crowley smirked. “I guess I’ll just give up then.”
Crowley sauntered out of the bookstore. He was so preoccupied by the plan forming in his mind that he didn’t notice Muriel’s eyes follow him out. They had to warn The Library to expect him.
1 note
·
View note
Text
Honestly the best part of going back to writing fan fiction after years of only writing original work has been how much easier it’s made writing my original work.
I think I told myself this lie that my creativity was a well and I could run out of water. It turns out it’s a kid going to Disney World. The more I hype up creative brain with fun activities the more it wants to do stuff (even the frustrating stuff).
Current mood
Parent ego state: "You're getting behind on this [REDACTED THING]. You should be writing."
Writer brain response:
Adult ego state: "Honestly, come on, you genuinely should be writing."
Writer brain response:
Child ego state: "C'mon, you oughta be writing."
Writer brain response:
...Still small voice almost lost in background noise:
"You could always write that bit of smut you've been saving."
Writer brain:
#probably helps that I write my fan fiction like a feral animal rather than agonizing over every word#Plus the lack of endless restructuring and grammar/spell checking is nice#although it does occasionally expose my brain for letter swapping their/there/they’re apathetic monster it is
417 notes
·
View notes
Text
there’s absolutely nothing better than reading a 100k word fanfic, that is until you remember you have a body that is starving, thirsty and incredibly sleep deprived and hasn’t used the bathroom since the sun set 8 hours ago
96K notes
·
View notes
Text
The Competition of Sisterhood
On AO3
Rating G - 508 words - Teen Titans - Starfire Ficlet
Summary: Starfire contemplating how Blackfire's personality and approach to sisterhood influenced her life.
Story:
Earth media loved stories about caring but beleaguered older siblings. They would ride to the rescue of their younger helpless family members. They possessed some of the intoxicating authority that parents did, but tempered by the sarcastic irresponsibility of other children. They were like partners in crime that would help you pull off the heist. But when things went south they were guaranteed to sell you out to the cops.
Starfire couldn’t get enough of it. The sitcom families with their sitcom older siblings. Robin said the stories were dull and predictable. He preferred the dark gritty dramas where everyone’s younger sibling was a serial killer. To be fair, his younger siblings could be difficult.
Growing up, Starfire often wondered if she was difficult. It would explain why Blackfire was angry with her all the time. Even in the tender ignorance of youth Star had gotten the impression that Blackfire thought of her as a defective toy. Not even worth playing with. Star had tried everything she could think of to be what her sister wanted. To cater to her anger and annoyance.
It wasn’t until Star joined the Titans that realization trickled in. There was no way to please Blackfire because her enjoyment came from her perceived suffering. Blackfire defined herself as older, mature, and important. Star had to in contrast to be young, clumsy, and insignificant. Anything Blackfire was had to be better than Starfire. Sisterhood was a competition. Blackfire didn’t care if she won as long as Star lost.
Robin could keep his washed out grey shows that portrayed the world ten times worse than life on Earth actually was (even Gotham was less grim). Adverts boasted that the dramas were “realistic” and “unflinching”. But none of the characters ever sat down to have pizza with friends. They never let the brutality of their experiences relax from their muscles. They never let themselves be enough, be content. The dramas wallowed in their characters perceived suffering just like Blackfire. Star refused to believe that was the shape of the world. Star chose to be hopeful. Star chose to be kind
Sometimes she wondered how much of her personality was built around spiting her sister. You did not end up with one sister being a ray of sunshine and the other an exploding supernova by accident. Was Star so cheerful because it made Blackfire maudlin? Was Star so accepting because it made Blackfire repulsive? Star worried that her personality had been honed by the same sibling competition that had denied her the familial closeness she craved.
Star’s years with the Titans had taught her to like herself. She kindled the hope in her heart that this was who she was always going to be. Star chose to believe in her own intrinsic kindness. She fought for those that needed help. She cared for those that needed love. She always would have been this person. She always would have found her wonderful Earth family. Her life wasn’t about winning, it was about being happy. It wasn’t a competition.
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
I started doing this and it made a big difference for when I’m writing my long structured original work. I’ve tried to explain it (unsuccessfully) in irl writers groups where I often get the advice “don’t go back and edit just write a vomit draft”. (I get how ‘don’t go back’ is great advice for people who have an inner critic telling them it’s not good enough. ) I get really caught up in logic, pace and transition (because I love them). And when the story doesn’t make sense/is wrong trying to keep writing without fixing it destroys me.
Saw this advice on Twitter today, and I think it's going to end up being useful for me. 🥹 Thought I'd share it with y'all, too.
11K notes
·
View notes