also i have tomorrow off from work because it is a federal holiday but nobody was sure if we did or.

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also i have tomorrow off from work because it is a federal holiday but nobody was sure if we did or not and i had to text someone today to find out. LOL. I mean, we actually phoned up our boss and were like “look is the store open or not” and he was like “uhhhhhh IDK?” *eyeroll* YOU OWN THE COMPANY DO WHAT YOU WANT. JUST TELL ME. Whatever. 

So– good, because chapter 3 is a disaster and I haven’t been able to touch my computer except in tiny stolen snatches all week, but– oh god.

I need to figure out the whole plot with Teeny. I need to update the sections that refer to her. I need to flesh out Finn’s arc a lot more. 

And I’m actually going to have to work out what the fuck the First Order is actually doing all this time, which means– ugh. I have to at least outline what Hux et al are doing. And I sort of– they’re not what I’m here for? But I have to know. And I knew that all along, Act III doesn’t hold together if their motivations aren’t worked out. But ugh. 

I don’t really *want* to write about Kylo. But I have to, or the story doesn’t work.

And oh yeah I need to get back to Kes, who I left crying in Etto’s arms. (They didn’t have a drunk old man hookup, did they? I’m not going to write it if they did. You all would be way more into that if you knew them like I did. It’s weird to think that Etto being an OC means literally nobody knows anything about him. But that’s how OCs work!)

I really just want to go back to work on Kes and Shara. I bet people would be mad if I posted that instead of the scheduled chapter update. 

deputychairman: travelingcolors: Málaga | Spain...

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deputychairman:

travelingcolors:

Málaga | Spain (by http://ift.tt/1XXFb72)

Look it’s my adopted town! We have a Moorish castle and a Roman amphitheatre and a 17th century cathedral and a marina with boats that cost more than your house! 

I’m still thinking about that trip to Spain, and

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I’m still thinking about that trip to Spain, and do you know what else US secondary language education neglects? Swear words. Do you know what literally every other syllable out of every Spaniard we spoke to’s mouth was? 

When I figured out, and explained to my sister, that that mystery syllable was the f-bomb, let me tell you. Let me tell you. It was funny. 

Spaniards cuss so much.

K Stories: Go Fly A Kite

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bomberqueen17:

He takes a drag off his cigarette, and it glows in the dark. “I got a lot of stories about Boomer*,” he says. “Guy was dumb as a box of rocks. Had a gorgeous wife, I mean drop-dead gorgeous, people stopped and literally stared when she came into rooms. She dressed the part too, always, dressed to kill.” He shakes his head, thinking about it, and takes another drag. “And she was absolutely faithful to him. We all figured, oh man, she’s gotta be messing around on him, girl like that. But she never did.” He goes quiet a moment.

“He got hurt, actually– ended up, well, maimed.” He rolls the cigarette between his fingers, field-stripping it, then folds the butt up and puts it into the chair’s cup holder. “Pretty bad. And she stuck with him…” He examines his fingers.

“But Boomer. He was dumb, so dumb. He was on my damage control team. One thing about him, kind of weird, he loved to build kites. Big ones, box kites. And he’d spend like a week making these things, these elaborate kites, and then he’d go to fly them and the string would break. Cuz the thing is, we’re on a warship. It’s kind of windy, out there at sea. Regular string isn’t gonna cut it. So he’d spend all these hours on these kites, then lose ‘em right away.”

“Bummer,” I comment. He pokes around and finds his mug in the dark, and drinks.

“So we found this cable. See, some liferafts, they attach ‘em to the ship by these long spools of cabling. If the ship sinks too deep, it snaps off, but otherwise, it keeps the life rafts from drifting too far away. Much easier for rescuers to find all the survivors that way. This cable is really, really thin, but it’s also incredibly strong.”

“You probably weren’t really supposed to appropriate that,” I point out, sensing where this story’s going.

“Wellll,” he drawls, “we didn’t swipe it off a liferaft or anything. There were spare reels of the stuff, stored in our locker room. So we just… borrowed one. We wun’t doin’ anybody any harm, right?“ 

I laugh. "I’m sure the Navy always has a sense of humor about that kind of stuff. They’re known for that.”

“Oh yeah,” he says, “they’re known for that. So we borrowed this reel of cable, and went up to the stern of the ship, and tied this kite to it, and don’t you know, it worked a treat. I mean, we got that thing to fly really good. It was up a couple hundred feet, easy. Beautiful.”

He makes a swooping gesture with the hand that doesn’t have a drink in it. I laugh, thinking of the image of a warship with a box kite flying gaily from the stern. 

“Then all of a sudden the klaxons start going off, and the ship goes to general quarters. General quarters, general quarters, and everybody’s running around. So we’re all, shit, what do we do?” He makes a face, wide-eyed. “So we tie the kite off, real quick, and go running off to our stations.”

“General quarters is bad, right?” I’m not real up on the terminology.

“I mean, it’s not bad, but it means shit is potentially gettin’ real,” he says. “So we’re scurrying off, and this announcement comes on, DC5, come to the bridge. That’s us, we’re Damage Control 5. That can’t be good. So we haul ass to the bridge, and there’s the captain. And he’s got his fancy hat on. The real fancy one. He’s got a few different hats, see, and mostly he just wears one of the regular ones. But if you’re about to get your ass chewed out real bad, you know it because the captain has the really fancy hat on.”

“For serious?” I am enchanted by the idea of hats in varying degrees of severity by fanciness.

“For serious,” he says. “This is the Navy, we do shit like that. So anyway. We’re all like, shit, what’d we do?”

“What’s wrong with a kite?” I ask.

“We don’t even think about that,” he says. “We’re all thinking, well, we’re a bunch of trouble, mostly, so there’s probably a hundred things it could be, but we’d all been on our best behavior. Or so we thought. So the captain says, gentlemen, why are my automated defense systems telling me there is a missile incoming aft?”

“Oh God,” I say.

“Every time the radar sweeps aft, the captain says, the automated defense systems are freaking out. Might you have any idea what is hanging off the back of my warship?” He gestures, mimicking the way a radar antenna spins. “And I gotta point out, the automated defense systems are just that. They’re these things that look like R2-D2 on the deck of the ship that automatically fire on incoming missiles. So they’ve had to disable these things; they were gonna go off by themselves, at whatever the radar was picking up.”

“Oh shit,” I say.

“So they’ve had to disarm them. And we’re all standing there, like, why is he asking us this? What could we possibly have to do with this? And then, as we’re standing there, you can see the little lightbulbs going on above our heads. And over Boomer’s head, there’s this little half-watt candle flickering. And he says, 'Well… there’s… my kite?’" 

"Ohh, shit,” I say. I’m really laughing now. 

“The radar was picking up on the kite, and identifying it as an incoming missile,” he says, shaking his head. “Oh man, we got in so much trouble.”

“I bet you did!” I stand up to get the whiskey bottle. If he’s telling stories like this already, the night’s only going to get better. 

“So,” he concludes, lighting another cigarette, “it turns out, you can clean a warship with a toothbrush. And I’ve done it.”

magickedteacup replied to your post “also i have

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oh don’t worry I shipped old guys Kes and Etto the second you said that Etto had always kinda had a crush on Kes and Kes kind of pushed him around a bit. bc it was funny. and Kes is a bit of an ass apparently. :3

Norasol, with her ear to the door, huffs in surprise, and says to herself, “Finally,” and goes off down the hallway to the guest room which she now knows will be vacant, since Kes is an overprotective nut and won’t let her walk by herself across the lawn to her own house in the dark. “I told him,” she says to the housedroid, who is powered down, “I told him to sleep with that boy, thirty-three years ago, and it would have saved us a lot of trouble.” 

She sheds her housecoat and moves the little night-light to be in the northeast corner of the room where it might do some good. Kes has gotten worse about listening to her about those things, and it will cause trouble one of these days. The night-light still has a rune she’d inscribed on it for Poe, when it had been in his room, and she pauses, looking at it. 

“I suppose it was worth it,” she says grudgingly, to the night-light. “All that trouble.” If anyone can talk sense into Kes, it is, and always has been, Etto. 

It’s sort of unfair, Norasol reflects as she gets into bed, that she’s never once had to worry about Shara’s ghost being vengeful for her thinking ill of the woman. Shara never came back here. She’d been half-gone before she died, and since then, never a peep, never a whisper. 

But then, Poe himself had begun to leave, in his heart, not long after she’d died, and it was only to be expected. Shara had been a spacer, and had never been tied to any land. She probably haunts her son instead, probably whispers around the intakes of his engines and wraps protectively across the windscreen, holds the cockpit shut against damage, increases the power of the shields. She might be the reason he’s survived longer than she did, out there. Maybe she’s doing some good.

Norasol can’t begrudge her that, but she wishes she hadn’t taken so much of Kes with her when she’d gone. 

I should be avoiding the sun entirely today, but I also have laundry to do, and I will die and be...

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I should be avoiding the sun entirely today, but I also have laundry to do, and I will die and be dead before I put a load of whites through the dryer on a gorgeous sunny breezy day like this.

Prepare the topical Benadryl. (I’m putting all the shirts on hangers and the socks on clips inside the house, then running out to hang things up as fast as humanly possible. It’s so dumb. And yet. I am in agony just at the thought of putting clothes in the dryer on a day like today.

rosaline-queen-of-apricots: my looks, ranged by how many

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rosaline-queen-of-apricots:

my looks, ranged by how many fuck I give:

-2 fucks and beyond - “what’s wrong with that poor thing?”  (jammies, fuzzy hoodie, slippers with kitties, why am I even outside?)

-1 fuck - probably a witch (not even sure what’s on me but it’s wierd and stained)

-0.5 fucks - local weirdo suspected of witchcraft (inappropriate old clothes that should not be worn outside)

none fucks - spinster (I’m wearing clean clothes)

+0.5 fucks - schoolteacher from the 50s (I’m wearing presentable clothes)

+1 fuck - average schmuck  (I’m going to the store/to work because I have to)

+1.5 fucks - that nice neighbor  (I’m going to the store/to work in a good mood)

+2 fucks - woman about town  (job interview, coffee with friends)

+3 fucks - “whoa, you’re pretty! since when? -fuck off”  (weddings, graduations)

earth keeps shaking by cicak

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cicaklah:

cicaklah:

cicaklah:

Pairing: Finn/Poe

Rating: fucking

So this is an expansion of the ficlet I wrote during NSFW fridays. Thank you once again to my wife sex toy anon who put this wonderful thought into my head. Sex toys! They’re the best!

(I am but a humble porn farmer, but this grew from the simple porn I imagined it to be. In this there is some kinkshaming in the form of toxic masculinity and some discussion of guilt and how PTSD can totally fuck with masturbation. But it is also SUPREMELY filthy, so don’t think that my crops don’t grow or anything.)

And it’s a bank holiday Monday morning reblog! Wakey wakey, grab some coffee, settle in for some sex toy smut to start your day off right.

Its the last reblog of the reblog cycle! I have a headache, it sucks. If you need something to perk you up, why not read this fic? Its a Monday evening, and either you need to go to work tomorrow (like me) or you’ve already been at work (like lots of people), there’s always, always room for porn.

If anyone hasn’t seen this yet, it’s so good and I’m almost mad about it.
It features a lot of emotional states expressed through varying types of masturbation, and if that doesn’t convince you, I don’t know what will.

Not only does chapter 3 seem (tentatively) to make

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Not only does chapter 3 seem (tentatively) to make sense and hold together, I also think I’ve figured out what the fuck I’m doing with the defecting-Stormtrooper subplot. 

I am cautiously pleased. Also I just was poking through my documents and I think I have a semi-fluff sequel to Morale Surveys that I could publish. I don’t know if it’s enough to stand on its own, but maybe I’ll put that up!

Meanwhile, though. It’s time to brave the sunshine to hang out my last and final load of laundry for the day. Yikes. Wish me luck, it’s nuclear out there.

blackhistoryalbum: ART DECO BEAUTY | 1930′S

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blackhistoryalbum:

ART DECO BEAUTY | 1930′S

fiiic meeeem

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Thank you to @beautifullights1 for the tag! I hope the x reblogs thing works, I’m not sure I’m doing this correctly. 

The problem with memes like this is that it’s mostly the same stories over and over. 

Your 3 fanfics with the most comments:

#1: A Face Built For Gettin’ Punched, which is #2 in the Steve/Bucky/poly MCU series I’ve almost but not quite completed
#2: Other Plans, which is my Stargate:Atlantis AU Kidfic set in the city where I live (that’s the sort of easter egg of it; I did have two people re
#3: Full of Grace, which is the almost-but-not-quite complete Buckynat/poly epic. So, MCU’s got a bit of a lead, guys.
For the record, though, Home Out In The Wind is in 4th place, missing out on 3rd by one comment thread. 

(And if you were curious, my replies to comments don’t count! It’s by threads.)

Your 3 fanfics with the most kudos/
#1 Night Has Seen Your Mind, which is the prequel to the facepunch story above and puts the lie to my assertion that it’s the same things over and over! Ha. I am refuted. But only sort of, because:
#2 Other Plans again– hey, it’s technically complete, and got recc’d to a list, and so it holds strong on these things. There’s not the same traffic spikes in dead fandoms; I think interest in SGA is holding pretty steady over the last couple of years. 
#3 Facepunch– So, my assertion wasn’t totally wrong.

Your 3 fanfics with the most hits/
#1 Other Plans, #2 Facepunch, #3 Night Has Seen Your Mind.

Your 3 fanfics with the most bookmarks/
#1 Night HSYMind (I hate how I give things long titles, see?), #2 Other Plans, and heyy! Confetti! #3 is Home Out In The Wind, y’all! Star Wars has made the leaderboard! 

Your oldest fanfic:

Not online, but it was in pencil in a series of notebooks and was a Dragonriders of Pern story with all original characters. Circa 1991 or 1992. The notebooks in question are long-lost.
Oldest one on AO3 is one of the ones ported over from the Henneth-Annun archive, and it’s an Eomer-centric take on the events of The Two Towers, interspersed with Medieval Welsh poetry because I used to think that poetic epilogues were mandatory. 2004, is the date HASA gave for it. 
I also had ported it over myself, with minor edits, so I’ll link to that version here, I guess. The Clasp Undone. 

Your latest fanfic:

About to go live this afternoon probably is another one, a short fluff thing, but the current big WIP that’s ongoing is Can’t Go Home This Way, which is the sequel to Home Out In The Wind.

Your proudest fanfic:

I’m not sure what I’m proudest of. Everything I’ve written has taught me something. 

I’m sort of honored and horrified at the same time about just how many people found Bucky’s anti-suicide PSA video in chapter 10 of Full of Grace poignant. I guess I’m proud of that, that people found it helpful instead of upsetting. 

“So that’s the truth,” he said, and the light caught a little fragment of glitter as a tear rolled down his face. He sniffled. “Don’t do it,” he went on thickly. “If you’re lyin’ here on this floor with me and you’re thinkin’ about it, don’t. Don’t do it, okay?”

His voice, dulled with tears, went plaintive. “Don’t do it. Don’t leave me here alone on this floor. I’m here with you. Stay with me.”

Your longest fanfic:

Oh, that depends how you count. Standing alone, Facepunch is the longest, weighing in at an almost-but-not-quite complete almost-200,000 words. 
But if you figure that mostly, I write in interconnected series… well… OK, the series it belongs to drastically outweighs the others. Choice Is Not A Word A Bullet Knows is almost 385,000 words long, and I have at least 2 10k-word stories in it that I haven’t published yet. 

I need to finish Facepunch, I really really do. I’m so close you guys. 

Your top 3 crossover fanfics:

I am not in enough fandoms to do crossovers. I think I’ve done one, but it was more a mashup than anything else. It was, weirdly, the movie Centurion with the movie X-Men First Class, because the story of Centurion was so dumb and didn’t hold together, but if they were gay mutants it made more sense. I know, right? It was a short thing, uncharacteristically, and I wrote it in a dry spell, so. It’s literally the only crossover I’ve ever written more than a paragraph or two of. I haven’t reread it since I posted it. Five Life-Debts, it’s called, I just had to look it up. Hey, it’s as close as I come to this.

Your favorite character to write in fanfic:

Uh, every fandom it seems I kind of seize on A Guy who is Maybe Sort of Self-Sacrificing And Noble, and I just torture him a lot. So it’s kind of transparent and obvious and dumb, and I sort of work at not just doing the same thing over and over, and there it is. I don’t have an overall favorite, though. Like, if you took Bucky Barnes and John Sheppard and Poe Dameron and took off their shirts and doused them in water and locked them together in a small uh. Um, what were we talking about?

Bonus round: a fic you love that isn’t listed above:

I feel like I should give a shoutout to Put On Earth With That Sole Purpose, which is a statistical outlier in that it’s a one-off MCU porn ficlet and is probably the dirtiest thing I’ve written? IDK, I think of myself as filthier than I really am. Anyway, it didn’t make the top 3 in any of those categories but was still up there on its own despite, AFAIK, never getting recced or linked to particularly from anywhere (it’s possible that it’s on a rec list somewhere, who knows, but I don’t remember!). It’s Steve/Bucky/Natasha and it’s got no real plot, unusually for me. (Also it’s full of stuff I’m not particularly into and I don’t know where it came from, exactly; I feel a little detached from it, but pleased nonetheless. I succeeded at writing something with no plot! Sort of! Ha.)

I tag anyone who hasn’t been tagged and wants to be, and I do mean that. I know it’s a cop-out, but I’m late doing this and extra-oblivious about who has already been tagged, so– if you were wishing someone would ask you about your stuff, this is me asking you. 

Yeah okay, I posted a thing. It’s not porn.

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Yeah okay, I posted a thing. It’s not porn. Sorry. 

You’d Be Amazed, about 2k words, rated T for very mild dirty talk; in which Poe is really thirsty okay, and Finn is very patient.

It’s the follow-up to Morale Surveys, because it was pointed out (was it @deputychairman? probably) that surely one of the things Resistance members would totally get off to would be Faceless Stormtrooper Ravishment Fantasies, and that would have to be an option on that survey, which means Finn would see it and would definitely Not Get It. So, yeah, okay, fine.

“So people think about being put into contrived scenarios where they get taken against their will and it’s— the point is that it’s not realistic,” Poe said. “It’s fake. It’s pretend.”

“And so,” Finn said, staring at the holopad, at the holopic of the Stormtrooper helmet, “this. Stormtroopers.”

“Well,” Poe said. “Yeah.” He collected his courage. “It’s partly a thing because they’re human but anonymous. You can’t see their faces. So you wouldn’t have to think.” He had to pause, clear his throat. “Think about them being people.”

“Yeah,” Finn said, “I got that.” He glanced over at Poe, then away, too quickly. “I guess I shouldn’t make it weird and ask if you ever thought about that.”

“I never did, though,” Poe said. “For what it’s worth.” Finn looked slowly, tentatively back at him, and Poe smiled at him. “I like my lovers to have faces.” He reached out and ran the backs of his fingers down the side of Finn’s jaw. “Your face, for example.”

mandos-probation-offices mentioned you in a post

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…do it again: @ bomberqueen17 , @thebyrchentwigges @bofursunboundbraids @vulgarweed…

Scrivener *does* support pagination, I just found out! 

So page 7 of chapter 3, 7 lines down, 7 sentences, and it’s a new scene, huzzah. From the upcoming chapter of Can’t Go Home This Way.

Finn realized he was making the gesture for “sincerity” in the interrogative, down by his side, and Kun wouldn’t know what that was, so he said it out loud. “You’re sure?”

Kun had noticed the gesture, and glanced over at Teeny, who was watching Finn’s hands. “I’m sure,” she said. “Teach me the hand signals, I like that. What does this mean?” and she repeated the gesture Finn had made.