careful what you wish for


“An ethereal aesthete, an old soul, a highly intelligent and creative being with a carefully measured voice and vision, someone who immediately bewitches everyone who ever meets him.”

Happy 24th Birthday Harry! 


I’m always a little bit restless nowadays. That’s a problem. Some days I spend hours pacing circles into the carpet, some days I knock rhythms into desks, some days I can’t think calmly unless I’m running full tilt, tears from cold air drying on my face.
I think I bargained away my stillness at some point but my mind is whirling, spinning, jumping from idea to idea, thought to thought to thought, whiplashing from memory to prophecy so fast I can’t tell what’s real. Can’t remember what I got in exchange.
Doesn’t matter.
People call me Blue. They call me Ink. I write with the speed of a plague and it’s fury but I don’t think that’s new. I can’t remember a time I didn’t fall asleep without words spinning into creation under my tongue. Can’t stay still enough to remember much at all, really.
There’s an old black cat on campus with one blind eye bit two others that work well enough. He likes fish, and chicken as long as it’s raw. He sniffs at my iron chain around my neck disdainfully every time I talk to him. I can’t find it’s clasp anymore. I don’t think there ever was one.
Doesn’t matter.
What does matter are all the poems tacked up on my dorm walls. What matters is the level of cream in the mug outside and the amount of blue pens I still have. What matters is salt on the windowsill and doorway threshold. What matters is that even through the endless momentum I experience, I can still remember my true name. What matters is that They can’t seem to touch my writing at all.


Happy Birthday To Everyone!

Context: On the birthday of every player in the group my DM gives us a birthday wish of anything we want that isn’t game-breaking. And since our game has become a kingmaker campaign of sorts there are very few things that could actually do that. So on my birthday I decide to wish for something to put me on equal terms with the noble of our group.

DM: “As you’re discussing court politics you get an urgent message that there’s an army outside the walls.:

Player 1 (Noblewoman): “Get the horses, we’re going to the walls!”

DM: “As you get to the walls you see a legion of 60,000 Elven fighters in rank and file formation. They’re carrying long blades and arrows with full quivers.”

Player 2 (Wizard): “How did they get here?”

DM OOC:*shrugs* You didnt hear anything until just now. As one of the city’s Mercenary leaders walks up to the fighter (me) and tells him to sign a form.

The party begins to shout and yell in disbelief, demanding an explanation. I take a moment to collect myself after the paperwork while they lament.

Player 1: *death glare* “So you wanted to take a small district huh?”

Player 2: *screaming* “What did you do?!”

Me: *completely straight faced* “I figured it was time to get the respect I deserve around here and this seemed like the best way to do it.”

The DM loses his shit while the whole group is dumbfounded except for our noble who is still pissed.

DM OOC: Well all the city’s noble guards are pissed, and while the city guard is seperate from the nobles they don’t like the idea of a siege going on outside their walls. So the captain of the guard walks up and yells “Who the FUCK is responsible for this?!”

And of course my party points directly at me.

Me: “No need to fear, I’m just a travelling noble, my personal guard is just reluctant to leave me alone.”

DM: “Personal Guard?”

Me: “Yes, we are very cautious but we are a peaceful people.”

DM OOC: He looks over your shoulder at the fully armed Elven legion behind you.

Me: “Within reason.”

DM OOC: This is going to end badly for you.

Me OOC: This is going to end badly for anyone.

Noblewoman OOC: I send my sappers to fire bomb his forces.

DM OOC: All the other nobles rally to support you.

The siege ended very badly for me, and the city’s fields and forests.

The Fic Writer’s Beatitudes

Blessed are the readers, for theirs is the archive.

Blessed are the betas: for they help us write the stories we see in our hearts.
Blessed are they that kudo, for they reassure us that someone likes what we’ve done.
Blessed are the rebloggers and reccers, for they help the readers find our work.
Blessed are they which leave comments on a WIP that say something other than “write more please”: for they comfort us when we feel taken for granted.
Blessed are the commenters; for their words bring us joy.
Blessed are the loyal fans, for they keep the fandom alive.
Blessed are the fan artists, for they bring our worlds to life before our eyes.
Blessed are they which read an entire long fic and comment each chapter, for the string of comment notifications fills the writer’s heart with delight.
Blessed are ye, who rec our fics in public and tag us, for seeing that we made somebody squee is the light in our days.
Rejoice, and be exceeding glad; for great is your reward in fandom.