aw you

anonymous asked:

How many AU's do you have? How many do you have in the oven?

“in the oven” I just laughed out loud. This is almost an embarrassing answer (my lack of focus is startling) and even I’m not sure how many I have anymore, so I have broken it down into… AU tiers. 

I count gods!au as one large AU, so for my Major AUs I’d say I have 4? Hunger, Speed Demons, Gods, Incubass

For my Minor AUs (every other AU I’ve written, basically) that’s another 21… most are listed here, but that excludes: Enter the Wasteland, Kingdom of Crows, Idol!auBallet/B-boy, middle school!kghn, and the one about hyperspace sex. Some of these are more developed than others.

Onto Oven AUs™! This is where things get kind of murky, since some of these are in the Major/Minor categories already (the next installments of Hunger/SD; Mages/Fallout/Kingdom and a whole bunch of other kinktobers being primary candidates for expansion), so we’ll rule those out. I think my total here is 8. 

These are ~secrets~! I have two I’m currently working on (the long fics I keep talking about! One of which is getting… close… to done!!). Then three more long fic ideas I’ve done a significant amount of planning for that are next up. And another three big ones I’ve been thinking about for like, months, that are shelved currently because I know I don’t have time to write them quite yet. 

And then I just have this long list of random AUs that sometimes, but not always, move up enough to where I’m actually working on them. I just write them down so I don’t forget. Not even gonna include those in the count. 

Anyways, this is why I occasionally seem like a chicken with its head cut off when figuring out what to write next. I want to write everything right now :(

I believe that once you love someone, it never really goes away. That each person you’ve loved in your lifetime will always have a small piece of you and you can’t throw it away. And it’s not a bad thing, it’s just the way of life.

so i browsed the thread on /v/ that my art was used for and yeah boy their big pile of salt about ARMS is hysterical

just one big huge salt fest

also they couldnt seem to figure out and decide amongst eachother whether or not i was a “tumblrf*g” or a “porn artist” because of the art style and the amputee/disabled thing 

some of them took it being “not canon” very very seriously and were arguing about the logistics of the “imaginary world” in the game lmao

also spring man’s nickname there is colgate and that has me dying

it was pretty entertaining

I just beat Mass Effect 3 last night, and I have never felt so devastated by the end of a game before. Horrible options. Horrible loss. I cried so much that I have a headache now. I don’t wanna see anyone or talk to anyone today but I have to go to work. I can’t believe I trusted you, Bioware.

  • Me: I'm really low maintenance :)
  • Also me: requires near constant attention and reassurance that my significant other doesn't hate me, gets extremely sad and angry when given any tiny reason to believe that they might not like me and then proceeds to hate them from any time between several hours to several days, is very emotionally dependent on them, is always sad or scared about something and needs to be comforted, gets jealous whenever they talk to anyone that isn't me, and is just generally high maintenance as hell
advice for college freshmen:

tolkien your essays; hemingway your emails

essays are tangents and rabbit holes and diversions, woven together with lots of unnecessary descriptive words to demonstrate a proficient understanding of a subject you were meant to research in more depth but did not, in place of other pursuits, or could not, because you chose your subject poorly, and so now you must flesh out an arduous ten-page research paper and convince your scrutinizing instructor that you are well-versed in the topic at hand.

emails are blunt. say what you mean. be specific. end it quickly.

THE REGISTRY: LOS snippet

More Shadowhunters had entered the Council Hall. They were a mix of ages, from old to young. Some wore Centurion uniforms. Most wore gear or ordinary clothes. What was unusual about them was that they were carrying placards and signs. REGISTER ALL WARLOCKS. DOWNWORLDERS MUST BE CONTROLLED. INTERNMENT CAMPS FOR WEREWOLVES. CREATE THE REGISTRY. PRAISE THE COLD PEACE. 

Among them was a stolid brown-haired man with a bland sort of face, the kind of face where you could never really remember the features later. He winked at Zara.

“My father,” she said proudly. “Registering all Downworlders was his idea.”

“What interesting signs,” said Mark.

“How wonderful to see people expressing their political views,” said Zara. “Of course the Cold Peace has truly created a generation of revolutionaries.”

“It is unusual,” said Cristina, “for a revolution to call for fewer rights for its people, not more.”

For a moment Zara’s mask slipped, and Cristina saw through the artifice of politeness, the breathy little-girl voice and demeanor. There was something cold behind it all, something without warmth or empathy or affection. “People,” she said. “What people?”

Diego took hold of her arm. “Zara,” he said. “Let’s go sit down.”