ffs I was supposed to go to bed 4 hours ago and I got caught up in your writing and your blog... I have no self control...
Oh, dude, I want to say I’m sorry, I really do, but I’m just kind of flustered and smug. I’m really glad you (evidently) liked it, though, and I hope you got some sleep in there, eventually.
I’m still watching Liberty’s Kids because REASONS and I watched an episode with Baron von Steuben, and I get why they didn’t include this in a kid’s show, but this dude is THE BEST PART of the winter at Valley Forge.
LET ME TELL YOU WHY, WITH ABUSE OF CAPS LOCK AND BAD LANGUAGE AND IRREVERENCE.
Okay, some background. Baron von Steuben was a Prussian baron who shipped his ass over to America in 1777 in order to help Washington whip the bunch of random farmers, miners, tradesmen, etc who formed the Continental ‘Army’ at the time into shape. He reached Valley Forge in early 1778 (after almost getting his own soldiers ARRESTED IN BOSTON because he accidentally outfitted them in red coats, honestly this dude’s life is just PRIME HISTORICAL COMEDY MATERIAL, someone get the fuck on that) and immediately made a name for himself as a complete–but effective!–wackjob. He would go outside in the middle of winter in full military dress and have all the soldiers (many of whom were lacking a coat and boots at the time, because the goddess of efficiency Martha Washington had not yet made her presence known) run drills from sunup to sundown, whereas most military commanders of the day were Pointedly Uninvolved in the messy day-to-day shit. He also continued the trend of having commanders who were still learning English (Lafayette spoke almost no English upon his arrival, for example), because when von Steuben reached America he spoke zero English and had to write all his orders in French and give them to either HIS aide de camp to translate or the aide Washington periodically lent him (fun fact: Lt. Colonols Hamilton and Laurens were his usual lent-out aides because they both spoke French).
NOW YOU HAVE SOME BACKGROUND AND WE CAN GET TO THE GOOD STUFF.
Let me tell y'all what my co worker does when her friends go on a date: She takes a picture of the person’s drivers license. She doesn’t delete it until her friend(s) return safely.
Everyone needs to be doing this!
I remember my first time picking my girlfriend up to go on a date, and I met her mom that day. She asked to see my ID to take a picture of it “just incase” I had/have good* intentions so I was cool and went along with it. 😏
Yes!!👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾If someone gives me a hard time about taking a picture of their license, that’s a red flag.
Girl, I take their number, license plate (w flash so there’s no debate on the car color at night) and a last seen wearing photo, smh. All my girls coming back safe or I’m on that ass.
If he doesn’t drive, send your friend the location or address of where you the date is taken place. If you change locations, screenshot where y'all at and send it to them. Stay safe.
There is an app called glympse that will broadcast your location to whomever you choose for I think I max of four hours. It’s a little gps program and as your phone moves a little beacon will move with it on a map
Adding that right now^
Safety is important. This is the first I’ve heard of the taking a pic of his license. I just realized how weird I’d probably act in this situation and apparently it’d be seen as a red flag.
the children these days being like………………what will happen when i grow up………what about fandom……
you will still have fandom! you’ll just check twitter on work breaks and write fic after you unload the dishwasher. you might get older but fandom stays the same age. your propensity to read fic does not vanish with age. where do you think all the best written fics from your fave fandom come from??? old as f*ck people. that’s where
ok but seriously, if something really small happened in your day and it made you really happy, but you don’t want to tell anyone bc you feel that it’s insignificant to everyone else tell me, message me that thing because nothing delights me more than enjoying other people’s tiny happinesses
I always want to hear you talk about your special interests. always. got a thing about Russian politics in the 1700s? tell me about it. know entirely too much about the mating habits of aquatic animals? nice, bro. can literally recite every Star Wars movie line-perfect? that’s fuckin impressive. even if I’m not personally interested in whatever it is you’re infodumping about, I’m happy that you’re interested and excited, and I’m willing to learn about things my loved ones care about
i really am a “text me if you need something” person. like unless i have something specific to talk about, i don’t usually initiate a conversation. if you wanna talk just to talk then im all here but dont take me not hittin you up as me not caring.
Phasma meets Leia somehow and is unmasked during the meeting.
It was a strange quirk of stormtroopers, Leia thought—bury them under flat, white plasticine and all those human tics and weaknesses turned inward, were trapped under the skin; right up until the moment you removed the armor, when it came roiling to the surface, pressurized. She’d noticed it in Finn, a tendency to emote with his whole body and stare too long; drum his fingers on datapads and the edges of tables, move like a blaster shot. The crew of the captured Domitia did it too—she’d been watching them on the monitors for fifteen minutes, and she’d lost count of how many times they stalked the width and length of the cells, restless as animals.
If she had been another sort of woman, Leia might have taken heart that humanity persisted, even in the midst of profound darkness.
Instead, she was wondering whether their meager supplies would feed an extra fifty mouths, and what she was going to do when they wouldn’t.
(There was a voice at the back of her head whispering, do what is necessary do what will keep yours safe, eliminate them—
Leia had a great deal of practice ignoring that voice.)
Leia’s gaze wandered back to Captain Phasma as the woman made another circuit around her cell. There was something different about her—the particular way she held herself, maybe, or the washed-out light on her hair—and it stirred the deep recesses of Leia’s memory. “Buzz me through,” she said suddenly to Lieutenant Luo, who jerked upright in his seat.
“Um,” he answered eloquently. He looked at the door to the cell block as though expecting it to open under its own power. “Ma’am? Shouldn’t we wait for…”
Leia waited, curious as to how he was planning to finish that sentence. No one was coming, except whoever drew the short straw from Intel, and maybe Luke or Rey, when the stormtroopers (inevitably) refused to talk. The Resistance didn’t have interrogators, it barely had prison guards—she hadn’t thought there was a need for them, among her guerrilla hit-and-run pilots and ex-smuggler logisticians. First Order personnel didn’t walk away from a Resistance attack, as a rule; not even into prison cells.
”….someone,” Luo finished in a small voice.
“Buzz me through, Lieutenant,” Leia repeated, not unkindly. She liked Luo. It wasn’t his fault she hadn’t anticipated this, that the sight of all that white armor piled up on the duracrete had made her blood run hot and too-loud in her ears. It had taken Luke quietly nudging a memory at her (aren’t you a little short for a stormtrooper) to remember she could breathe at all.
The red rage was still there, of course, thrumming through her blood, whispering eliminate them as it moved in her veins.
Leia breathed.
“Yes, General,” Luo said, and buzzed the door open.
While sick in bed I kept thinking, or rather my brain kept thinking with or without my input, about the sheer overwhelming volume of fiction human beings have produced, like the number of myths, legends, novels, comics, games, movies, plays, original characters and even dreams and imaginary friends felt so vast and all encompassing that it seemed to dwarf all of our other achievements as a species and the sheer immensity and pointlessness of it all felt almost terrifying until suddenly my foggy mind was like “whoa, whoa, wait, WAIT A MINUTE….THAT’S WHAT WE ARE!!!!!! WE’RE THE STORYTELLER PLANET, THAT’S OUR THING IN THE UNIVERSE!”
So that turned into all these scenarios where for whatever reason most other sentience races could have technological power beyond our comprehension but still no knack for concocting even rudimentary child-level fiction and are so easily entertained by any shit we can make up that it’s basically our superpower
Humans end up paying their way across the galaxy just making things up as they go along and even our worst most garbage pieces of media become an almost priceless commodity.
You’re cornered by a tentareaver from the bloodstar or
whatever and she’s all “SO, EARTHBEAST…TELL ME ONE OF THESE FAMOUS FICSHUNS OF YOURS AND I’LL CONSIDER SPARING YOUR LIFE”
*sigh*…okay, once upon a time there was a tentareaver…
“WAS SHE OF THE FLESHRENDER CASTE????”
….Yes, the most beautiful fleshrender in her whole clusterhive.
To all of you writers who produce 5,000 word chapters, kudos to you.
To all of you writers who produce 1,000 word chapters, kudos to you.
To all of you writers who do multi-chapter fics, kudos to you.
To all of you writers who do one shots and dabbles, kudos to you.
Original works? Kudos to you.
Fanfiction? Kudos to you.
Just started writing? Kudos to you.
Been writing for years? Kudos to you.
Write stories that you don’t share but look at fondly because you love it? Kudos to you.
I am a firm believer that no one type of writing is better than another. The love and energy you put into your work is what matters. You all deserve kudos. So just know that if you feel like no one is reading or no one cares that I am, and I do.
The
woman is sitting on the ground, cast in lovely dawn shades of gold and pink. Her legs are crossed, hands folded in her
lap, and her lush white curls fall over one shoulder like an avalanche. There is not a speck of blood on her hands or
on her pants, despite the pool spreading slowly beneath Sephie’s back. For some reason, that is what Sephie is most
focused on at this moment—the blood is hot and wet and deeply unpleasant, and
she envies the woman for not having any on her.
The car that struck her and drew the blood is long gone, a hit and run,
and the coffee shop’s customers will not come for their caffeine fix for almost
an hour. Unless the woman shows a
heretofore unforeseen interest in things like cell phones and emergency
services, or a particularly helpful spook wanders past and kicks up a fuss, Sephie
is reasonably sure that she will be dead by then, and the only thing to greet
her regulars will be the sticky pool of red.
Sephie
frowns, or at least Sephie considers frowning.
Fine motor functions are slightly more difficult than usual. The coffee shop won’t be opened today, if she
dies. This bothers her rather a
lot—that’s years and years of her life in that coffee shop, and it seems absurd
that something so transient as death should stop her from opening it and making
cappuccinos. Maybe her spook will stand
up and take care of it, she thinks.
Spooks have done stranger things.
“I’ve
been on sabbatical for thirteen years today,” the woman announces with a serene
smile, looking down at Sephie.
She’s
been answering that for years now.
“That’s
nice, miss,” Sephie rasps, and the blood on her lips is salty.
I never understood why a girl is always suppose to be that ride or die chick that stays with a man and helps him build and become the man she deserves but a guy is never told to stay with a woman while she finds herself. A guy will always look for that perfect woman but we are suppose to settle for a building project?! Fuck that.
I so wholeheartedly love the generation of women coming up in this world. The realization that you are all stars of your own story and not a supporting actress in a mans is so important.
(and part 2!) The thought and the amazing way you tied in R's art skills to his superpower was FANTASTIC! I LOVED IT! Not to mention your other writings are just fantastic! You got me hooked with your Avatar AU and reeled me in with your Reincarnation AU and I think at this point I might as well just admitted that I've been caught, because DANG your writing is truly an inspiration! And I love it! I can't wait to see more from you! Because everything is just so creative & original & I can't wait!
Oh my God how is everyone SO N I C E what do I do with you guys? I am so delighted that you enjoy my writing, I am not a person easily flustered and you guys have me coming over like a freaking Southern belle.
i want to know more about charlie weasley’s friends. who the hell agrees to SMUGGLE A DRAGON across international borders on two days notice? who are these people that are willing to accept a dragon in a crate from a couple of small children, no questions asked? i need to know more, tell me about the antics of these mysterious flying dragon smugglers.
ESPCAD.
European Society for the Prevention of Cruelty Against Dragons.
Like PETA but with less grossness and more punk activism. And fire breathing dragons so like no one really fux with ‘em.
speaking as a biologist, i can guarantee i would show up without question to smuggle an endangered species that would otherwise be destroyed across national borders to a sanctuary on two days’ notice.
like. if a small child showed me a box containing a juvenile alligator snapping turtle and was like “you need to smuggle this across the continent to kansas or else it will be destroyed” i would be like “sure, would you like me to send you a postcard, small child”
Growing up in an abusive household is a fucking trip dude……If you’ve never had someone angrily wash a dish at you or fold a sock in your direction then how are you gonna understand why I get nervous when you quietly do the laundry, or why I ask “are you mad at me?” when you set the bag of groceries down too hard? It’s a totally different way of living and it impacts you long after you’ve left the situation.
And got a bunch of compliments and fic requests and y’all are too good to me.
Newcomers! Welcome to the blog! Please collect a top hat and join the party. My inbox is always open for fic prompts or talking, I occasionally write stuff and there’s a tag for that. I do feel obliged to inform you that if you’re here exclusively for Les Mis stuff, I am ADHD with a diverse set of interests and it shows. But nonetheless, welcome!
Also! Since we hit a hundred’s landmark, I usually post something special, so I’m gonna put up some original work, yes?
i’m watching this documentary about halloween and there’s a part where they’re explaining that ghost stories got really popular around the civil war no one could really deal with how many people went off and died and
the narrator just said
“the first ghost stories were really about coming home”
IIRC, the Civil War also played a huge part in forming the modern American conception of heaven as this nice, domestic place where you’re reunited with your loved ones. People (particularly mothers) responded to the trauma of brother-killing-brother by imagining an afterlife in which families would once again be happy together.
(also not doing this in the correct tag-style, because I wanna KNOW— )What documentary is this? Or is there more than one? Any books on the subject? THIS IS FASCINATING.
cool (ghost) story, bro.
reblogging because, as a us history phd student, i want to say YAY for how much of this is totally on point. i also want to rec the book where a lot of this is covered very, very well, which is Drew Gilpin Faust’s “This Republic of Suffering: Death and the American Civil War.”
a lot of books on the Civil War are deadly dull because they’re about battles and shit, but as a transformative moment in mindset and ideology, it becomes *fascinating*
the other book I’d even more highly rec is David W. Blight’s “Race and Reunion,” which is about how the “(white) brother against (white) brother” image of the war was invented and how throwing African Americans to the merciless viciousness of post-Reconstruction racist whites was part of constructing this “oh everybody was white men and everybody was noble let’s celebrate them all” approach to Civil War remembrance
very good stuff
Thank you! This looks like exactly the sort of reading I’m after! *adds to wish list*
Also, look for David Blights recordings of his Yale lecture series on The Civil War. 21 hours of class lectures, and its FASCINATING. He barely touches on the battles other than to use them as timestamps as to what was going on. Most of it focuses on what the mindset of everyone was going into the war, and what happened on the way out. It’s an amazing series that will change your entire perception of the war - how it happened, and how it wasn’t going to be possible to avoid it, because of the inherent evil of slavery and how it was destroying damn near *everyone* except rich white people.
1. Breathe in. It’s just a question. You can do this.
“Yeah, I do.”
Perfect. They’re smiling now.
Something small inside of you feels guilty about lying by omission, so you keep going.
Here comes the hard part.
“I do believe in God, it’s just that - I don’t really go to church anymore.”
Their smile dims, just a little.
But why?! They cry out.
You used to go to church every Sunday when you were little! Someone else intercedes.
Your nails are digging into your palm. Breathe in again, just this once.
“I know, but like, I didn’t really feel it after a while? I prefer to pray on my own.”
2. Things you remember from church:
i. The smell of incense that clung to your hair, even hours after mass.
ii. The sunlight, filtering in through the colored glass.
iii. HOMOSEXUALITY IS A SIN, I CAN’T BELIEVE GOD WOULD LET THOSE KIND OF PEOPLE GO UNPUNISHED, THEY DESERVE TO BURN IN HELL, whispered by a priest to your grandma. Your eyes water and you don’t know why.
iv. You can still recite some of the psalms by heart.
The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the defense of my life; whom shall I dread?
v. Your aunt presses a rosary into your palm, one year before you swear to yourself you will never set foot in a church again. You don’t have the heart to tell her that it feels like she’s handing you a chain made of iron and lead and the weight of your guilt.
vi. Confession is always awkward and forced and you feel like your sins should be yours to deal with and yours alone, but they told you without it you’d be dirty and you believed them. You think about this when you kneel down in front of the crucifix. Jesus Christ’s eyes are closed. The small, ugly thing in your stomach is glad He is not looking at you.
3. There are roughly 52 Sundays in a year. You went to church every Sunday since you were a baby until you were 16. That makes it about 800 masses.
You do the math in your head and it doesn’t feel like 800 hours, it feels like eternities of you standing in your best clothes, forced to listen to stories of fire and brimstone and God’s righteous anger against sinners.
Very rarely they talk about how God is also love and forgiveness. Those times, it feels like you walked into another service for a different religion.
4. You realize you’re “different” around the same time they make you realize they’ll never accept you for who you are.
It hurts more than you thought it would.
5. Your faith is a fragile, small, sleeping thing nested in your ribcage.
You poke and prod and worry at it, hoping you’ll get an answer to a question you’re too afraid to ask.
6. Your family loves you and your friends love you but if there’s really a higher being
7. who created the Universe as we know it
8. and loves us all, for we are His children
9. HOW DO YOU KNOW HE HATES ME FOR WHAT I THINK FOR WHO I LOVE FOR WHO I AM
10. God punishes sinners but he also forgives them.
It took you some time to realize there was nothing to forgive, nothing to end up in Hell for, except the usual stuff, ordinary sins like white lies and feeling envious of someone else’s possessions and other human things.
The first time you walk into a church after a while you do it with a weight on your shoulders you need to get rid of.
The pews are empty and the light hits the altar just right.
You breathe in. Close your eyes.
I BELIEVE IN A GOD WHO LOVES ME, you scream in your head, and it’s loud enough to rattle Heaven.
I want to take some time to think about Soulmate AUs in broader social and historical context. (I’m sticking to the ‘first words written on your body’ version of those aus)
Thoughts on Society:
In a soulmate universe there would be distinctly less homophobia because queerness would be both normalized and no one would be able to argue that it isn’t natural. (Not that there wouldn’t be any because people are assholes).
Religion would be structured differently - destiny would be seen as an incontrovertible subject. “Of course you have a destiny and a place in God’s plan, just look at those words on your arm.” What words were written on the arms of Messiahs and prophets?
Scientists attempting to explain it through genetics and physics.
The culture of introductions would be essential. What you say to new people would be built into the culture of what is polite and it would change society by society.
Societies with strict verbal introduction rules that limit the finding of soul mates (because what would disrupt strict social stratification than princes discovering that their soul mate is a maid).
Societies where people craft personalized introductions and use the same line like a personal signature each time they meet someone new.
First day of school or college or a new job being almost all meeting rituals.
Special festivals that are dedicated to meeting new people and talking to them. Pilgrimages for young adults to go town by town to meet as many people as possible.
Pop Culture
Massive online databases full of those first words.
Books dedicated to the first words of famous people.
Analyses of your words (a la astrology: because you have the word ‘time’ in your words it means…)
Matchmakers who promise they’ll find you Your Soulmate!
Imagine the shipping debates around TV shows: “Her words haven’t been revealed yet! So she could be his match!” or “They revealed his words in season 2 so we know his match isn’t Fred!”
Interpersonal:
Imagine the pressure to find your match
People who claim children raised outside of matches are more destructive and less well adjusted and at a disadvantage
“If you have sex outside a Match you will catch chlamydia and you will DIE”
Special marriages for matches.
Support groups for those who find their Matches late in life.
Imagine the family pressure in some families to never meet anyone unapproved by the family. “Your father speaks to everyone first!”
Different marriage systems
Flexible ones where every non-match marriage is considered voidable if a soulmate match is found. Imagine being the person left behind by someone you love and trust because of words on their skin.
Or a system of different marriages where people have different partners for different contexts: This is my household wife June and my Match wife Alice her household husband Larry and we all make it work.
Or systems where you can’t legally marry unless you can both show your words and prove you are a match.
People who lie about it to avoid the social pressure inherent in finding your match. “Of course my husband and I are a match!” Or teens who lie to their parents that someone is their match because their parents disapprove of their new date.
Parents who worry like hell about their kid’s words.
People who fall in love with the “wrong person” because this social system means that there is literally a wrong person. But they truly fall in love. Who try and scratch off their soulmate words from their skin because FUCK destiny, we’re making our own.
Imagine how broken you would feel if you were asexual/aromantic and you didn’t have words.
Imagine having words that you hated. Imagine having words on your skin that were a slur or an insult or a threat and knowing that someday you will meet someone who will say that to you and they are someone you are supposed to love.
It fascinates me because the idea is so much bigger than just meet-cute scenarios and fluff fics. It would change society from the ground up.
I want to write the one in bold a little bit.
I would love to read in-depth discussion about each of these ideas. Sadly, there’s not much available. What does exist, though, is discussion about fannish tattoos, which are voluntary physical marks of things we value. Transformative Works and Cultures has a couple of interesting articles on this topic by Bethan Jones, which you can read here and here.
Growing up believing that the words have to be spoken out loud, in person, to you, but discovering it was that person you met online that one time.
my favorite college experience is when i had a 7am class and the kid next to me literally poured a monster energy drink into his coffee said “i’m going to die” and drank the whole thing
i knew a guy who brewed his instant coffee with monster instead of water. three cups in two hours. i think he ascended to the astral realm
the survivability of the human race never ceases to amaze me
TABI ANECDOTE
My final year I lived with engineering masters students. One night, I’m finishing up my final paper, I’m juuuust backing up my final copy, and my housemate’s cat knocks a vase over onto my laptop.
Which wouldn’t be a problem except my cable had been chewed on (thanks Kobe), so the wiring was exposed. Circuits short out, I fling myself back to avoid electrocution and by the time we get the situation handled, my laptop AND my external hard drive have been fried by the surge.
I mean, fried. Like, they-are-vaguely-smoking fried.
I start to cry, because there goes fifty percent of my final grade.
Ahmad just goes “it’s okay, we will fix”. I’m like “how the fuck do you propose that?” And he’s like “I have spare laptop.” “THIS IS DUE IN THE AM!”
And he looks me dead in the eye and goes, “I said I will help. Go get the laptop.”
So off I go. By the time I make it downstairs, there’s this chemical /reek/ in the kitchen. I go in and there he is, methodically crushing caffeine pills with the bottom of a glass on a ceramic plate, periodically dusting the powder into a cooking pot. Meanwhile, his coffee pot is chugging away on the counter.
As I watch, he takes the coffee pot, empties it into the cooking pot, lets THAT come to a boil and dumps in some of his Turkish coffee, AND the remaining caffeine pill powder, which by now is starting to look uncomfortably like coke.
He lets that steep, and by now the coffee/burning smell is so strong it’s woken up all six of the other housemates, who have all come downstairs and are vacillating between staring at my laptop and at this concoction with undisguised horror.
He pours this sludge into a mug, stirs in about four /tablespoons/ of sugar and slides it my way.
I figure that I’m probably dead either way regardless, so I suck it back, filtering the grounds through my teeth as I go.
I’ve had three sips when it hits, and I feel my heart trip on a beat. I must have gone white cause he nods, all pleased, and points me at his laptop.
Long story short, I got an week’s extension, didn’t sleep for five days, had a conversation with my BLINDS in SPANISH, and got a B+, with a note that it was an “engaging read and well-written, when intelligible”.
To this day, coffee any stronger than a pale off-beige makes my chest hurt.
I honestly thought he was going to drink the coffee and perform was magic on the laptop but.. nope. even better. Honest to god, I really want to know how that conversation with the blinds went.
Bruh. BRUH.
This is so real. LMFAOOO
I’m concerned for all of you. You at least shortened your life by ten years.
I hate to use a Mad Max reference but WITNESS ME. -chugs monster and takes midterms-
My minor is in Chemistry.
I collect chemistry glassware.
I figured out how to triple-distill and vacuum-extract coffee to raise the caffeine concentration 20-30x.
The first time I sampled a mug of the end product, I didn’t sleep for 2 days and was convinced that I could feel air molecules.
♥ OH MY GOD I LOVED YOUR EXR COMPLEMENTARY POWERS FIC ♥ It was so amazing! I would JUST LOVE to turn it into a little comic, if that's alright with you! You write amazingly, thank you so much for enriching our lives :3 Have a lovely day!
I TAKE IT BACK, I AM LITERALLY DYING RIGHT NOW, EVERYONE IS TOO NICE. Um, absolutely! Fuck yeah, make a comic, tag me in it so I can hyperventilate over how amazing literally everyone is, like…holy shit, friend, buddy, pal, you are amazing.
your exr soul mate au killed me, thank you,, i loved the concept, it was so cool, and unique and ahhhhh!!!!!i love your writing!!!
Holy shit thank you so much? You are the sweetest?
This may be totally unwelcome but if you want to read more of my stuff, I’m on AO3 here (a couple Les Mis fics are in progress) and I have a writing tag on my blog here (stuff is tagged by fandom fic, likeles mis fic or hamilton fic, or you can just scroll, I guess) and I am always open for prompts although it might take me a while to work through them if I get inundated at the same rate as I have today.
Thank you so much for your amazing compliment, I am literally dying right now.
I seriously trust the entire Hamilton cast so much like legit if Lin, Anthony, Oak, and Daveed pulled up in a suspicious white van and told me to get in, you bet your ass I would. I’d climb in that van so fucking fast. Idk where we go or whats happening, I trust these people.
I write. I swear to God. I actually love writing fanfic. BUT, and here’s the catch, I have a ton of trouble coming up with short fic ideas. Short anything ideas, really. The most memorable example is that one time I decided to write how I thought someone being able to see the future would pan out, just a few pages of character study, dicking around with super powers, nothing fancy. Smash cut to a year and a half later, I’m wrapping up my 350 page novel and staring dismally at my 200 additional pages of worldbuilding. And it’s always like that, it gets so out of hand.
SO. My solution to that is this. If you have a craving for a specific pairing that you know I ship, shoot me a prompt and I’ll throw together a short fic for you and post it. I’m trying to unwind after finals, so it’ll be good for me, and you’ll get fic, so it’ll be good for you.
Hit me up.
Since that one Les Mis E x R Superpower AU got a hundred notes last night, I would like to remind everyone that I TAKE PROMPTS ALWAYS. My inbox is open, my free time is excessive, and I am bored, it would be my genuine pleasure to write y'all some fic. There is a (perpetually in progress) master list of ships on my blog.
So, after listening to the Hamilton soundtrack for like the fifteenth time I decided to look up Hamilton’s last words. I’ve never realized how accurate the characterization was until I read, essentially, “He kept talking for hours after getting shot. Nobody knows his exact last words because he wouldn’t stop talking. The man with so much to say refused to go quietly.”
