Rough Draft - Blog Posts

Dragon Ball & Sailor Moon Crossover Idea:

*Note that I do not plan on writing this soon, this is a rough draft idea and a bit of a rant.*

Okay so instead of it being were the Sailor Senshi just meet up with Goku & the Z-fighters, what if the story started at the beginning of the Buu Saga where Gohan is in high school? Usagi, Ami, and Makoto would be students at Orange Star High school (Ami and Makoto would be in different classes while Usagi is in the same class as Gohan. Rei would still attend her all-girl school and Minako is an idol). I think for this crossover to work it would need to be a new take on the Sailor Moon property with a few sprinkles of PGSM to better fit the established world of Dragon Ball. Plus it would be cool and a little funny for the Great Saiyaman to team up with Sailor Moon or Sailor V (I think I might intertwine the story of Codename Sailor V with the Great Saiyaman Saga). And to balance the screentime between villains (that’ll happen later down the line) Babidi can try to control some of the Dark Kingdom to revive Buu. But that's just my idea what do you'll think? Feel free to leave comments!

i am hungryyyyyyy. i drank protein but i still feel dizzy but i dont want to be fat either, anyway I want to finish drawing this but its my first time actually not being lazy.

(After trying 3 times I finally got this to work ^0^) I’m working on an animation rn! Here’s the rough draft for part of it :)

(Btw the guy’s supposed to be Levi but like I can’t draw so it looks nothing like him :0)

There are no hearts for anyone outside this home.

Chapter 1 -- And the world didn't weep for joy (but it gave a great, relieved sigh)

A red sun rises in the great beyond. The sky swims with dark oranges, reds, and purples– a bruised, bleeding sky. The world awakens with one notion carried within the fleshy, pink muscle of their ever-working brains: Jackson Mayfield has come home.

–

“–we are all so relieved to see the young Mayfield son returned to his family’s arms safe and sound after three years of total mystery–”

“–Where has he been? What has he–”

“–possible kidnapping? Or, perhaps magic–”

Violet turned off the radio. A long hour had been spent attempting to found one channel not speaking of young ‘Jackson Mayfield’s’ return home to no fruition. 

Jackson Mayfield wasn’t cared about. At least, not before all of this. He was whispered about on those rare nights people dared to question just where he might be, what he might be doing, or if he was alive at all. His family never addressed any rumors that surrounded him, avoided any mention of him like the plague; it was as though his name had some sort of taboo attached to it, like if spoken, a dark fate would befall those who dared to raise their voices. He had ‘gone missing’ three years prior, leaving behind only a mockery of a bouquet and ashes and an empty seat at every gala that no one dared to touch. 

Her brother had gone the same way. And if people had cared so little for the disappearance of a young man of the House of Mayfield, son of Duke Burton himself, then they cared for the disappearance of her little brother even less. 

(Peasant, they called him when she went to the authorities. Called them. Commoners. And no one cared for the lives of the common. 

Unless, of course, that life inconvenienced them.) 

A hand slammed down on the desk in front of her, setting the contents haphazardly thrown onto it rattling and knocking her out of her thoughts. Her hands relaxed from their curled position reflexively. 

Oscar ‘Oz’ Hall. The journalist she worked under, or rather, apprenticed under. (Really, she just shadowed him, but sometimes she felt more like his handler than anything else.) 

He was a tall man of unimposing figure and a sharp, mischievous face that often had possible interviewees scampering off or avoiding him entirely. A large grin split his face in half– victorious– his wild red hair falling in front of his face and only serving to make him look all the more fox-like and less and less man. 

Violet shifted in her seat, crossing and uncrossing her legs in what she hoped would come across as in a casual manner. He had given her that same smile two months ago, just before he threw himself over a chocolate fountain and totally ruined the dress of a young noble lady who they were lucky enough to find out that she found it spectacularly funny. 

“Yes?” she said, holding back a sigh. 

His grin became a tad strained. “Yes, what?”

Violet did sigh this time. “You want to say something; say it.”

Despite her bluntness, a trait many of the previous journalists that she had shadowed before had not appreciated as much as Oscar did, ‘insubordination’ they called it, Oscar’s grin came back full-force then some. “There’s a story in this.”

Understatement of the century but before Violet could tell him as such, he continued on. “A story that we can unearth. Jackson Mayfield–” he spread his arms, hands moving wildly with a flair. “–second born son, back after all these years, yet his family doesn’t say a word other than ‘Oh, we are so happy he’s home’!” He guffawed. 

Violet nodded along like she always did when he got into these jittery, excitable moods, hands tapping on the arm of her chair in a continuous pattern– pinkie, ring finger, middle, pointer, thumb and back again– and leaning forward with feigned interest. (It really wasn’t all that hard to fake it, she was interested, just not for the reasons the journalist was.) 

“Yes, that is suspicious; you’d think they would give more of a statement when the boy has been missing for so long,” she acknowledged. 

Oscar’s face brightened further, if possible. “Exactly! There’s obviously something they’re trying to hide and I’m going to find it.” His grin was full of teeth now, his eyes set into a determined stare as his eyes raised and lingered on some great beyond likely full of glory and girls and lots and lots of birds full of feathers he was terribly allergic to. 

Violet cocked a brow. “You are not going to be uncovering this.”

His expression crumbled entirely, face going stormy. “Violet, do you not–”

She cut him off. “I will be handling this story.”

For a long moment, his features fell into blankness, as though he had just short-circuited. Then, the grin was back, only all affectionate and happy and proud and all that icky stuff that had her face flushing as he threw himself unceremoniously over his desk to clasp his hands over her cheeks, causing a mug filled to the brim with pens to tip over and roll to the ground, shattering upon impact. But he ignored it in favor of cooing in her face and embarrassing her entirely. 

“Oh, Vi,” he gasped, actual tears glistening in his eyes. (She’s seen him watch and document the death of a puppy with the most unaffected expression before; what the hell–) “Darling, you’ve finally come out of that horrible shell of yours and come to the limelight; I am so proud–”

Violet did not flush because she was flustered. She did not. She was… fuming with rage. Yeah. Totally. “You ridiculous, ridiculous man– get your hands off of me you oversized lunatic–”

Oscar treated her like an overly eager toddler would treat a disgruntled cat— roughly bit affectionately. “Glory is an avoidant muse, dear, but I believe with enough effort–”

“You absolute idiot, I will–”

It took several minutes, a couple swats, and a few more broken mugs for him to lay off of her and sit. (Albeit on his desk but still, the small victories.) 

She could not get rid of that stupid look on his face, but she could be mad about it, so she glared at him fiercely. His grin grew impossibly wider. 

“Now, my dear flower–”

“It is Violet-”

“My dear flower, to secure an interview with the Mayfield family, you will have–”

Violet’s eyebrows drew together tightly. An interview? What is he on about? “I’m not going to be attempting to get an interview with them,” the apprentice said slowly, as though explaining something rather obvious. And it was. To her, at least. 

Oscar went deathly still, slowly cocking his head in a way that reminded her of a prowling feline. “You are… not?”

Violet snorted in that unladylike manner her mother hadn’t managed to beat out of her. “Of course not, they’ll answer none of my questions and leave me with more than I started with. It would do neither of us any good.”

A glint shone in the redhead’s gaze, a realization forming behind his chestnut brown eyes. “So… how do you plan to ‘crack’ this?” 

Violet shrugged, attempting to seem apathetic to his stare. “I’m infiltrating, of course.”

And if Violet let out a squawk that birds would be incredibly jealous when he launched himself at her again, for an embrace this time, that was nobody else’s business but her own.

--

This is for my Creative Writing class, but I decided to share it with the world as well just to see if people would enjoy it. I am not open to criticism so please, just enjoy what you are reading or, if not, scroll away. This will spare us both the heartache of hatred or any animosity. I will admit this is not to the best of my ability for I initially wrote this extremely sleep deprived and cranky and wanting a 'pick me up'.

rebloging in hopes of someone continuing this fine prompt. (I can’t write romance for shit-)

DeadTired Draft

"You're very good at pretending to be a shadow."

Tim's voice shook Danny from his quiet note taking and he looked up at his study partner with furrowed brows and confusion on his face. "I'm sorry?" It was as much a question as it was an apology which meant it was neither really.

Electric blue eyes pinned him in place, and Tim looked at Danny as if he had just said the sky was green. "If I had not been partnered with you in our ecology class I wouldn't know you exist. No one at this school knows you exist besides the staff and even then you're a name to a face to a grade. Nothing else. You're very good at pretending to be a shadow, a bodiless thing gliding along the edges of society."

Danny bit his lip slightly, mulling these words over. Tim was right of course, he never allowed himself to make waves, he stuck to the background of any place he was in, and really he was surprised that he wasn't more noticeable with how often Tim Drake-Wayne was his study partner. "I guess...I've never really like attention anyway. Why, you stalking me, Drake?" He raised a brow at the other boy, attempting to hide his confusion behind snark. He hardly ever used Tim's last name, either of them, but this seemed like an appropriate time to do so.

"Hiding something, Nightingale?" Tim snarked back but there was a bit of genuine questioning under his tone that had Danny tensing up in his sit, gripping his pencil a little too tightly in his left hand. "I can only contact you through your student email, you don't have a phone number or a phone period as far as I can tell, you have a laptop that barely works and seemingly requires a blood sacrifice to do the most basic of tasks. You live on campus but you never let me see your dorm, you never agree to meet me anywhere but the library on campus and I just-" He lets out a heavy sigh and runs his hands through his hair and suddenly Danny is a lot less tense in his seat. When Tim's eyes settle on him again there's genuine concern there and it breaks his heart. "I am worried. Daniel Nightingale doesn't exist outside of this college and it makes me think you're running from something or someone. If that isn't the cause then by all means please tell me I'm overstepping but Danny..." Tim reaches across the table that separates them and grabs at his free hand. "If you need help I'm here, ok?"

And oh...oh Danny's core positively sings in his chest at the admission. Protection was a major obsession for Danny and the way Tim talked, the way he explained his thought process, it made Danny feel warm and fuzzy inside despite the permanent chill in his body. Tim wanted to protect him and wasn't that so sweet? "I-" Danny stuttered before a sad smile was spreading across his lips and he gave the boy's hand a gentle squeeze. "I appreciate that but unless you have a way to somehow get an entire government organization disbanded and legislature revoked then I'm afraid this is out of your ballpark."

And really, Danny should've known better than to open his fat mouth. He should've known that the Fenton luck would bite him in the ass with his first real friend since Sam and Tucker. Tim may have dropped the conversation after that but by no means had he dropped the topic entirely. No instead apparently he had somehow gotten into contact with the Justice League because less than two weeks later Batman, Red Robin, Superman, and John Constantine of all people were waiting for him inside his dorm when he got back from a late night of studying.

What.

The.

Fuck.