"Irked fans produce fanfic like irritated oysters produce pearls."
— Jacqueline Lichtenberg in Fic by Anne Jamison (via dixseptdixhuit)
(via cthulhu-with-a-fez)
ppl who dont even like shakespeare: WOW how DARE you alter the original text these are CLASSICS have you no RESPECT, going around DESECRATING these sacred texts in the name of POLITICAL CORRECTNESS!!!!!!!!!
people who love shakespeare: im going to stage a production of hamlet where all the actors are dogs
(via princehal9000)
thesallowbeldam asked: If you're still doing prompts? Cry-lo Ren travels to Korriban (for whatever reason) and takes shelter in a Sith tomb. The spirits of the dead take this fantastic opportunity to rip this pathetic immitator a new. I'm talking Com. Plete. Savage. Bollocking. (that means a lecture btw)
My buddy, my pal, it’s safe to assume that I’m ALWAYS taking prompts. (I might get to the point where I’m busy enough that it might take me a while to fill them, but I’m always taking prompts.) Now, I’ll admit that I’m not super well versed in Sith history, and the Sith Lord I’m most familiar with is…well, Vader, who failed to die a Sith Lord and didn’t get entombed on Korriban. I’ve always kind of liked the mental image of Darth Sidious being disappointed in Kylo, though, so yeah. Also, I don’t know what happened to Palpatine’s ghost and it appears that neither does anyone else, so we’re going to handwave some stuff because Force.
Personal shuttle crashes are, generally speaking, remarkably easy to survive. Battlestars or cruisers are bulky and built to survive damage in the black, but a planet-side crash turns them into an avalanche of wreckage. Fighters, small and quick and light, shatter like glass more often than not, and even when they don’t, their mostly-engine structure doesn’t play well with the heat of a crash. A personal shuttle, though, is small and sturdy and designed to survive an emergency landing, even if the emergency in question is ‘falling out of the sky.’
“Engines do not just kriffing fail,” Kylo Ren hissed as he pulled himself out of his shuttle and trying to adjust to the heavier gravity. He snarled a string of curses in a handful of languages, giving a sharp kick to the hull and repressing a grimace of pain. Snoke would be furious if he missed his ordered arrival time, no matter how good his explanation was, and Kylo felt a shudder down his spine. He refused to admit that it might be fear. “There isn’t even anything wrong with this piece of bantha shit,” he shouted, thumping it with a fist. He raked a gloved hand through his hair—the helmet was still inside the shuttle somewhere—and stared around him at the valley he’d wrecked in.
