things that are beautiful:
• brown eyes
• dark brown eyes
• light brown eyes
• brown eyes with a lil bit of a different color mixed in
• brown eyes that are the same shade throughout
• eyes that change to different shades of brown
• brown eyes so dark they blend with the pupil how COOL is THAT
• when the sun shines on brown eyes in that certain way so they kinda glow
• brown eyes the same shade as the person’s hair and/or glasses
• brown eyes
• eyes that are brown
• BROWN EYES
As far as I am concerned, the only argument I care about for pronunciation of 'gif' is that a hard 'g' is what allows one to say "beware geeks bearing gifs"
So, about this Hamilton Star Wars AU: I have noticed an unacceptable lack of Hamilton/Laurens headcanons and feelings and urge you to inflict these on us at your earliest convenience.
Oh, sorry, friend, it looks like you’ve got a typo, I think you meant hey, Moran, inflict your thoughts on Space Monmouth on us, seeing as Laurens almost died there.
Washington, by this point, has been SOUNDLY outed as a Bad Code-Breaking Jedi (with a wife, the Council would like to reiterate). So the Congress governing the Continental systems decided that they needed to save face a little and made Washington promote Master Lee to the rank of Major General, because his record as a Jedi is impeccable.
Um, naturally, way back when they first meet, Lee takes one look at Washington’s padawan and launches into a truly epic lecture about the dangers and crimes of attachment. Laurens poker-faces through the whole thing and Hamilton instantly and deeply loathes Lee, because Laurens starts to retreat again. It’s taken him months to coax Laurens into kissing him, into letting him slip into his bunk and nestle into him sleepily. Laurens has even started being the one to initiate, tugging Hamilton down by the hand and wrapping long arms around him, pressing skin to skin. That changes with Lee standing around, looking judgemental.
That’s okay, though, because Laurens deeply and sincerely loathes Lee for the dispassionate report that Hamilton died at Schuylkill. Everyone hates Lee, basically.
Lee actually turns down the command at first because he’s offended at how small it is, never mind that the Continental army is desperately strapped for men and fighters alike. Washington has the best deadpan in the business, which is the only reason that Lee doesn’t know how relieved he is to hand the command over to Lafayette.
Of course, then Lee comes back and says he’s going to take command after all, and attack the Empire troops as they leave the desert moon Monmouth, where they spent their own winter. Washington still holds up that deadpan, because the only other option is to rest his head on the table and swear like a smuggler.
So they go to battle, Laurens and Hamilton among the fighters Lee leads down into the atmosphere. The heat from low-atmo combat is so awful a few ships–Continental and Imperial alike–malfunction on the spot and go down in flaming wreckage, all hands dead.
Here’s the thing. There’s a trend across Laurens and Hamilton’s experience in battle.
At Brandywine, Laurens almost died, after taking a blaster shot to the shoulder.
Schuylkill was Schuylkill.
On the Island, Hamilton broke onto an Imperial ship and stole twenty-one out of twenty-four top-of-the-line fighters, while ignoring heavy strafing fire from a battlecruiser. Hercules, who was there, swears up and down that it gave him grey hair.
Innumerable other skirmishes have proved that, given the opening, they’re more likely to risk their necks than preserve them.
They should be used to it, is the thing. And Laurens might be, if he does say so himself, because Hamilton can find a near-lethal fight with any civilian on the street. Hamilton, on the other hand, is not, and when Laurens is shot out of the sky, he doesn’t even try to find the other man’s Force signature before he panics.
Lee is a coward at heart. He’s not prepared to face the brutal heat, nor the desperation of the Imperial troops, nor the explosion of a Force-hurricane at the combat line. He runs, and when he runs, the ragged Continental line shatters.
And then the General’s personal fighter, the Vernon, comes screaming in from the edge of the atmosphere with Lafayette’s Marquis on his wing and the hurricane of Hamilton’s power still roaring so that even the soldiers with less Force-sense than a potato can feel it, and the Continentalists rally with a vengeance. It’s not a win, but they’ve proved they can hold their line.
Laurens is pulled out of his wreckage, almost completely uninjured and drenched in Hamilton’s Force signature. Laurens doesn’t know what happened, and Hamilton isn’t talking.
Lee starts talking shit, because Lee is terrible.
Washington takes a minute, thinks about it, and immediately issues an order that Hamilton have nothing to do with Lee, because Hamilton is on the warpath about Laurens’ latest brush with death.
Unfortunately, he fails to get ahead of Laurens himself, who is finally reaching his breaking point. And who would probably jump off a space deck without a suit if Hamilton wanted him to.
LIGHTSABER DUELS. HAMILTON DOES NOT LIKE THEM.
No, seriously, Jedi, Hamilton wants to know why you don’t use blasters like sane people. He really does. Using blasters and the Force together is both convenient and fun. And ranged. Get on his level.
Hamilton almost has a heart attack when he hears someone scream on the dueling ground, and the organ only resumes normal function when Laurens flicks off his lightsaber and lets Lee drop to the ground, a long cauterized wound to the ex-general’s ribs still smoking.
Laurens is in trouble (Washington would like to be on record that he’s been encouraging attachment, not rampant violence, and he’s very disappointed), but Hamilton…oh, Hamilton is really in trouble. Because Laurens can call it acting impulsively and ‘a learning experience,’ but Hamilton disobeyed a direct order.
Washington doesn’t say “I’d send you home but this ship is the only one you have,” but it’s a near thing, and Hamilton looks crushed nonetheless. It’s a bad day for everyone.
Instead of being sent ‘home,’ Hamilton is sent away from the front lines (away from John, a greedy part of his mind mutters, and holocalls are so interceptible, they won’t even be able to see each other, letters only), to serve as a liaison and bodyguard for their best supply ship.
The Revelation picks up its new passenger on its next pass. At least he’s old friends with the sisters, Hamilton thinks glumly as he lets Eliza crush him in a hug and ruffles his hand through Peggy’s hair to make her squawk in offence and call for Angelica.
“Particularly prone to serious procrastination problems are children who grew up with unusually high expectations placed on them…or else they exhibited exceptional talents early on, and thereafter “average” performances were met with concern and suspicion from parents and teachers.”
Holy SHIT
WELL THEN
Yep.
They actually tested me for a learning disability in high school because I was consistently failing math.
They discovered that I actually scored in the 80th percentile in that sort of learning.
Problem was, in every other subject, I was in the 99.8th percentile.
I had never learned how to study because I never needed to—and then, when something proved to be even the slightest bit challenging, my brain went
“LOL nope this is impossible abort”
Meanwhile, this entire time I’m scraping by in subjects like English. The assignments I did turn in, I’d score top marks—but I’d avoid turning in projects I didn’t think were “good” enough.
Essentially, my brain had two settings: “100%” or “0%”.
This sort of Baby Genius shit makes kids and adolescents neurotic and self-destructive.
We learned about this in Child Development. And we learned to reward hard work and not good job. Like don’t say to a child, “oh you are so smart.” Say “Oh did worked so hard.”
Be proud of the child, not the achievement.
Be proud of the child, not the achievement.
Decades of research have been done on this by Dr. Carol Dweck. When the emphasis is placed on effort (a factor people can control) rather than talent (an innate skill), it’s a lot easier to see mistakes as a learning opportunity rather than something you just won’t ever be good at. And kids who were encouraged by effort were also more willing to take on more challenging work and considered it a lot more fun, while the kids who were praised for their intelligence were reluctant to put themselves in a situation where they might lose that identifier as a “smart kid” by making mistakes, so they preferred to do work they were confident they could master. Also, the kids praised for effort wanted to compare their results to kids who got higher scores, to see where they made their mistakes, while those praised for intelligence wanted to compare their results to kids who scored lower, to reassure themselves.
Not only does this set up “smart” students for a lot of trouble when they enter college and start being regularly challenged, the effects last long beyond that. It can be very hard for the “you’re so smart!” kids to unlearn as they become adults and struggle with even common adult things, and are afraid to ask for help because of that lesson they learned from misguided praise that they are supposed to be smart and supposed to know the answers.
…Honestly +1 here. It’s very well researched and documented and yeah. Making the emphasis on “You succeed and we are proud of you b/c you are SMART as an intrinsic quality!” makes failure/setbacks/difficulty -TERRIFYING- b/c if you’re “smart” it doesn’t happen and if you fail that means you’re not smart and that’s what everyone’s drilled into you as your main point of worth.
And the rates of anxiety disorders among “gifted student” kids are kinda horrifying.
This is why “you’re so smart” means absolutely nothing to me any more. It’s used as punishment as often as it’s used as praise.
When you start a job, WRITE DOWN THE DATE YOU STARTED. Also the date you ended, if it ended. Write down the address. Write down the supervisors name.
You have NO IDEA how many forms this will be on. Seriously. I dont care if you have to email it to yourself on your hello kitty email or something, write it down and keep it.
im gonna back you way up.
when you start LOOKING FOR JOBS, keep track of all the places you’re applying to. write down the name and title of everyone who you speak to and write down the addresses of places you need to be. Some times interviews are conducted offsite. Have an interview with a recruiter? Get all of their info. If you need to follow-up you’re gonna want to be able to find this person easily.
AND BE ON TIME FOR YOUR INTERVIEWS! 2hrs early cause you had to take the bus is better than 5 minutes late.
It is also helpful to write down your salary/hourly wage with the corresponding dates. At the very least, write down your starting salary/hourly wage and ending salary/hourly wage.
Keep three files ongoing for your working and adult life - one with all of your job information, such as the stuff listed, as well as your duties, official title, names and contact numbers of supervisors (esp if you might be able to get a referral from them later). It’s SUPER helpful when you’re looking back at your job history trying to fill out all that mess. Also, having your job description along with a list of duties is helpful when you are writing a resume, or rewriting one, or writing multiple ones tailored for different specific fields that have different jobs or tasks highlighted.
The second file, for those of you who have ever moved, should contain the addresses and phone numbers of every place you’ve ever lived, along with names of people who can verify that, in case you ever find yourself needing to fill out a security clearance. You might think you could never forget your first address, the one you learned in elementary school, but it’s an easy thing to forget. Some applications for certain kinds of jobs require you to go back ten years and prove you lived there. Do you know your address from ten years ago? Do you know your phone number from ten years ago? The cell phone and the home phone? Are you sure? Write that shit down.
The third is what I call your brag file. Any time you do an exemplary job and that person tells you you can use them as a reference - fucking write that shit down. Write down what you did and how much work you did, because four years later when that person is the only person in your history who could give you a reference that is vaguely related to the thing you’re trying to change careers to, you probably won’t remember the details, or you’ll misremember, and they will probably have forgotten. So keep those details somewhere, specific dates and names, to jog their memory when you send them a LinkedIn message from out of the blue years down the line. Most people are nice people, and if they remember you as a good person who did good work, they’ll probably be happy to write you a thing. But even nice people can have shitty memories, so - remind them. If you have any great projects that you worked on and it’s possible to keep drafts of photos or copies or whatever for your portfolio, do it.
Keep track of the people who might be useful to you later. Friend them on FB if you’re close, connect with them on LinkedIn if you’re not and it needs to stay more professional, but do something to make sure you don’t lose touch entirely. Send them holiday cards if you have to, with a short little note about your life, just so they don’t forget you.
This is something my mom told me: you generally only need to include your job history for the last ten years. Anything older, you don’t need to include on applications and your resume.
Speaking of the resume: put one together and keep it updated. I had to make one in high school and it’s been super helpful. Especially for keeping track of start and end dates for jobs.
To those in the design business, also write down key details of your projects - what is the brief, who is the client, how big it is, what is it for. And if your company policy allows it, save your key sketches, drawings, and final products. Because it will save you the grief from trying to remember all this stuff when you are updating your portfolio a couple of years down the line. (I was lucky to be in a big company where they archived and had information systems set up, smaller companies may not be so good)
Finn, Rey, and Poe seem like the kind of people who’d have a relationship that requires a very strict ratio of 2 human disasters to 1 mature adult, and they rotate turns about who has to be responsible.
Like Poe comes back from a meeting to find Rey and Finn both wearing buckets on their head as they blindly sock wrestle (half a dozen pilots in a circle around them, egging them on) and Poe’s first thought is, “shit, they’re both already wrestling so I have to be referee.”
I can't help but feel that we are falling inline with themes played in V for Vendetta. Your thoughts? World events seem too coincidental, but there is no such thing as coincidence.
This is…a weirdly heavy question to just….get in Ye Olde Inbox, but okay, sure, we can talk V for Vendetta, I ain’t got shit to do.
Okay, to appreciate that I’m not just being a bitch here, you need to know that I’m not being funny when I call myself a cynic. I’m pretty serious about that, I consistently expect people to act selfishly and be generally unhelpful until/unless I know them pretty fucking well. @twistedangelsays (yoooo babe, back me up here) can confirm that my usual response to being told to depend on someone for help is to blink blankly and ask “but what would be in it for them to help me with this.” (Her usual response is “they’re your teacher, they’re literally getting paid for this,” but I’d like to kindly remind her that teachers at colleges get paid regardless.) The way I’ve described it several times in my tags is that I’m in love with humanity, and they don’t love me back, so I have a very peculiar view that’s half “God let’s just talk about the Voyager probe and random acts of kindness and the fact that we domesticated our primary predator” and half “I am genuinely not even surprised when people suck, and haven’t been in…forever, maybe.” It’s a very capital-R Romantic viewpoint, think Grantaire from Les Mis, I am Grantaire and Grantaire is me.
That being said, here are my current thoughts on the V for Vendetta thing.
V for Vendetta, or any other dystopian story on the lines of 1984 or Brave New World, presumes a level of competence on the collective scale that I just haven’t seen in the American government (I’m American, we currently have Clinton and a racist Cheeto duking it out for president, I’m usually better about being aware of the wider world but I am Very Concerned about the election, so the only thing that I really took note of was Brexit, I’m sorry, this is gonna be pretty US-centric.) Individually, I’m confident that many–um, some of our politicians and administrators are perfectly functional human beings with a high degree of competency, but I have yet to see that brought to the table in any sort of concerted effort. I remember a lot of government criticism way back when the Occupy movement was a thing revolving around “Well, they don’t have a goal” and that’s valid, I made that remark myself, but also…like, fucking hark who’s talking, Washington DC, what have you done with your life lately. So that’s the main thing, is that our government flat-out isn’t cohesive enough to execute a functional dystopia, we’re too much of a chaotic mess.
That being said, I don’t know how much that’s a positive thing. I mean, the lack of a genuine totalitarian regime (and conversations about whether or not America trends toward dystopianism can please delayed to a later date) is obviously a good thing, but the entropic decline toward chaos we’re witnessing in the clash between the rising generation of (largely) liberal mindset and the people in power, who are by and large interested in maintaining the status quo…that’s going to be REAL messy when it starts to break down. I mean, shit, it’s already breaking down, look around, read the news, and then maybe drink, ‘cause shit’s depressing. Who needs totalitarianism when you have what-the-fuck-ever this is.
This is more general, but I’m of the opinion that people are neither fundamentally good nor bad, but rather fundamentally people (that’s a bastardized Good Omens quote, it makes some EXTREMELY good philosophical points between the demonic/angelic antics and Four Bikers of the Apocalypse). As mentioned above, this means I assume a level of selfish behavior, particularly from those already in a position of power–power and wealth beget nothing so much as the desire to maintain one’s power and wealth. In addition, that translates to a fairly telescopic view on the world, in which one’s immediate loved ones (possibly including self) generally take absolute precedence over the abstracted ‘they.’ Soooo that translates into “the human capacity for precipitating disaster is boundless,” in Moran-speak.
Anyway. TL;DR: I don’t think much of people’s inherent capacity to be functional enough to run a V for Vendetta style dystopian system (this is also where a lot of conspiracy theories break down for me), but hey. I’m sure they’ll impress me with their skill at fucking everything up anyway. Let me take this opportunity to remind my American followers to vote against Trump, I don’t give a damn what you think of Clinton.
And if a revolution starts, I can shoot a gun and have medical qualifications in addition to a good tactical brain, fucking point me at the recruitment office.
Hamilton and Jedi padawan!Laurens in the middle of the Space Revolutionary War and afterwards, possibly SCREAMING AT JEFFERSON in the middle of a Senate session.
Okay so during the Space Revolutionary War, here’s a few things that DEFINITELY happen.
First of all, Hamilton and Laurens and Lafayette and Mulligan are all involved about a year and a half earlier than they were in actual-facts history, which only matters because PINING. So Laurens spends about a year Dealing with Hamilton, not least because he’s the only person who ever has any success managing him (after the third time Washington finds Hamilton passed out at a table after two days of work, he officially adds Hamilton Wrangling to Laurens’ list of padawan duties). And this is made difficult because Hamilton is of the opinion that vows of non-attachment are stupid and also Laurens has a bad habit of Attaching all over the place, so he Suffers.
Riiiiight up until about the eight month mark at which point Laurens is exhausted from whatever they’ve been up to and reels right over until his face is buried in the curve of Hamilton’s neck and his lanky body is pressed up against Hamilton’s smaller form. He mumbles something about ‘just so tired of not getting to do this’ and that…is pretty much that. Hamilton is so smug every Jedi in the quadrant can practically taste it. They’re not great at being subtle, but, like, there’s no evidence and they’re not bad at being subtle either, so really just Lafayette really KNOWS, and Laurens feels. So. Guilty. But Hamilton is like gravity, and the guilt always somehow takes a backseat when the feral Force user kisses him.
There’s a space battle on the edge of the Schuylkill Asteroid Belt, some two years into the war, while they’re hidden on Valley Forge. Alexander Hamilton is shot down and lost in the belt, according to the comm Lee sends them. Laurens can’t find him in the Force, can’t feel him anywhere, and, while Laurens isn’t particularly strong with the Force (not like Alex, he thinks wildly, not like Alex who drags his own personal hurricane wherever he goes), the pulse of pain that rips out from him is so intense it leaves the other Jedi and Force-sensitives in Washington’s inner military family gasping.
“General Washington, sir,” Hamilton pants as he all but onto the bridge of Washington’s ship, charred in places and his escape pod literally falling apart in the landing bay. There’s a long pause, and he looks around, bemused, at the shocked faces around him. “Uh, did I miss something?”
That night, Laurens pushes Hamilton down onto his bunk and curls up around him, until his senses are flooded with nothing but him, and the only thing he can sense in the Force is the hurricane, set to the beat of Alex’s heart.
Listening to the frantic Force signature of his student wind down into something exhausted, Washington very quietly gets in contact with a woman by the name of Martha and casually suggests that she look into coming to visit Valley Forge now that he’s in so much trouble with the Council anyway.
(to tune of Non-Stop) AFTER the War, they went back to the Continental systems. (Doesn’t really scan, does it.)
So Hamilton’s not married to Eliza in this AU because the Schuyler Sisters are still kicking ALL the ass (WORK), he and Laurens have been a thing for a while now (and Laurens is getting past some of his issues on GWash’s example), and the Jedi Council, let’s be real, is pretty much not okay with any of the Space Revolutionary War. Not least because Best Jedi Ever George Washington has been happily married for like TEN YEARS NOW and they’re all feeling kind of humiliated. So the Council fractures right down the middle, and on the one side you have the Traditionalists and on the other side you have…I dunno, Reform Jedi? Reform Jedi, we’re calling them that. And the Reform Jedi decide to integrate themselves into the new government of the Continental systems, which have renamed themselves the American systems (because I do what I want), aaaand that’s where TJeffs comes in. Ex-ambassador to Coruscant from Washington’s home planet.
Jefferson’s Force-sensitive, but not enough to be trained as a Jedi (and yes, he’s bitter), so he meets Hamilton and then things unravel from there. Their FIRST MEETING involves the debate of “is each planet going to be financially sovereign or not”, and Hamilton’s very logical response is “obviously not, because YOUR planet might be all temperate climates and arable land, but, say, the planet containing our current capital is NOT, each planet needs to be able to depend on each other.” And Jefferson, Force bless him, opens his counter-argument with something to the effect of “are we going to take recommendations on how to financially manage a unification of systems from a feral Force user from the ass end of the galaxy, what possible use could he be.”
Laurens is literally an entire system away, mopping up some of the last of the mess, and he still feels Hamilton lose his temper.
I have someone staying in my hotel tonight that made me think that this would be worth sharing here.
If you are running away/trying to hide from someone that is frightening, abusing, harassing you, and you find yourself staying in a hotel to avoid being found, there’s an extra precaution you can take.
When you check in, ask the front desk clerk to put you as “Unlisted”. They’ll know what you’re talking about. What this means is that as far as anyone other than you and the front desk clerks are concerned, you’re not there. If someone tries to call for you and your room, “I’m sorry. I don’t have anyone registered under that name.” Same thing goes for it someone shows up at the desk. “Unlisted” means you’re untouchable.
Please, please, if you find yourself in trouble and seeking refuge in a hotel, do this. It’s really quick, easy, and painless for the front desk clerk to do, and they are not going to judge you for it.
Please use actual words, not just code words. I work in a hotel and have NEVER heard of “Unlisted”. If someone were to come up to me and say that I would just look at you, confused, and ask for clarification.
Just flat out tell the front desk that you’re avoiding an abuser, if you say that you’re just avoiding something or someone, we may hesitate to comply, because you may be hiding from the police or law-enforcement. Please tell the front desk what you actually want us to do. Most places sign privacy/non-disclosure type agreements and if you say: “Hey, I’m hiding from a very bad situation and there might be some abusive people following me. Can you please either put me under a different name or make sure that no one contacts me?” we’ll do it and wont speak another word. Most places would even help you look up resources and try to get you transportation.
You can make it so most phones will be no contact, put up the do-not-disturb sign, and when shift change happens, if you’re still awake, tell the next person, because sometimes shift change is chaotic and important stuff can fall through the cracks. If you’re staying for multiple days, ask to speak with the general manager about your situation and they’ll make sure everything is enforced.
I worked at a hotel for almost 3 years, and I can confirm with the second post. You can additionally tell us at the front desk that no one is allowed to phone you, but you can phone out of your room.
Please do not be vague about it, we’ll likely think you’re up to something illegal. Just be upfront about it. No one’s allowed to see the guest list (or your name on the computer) besides the people working behind the counter, it’s a part of the confidentiality agreement.
Fuck I reblogged this before… Ignore that one. This is the right one
Everyone’s heard that pirate’s call each other “matey”. What you probably haven’t heard is that the word matey comes from “matelote”.
In the Caribbean this word was used between buccaneers to signify a life partner. Matelotes could inherit from each other, shared space, fought together, could speak for each other when one was incapacitated or absent, and more often than not the relationship was romantic and sexual.
That’s right folks. Pirates had a term for their gay life partners.
In light of this, I present to you a new alternative for significant other and partner. Bring back matelote.
(You can learn more about the practice of matelotage in: The Origins and Role of Same-Sex Relations in Human Societies by James Niell)
Arrr! Matelotage was such a great idea!
In an age when the English Navy ran on “rum, sodomy and the lash,” (as noted in many writings of the time), homosexual relationships were punishable by death.
The result here was that in the English Navy, relationships went underground. Very often, they became forced, often between a superior and a subordinate. When English crews went on the account, becoming pirates, they looked for a way to legitimize relationships of honest affection. Matelotage [French; meaning ‘seamanship’] , now used as an English word, became a term for a legal marriage between two men.
[…]
In pirate society (and only pirate society) two men could “marry.” They would exchange gold rings, and pledge eternal union. After this, they were expected to share everything. Plunder and living spaces were obvious, but couples in matelotage were also known to share other property, and even women. If one of the partners was killed in action, pirate captains were careful to make sure that the surviving member received both shares of plunder, as well as any appropriate death benefits.
Simply put, homosexual relationships had been kept under wraps by people in fear for their lives because of draconian laws. Among sailors who had practiced this form of release themselves, it lost its sense of being alien, and so became accepted and legitimized as soon as they (by turning pirate) gained the right to make their own laws.{X}
So I’ve been listening to an audiobook of Moby Dick in my downtime, and omg this book is weird. Like prepare yourself for it being super racist, but it’s also intensely gay??? The main character gets gay married to his Pacific Islander roomie like the night after he meets him???? Also I just got to the part with Captain Ahab and omg he is so Extra™ like he actually throws his pipe overboard because it doesn’t fit with his ~*~aesthetic~*~ Let me tell you Great American Literature is wild
UPDATE in this chapter the narrator can’t shut up about how hot his particular friend boyfriend Queequeg is and describes in loving detail how they’re tied together by this rope while he holds Queequeg over the side of the boat (actually he says “wedded,” WEDDED, i ask you) and he’s never felt more intimate with another human being in his life
JUST WHALERS BEING BROS
FURTHER FUCKING UPDATE OH MY GOD
okay so item 1: this book recently went from “somewhat racist at brief intervals” to “let’s have a whole chapter of unremitting racism” so like. be aware of that if you ever plan on reading this? it was not fun times
ITEM TWO
Y’ALL.
There is a whole chapter about Our Hero holding hands with his fellow whalers.
WHILE THEY MASSAGE WHALE SPERM.
I could not make this shit up. Here it is, in all its slimy glory, Chapter 94: A Squeeze of the Hand –
“Squeeze! squeeze! squeeze! all the morning long; I squeezed that sperm till I myself almost melted into it; I squeezed that sperm till a strange sort of insanity came over me; and I found myself unwittingly squeezing my co-laborers’ hands in it, mistaking their hands for the gentle globules. Such an abounding, affectionate, friendly, loving feeling did this avocation beget; that at last I was continually squeezing their hands, and looking up into their eyes sentimentally; as much as to say,- Oh! my dear fellow beings, why should we longer cherish any social acerbities, or know the slightest ill-humor or envy! Come; let us squeeze hands all round; nay, let us all squeeze ourselves into each other; let us squeeze ourselves universally into the very milk and sperm of kindness.”
THIS IS THE GAYEST THING I’VE EVER READ. MELVILLE IS LEGITIMATELY JUST TAUNTING ME NOW. HE’S CREEPILY ROLLING HIS LITTLE WHALER HANDS IN WHALE SPERM AND DARING ME TO SAY SOMETHING WHILE I JUST STAND THERE WITH MY FUCKING JAW ON THE FLOOR. THIS BISEXUAL ADMITS DEFEAT. I HAVE BEEN OUTFLANKED BY HERMAN FUCKING MELVILLE AND HIS GAY-ASS WHALE SPERM
FINAL. FUCKING. UPDATE.
this is what i said to @manicpanic88 earlier today, so naïvely: i said, “Meville is straight up thirsty for whales.” I added, “This man truly wants to fuck a whale.”
Let me be clear (and by the way SPOILERS up to antepenultimate chapter of the book follow this parenthetical): I am now on chapter one hundred thirty-something and we have only just now found the whale. Like. This book has been one hundred and thirty chapters of Real Nantucket Whale Thirst™ and almost no actual (Moby) Dick, do you get me? You out there who like pining fic, THIS BOOK IS THE ULTIMATE. Melville did it first, but GAYER, and WITH WHALES.
Anyway so this whole book everyone who has seen or even heard about Moby Dick is like “whoa my sweet fancy aunts, don’t go lookin’ for that there whippersnapper” (this is my attempt at imitating Melville’s weird imitation of a Nantucket accent, it’s not going well for me but it didn’t go well for him either), “whoa, THAT’S A BAD FISH, I heard he took someone’s head clean off / killed his twelve best mates / blew up a ship with the power of his LASER FLUKES!!” i mean no one actually says “laser flukes” but THIS IS THE LEVEL OF BADNESS WE ARE DEALING WITH. THIS IS NOT A NICE WHALE. YOU SHOULD NOT TAKE THIS WHALE HOME TO MEET YOUR PARENTS AT SPRING BREAK, HE WILL DRINK ALL YOUR BEER AND LEAVE THE HOUSE SOMEHOW FULL OF DOG POOP, WHILE IT IS ALSO ON FIRE.
and yet.
here is what Melville has to say about this bad motherfucker when we finally, finally see him for the very first time:
“A gentle joyousness - a mighty mildness of repose in swiftness, invested the gliding whale. Not the white bull Jupiter swimming away with ravished Europa clinging to his graceful horns; his lovely, leering eyes sideways intent upon the maid; with smooth bewitching fleetness, rippling straight for the nuptial bower in Crete; not Jove, not that great majesty Supreme! did surpass the glorified White Whale as he so divinely swam.”
RAVISHED EUROPA. STRAIGHT FOR THE NUPTIAL BOWER. WE GET IT, HERMAN. WE GET IT. YOU WANNA FUCK A WHALE. YOU WROTE A WHOLE ENTIRE BOOK ABOUT WANTING TO FUCK THE MOST BEAUTIFUL WHITE WHALE IN THE WORLD, WHO PROBABLY ALSO HAS PURPLE EYES AND PUTS ITS FLUKES UP WHEN SOME PREPS STARE AT HIM. WE GET IT.
reader, i hope he married it.
I AM DYING OF LAUGHTER OH MY GOD
and also now wondering if the Ishmael/Queequeg relationship was meant to be evocative of matelotage…
LIST THE FIRST PARAGRAPH OF YOUR LAST TEN FICS (AND SEE IF THERE ARE ANY PATTERNS)
I’m limiting myself to just fic-fics, not bullet-point-fics, because, like, I put out too much stuff. Thanks to @buckygreyjoy for tagging me.
1) “This guy needs to chill out,” Chat Noir said, shooting a smirk at Ladybug to see her nose crinkle up. Her look of fond distaste was the highlight of his day, every day, the kind of friendly teasing Adrien had always wished for as a little boy. The only thing better was when she actually shot a joke back at him, leaving a warm weight in his chest and a smile on his face. –from this untitled canon Miraculous Ladybug fic
2) Enjolras is a wished-for child, and he’s told as much every day by his mother, who bought his life with a few drops of blood on white silk in a gold embroidery hoop. From the minute he learns to talk, he’s as fair as the sun and as sharp as her needle, and his country adores their young prince with their whole heart. His mother Queen Lamarque is a good ruler and her Prince Consort is nice enough so all is well, and Enjolras grows up believing passionately in the rights of the people. His tutors despair of him as a monarch but are delighted with him as a politician—it’s very strange for everyone. –from this untitled Snow White AU Les Mis fic
3)
The message from Lee was greeted by a long beat of silence. –from to see our glory, a canon-era Hamilton fic about Schuylkill, continued here
4)
Eponine is ten, with parents who hate her and a little brother she’s terrified for, when she gets hit in the chest with a pebble. Some other kid tossed it and it’s pouring rain and they probably didn’t even see her, but she goes down like she’s been shot. –from a flower at my feet, a reincarnation AU Les Mis fic
5) “Excuse
me, sir, are you awake?” The
voice was feminine, warm and husky and stern, with a distinctive curl to the
words, slack on the r and sharp over
the vowels.
New York City, then. Home. –from this as-yet-unpublished Winter Soldier AU Hamilton fic
6)
The landslide didn’t take him by surprise. It was hard to take an earthbender by surprise, and harder when that earthbender had spent ten years mostly fending for himself. So Grantaire was well out of the path of the falling rocks before they started to slip, and fully intended to let nature take its course. The rocks were large, but they could be cleared easily, and he was trying to make this village last more than a season, which meant not doing things like diverting massive rockslides. –from things we lost in the fire, an Avatar AU Les Mis fic
7)
She isn’t a Skywalker—or maybe she is. She can’t remember, so does it matter? She is herself. –from Shattered Glass and Sandstorms, a First Oder Rey Star Wars AU
8)
John hadn’t slept heavily since coming to Valley Forge—the ill ease of a Southern boy exposed to the bitter nip of a Pennsylvania winter for the first time—but he was getting better at it. The tiny hut was better than the tent, and their status as aides de camp of the general himself meant that they were only two to a hut. It meant there was barely space to walk between the slapdash cots and the writing desk they shared and the two chairs. Alexander—who had insisted on the familiar address within scant days of meeting John, all sharp-edged smile and warm dark eyes—had a slightly easier time of it, as he wasn’t forced to stand with his head bowed whenever he drew too near a wall, but not much. –from this untitled canon-era Hamilton fic
9)
“This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had–” –from this untitled Steve/Sam/Bucky friendship MCU fic
10)
“Oh m’God, who’s cooking, that is amazing,” Rogue called as she swept into the mansion and was hit by a wall of smoky-sweet warmth spilling from the kitchen. “Is that jambalaya? Am I gonna have to do extra Danger Room sessions or somethin’ for that?” –from this untitled Rogue/Remy X-Men fic
Honestly? The first thought that comes to mind is “I write too much Les Mis fic for someone who’s never read the book all the way through” but fuck it, I do what I want. Otherwise, I notice that I like to start with either a declarative statement (see 2, 3, 4, 6, 7) or someone doing something, preferably talking (see 1, 5, 9, 10), and heavy description as a cold open (8) is pretty uncommon. Um, yeah, that’s what I got.
In case anyone’s curious, I’m really proud of the First Order Rey one and I love the X-Men so y’all should feel free to hit me up for that. Also, guess who has two thumbs and is a huge AmRev nerd? *points at self* So yeah, for all your gay canon-era Hamilton needs.
I don’t even fucking know who to tag, just. Whoever. It’s kind of cathartic going through old writing, you should do it if you’ve had a long day.
Prompt from @littlestartopaz: Max and Lessa role reversal? (Reminder that Max and Lessa are the main characters of my novel Polaris, explained in more detail here.)
Okay so, in this world, Max grows up Margaret Stone, with long hair and makeup and heels and money. She wants to strip off her skin. Lessa, full name unknown, on the other hand, is on the street at eleven and picked up by Sebastian McCoy, MD, on his way to Polaris’ newest base. She’s a little too timid to be a revolutionary, at first, but she takes to it like a duck to water after a little bit of an adjustment period.
Lessa never joins Mercury squad, she’s not cut out for life as a spy and she has no talent for hacking. Instead, when she’s fifteen she joins Mars squad, the strike team, and starts taking point on their operations, throwing bolts of electricity rather than bullets. She’s promoted to Mars Prime at nineteen, and she has a reputation for being the gentlest professional soldier anyone’s ever met.
There’s also a couple of stories about her blowing the power for whole city grids, or turning on the sprinklers in a building and using the water as a conductor to kill everyone on the floor.
Under Lessa, Ursa Major’s Mars squad gets a new nickname. Blitzkrieg. It means lightning war.
On the one hand, Polaris does a lot worse in this universe. Having a technopath to network a continent-spanning rebellion is invaluable, and without such an advantage, they lose lives, they lose bases, more than once they almost lose everything. There is no secure intranet linking their family of thousands, there is no safe way to smuggle those who don’t want to fight out of the country. Fight or die is the unspoken option given to every new recruit, and those few who are desperate enough to attempt to leave the country on their own learn how true it is. Polaris is harder, every base dependent on only itself, with no safe way to reach out for help, and its people are angrier, with an ever-growing ‘missing’ list of those who can neither be contacted nor confirmed dead.
On the other, Polaris does a lot better in this universe, because when Margaret is nine, she discovers that she can make any computer do anything she tells it to, just by touching it. When she’s twelve, and Lessa is still years from getting kicked out, Margaret starts funneling information from her father’s system onto a private hard drive so encrypted the NSA couldn’t crack it with their best men. She does research, lots of research, and hunts down a boy at her school whose family is on one of the lists. She tells him, warns him, and says, “Polaris. Go to Polaris. Take them this.” The moment the hard drive is connected to a Polaris system, their database is flooded with more national secrets than they’ve been able to get in a decade, every block of code signed with a simple MAX. Marshal North has to sit down, and she laughs and laughs until she’s breathless.
Margaret is twenty-two and ferocious with being trapped like an animal in a cage when she’s caught up in a Polaris operation. She gets taken hostage by a girl with long blonde hair and a grim look in her eye, one hand wrapped around her throat as the girl says, “Sorry, Miss Stone, but it is what it is. Tell your bodyguards to drop their guns, or I’ll put so much electricity through you you’ll wish you’d just been struck by lightning.”
Margaret bares her teeth and looks as wild as any of the rebels when she says, “If you take me with you, I can get you another load of my father’s data before we leave, and more that I’ve hidden around the city. it’ll make the hard drive look like nothing.”
The blonde girl is so startled she almost drops her hostage in a pile on the ground. “How did you–”
“I sent the first one.”
“Max,” Lessa breathes, and gives a feral grin of her own. “You’ve got a deal.”
I can't help but feel that we are falling inline with themes played in V for Vendetta. Your thoughts? World events seem too coincidental, but there is no such thing as coincidence.
This is…a weirdly heavy question to just….get in Ye Olde Inbox, but okay, sure, we can talk V for Vendetta, I ain’t got shit to do.
Okay, to appreciate that I’m not just being a bitch here, you need to know that I’m not being funny when I call myself a cynic. I’m pretty serious about that, I consistently expect people to act selfishly and be generally unhelpful until/unless I know them pretty fucking well. @twistedangelsays (yoooo babe, back me up here) can confirm that my usual response to being told to depend on someone for help is to blink blankly and ask “but what would be in it for them to help me with this.” (Her usual response is “they’re your teacher, they’re literally getting paid for this,” but I’d like to kindly remind her that teachers at colleges get paid regardless.) The way I’ve described it several times in my tags is that I’m in love with humanity, and they don’t love me back, so I have a very peculiar view that’s half “God let’s just talk about the Voyager probe and random acts of kindness and the fact that we domesticated our primary predator” and half “I am genuinely not even surprised when people suck, and haven’t been in…forever, maybe.” It’s a very capital-R Romantic viewpoint, think Grantaire from Les Mis, I am Grantaire and Grantaire is me.
That being said, here are my current thoughts on the V for Vendetta thing.
V for Vendetta, or any other dystopian story on the lines of 1984 or Brave New World, presumes a level of competence on the collective scale that I just haven’t seen in the American government (I’m American, we currently have Clinton and a racist Cheeto duking it out for president, I’m usually better about being aware of the wider world but I am Very Concerned about the election, so the only thing that I really took note of was Brexit, I’m sorry, this is gonna be pretty US-centric.) Individually, I’m confident that many–um, some of our politicians and administrators are perfectly functional human beings with a high degree of competency, but I have yet to see that brought to the table in any sort of concerted effort. I remember a lot of government criticism way back when the Occupy movement was a thing revolving around “Well, they don’t have a goal” and that’s valid, I made that remark myself, but also…like, fucking hark who’s talking, Washington DC, what have you done with your life lately. So that’s the main thing, is that our government flat-out isn’t cohesive enough to execute a functional dystopia, we’re too much of a chaotic mess.
That being said, I don’t know how much that’s a positive thing. I mean, the lack of a genuine totalitarian regime (and conversations about whether or not America trends toward dystopianism can please delayed to a later date) is obviously a good thing, but the entropic decline toward chaos we’re witnessing in the clash between the rising generation of (largely) liberal mindset and the people in power, who are by and large interested in maintaining the status quo…that’s going to be REAL messy when it starts to break down. I mean, shit, it’s already breaking down, look around, read the news, and then maybe drink, ‘cause shit’s depressing. Who needs totalitarianism when you have what-the-fuck-ever this is.
This is more general, but I’m of the opinion that people are neither fundamentally good nor bad, but rather fundamentally people (that’s a bastardized Good Omens quote, it makes some EXTREMELY good philosophical points between the demonic/angelic antics and Four Bikers of the Apocalypse). As mentioned above, this means I assume a level of selfish behavior, particularly from those already in a position of power–power and wealth beget nothing so much as the desire to maintain one’s power and wealth. In addition, that translates to a fairly telescopic view on the world, in which one’s immediate loved ones (possibly including self) generally take absolute precedence over the abstracted ‘they.’ Soooo that translates into “the human capacity for precipitating disaster is boundless,” in Moran-speak.
Anyway. TL;DR: I don’t think much of people’s inherent capacity to be functional enough to run a V for Vendetta style dystopian system (this is also where a lot of conspiracy theories break down for me), but hey. I’m sure they’ll impress me with their skill at fucking everything up anyway. Let me take this opportunity to remind my American followers to vote against Trump, I don’t give a damn what you think of Clinton.
And if a revolution starts, I can shoot a gun and have medical qualifications in addition to a good tactical brain, fucking point me at the recruitment office.
the fact that you can work full time in this country and still not afford to live disgusts me more and more every day
Everyone reblog this because it speaks volumes.
Also please note that it’s not “can’t afford insert thing about middle class here” it’s literally “can’t afford to LIVE.” Food, clean water, a roof, medicine, the basics. That is what that covers.
im here for women who’ve survived trauma and come out of the other end furious and spitting blood and im here for women who’ve survived trauma and ended up softer and smaller and less brave and im here for women who refuse to deal with their trauma, who fuck and fight and run, and im here for women in the middle of dealing with their trauma who cry on the floor one day and feel invincible the next im here for any woman who’s experienced trauma. you’re not handling it wrongly. you’re doing your best
okay, so, an au where your ocs all work shitty retail jobs
Oh dear Christ. Okay, let’s see, I don’t make OC’s for fic as a rule, and my OC’s for my original writing all tend to be really aggressive people, this should be fun. I’ll just pick five at random.
Sam Lightworth, Horseman of Death and unwilling Antichrist and my fave: she’s the best salesperson in the house, no one is disputing this, she could sell light switches to the Amish and matchboxes in Hell so they’re not going to fire her, but she’s also on so much probation always. A short list of highlights from the notes in Sam’s file:
punched a customer in the nose for flicking water at her
found a customer rifling through the shirts she’d just spent an hour folding and almost broke their fingers
responded to a crying child by setting him on a shelf and telling him that if he wasn’t good she’d sell him (in her defense, it worked)
threw a grown man into a wall so hard she knocked him out when he tried to grab her ass (the manager doesn’t know how she managed it and doesn’t WANT to know, okay, he deals with too much shit to ask how she sent someone flying without a finger laid on them)
was found in store at opening with what looked suspiciously like a hellhound (there is a sign, okay, it’s very unambiguous, no pets allowed)
Max, no last name, my spy-slash-technopath from this novel: she used to work on the floor but she’s shit at selling things and only slightly better at giving directions, so they shoved her in a glorified janitor’s closet with the security system and told her to keep it running. She helps make sure there’s never any video evidence of Sam’s antics.
Gwynion, erstwhile Prince of the Unseelie Court and ex-assassination victim, because we need a guy in here somewhere: he’s very polite, which has him one up on Sam, and very efficient, which has him one up on Max, but he’s also…look, the manager isn’t accusing anyone of anything, but no one ever found that one woman who tried to grope Gwynion, okay, the manager’s not saying she disappeared. He’s just saying they never found her. There’s a difference.
Sephie, from this: honestly Sephie doesn’t deserve this, Sephie deserves better than this bullshit and these coworkers, she is a Normal Human trying to pay rent and she needs a drink. Nonetheless, she gets along famously with everyone and doesn’t mind working the register since Sam isn’t trusted to do it and Gwynion seems prone to causing equipment fry-age. Sephie is also gunning for the managerial position when their current boss inevitably caves, and stands to make a tidy sum in the pool given the newest hire.
Angharad “Harry” Ainsel, from this (parts are noted ‘first,’ ‘second,’ ‘third’): the new hire. The manager almost cried when she walked in, because no one who wanders around with that strange bone crown is going to be a good thing. She’s almost as good as Sam at the sales end of things, but she’s also making people sign things that don’t look like receipts and has offered to exchange two return items for changeling children. Also, the bike rack is for bikes, and the no pets allowed thing should cover the bike rack, as far as the manager knows, which means the warhorse is definitely contraindicated.
Bonus sixth headcanon: the manager quits within three weeks of Harry’s hire (with the apparent intent to move to Bangkok or somewhere similarly distant), Harry and Sephie shake hands as soon as Sephie’s signed her new managerial contract, and the Huntsmaster leaves in the middle of her shift and doesn’t come back to work. Sephie, when asked how she knows Harry and could she get Sam one of those nice daggers she carried, shrugs and says that her girlfriend has contacts.
When somebody says that “a man likes to feel like a man,” all I hear is “A man likes to feel superior to you and it’s your job to make him believe it.”
Someone said this to me once, that a man needs to feel like a man, I replied “well I’m not stopping him” and had to watch this fragile creature try to explain to me that my strong personality could demean men.
Like, if I have to pretend you are a strong man and cater to that then clearly you’re not that strong dude.
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.
(ALSO. it is possible Alexander Hamilton was there. it is SO possible.)
Actually hell yes, given Alexander Hamilton’s apparent proclivity to hitting on anything that stood still long enough and wasn’t either British or Jefferson, it’s frankly PROBABLE that, not only was he there, he probably dragged anyone who seemed willing with him. (John Laurens. I am saying he probably dragged Laurens. Valley Forge is a veritable cornucopia of delightful historical hypotheses. I hope you’re all braced for me to do my thesis next year and become VERY ANNOYING.)
I have seen a lot of posts on here talking about individual extensions for chrome to help people, but I haven’t seen a place where they’re compiled together. So here you are!
Open Dyslexic: changes the font to Open Dyslexic and makes it larger. Personal favourite.
Dyslexie: changes the font to dyslexie and allows change to font size and colour (blue). Can be turned off. (Doesn’t seem to work on facebook)
Font Changer: Allows you to change the font on specific website or on everything using a Google Font. I believe you can also upload your own, if there’s a specific font you need.
BeeLine Reader: Uses a gradient so your eye follows along one line to the next
i’m absolutely screaming my 6th graders had to write essays about their favorite celebrities and one girl wrote hers about abraham lincoln
please remember that i don’t live in america, this is a 12 year old korean girl and when asked about her favorite celebrity her mind automatically jumped to the 16th president of the united states
when I was in about - third, fourth grade or so, I decided to tell everyone there was a ghost in the auditorium. now, this wasn’t too hard to do - the auditorium back then was huge and a little bit creepy when empty, and I’d been backstage plenty of times for various school things that I knew the layout well enough. also, I was not a very popular person, and ghost stories were the easiest way to get popular in my school.
so I said I saw a ghost. no details, I just said I saw a girl covered in blood at the top of the stairs backstage and ran out like my ass was on fire.
over the next year, the entire thing mutated until everyone was claiming that they’d seen the ghost and that they’d FIGURED OUT HER IDENTITY AND HOW SHE GOT THERE, and I was like, “what.”
which just goes to show that you should prob never underestimate the power of a story bc it’s STILL GOING to this day and made it onto a Facebook post that just crossed my feed.
guys. I made up the auditorium ghost. it’s fine, you can all come out now.
This is a short fiction piece inspired by this post.
#Apocalypse
It wasn’t funny.
But, then again, it kind of
was.
Haley couldn’t stop the
laughter bubbling up in her chest even as she felt a few tears escape and
streak down her dark features as she posted what would probably be her last few
Instagram photos ever.
Haley wondered if things like
Instagram survived the end of the world. She suspected she wouldn’t be around
to find out.
She glanced around the half
destroyed street. No one wanted to die alone. Yet, here she was, her ankle pinned
by wreckage. Even if the creature didn’t make a second sweep, she doubted she
would survive to see search and rescue teams (was that something they even did
after an entire city got destroyed?)
Haley closed her eyes, pretty
convinced this was it. Her friends and family weren’t responding to text
message, so either they were dead already or somewhere without cell service.
She was going die. She resisted the urge to look up how long it takes to die
from dehydration.
That’s when her smartphone
chirped.
Her eyes flew open, unlocking
her screen and glancing down at the likes piling up on Instagram. Her post was
getting attention, people asking if she could take any more photos. Apparently
she was one of the closest people to the giant, tentacle creature rampaging
through New York City.
She shook her head, scrolling
through the comments. Haley almost scrolled past it, but one in all caps caught
her attention.
“EYO GIRL!! WHERE YOU AT???? TOM SAYS BASED ON THE ANGLE OF YOUR PHOTOS
WE ARE CLOSE BY!!!”
WHENEVER YOU SEE THIS POST ON YOUR DASH, STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING AND WRITE ONE SENTENCE FOR YOUR CURRENT PROJECT.
Just one sentence. Stop blogging for one minute and write a single sentence. It could be dialogue, it could be a nice description of scenery, it could be a metaphor, I don’t care. The point is, do it. Then, when you finish, you can get back to blogging.
If this gets viral, you might just have your novel finished by next Tuesday.
Goddamn it, it’s back.
If it stays back, I might manage to finish a third story this year. Jesus.
I swear, this is now my only writing motivation.
BACK AGAIN??? Sigh.
Okay, sorry if anyone gets sick of this, but it’s the best way for me to get myself to write.
Hamilton and, uh, idk hmm - STAR WARS AU. "pardon me, are you Master Burr, sir?" "that depends, who's asking?"
SHOWTIME.
So
some thirty parsecs past the ass end of the galaxy there’s this tiny nothing planet
that’s mostly ocean, and the planet is called Nevis, and one of its islands is called
Christiansted, and if anyone who didn’t actually
live there was asked to find it on a star map, they definitely couldn’t do
it. This is where Alex is born and this
is where his mother dies of some disease brought in by a trader and this is
where he almost dies with her, almost dies in a hurricane that swallows the
island whole, almost starves when his cousin eats a blaster, before someone
notices that—kriff, but this kid is brilliant.
Another trader gives him work and he proves rapidly that not only is he
a dab hand with numbers, but he can blow through a five hundred page holonovel
in a few hours and learn a language in a couple months.
His
mother always said talking was his strong suit and now he’s proving it, because
Alex has to be the best to survive, so that’s what he’ll do. He’ll talk, and he’ll write, and he’ll get
off this rock if it kills him. He wants
something to do, he wants to change
the galaxy, and there’s something murmuring to him, like a whisper of wind,
that he’ll do it if he can just get off Nevis.
We were lured by the fics ofc. That's totally why. Thanksies darling!
Oh my God, nonny, doll, you’re the cutest. I’m so glad you like my slightly deranged writing, you’re just. So nice. To me. What do I do with such nice people.
One of my favourite anecdotes about the first Golden Age of Piracy is that, at one point, Captain Henry Morgan left England in one ship, and arrived in the Caribbean commanding a completely different ship, and nobody knows why. What happened to the first ship and how he acquired the second one are entirely unrecorded.
At some point in his short career (1715 until 1718), the English pirate Ben Hornigold attacked a sloop near Honduras just to steal all the hats of the crew, because his own crew had gotten drunk the night before and they had tossed every single one of their own hats overboard.
Bartholomew Roberts, arguably the most successful pirate in history by ships captured (a whopping 470 in 3 years), didn’t actually want to be a pirate. His ship was captured and he was forced to join the pirate crew.
If you're still looking for fic prompts what about e/R and a secretly royalty AU? Or just anything with a fairytale type feel?
Okay
I see what you’re saying there but WHAT IF WE DID BOTH??? This got so long, I’m sorry, I got
overexcited about fairy tales and I wrote 5K in like a day. (No for real this is almost 5000 words,
Jesus, self, what are you doing.)
Enjolras is a
wished-for child, and he’s told as much every day by his mother, who bought his
life with a few drops of blood on white silk in a gold embroidery hoop. From the minute he learns to talk, he’s as
fair as the sun and as sharp as her needle, and his country adores their young
prince with their whole heart. His
mother Queen Lamarque is a good ruler and her Prince Consort is nice enough so
all is well, and Enjolras grows up believing passionately in the rights of the people. His tutors despair of him as a monarch but
are delighted with him as a politician—it’s very strange for everyone.
And then the Queen
dies, and everything goes to pieces, because the dowager Prince Regent isn’t a
ruler by nature and Enjolras is still too damned young to take her place and
it’s all quite a mess. Vital government
services are falling through, taxes are going uncollected or over-collected,
the generals of the army are making warning noises about neighboring countries
taking advantage of their weakened state, and everything is teetering on the
edge of chaos.
