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I'm not doing all the prompts for @whumptober but I'll try to fill as many as I can.. because I love whump. 🥲

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Side Note To Fan Fic Authors

Here’s the thing.

I read a lot of scripts.  A lot.  From professionals to aspiring writers to complete newbies.  Features and pilots.  Specs and treatments.

And 8 times out of 10 the fan fic that I’ve read over the last, oh, 15 years is leagues better than this stuff.  It’s more inspired.  It’s more compelling.  It’s genre bending and creative and heartfelt.  It’s well-paced and intense and funny and sexy and meaningful.  It’s smart and thoughtful and good.  It’s novel-quality.  Better than, sometimes.

Rare is the script I don’t want to put down, but how often have we stayed up until 3am to get to the last chapter of a 100k fic? And it’s not even a fan fic author’s day job.  This is what they do on the side.  In their spare time.  For free.

So my point is, fan fic authors, you’re good.  You’re good writers and great storytellers.  I know it doesn’t always feel like it, especially if you’re one of the authors who’s not a BNF and doesn’t get the notes/hits that a few do.  And  because some people still view fic as “not real writing.” You guys know the shit that gets made into movies.  You’re better than that.  So be better than that.  If writing is what you think want to do, then just know you’re already doing it.   You’ve already started.

And you’re more talented than you might think.

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Fenrir Update

For those curious, I am still working on Fenrir and haven’t dumped it to fiddle with other stuff. I’m about halfway done with another chapter but am having some issues with writers block and am trying to get around it the way that I’ve found works best - working on something else tangentially related. Hopefully the next chapter will be up either this week or next week (hopefully sooner than later). 

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why the fuck does english have a word for

but not for “the day after tomorrow”

???

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Happy honks

(via)

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Today I'm thinking about how often conversations around adults in fandom are centered on an "adults can still engage in fandom as long as they know this isn't inherently their space and act accordingly" axis as though fandom wasn't built and maintained by adults for adults first. As though adults didn't build the house and let the kids play in the yard because there was no reason to be selfish and keep it to themselves and also it made them happy to see the kids having fun.

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If y'all liked the unidentifiable yellow glitter goo you'll love the time I made wine out of marshmallow Peeps

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more of my harry-raising-tom AU 😌

Harry is not an outgoing person. He keeps to himself, he avoids socializing. All he wants is a quiet life, as he’s told Tom so many times before. A life with Tom.

And so by Tom’s side is where he remains during any event they attend, an unofficial chaperone for Tom’s politicking. Despite his disinterest in the evening’s events, Harry exudes a shy yet lovely warmth that compliments his easy-going demeanour. Tom feels both pleased and territorial as he parades Harry around at pureblooded gatherings. 

Few witches are bold enough to approach Harry for a dance, and the ones that do are sorely disappointed. The ones that persist even after Harry’s polite refusals soon find themselves occupied with other concerns.

If some common chit finds all the hair on her head, including her brows, has fallen out, it isn’t Tom’s fault. There are plenty of younger, less behaved boys to pin the blame on.

Tom has just finished a conversation with Mulciber’s cousin, who specializes in mass-brewing standardized potions, when Harry shoots him a look of disapproval from across the room. Tom smiles and heads over to him. He already knows what this is about. 

“You’d prefer hair loss to sending them down a flight of stairs, surely?” Tom asks in greeting.

“I suppose,” Harry says, and though his tone implies a rebuke, the corner of his mouth twitches upward.

Tom snatches Harry’s drink out of his hand for a small sip. “This party bores me,” he adds with a low click of his tongue. “I’ll find Abraxas and give him our farewell.” He’s gotten what he came here for—there’s no point in lingering.

Harry’s amused gaze follows him across the room. Tom is acutely aware of it as he makes their excuses to the Malfoys. 

Thank you for the invitation, see you again soon. Tom shakes and kisses some hands, and then he and Harry are making their escape, Harry’s hand at the small of his back.

“I thought you said you liked these parties,” Harry teases as they step out into the cool night air.

Tom hums, noncommittal. “I do,” he says. “But I like you more.”

Harry reaches for his hand, and they Apparate back to Hogsmeade so they can return to Hogwarts. But their evening isn’t over just yet—after entering the castle, Tom leads Harry towards the second floor, to the chamber.

“A surprise?” Harry asks, his fingers entwined with Tom’s as they pass into the girl’s bathroom. “Is this why you wanted to leave early?”

“Mhmm.” Tom hums again, swinging their joined hands once before he drops them to approach the sink. “Open,” he hisses, and the stone sink obeys.

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Sound up

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It always upsets me so much when I see interpretations/illustrations of the two headed calf poem that show a living calf being torn away from its mother and killed to sell to a museum and framing the poem as being "humanity kills beautiful things for being different".

Two headed cows almost never survive more than a few hours after their birth. The farmer finds the *body* the next day. The calf was destined to die, and that's a tragedy, but for the time it was alive, it had a beautiful and unique experience.

It's not a poem about the cruelty of man. It's a poem about the beauty of life in an indifferent universe. It's about purpose and beauty being able to exist even in an existence doomed to come to an end, as all our lives are. It's not a poem about how a calf dies, but how, even for only a brief moment, it was alive.

And, for that moment, because of that life, however fleeting, the sky had twice as many stars.

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A Dragon is Not a Slave Chapter 7 - The Wine Seller is Now Up

Tom watched him leave, slipping through the door of the stone building and vanishing from sight, arms crossed and irritation flickering in his chest. He’d overplayed his hand with that, perhaps. He’d have to be more careful in the future. Slowly whittle away at the man until he saw things his way and agreed. And if that didn’t end up coming to pass, well, there was always the contingency plan. Children were terribly impressionable, afterall, and if he filled Gerir’s little head with tales of the iron throne and the Red Keep and how it was all rightfully his then, when the time came for him to take over for his father, he would lead them across the Narrow Sea. And once his son was wearing the crown, Tom could rule behind the scenes. Pulling strings. Advising, as it were. A masterful puppeteer.

It didn’t suit him. His blood demanded that he ride in at the head of an army and break his enemies beneath his heel. Conquer again, as he had before. But if that was the only option left to him, he’d take it. Because being a shadow ruler was better than being exiled amid a sea of grass for the rest of his life.

He was meant for more than this. He was. He knew he was.

He always had.

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Me with every villain ever

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because I've seen a couple posts like this recently:

Do not be discouraged if you see someone with the same idea for a fic as you! Because that's what we want--the same exact stories, over and over, through the unique lens of each writer! That's the beauty of fanfiction: you can read the same story, slightly to the left, as many times as possible!

So please, post that fic that has the same premise as someone else. Write your version of it, and rest assured knowing that at the very least, one person will be delighted to find the same kind of story as one they just finished!

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A Dragon is Not a Slave Chapter Six - Fire Cannot Kill a Dragon is now up

Tom was met with a scene that reminded him enough of what he’d seen at his wedding that, had it not been for the mandate of the Dosh Khaleen against drawing steel, he’d have begun to brace himself for viewing at least a handful of bloody fights. Women danced around a blazing fire, the flames licking high towards the cieling and belching a column of smoke which curled up and backwards and fell like a grey curtain. Several were topless with only a selection of clattering beads. Many others lacked even that much. Tom was led to a seat of honor not far from his husband, tall and much grander than many of the others. Draped in hides and furs. He was presented there with roasted meat and sweet grass stew and sweetened milk, and made pointless small talk with Regulus, who’d managed to make his way to his side at some point in the night, and managed to forget all about his brother.

A mistake, as it turned out. Because Voldemort hadn’t forgotten about him

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Fanfiction isn’t written for you, it’s shared with you.

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A Dragon is Not a Slave Chapter 5 - The Dragon and The Worm is Now Up

“I know you’ve told me that the Dothraki will not cross the Narrow Sea because of their fear of water that their horses will not drink,” he said, “but let us speak rhetorically for a moment. Were my brother to manage to convince them, and he did make landfall on Westros’ shores with his Horse Lord army in a poor mockery of our great ancestor, would they be enough to take back the iron throne?”

Regulus didn’t answer immediately. Then, he sighed and urged his mount faster, pulling alongside him. “If Scrimgeour were enough of a fool to meet them on an open field of battle, where their horses could be used to full effect? It’s possible they would be a match for the King’s armies. But the arakh is not built for use against plate armor. It doesn’t have the same piercing ability as a Westrosi sword or the Valyrian Steel blades of many of the High Houses. But if they retreat behind walls and wait them out, it’s unlikely they would stand much chance. And then, of course, there is the matter of size. Your husband’s Khalasar is quite large indeed, at forty thousand strong, but not all of those are warriors and not all of those who are remain able-bodied enough to do battle. And forty thousand is small by comparison to the banners all the Lords of Westros could raise.” He said. “Now, were he to also reach out to Dorne and gain the aid of the Potter lineage-.”

“The Dornish would never help a Slytherin. Not after the Raze.” Tom said. “Any representative we sent to them would be returned as a severed head. Accompanied, more than likely, be a living sand snake the Dornish King would hope would kill the royal fool who opened the box.”