Honestly your Ham Reincarnation fic is the best thing ever. It's literally the only Hamilton fic I read (the idea of fanfic about americas founding fathers kinda weirds me out) but yours is just so good I want to cry
Oh my god, sweetie, I just clapped my hands over my face and squeaked in the middle of a library, this is??? So nice of you, oh my God, I’m a mess. Also I’m working on the prompt you sent in for that ‘verse, so, like, I hope it lives up to the rest of it. And, like, I’m tagging all of it with ‘all in one spot au’ so if you want to…follow the tag? Is that what people recommend when people are into their fic? I don’t know, please see previous commentary about me not taking compliments very well.
trying to make me jealous is the worst way of attempting to get my attention because ill just assume you don’t actually like me that much and that you’d be happier w/ someone else so ill leave you alone because i don’t like competing for affection and wish you the best in whoever you pursue instead
You don’t have to be grateful that it isn’t worse.
read that.
read it again, and again, and again.
somebody, somewhere, always has it worse than you. there is one person on this planet that has it the worst of all, and that person is NOT the only person allowed to be unhappy with their lot.
if things are bad for you, they are bad for you. period.
This goes for trauma as well. A lot of times survivors get trapped in a cycle of minimizing/diminishing their trauma because “other people have it worse” - but there is no hierarchy of trauma. There is no ranking system for which traumas are “better” or “worse.” Your trauma is valid. Period.
IMPORTANT TRUTHS.
As a therapist, lemme just say: almost every trauma survivor I’ve ever had has at some point said “But I didn’t have it as bad as some people” and then talked about how other types of trauma are worse. Even my most-traumatized, most-abused, most psychologically-injured clients say this.
The ones who were cheated on, abandoned, and neglected say this. The ones who were in dangerous accidents/disasters say this. The ones who were horrifyingly sexually abused say this. The ones who were brutally beaten say this. The ones who were psychologically tortured for decades say this. What does that tell you? That one of the typicalside-effects of trauma is to make you believe that you are unworthy of care.
Don’t buy into it, because it’s nonsense. It doesn’t matter if someone else had it “worse.” Every person who experiences a trauma deserves to get the attention and care they need to heal from it.
i cant believe this generation’s ghostbusters is god’s apology to the world for the entire film industry ….. i cant believe we have a black female ghostbuster ….. i cant believe we have strong female characters that were not cast bc they’re ~conventionally attractive~ but just bc they’re funny as hell …. i can’t believe the Young Hot One™ is a lesbian character and that the cast is out there telling men not to make inappropriate comments about her actress bc she’s a lesbian as well …. i can’t believe this awesome movie doubles as the single most hated thing by straight men in 2016 do you have any idea how much of a bonus that is for me???? loving things straight men cry about was the reason i was put on this earth this entire movie is too good for me i dont deserve it
Ok so that lams reincarnation ficlet is everything I ever wanted and Hamilton's not even a fandom I read fanfics for. Please consider writing whatever happens next (or honestly anything in the AU where almost everyone is reincarnated because that is just such a good AU)
Oh my god, babe, I’m so flattered, I’m so
glad you’re liking it. And here! I’ve basically used this as an excuse to bring
in my Historical Fave, America’s favorite fighting Frenchman—LAFAYETTE.
As far as Alex is concerned, highlights of Columbia include: orientation
week, which lets him get a handle on the new arrangement of the campus, John
Laurens, the several gorgeous
libraries, the rediscovery of the Schuyler sisters (the blue-green bruise
rising from Peggy’s fist notwithstanding), John Laurens, the potential to find
more of his old dear friends, the fact that the dorms have both air
conditioning and heating, and John Laurens.
Downsides include: his ongoing
struggle with Academic Affairs.
Honestly, this is his second time through their system and one would
think that over two and a half centuries they would have sorted themselves
out. But no. He’s not even trying to
arrange a two-year program this time, all
he wants is permission to take more than the maximum number of credits,
he’s not asking for the moon here.
It’s usually done so humans are presented as “average”. In my conception, humans are the daredevils. The one thing a human loves more than watching another human do something horribly unsafe is doing something unsafe themselves.
It’s said that the stout and serious dwarves invented the first staircase, but it was a human who came up with the idea of surfing down the staircase on an oaken shield.
Elves have lived in the great Hometree overlooking the Mother River for untold ages. It was a human who first had the idea to jump out of the tree and into the river.
That’s the other thing - dwarves are stout and hardy, but like the stone they came from, once they break, they’re broken. Humans recover impossibly fast by the standards of other races. They’re also the first ones to get up after an explosion or cave-in, with a cheerful “I’m okay!” They can’t take as much as a dwarf, but nobody beats humans at getting back up again and again and again for more punishment.
The Hobbits appreciate Human vigor, their good cheer, and certainly their lusty appetite for food and drink, but the utter glee with which humans will attempt to harm themselves or their fellows in a misguided attempt at “fun” is horrifying. Their rituals and celebration - they let themselves be charged by bulls! - are seen as a testament to human ingenuity, creativity, and utter lack of good sense.
The humans who are most highly regarded by their peers are those who excel at SOMETHING. Dancing, throwing, singing, fighting - humans love watching other humans be excellent at things, even something otherwise pointless and wasteful, like throwing knitting needles into melons.
They are, to a fault, resilient. No Elves would DARE return to a failed settlement. The land is cursed and the dead walk there. Humans will rebuild the same castle over again with the same standing stones.
TL;DR - only humans would invent the X-Games.
Humans are Weird: Fantasy Edition
For a species as naturally short-lived as humans they are remarkably cavalier about potentially dying. They do dangerous things for fun, and when their elven friends ask why they would do such a thing they have been known to shrug and respond “you only live once.”
(“Yes Ivan, that’s the point I’m trying to make here.”)
This is obviously the fic where Alya is convinced that her best friend is cheating on her boyfriend who is…also cheating on her? It’s all a little confusing, honestly, there are a lot of people to keep track of in this…love trapezoid, or so she tells Nino when she commandeers recruits him to help figure it out.
There are three problems with her mission to figure out what the hell is going on with Marinette and Adrien. Little problems. Tiny, really. She can barely see them, they’re so small.
First of all, Marinette and Adrien are impossible to keep track of, which means she can’t even get a good picture of the guilty parties caught red-handed. Alya can get around this, okay, she is a skilled journalist, she’ll figure it out even if she has to bug the little bastards. (Nino thinks this is going a bit far, but she did not ask for his opinion, thank you very much.)
Second of all, neither Marinette nor Adrien will even entertain suspicion of each other, which under any other circumstances Alya would consider a good thing. Really! But how are they so dense, she wonders aloud on more than a few occasions to Nino. Hell, they’re always running off without explanations, anyone would be suspicious.
Third of all, and this might be a slightly bigger problem, the other half of this set of guilty couples is pretty high profile.
But how do you just up and accuse the heroes of Paris of cheating with a couple of high school students?
I don’t know how many of you guys that (for some reason) follow me (please don’t leave me tho I love you) also follow @words-writ-in-starlight (if you don’t tho you SHOULD because she is my wife and posts writing and like reblogs content a million times better than mine. Like. Really. If you have stayed with me you should be following her.)
Let me tell you tho. She is EVIL. Her writing, especially her original writing, KILLS ME because wow it is both brilliantly written and she knows how to make you fall in love with a character just to torture them (both literally and figuratively). I just got to read everything she’s written for Polaris and GOD KILL ME I AM IN PAIN. I don’t really know what this post is about other than I’m suffering and you should all convince her to post some of Polaris or ANY more of her original writing so I have people to suffer with. Also, seriously, if you are already a fan of hers and want to have someone to suffer with about her writing HIT ME UP. Just send me a message or something jfc.
Also, my dear wife that I know is reading this, WRITE ME MORE YOU BASTARD I CAN’T BELIEVE WHERE YOU LEFT OFF.
Thank you to whoever got to the bottom of this post. This has been a psa: follow @words-writ-in-starlight, go read everything she has ever touched and posted, then message me so I have someone to suffer with.
I’ve been really preoccupied mentally with this ‘queer is a slur’ thing going around. I’ve seen a lot of ppl explaining the histories behind queer and its reclamation by queer folks, but I wanted to riff a little bit about the reasons, for me, that reclamation makes sense as a reaction in the first place.
When I was a young gay, growing up in Birmingham, Alabama, I remember there being one slur I heard a lot that I don’t really hear anymore. I don’t know if this was just an Alabama thing, but pretty much every gay person I knew had heard or used this word at some point and lots of str8 folks used it too: flamer.
It was short for ‘flamboyant’–used primarily to describe gay men. I cannot even begin to describe to you my loathing for this word. Not only did I just fundamentally think it sounded stupid, I hated that: (1) it was consistently used to gender-police gay men, because of course acting flamboyant was all about not being sufficiently masculine; (2) the idea that to be acceptable queer folks need to hide their queer ways and act like str8s is distasteful; (3) str8 ppl would sometimes mis-define by claiming that it was because “gay people would burn in hell”; (4) gay men used it against each other as much as str8 ppl used it against gay men.
One of my best friends back then was a guy named Josh. Big, cuddly, sweet, I-dare-you-to-no- love-this-guy Josh. There was nothing particularly effete about Josh’s appearance, but he was not remotely interested in the trappings of masculinity; one of his many affectionately given nick-names was “Spirit Sparkles.” Josh often referred to himself as a flamer–he took a lot of pride and pleasure in the term. Sometimes he would introduce himself that way to other gay kids we met. It was a really aggressive stance, because it flipped the tables on anyone who wanted to use the term pejoratively.
What I mean to say is that in a situation where one person called another a flamer as a derogatory term, you’d have to pick the term apart and point out all the things wrong with it: “Hey, you shouldn’t use that word because it implies that there’s something wrong with acting gay and anyway how does someone act gay that doesn’t make any sense, and also it sort of implies that men who have feminine attributes are wrong and that’s gross.” On the other hand, to embrace the term was to signal that everything deemed ‘bad’ by its use as a slur was in fact a source of pride. Moreover, it put the other person in the position of having to say what was wrong with being flamboyant. In this way, this act of reclamation was a Gordian knot solution–rather than untangle the term, reclamation allowed Josh to cut through all the bullshit.
One of the persistent problems with terminology in the queer community is that there are no words for us that haven’t been at one time or another a slur because for an enormous chunk of our history in Western culture the dictionary definition of who we are was itself imbued with negativity. Even the word homosexual was a pathologized medical term for a psychological disorder until 1974. In this context, reclaiming slurs as markers of pride is one of the only courses of action open to us: and, in fact, this is one of the key concepts in Pride parades. They sprung up in the wake of the 1969 Christopher Street Riots as an explicit way of saying to str8 communities: these people you denigrate the most (drag queens, transgender individuals, POC) in the gay community are a source of pride for us. We’re here, we’re queer, we’re not going anywhere.
My identity is a slur. What I do and what I am are offensive to people. I cannot escape this, but I can embrace it. I can take pride in the very aspects of myself that others find perverse. I can–and I do.
Ooooh! I'd love to reas that fic when you write it. And the phrase is from a Conrad Aiken poem, jsyk.
THANK YOU SO MUCH, I’m totally going to write it someday. Probably next year when I’m not in school full time. (And also thank you for the source because??? Fuck me, that’s a gorgeous quote.)
Maniacal cackling. This would be/might actually someday be the title of the Fic We Shall Not Speak Of, previously discussed here. I’m literally going to copy-paste because I’m so pleased with that summary.
Padme Naberrie-not-yet-Amidala is three when the Force comes to her, as strong as one of the great storms that close down all of Naboo, four when the Jedi turn her away for being too old, five when she begins teaching the Force to herself.
Surely emotion is not wicked at its core, young Padme says, surely not, and she reaches out, learns to shape the Force with her passions and her loves and her rages and her laughs, and it is warm and rich and wild and vicious and everything (and surely this cannot be the Dark Side).
When she stands on the Tatooine sand and meets a boy who shines like a sun, some part of her mind (the part that’s seen people die because their vaunted politicians took too long to see them suffering, the part that’s seen wars start over petty arguments and diplomatic differences, the part that looks around Tattooine and thinks look at all these suffering people, if only I had the power to save them) says yesssss. And she reaches out and she takes his hand and she stays in touch and she assures him that no, emotion is not wrong, love is not wrong, Attachment is not wrong, he is not wrong.
One day…oh, one day he comes to her, wild-eyed, with the words of another person on his tongue and talk about Sith, and she does her research and she thinks look at all these suffering people, if only I had the power, and…
Well. Padme only wants to help. Surely the ends justify the means. Surely this cannot be Dark, if it’s to save starving children and wounded soldiers and slaves.
And the Empire rises under the command of its Empress and her iron fist, Darth Vader.
For the fic titles prompt: the word that breathed the world (Librarians? Maybe?)
For the record, I have no idea if this is legitimate and/or refuted by an episode I haven’t seen (desperately, desperately behind), but S T I L L. This fic would be the story of the Library’s favorites through the millennia (she is a library, after all–her favorites are wordsmiths and silver-tongued diplomats, world-changers and storytellers).
The Library is sentient. This is not a commonly known fact–sometimes Librarians go their whole career without even realizing it. She does not particularly mind this.
(Sometimes, in the netherspace where she has a shape that is more woman than building, she meets with others like herself. A waif of a boy, the thirteenth of his kind, whose eyes crackle with purple lightning, tells wild stories of heroics and villany and…goo? A slender willow-wand fae dressed in ragged white and trailing glittering dust in her wake complains of her lovesick king and the mortal girl who defeated him. The boy is young, only centuries old. The willow-wand is ancient, even older than the Library. There are others, but these are the eldest and the youngest, the bookends of their kind.)
The vital thing about a sentient being is that sentient beings have favorites–it’s unavoidable. The Library being rather fickle, not all of her favorites are Librarians.
Galahad is sheltered in her Annex on the merits of his old friends, more so than on his own. Merlin asked, and she loved him, so she did as requested. Merlin isn’t quite like her, but he’s not quite human either, and sometimes, very occasionally, she will sense the touch of a hand on one of her many doors as Merlin passes by.
Greek and Rome were riddled with poets and philosophers–the others like her had varying opinions on them. She was fond of Catullus with his filthy sense of humor, and of Plato with his unusually good grasp of the netherworld, but, oh, Sappho she loved.
Sun Tzu was too warlike to be a Librarian, too much a tactician and not enough of a dreamer, but she would slip him secrets of long-dead armies in his dreams to bolster his writing.
Poe and Shelley and Byron and Keats–she did love the Romantics. They were her favored for years, brilliant comets that burned out so fast. The willow-wand shook her head at the Library for it, remarking on the merits of immortal citizenry.
But William–William was her best beloved, her most cherished mortal favorite. She would be hard-pressed to find someone to stand beside him and his golden words and dirty jokes and impossible wisdom. Not even the willow-wand could hold that against her, her immortal faerie residents drawn to his starlight words like moths to a flame.
(When Prospero first stepped into her walls, she had a moment of blind hope that maybe, somehow, her dear Shakespeare had returned to her.)
Hey Moran! Have you ever pulled a double all nighter? Like stayed up for 2 full consecutive nights?
Okay, so on the one hand: if you mean no sleep for two full nights, no. To date, I’m pretty sure the longest I’ve been awake at a stretch was around 40 hours. I’m weird enough all day, every day, there’s no need to add truly crippling sleep deprivation to that. I generally try to sleep at least two hours a night because it keeps me just this side of functionality.
On the other hand, fun story. If you were around in April, you may recall me making this post about Organic Chemistry pickup lines. Now, other than the fact that I’m still delighted with that last one on there, the reason I bring this up is because (ha) I made that post on a Monday night. I’d already been running on little-to-no sleep by then. By the following Saturday night, I had gone eight days on twenty-four hours of sleep total. I wrote two papers, did a problem set, and took an Organic Chemistry exam, among other things. I got all my work done on time (although the last day or so is kind of a blur) and this is why, in case you’re curious, @twistedangelsays calls me Hamilton.
the other night i tried to make a curry and i got chilli burns all over my face, so i thought to myself ‘hang on, doesn’t milk soothe chilli burns? it does’ and i couldn’t google because i couldn’t see so i just had to blindly feel my way to the fridge and pour out a bowl of milk, and then plant my face in the bowl of milk, anyway at that point the rice cooker went off and triggered a power surge which turned my electricity off, which i didn’t notice at first because i had my face in a bowl of milk and when i did emerge from the dairy prison i thought i had gone blind with chilli burns. so no i don’t really cook much.
Tbh all of these fake stories going around and they’re so obvious but if any of them said “so I work in retail” id be “okay yeah” because the weirdest shit goes down when you work retail. It could say “so I work in retail and today Jesus came in and turned all our water bottles into wine” and I’d be like “shit that’s wild what’d your manager do”
Random Headcanon: That Federation vessels in Star Trek seem to experience bizarre malfunctions with such overwhelming frequency isn’t just an artefact of the television serial format. Rather, it’s because the Federation as a culture are a bunch of deranged hyper-neophiles,
tooling around in ships packed full of beyond-cutting-edge tech they
don’t really understand. Endlessly frustrating if you have to fight
them, because they can pull an effectively unlimited number of bullshit
space-magic countermeasures out of their arses - but they’re as likely
as not to give themselves a lethal five-dimensional wedgie in the
process. All those rampant holograms and warp core malfunctions and
accidentally-traveling-back-in-time incidents? That doesn’t actually
happen to anyone else; it’s literally just Federation vessels that go off the rails like that. And they do so on a fairly regular basis.
So to everyone else in the galaxy, all humans are basically Doc Brown.
Aliens who have seen the Back to the Future movies literally don’t realise that Doc Brown is meant to be funny. They’re just like “yes, that is exactly what all human scientists are like in my experience”.
THE ONLY REASON SCOTTY IS CHIEF ENGINEER INSTEAD OF SOMEONE FROM A SPECIES WITH A HIGHER TECHNOLOGICAL APTITUDE IS BECAUSE EVERYONE FROM THOSE SPECIES TOOK ONE LOOK AT THE ENTERPRISE’S ENGINE ROOM AND RAN AWAY SCREAMING
vulcan science academy: why do you need another warp core
humans: we’re going to plug two of them together and see if we go twice as fast
vsa: last time we gave you a warp core you threw it into a sun to see if the sun would go twice as fast
humans: hahaha yeah
humans: it did tho
vsa: IT EXPLODED
humans: it exploded twice as fast
I love this. Especially because of how well it plays with my headcanon that the Federation does so much better against the Borg than anyone else because beating the Borg with military tactics is nigh-impossible, but beating them with wacky superscience shenanigans works as long as they’re unique wacky superscience shenanigans.
Yeah, I love this.
Reminds me of the thing I wrote a while back about Humans in high fantasy realms - they’re basically Team Fuck It Hold My Beer I Got This.
Impulsive, passionate to a fault, the social structures they build to try and regulate this hotheadedness ironically creates even greater levels of sheer bull-headedness. Even their “cooler” heads take action in months or weeks.
All their great heroes of the past were impossibly rash by galactic standards. Humans Just Go With It, which is their great flaw but also their greatest strength.
klingons: okay we don’t get it
vulcan science academy: get what
klingons: you vulcans are a bunch of stuffy prisses but you’re also tougher, stronger, and smarter than humans in every single way
klingons: why do you let them run your federation
vulcan science academy: look
vulcan science academy: this is a species where if you give them two warp cores they don’t do experiments on one and save the other for if the first one blows up
vulcan science academy: this is a species where if you give them two warp cores, they will ask for a third one, immediately plug all three into each other, punch a hole into an alternate universe where humans subscribe to an even more destructive ideological system, fight everyone in it because they’re offended by that, steal their warp cores, plug those together, punch their way back here, then try to turn a nearby sun into a torus because that was what their initial scientific experiment was for and they didn’t want to waste a trip.
vulcan science academy: they did that last week. we have the write-up right here. it’s getting published in about six hundred scientific journals across two hundred different disciplines because of how many established theories their ridiculous little expedition has just called into question. also, they did turn that sun into a torus, and no one actually knows how.
vulcan science academy: this is why we let them do whatever the hell they want.
klingons: …. can we be a part of your federation
Come to think of it, I mean. Look at the “first human warp drive” thing in the movie. That was… Not how Vulcans would have done it.
you know what the best evidence for this is? Deep Space 9 almost never broke down. minor malfunctions that irritated O’Brien to hell and back, sure, but almost none of the truly weird shit that befell Voyager and all the starships Enterprise. what was the weirdest malfunction DS9 ever had? the senior staff getting trapped as holosuite characters in Our Man Bashir, and that was because a human decided to just dump the transporter buffer into the station’s core memory and hope everything would work out somehow, which is a bit like swapping your computer’s hard drive out for a memory card from a PlayStation 2 and expecting to be able to play a game of Spyro the Dragon with your keyboard and mouse.
you know what, I’m not done with this post. let’s talk about the Pegasus. the USS Fucking Pegasus,
testbed for the first Starfleet cloaking device. here we have a handful
of humans working in secret to develop a cloaking device in violation
of a treaty with the Romulans. they’re playing catchup trying to develop
a technology other species have had for a century. and what do they do?
do they decide to duplicate a Romulan cloaking device precisely, just
see if they can match what other species have? nope. they decide, hey,
while we’re at it, while we’re building our very first one of these things, just to find out if this is possible, let’s see if we can make this thing phase us out of normal space so we can fly through planets while we’re invisible.
“but why” said the one Vulcan in the room.
“because that would fucking rule” said the humans, high-fiving each other and slamming cans of 24th-century Red Bull.
there
must be like twenty different counselling groups for non-human
engineering students at Starfleet Academy, and every week in every
single one of them someone walks in and starts up with a story like “our
assignment was to repair a phaser emitter and my one human classmate
built a chronometric-flux toaster that toasts bread after you’ve eaten
it.”
Humans get mildly offended by the way they are presented in non-human media.
Like: “Guys, we totally wouldn’t do that!” But this always fails to get much traction, because the authors can always say: “You totally did.”
“That was ONE TIME.”
There’s that movie where humans invented vaccines by just testing them on people. Or the one about those two humans who invented powered flight by crashing a bunch of prototypes. Or the one about electricity.
And human historians go, “Oh, uh, this is historically accurate, but also kind of boring.” To which the producers respond: “How is doing THIS CRAZY THING boring????????”
There are entire serieses of horror movies where the premise is “We stopped paying attention to the human and ey found the technology.”
reblog for new meta.
RE that last line: McGuyver.
“MacGuyver” is the equivalent of Vulcan vintage human horror television.
for the random fic titles: "spring will be here soon"
Since you didn’t specify a fandom….this is the story of the girl Jaylah.
Her people are from a high tundra part of their world–even after she forgets the name of her planet, the name of her people, the name of her family, she will remember this. The shimmer of the sun at midnight, the dance of stars at pitch-black noon, and the song of the wind over the snow-layered ground will stay in her dreams all her life, a tiny scrap of peace. Winter on the high tundra is dangerous, even in the cities-and-starships age, and Jaylah’s people never quite managed to forget their heritage of cold nights and terror. The promise of new life, of melted snow and living things, is the hope their people holds up to get through the days of unbroken night, the vow they make in the darkest moments of their life to fight on.
As a little girl wondering if the sun will ever come back, Jaylah’s mother strokes her hair back from her face and whisper that spring would come soon, so soon that Jaylah wouldn’t even believe it.
In Krall’s dungeons, as Jaylah sobs silently, hands pressed to her mouth so hard that her teeth draw blue bruises on the white skin, her father hugs her to his side. “Spring will be here soon, you’ll see, precious girl,” he whispers–a lie, but the familiar words soothe her tears and make her mother, bleeding out slowly from a gash to the leg, and her mama, pressing her hands to her wife’s skin, smile faintly.
When her mama is taken, still smudged blue with her mother’s blood, she kisses Jaylah forehead and her cheeks and promises, “Spring will be here soon, little snowflake, little darling.” A lie, but a warm and gentle one, bittersweet.
When her father dies, and she runs until she can’t breathe for tears, she curls up in a mountain cave, far too close to the search parties scouring for her, and she lies to herself, “Spring will be here soon, Jaylah. You just have to stand up.” And she scrubs her face with her palms and pulls herself upright.
She tells the lie a thousand times, a hundred thousand times, every time a new circuit breaks or she hasn’t eaten in twelve days or she is run off from a precious salvage or she can’t stand the loneliness any longer. Spring will be here soon, Jaylah. Get up and meet it on your feet.
Years from now, she’ll be an ensign sitting cross-legged on a chair in the Enterprise mess hall, surrounded by the bridge crew and Montgomery Scotty and Doctor Bones, her red Operations uniform a bright contrast to her white hair and a glass of scotch from Montgomery Scotty’s illicit still in her hand. (She will know, by then, what a nickname is, but she will insist on her old names for them, at times like this, when they are together and laughing.) Captain James T will smile at her, and Montgomery Scotty will clap her on the back as he tells them about how she repaired the replicators and stopped them from turning all the food purple, and she will think that perhaps she was not lying to herself all along after all.
the funniest thing in the entire pirates of the caribbean series is definitely that one scene in At World’s End where they have parlay but davy jones is part of it, and rather than have him stand in the shallows or something they get a big bucket of water and have in stand on it on shore
who thought of that idea? who thought “put davy jones in a bucket of water” and had the guts to suggest it aloud? and then who went “hey that sounds like a great idea!”
at some point someone told davy jones their idea was for him to stand in a bucket of water and he agreed to it
ok but notice the trail of buckets behind him meaning he walked from the ocean through three other buckets of water before he got into the one hes standing in
It’s even funnier when you consider how he must have figured all this out in the first place.
Some folks are asking “well, if he can avoid the no-dry-land curse simply by standing in a bucket, doesn’t that ruin his whole motivation?”, but he’s not on dry land here.
The parley takes place on a sandbar - which, for the unfamiliar, is a temporary “island” of sand deposited by breaking waves, unconnected with the shore, that spends most of its time submerged, being exposed only at low tide.
What Jones is doing here is rules-lawyering his curse. Can you imagine the trial and error he must have gone through in order to determine that this would actually work?
“Okay, do islands count as dry land? How about parts of the shore below the high tide mark? Reefs? Shoals? What if I stand in a pool of water on a shoal? Does it have to be seawater, or will any water do? Does it have to be a natural tidepool, or can it be something artificial, like a bucket?”
What I am saying is that there must have been a process.
Pretty sure that this implies that the reverse - a bucket of sand, floating on the water (big bucket with just a bit of sand), would qualify as dry land. That’s absurd, so I’m pretty sure that his lawyer pulled a fast one over the curse governor.
It may be absurd, but the text of the film bears it out. Davy Jones can sense the presence of his heart while it’s at sea, but not while it’s on land (indeed, that’s why he buried it on land in the first place: to break his connection with it) - yet placing the heart in a simple jar of dirt conceals it from Jones’ awareness just as surely as burial on land does, even if the jar is on a boat at the time. Suitably prepared vessels filled with dirt absolutely count as dry land for the purpose of Jones’ curse.
Then the reverse should also be true. If he buried it in a jar of water, no matter how far inland it is, he would be able to sense it. So by this logic, any container of seawater counts as not dry land, ergo, the bucket is a perfectly viable loophole.
Not necessarily. It’s traditionally a lot easier to accidentally get whammied by a curse than it is to weasel around it - I figure that’s why he’s using multiple layers of indirection here. He’s forbidden to set foot on dry land, but it’s technically not dry land (it’s a sandbar, a non-permanent landform exposed only at low tide) and he technically didn’t set foot on it (he’s standing in a bucket of water). It’s entirely possible that either one of those things alone wouldn’t make the grade.
okay but this all raises one further, very important question: if it’s specifically “dry land” he’s forbidden from, what about wetlands.
can Davy Jones fight you in salt marshes? can he throw down in a peat bog?Swamp Battle?
Today one of my students threw a stuffed animal across the room and it landed directly in a plate filled with paint
And I had it narrowed down to a few kids but no one would confess so I made them all put their toys away and have five minutes of quiet time to Reflect on Their Behavior
During that five minutes of relative silence, this group of three year olds INVENTED A NEW CLASSMATE, named him, and unanimously blamed him for throwing the toy across the room
There was not a single weak link, they were all ride or die
pssssst talk to me about Schuyler sisters in reincarnation AU. or more Alex/John whatever. rolls away.
The Schuyler sisters! My queens! The rest of the AU is here!
Alicia Laramie is seven years old when she remembers. Her parents bring home a little girl, and she
looks different from the olive-wood skin and tumbling black curls of Alicia and
her parents and her little sister Maggie—this girl all gold-tinged ivory skin
and silky dark hair framing solemn black eyes.
She’s a year younger than Alicia and her parents haven’t even gotten out
“This is Lisa Tian” before she’s rushing forward to enfold the girl in her
arms.
“Eliza,” Angelica whispers into the girl’s long dark hair. Bemused, the girl hugs her back, and Angelica
says, “I’ll take care of you, Eliza. You’re
the best thing in my life, I’ll choose your happiness every time.” The girl is confused when Angelica stands
back, but she gives a smile, the same sweet smile Angelica remembers, and it’s
good.
***
When the fifth grade class goes
to the Grange for a field trip, Lisa spends three hours in semi-hysterical sobs,
refusing to go through the front door, and the terrified tour guide calls the
first emergency number on her phone. Twenty
minutes later, a sixth-grader spills out of a cab and swoops down on her like a
hurricane in rose and gold, and Eliza clings to Angelica like the last lifeboat
on a sinking ship.
“It’s okay, Lizzie,” Angelica soothes.
“Angelica, I—I–”
“I know,” Angelica sighs, stroking her hair. “Take a couple deep breaths, ‘Liza, it’ll
pass.”
“I miss him,” Eliza whispers into Angelica’s hip, and the stroking doesn’t
pause.
“I know,” Angelica says. She
gives a small, rueful smile. “That part
won’t pass.”
Eliza laughs a little at that, muffled by Angelica’s jacket, and her
grip tightens.
***
So…when Maggie Laramie is fourteen their house gets robbed. She gets caught and held at gunpoint, and she
barely manages to not say “My father
has gone to raise the Minutemen.”
Instead she steadily states that he’s called the police, and when the
three guys in black scramble like their lives depend on it, she smiles at her
sisters.
“Maggie, that was amazing,” Mrs. Laramie says breathlessly.
“Peggy,” she corrects, and Angelica and Eliza glow.
I am totally normal and would never murder a person without a GOOD REASON for doing so, that being said, I’m having this problem where the corpse I stored under my floorboards is making a weird heartbeat sound and was wondering if anyone else is having this problem and if you know any tips, tricks, quick fixes etc for this because it’s inconvenient and very annoying thank you and God Bless
is this website possessed by the neglected ghost of edgar allan poe now
“So it’s a necklace,” Ezekiel said,
frowning. “What’s it going to do for us
again?”
“It’s not just
a necklace,” Jake said, pushing Ezekiel out of the way. “It’s the last relic of the Romanov
family. Story goes,” he added in a
hushed tone, reaching out to touch the small ruby pendant with a reverent gloved
finger, “that this was that saved Anastasia Romanova’s life.”
“It’s a ruby the size of a penny,” Eve
observed, leaning against the desk with an eye on the door of the Annex. “I don’t see that thing blocking any bullets
any time soon.”
“Right, because logic matters so much here,”
Ezekiel muttered, and Jake laughed. Jenkins,
at his desk poring over a text that appeared to be in a dialect of English that
had passed out of use some time before the Renaissance, made an annoyed sound.
in happier news I had a student answer the question “what is in the room” with “a pretty professor” and spent the next twenty seconds incapable of speech as I tried not to inhale coffee and die, so there’s a good language professor/student au for yall
