#and even then it feels like i'm being held at gunpoint. and i forget anyway.

[moe-broey]

The absolute state of affairs actually. When it comes to green mage overlap. Bunny Sharena is a green mage too. At least she's infantry but dear lord we are so susceptible to swords (one of the most common/often op types of guys in the game)

[hourcat]

hi ! i'm currently writing fic and i saw ur post about having all your scenes fleshed out but having notes to them and it just made me really curious about your process and if u have any tips like how much you outline first, whether u write chronologically etc. bc i have no sense of organization and feel a bit like a headless chicken rn ! ty if u choose to share & good luck finishing ur fic i can't wait to read it 🥰

hi hi bestie!!!! first of all, HOORAY FOR WRITING!!!! i know it is such a fucking PAIN to actually sit down and do, so good on you for doing it! i feel like i need to be held at gunpoint these days. (i actually have an alarm set on my phone that goes off every day at 6pm that says "write for 30 minutes" and even then. sometimes gunpoint simply is not enough)

anyway HAHA i hope you weren't waiting for me to answer this bc i am truly the most chaotic, horrible writer there is. putting this under the cut so i don't ramble all over everyone's dash

honestly, it all depends on what i'm actually writing. for shorter fics (i.e., copium/kiss me more chapters) i can usually just sit down and write it in one sitting without any planning or anything! i'll like...write down the gist of the idea in a sentence and then just let my brain run with it. sometimes i'll get an idea so potent that i have to stop in my TRACKS and run to google docs and write down the sentence that has, like, almost fully formed. idk if other writers experience this or if its just me being unhinged.

but for longer form fics, i need to plan. soooo much. you would not believe the number of draft posts/google docs that are literally just. bullet lists of fic ideas that i want to run with. (so many skeletons i might as well be a graveyard! heh heh.) i used to be able to just write mindlessly and get away with it, but as i get older (and have more fuel/stamina to write longer fics!) i get more forgetful and more obsessive about the way i want certain scenes to go, so it ends up becoming a bulleted list. and it also is an ongoing list! like, with the NFL au for example - i had a general idea of how i wanted the fic to go, but as i started writing it, i got MORE ideas for scenes and moments, so those got added to my outline list. it becomes chaotic because all of a sudden i have like twenty-five scenes by the end and its like....girl.....get some help.....

it also becomes a fucking mess when i have ideas for future parts of a scene i'm writing and don't want to jump ahead but don't want to lose the idea so, mid prose, i'll do something like:

also FUCK writing in chronological order. in theory i would like to but in practice sometimes you're just in the mood to write one specific scene and i am of the belief that, if you're in the mood to write a specific part, you should just WRITE IT and ride the momentum whenever you can instead of trying to force that inspiration into something else just because it's "in order".

ultimately i feel like writers are never TRULY organized because like...there are always ideas bouncing around in our heads, ya know? but i find that outlining really helps me for the longer things! ESPECIALLY when you're inspired w/your plot. being possessed about a fic idea is truly an uncommon experience (at least. to me) so you gotta run with it whenever you can.

i hope this made sense? i'm literally a mess of a writer like ive been writing for a decade and i still have like. no idea how i get things done at all LMFAO. keep me posted abt ur fic process, darling!!!! organization is for chumps.

[missymurphy1985]

Negotiations - Jackson Rippner one shot

Warning - smut / public sex / dubious consent (at first, anyway...) / Unprotected sex

Taglist @queenshelby @margoo0 @being-worthy @peakyscillian @ntmynouis @janelongxox @elenavampire21 @noctvrnalmoth @ysmmsy @cloudofdisney @lauren-raines-x @namelesslosers @misscarolineshelby @screemqueen

You were frantic - scribbling 18F has Bomb onto the bathroom mirror in a complete panic before taking a deep breath to calm yourself. Opening the door, you nearly screamed as Jackson suddenly pushed you back inside, hand over your mouth, swinging you hard so your back was pressed against the sink. He clocked the writing on the mirror and quickly locked the door behind him.

His face inches away from yours now, holding your jaw in his strong hand, his eyes peering into yours. You were absolutely terrified, and yet part of you couldn't help but feel hot.. you'd felt an instant attraction when you'd met in the bar hours earlier, and even though Jackson turned out to be a psychopathic terrorist with your father tied up back home at gunpoint, just waiting for Jackson's signal...

"You don't have to do this..." You whispered, seeing a glimmer of desire in his eyes.

He didn't answer. Just glared at you, before his eyes dropped down slightly, catching sight of your cleavage and the small scar across it. His fingers pulled down the material of your thin camisole top to see it properly, and your body shifted against him, making him push up against you a little harder. Both of you groaned slightly at the extra contact.

"I have no choice but to do this.." he whispered back. You could feel an extra pressure against your leg suddenly and Jackson's eyes closed slightly as you pushed your body up against it.

"You always have a choice, Jackson.." he was clearly attracted to you, and your core was on fire as he pushed himself against your leg a little harder now, groaning deeper.

"How did you get the scar.." you told him the story of the scar.. how you'd been attacked in a car park, the men taking advantage of you... His breathing became slightly laboured, as with every word your voice got unintentionally deeper. You tried to pull away from him but the limited space in the bathroom made it impossible.

"Why are you doing this, Jackson?" You asked, voice shaky.

"Because I have a job to do."

"I'm not talking about that, I'm talking about this..." You looked down, his hardness obvious now between you.

"Because I want you."

"You're fucking delusional..."

"Not really. I can feel how hot you are from here sweetheart.." his right hand remained on your jaw, while his left moved down to your hips, squeezing the flesh slightly making you jump.

"Don't do this... Please...?" You wasn't sure how much you meant that, admittedly..

"See now, I would believe you but the way you're grinding against me y/n.. I'm thinking you want this as much as I do..." You hadn't even realised you were moving, but sure enough, your core was flush against his. You froze, not wanting to provoke him any more but he ground his hips against yours making you shudder - the zipper on his trousers brushing over your clit perfectly.

"Jackson please..."

"Please what, sweetheart? What is it you need?"

"Release my father."

"What?"

"Release my father and you can take whatever you want from me. Do we have a deal?" You could see the cogs turning in his mind.

"I get to fuck you senseless in this bathroom, as long as I let your father go?"

"Yes..." You moved your clit over his zipper again, you were desperate for the friction.

"And if I don't?"

"It's going to be a really uncomfortable flight with this between your legs..." Your hips rocking against him now, and his eyes fluttered closed again at the contact. You could see the decision had clearly been made, and he wasted no time in lifting your skirt up over your hips, pulling your underwear down your legs.

Moving his body back up against hours, your fingers were soon working on his belt buckle and trousers, dropping them to the floor and biting your lip as his cock sprung free, already leaking a little. You wanted to take him in your mouth but you knew you both had limited time. His fingers were soon between your legs, sliding over your slick folds, smiling at how wet you were already.

"Turn around y/n..." He moved back, allowing you to face the mirror, and you bent over slightly, letting him open your legs a little before lining himself up against you.

"You on anything?" He asked before he pushed inside.

"No..."

"Better remember to pull out then hadn't I..." He smirked before thrusting into you with a deep groan, his hand covering your mouth quickly to stop you screaming from the sudden invasion. He built up a hard, fast pace quickly, and your body soon adjusted to him, your core throbbing and pulsing against his cock. You couldn't speak due to his hand covering your mouth, all you could do was groan quietly.

"Keep your eyes on me y/n..." He pulled your hair with his free hand as he pounded into you, lifting your face so you could see him in the mirror. "I wanna see your eyes when you come..."

That surprised you, you'd have thought all he was interested in was getting his own end away, but the way he angled himself inside you, it was obvious he was looking for that one sweet spot inside - he needed you to come. He found it, and smirked when your eyes widened suddenly, keeping up the pace as he fucked you hard, hitting it over and over again, making your legs shake underneath him.

"If I move my hand, will you stay quiet?" He whispered, and you shook your head, his hand over your mouth was turning you on even more, you didn't want him to remove it. He raised an eyebrow at you, and continued pounding, his left hand moving down to squeeze your ass under him. He wanted to slap it, but the noise would've been too much of a risk.

Your legs shook harder, that familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach, you were so close. You moved your mouth slightly, allowing him to push two fingers inside it as you sucked and licked them, making him gasp. Looking at him through the mirror you could tell he was close too, his lips hanging open slightly, teeth gritted underneath them.

"Need to feel you come y/n..." And you did, your orgasm flowing through you like a hurricane as your mouth sucked harder on his fingers to stop yourself crying out.

With a deep, quiet groan he reached his high, thrusting deep inside and you felt his hot, thick cum line your walls.

"Fuck, Jackson I told you I wasn't on anything..." You gasped, realising what he'd done.

"What can I say, you felt too good..." He smirked, pulling out of you and pulling your pants up from around your ankles, holding your leaking juices in place. "You're gonna keep them there for the rest of this flight, and if you're lucky I might make you come in your seat before we land..." he pulled his trousers back up and kissed your lips hungrily.

"What happens when we land?" You asked as he pulled away, cleaning the writing from the mirror.

"Your father's release will be arranged when we sit down, I always keep my promises. The assassination goes ahead as planned, and you will help us with that. As agreed."

"And if I don't?"

"You can forget any more orgasms on this plane."

"I'm gonna need more than that, Jackson."

"On this plane, at the hotel, in your bedroom, you'll never get a piece of this again..." He held your hand against his crotch, you couldn't resist giving it a small squeeze.

"You release my father and I'll help you."

"You help with the assassination and you get to cum on my fingers when we get back to the seats."

"Deal..." You both tidied yourselves up and left the bathroom separately. You saw Jackson on the phone to your father's kidnapper, telling him to let your father go. He even showed you the call and let you speak to your Dad, confirming the whole thing. You sat back in your chair, and smiled. Jackson's hand resting at the top of your damp thigh under your skirt, his jacket placed over your lap as he leaned over to whisper in your ear.

"Ready for orgasm number 2 now y/n?"

[wornoutmouse]

Fun fact: demon slayer starts in 1912 and ends in 1927(or at least that's when the Tashio era ends). Using that math Tanjiro (as long as he kept his health good) would very well be alive today at the ripe age of like 78 if my math is correct since he started as 13 in the series. (My math probably wrong asf)

Power imbalance, power bottom reader, knife play,  blood but not blood play...

He hated you.

Your very being irked him more than anything he'd ever experienced in all his centuries of living. You were clumsy, boisterous, and played that arrogant music all throughout your home while walking around half naked. Well in Muzan's opinion you were half naked, he couldn't even begin to describe his disbelief at the trend of exposing skin. 

It didn't help that you had that insignificant filth running through your veins. At first he was unsure, after all this was a completely different country than Japan, not to mention your darker skin and coiled hair. But no, he could smell and recognise the Kamado blood running through your veins just as strongly as it had run through all your ancestors. 

Completely undiluted. 

At the very beginning when you first moved in, you  came to his home. Knocking aggressively on his front door already getting off to the wrong start. When he opened it, you slipped past him and walked into his living room barely even saying hello as you put poorly decorated sugar cookies on his obsidian coffee table. "This is a nice place you got here Mj." 

Muzan's eyes twitched, that joke had long since gotten old since he moved to America. 

Now that you were closer he could definitely smell, the century old stench of rivaling bloodlust simmered just below your onyx skin. At any moment he expected you to attack him in some way or form. "Anyways I'm here to say hello neighbor, my name is Y/n and I'm your new best friend!"

Your happy attitude also agitated him to no end. Even though the knowledge of demons had dwindled down to only a few select families, even basic humans were wary of him as their baser instincts made them aware of his dangerous origins. This fact had long since forced Muzan to only prey on the elderly to survive. You had stayed a bit longer babbling about some nonsense that Muzan never acknowledged as he watched you from a good distance.

"You know you really got to add more to your wardrobe than 1963 suits." You walked from the back of his home, an area that he didn't even notice you wandered to. Finally getting bored, you open his door bidding your farewells. 

Just before leaving you stop and with a cheeky grin say, "If you ever need anything just come on over. We Kamado's are known for our kindness." 

Since then he'd been on edge around you. The point of relocating was for him to keep a low profile but now it seems he'd have to come face to face with an old nemesis reborn. 

Muzan snapped out of his thoughts with a flinch as he pierced his hand with his nail. He watches the dark blood well up from the wound and drip down his wrist. In the end this world had long since lost its hostility dwindling the average human incapable of basic combat. Giving you were no doubt a great descendant, Muzan failed to see you as a true threat.  

But one can never be too sure

🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢

You heard a knock on your door, soft and hesitant. "I don't think I'm expecting company." You checked your watch and peered out of a nearby window. It was at least 8 at night, you were braless wearing sweats with a red T-Shirt and on your way to bed.  In the back of your mind you visualize your two grand-uncles Inosuke and Zenitsu coming over to make you spectate their fights. For two old dudes they still had enough strength in them to do hip breaking nonsense.

You open the door shocked to see your next door neighbor standing before you. For once he wasn't wearing a suit that cost more than your house. His attire was still expensively dressed but in a more casual sense, that being a black dress shirt and slacks. His sleeves were rolled up displaying his pale skin. "Can I come in?" A dazzling smile you had never seen before practically blinds you as he walks past you into your home.

When Muzan walks in his eyes immediately dart to the clear as day Nichirin Blade sword displayed recklessly on your living room wall above your couch. "You like it?" A hand on his shoulder makes him jump, "Got it from my grandpa, he says it's really special but I feel like he's exaggerating. You know how old people are." Muzan shakes out of his stupor. "I don't quite understand what you mean by that, however I do know that it's much more wise to listen to your elders than ignoring…..It could save your life."

Muzan replicates you and puts a hand on your shoulder gently squeezing. This was it, he'd go in for the kill and it would be over, the amount of blood he'd pump into you would be enough to watch you meet a satisfying end of combustion completely untraceable if the police were to get involved. How he wishes he'd be there when your poor grandfather walks along your remains splattered on every surface in your living room. Unable to do a thing as he's finally in his last stretch of life. 

The beauty.

Muzan's finger only twitches in the slightest before pain sparks from his own neck. "The thought of you coming into my own home unprovoked and at night no less, was the most obvious sign one could ask more." You had his hand gripped so tight your veins popped while your other hand held a small pocket knife that burned  brighter than any Nichirin sword he'd ever encountered. He didn't understand, he was quick enough to kill even the best of the ancient Hiroshima. So how did a little foreign girl like you get the upper hand?

It was embarrassing and almost laughable if any of his pillars were alive to tell the tale.

You press the blade harder before bringing your other hand to caress Muzan's cheek,  "Did you think I'd be just an ignorant descendant of an infamous hero?" You clicked your teeth disappointingly. "How naive, you've really become lazy after all these millennia huh?" You walk forward, pushing Muzan back with seductive strength. He allows you to push him into your couch,  I say allow because at any time he could have stopped you.  

Muzan is most definitely not holding me at gunpoint right now. 

The knife never wavers even as you climb into Muzan's lap, pressing it even closer against his jugular. "You do know getting beheaded will not kill me, and I doubt this petty little kitchen knife will get the job done in the first place." Your lips draw into a smirk and you press the knife closer as you trail it down his chest, "That may be true but it's gonna take one hell of a time for you to grow back." Your hand jerks down, popping his shirt buttons open.

Muzan watches with interest, your eyes light up as more skin becomes exposed. The tones of your dark skin contrast strikingly as you caress his pectoral with the tips of your fingers. "For a 1,000 year old grandpa you look decent." Still threatening his life with your blade, you kiss him. It's deep and carnal. Your lustful desires being made known as you grind in his lap. The flesh of your ass snuggly hotdogs the forming outline of his cock. "I've always wanted to be with a demon. You've had to of become a real freak after living this long!"

When you pull away Muzan's thin lips are pink and a bit swollen. He is out of breath despite needing none, "You have a lot of nerve for a mere human." With your free hand you loosen the belt of his slacks, only standing to pull them off, pleased when Muzan voluntarily raises his hips to aid you. 

Don't get him wrong, he was still planning on killing you and ending your wretched bloodline once and for all, he just needed his mind to clear itself. Your scent, your confidence, strung him along like a puppet. His hands grip onto your ass cheeks like a lifeline. Molding them between his fingers, even giving them a shake through your sweats. His nails elongate and puncture the thick fabric as if it was nothing more than a spider web. 

Your sweats are tugged off completely leaving your lower half nude. Muzan moves his hands to hold your ass again but your blade politely makes itself known. You are out of breath and clearly flustered. "Watch yourself, demon, I'm the one calling the shots, don't forget that." Muzan bites his tongue with sharp glare. He raises his hands in surrender, "Of course." 

Muzan can feel your wetness against his leg and it's driving him insane. "Hey…" red eyes refocus on yours, "You ain't got any diseases do you? And you can't get me pregnant right?" Muzan smirks hands enclosing around your ass despite your protest. "I can, however it will cost a lot more than doing it once." The odds didn't seem in your favor but you were in no position to stand down and grab a condom and Muzan knew it.

You curve the blade towards his chin, "If you are lying and give me some ancient unknown disease or I find out you have superman sperm, I will kill you." Muzan links his lips, "Wasn't that the plan from the beginning or have you had a moment of level headedness?" Your wrist is quick and precise, cutting a thin slash along his jawline., not enough to scar and it barely even bled, but the threat was clear.

You grab Muzan's dick and use your thumb to attack the underside with fast strokes. Said man doesn't react outwardly, the only sign being his eyelids lowering by a fraction. "Were you always this well endowed or did you adjust this part too?" Muzan was not amused by your insinuation. Deciding to once again display the true power imbalance this situation had, he loops his arms underneath your large thighs and lifts you just enough to thrust his cock against your hole. 

From there he let's go, making you plop down on his length, making you yelp and allowing him to lean back with a relaxed sigh. You were so warm and tight. Now even though I explained what had happened with great detail,  keep in mind that in reality it all happened within a fraction of a second. 

Your large and in charge persona was cracking.  You gripped Muzan's sides tightly as your pussy spasmed around his girth. "F-Fuck it's too….." you trail off not wanting to give Muzan the credit he was truly due. 

It takes a few moments for you to get your bearings all the while Muzan and his dangerous jaw swayed in the crevice of your neck. A viper playing with its prey. The blade is back against his neck once again making his cock twitch. If he were human this would be a dangerous feat.  Your grip never slacked nor lessened against his neck, slicing into a growing wound that dropped dark blood down his chest and to his abdomen. 

His dick stretched your pussy and made it weap on each downstroke. Muzan's hands grip onto the cheeks of your ass with gritted teeth.  Your insides gripped him ever so slightly.  Sucking him back in as if he belonged there.  He felt used and it felt good.  His black ringlets stuck to his face from sweat and his red eyes grew in intensity. 

He couldn't see much of your body, hell he could barely even touch. In the back of his mind humorous thoughts such as how he knew Tanjiro would lose his sanity if he knew his granddaughter was being bedded by the man he despised. But the more you bounced, the more you squeezed, the deeper you cut into his neck proved that you were truly the one in charge. 

"Oh God you're so deep!" Your deep almond eyes shut themselves with pleasure. Muzan could feel your legs shaking with exertion at the same rhythm your pussy twitched. His balls felt tight after having no action in over a dozen years. "F-Faster." He has no care for your blade, only wanting to cum and feel the sweet ecstasy he knew your creamed pussy would provide. "Come on human, go faster." Muzan locks lips with you, gaze hardened and intent on proving some sort of point.

Tossing the knife you wrap your arms around his neck pulling his head closer. Red eyes target brown ones as his hands take a stronger grip on your ass. He uses his strength to bounce you. The sound of his balls slapping against the curve of your ass is just as disgusting as it is sexy. Your nipples rub against his through your tank-top making you both moan. The feeling blood stains your shirt making you shiver from the cool wetness

The couch you rest on bangs against the wall behind you the faster you both go. Muzan's feet are planted firmly in the ground, his fangs further elongated. He looks feral and it is in this moment where you get a glimpse of the horror many people felt when he took their lives. "Focus little Kamado, you wouldn't want to disappoint me now would you?" 

Muzan's hips meet yours, spreading the tempo. Your juices coat his lap before finally you tense up completely into a cramp inducing stance as Muzan impaled you on his cock one last time. "Ahh.." Muzan empties himself within you with a relieved sigh. 

Maybe the Kamado bloodline could go on.

[dalasteller]

shadow and bone spoilers! malina/mal fans this is not for you but it’s not pro-darklina either. i’m an alina x alina supremacist

so, somehow, the show made me like book!malina more than show!malina after weeks of thinking the opposite would be true. i don’t even like book!mal/malina, but my neutrality towards them is nothing compared to how much i detested show!malina.

I WANTED THE TV SHOW TO MAKE ME LOVE THEM. the trailers made me think i would!!! i'd heard screeners and reviewers talk about this epic love story that transcends everything—these two people who would do anything for each other—and i don't disagree, they definitely would. i just wish they would shut the fuck up about it.

sorry.

looking back, i'd rather the show gave us mal with flaws, who wasn't perfect to alina, who would die for her, but still said the wrong thing and flirted with other girls and was afraid of her power at first. archie did a great job. he just couldn't make me love mal, and neither could the writers opting to make him main character no. 2 and alina’s prince in shining armour who supports her endlessly and has never done anything wrong in his life ever. writers, please, why did you think that was a good idea? when i said i wanted a more likeable mal, i meant i wanted his flaws accompanied by positive traits, by compelling backstory, by personality outside of being alina's hot best friend who never noticed her. i didn't mean i wanted a guy who could be wrapped in a gift box and sold as a robo-boyfriend designed for romance.

no, i mean, they really did write him that way.

what i definitely didn't mean i wanted was over an hour of the show dedicated to watching mal’s perspective of hunting the stag and making besties with his military bros and writing letters to alina and getting shot at a bunch of times instead of letting the book characters who were already beloved by fans get the screentime they deserved. what i wouldn't do to have gotten more genyalina and well-written zoya instead of mal dissecting deer shit...

you would think with how much talk about malina basically being soulmates, childhood flashbacks, fighting and nearly dying for each other at least four times (and did i mention more narration about being soulmates?) that i would take the bait and just let malina set sail. but this show held me at gunpoint for eight hours straight and told me that these two are going to have the same cultural influence as new romeo and juliet and that if i disagree i am going to be killed on the spot. because of this, i have now died.

don't tell me what to do, narrative, because i'm not going to do it!

i am also annoyed that they took the time to redesign mal in perfect childhood-friends-to-lovers dreamboat fashion but refused to retcon zoya's stupid misogyny-fueled bitchy YA girl arc and instead made it even worse by having her be racist to alina? what was the thought process there? they seriously fucked her over. i tried to pretend it didn't happen moving forward but why do they want to use racism as a tool for developing a "bully" character anyway, especially a woc? am i meant to forget about it? they lost me there. i feel like the female characters, with the exception of inej, generally weren't given the same care the male characters were. there was a lot of sidelining in favour of mal's redemptive rewrite and the darkling's 15 minutes of half-assed backstory and crying in every scene for some reason. “make me your villain” .... okay, simpboy, i’ll try my best.

i've already talked about why i hated mal's role (i clarify his role, not his character, because there was literally nothing wrong with him and that’s why i hated him so much) but i'm going to address it from the perspective of my love for alina and why i think this decision was so disrespectful to her. alina in the books was already in need of more characterization, time for herself and her internal development as opposed to her relationship with the three male love interests she acquires through the series. somehow this show took a main character already underused in her own story (though at least the books are told from her pov) and neglected her even further. alina is tied almost entirely to her male counterparts, mal especially, but i'd say the darkling is used as a narrative rebound. i think they both have chemistry and can serve a purpose in the story but the emphasis on codependency is impossible to ignore.

in the first four episodes, every scene that could have been alina struggling to settle into a new life and dealing with the emotional weight of her pressure as a saint was instead about mal. she writes him letters, and cries over him, and slips him into conversations that have nothing to do with him, and gets sad after slipping him into conversations that have nothing to do with him, and can't use her power because she's thinking of him, and then only decides to fully accept her power because of his absence.

alina's feelings are lended to nothing but her missing mal. he isn't just her best friend and love, he's this colossal piece of her identity that she doesn't get to exist without, even when he's gone. the show's exhaustive attempt to make mal loveable and make malina an epic love story turns our female protagonist into a sulking, miserable shell of a character everytime he's mentioned, which, by the way, is like, every two minutes. and apparently it's necessary to draw parallels to the same three flashbacks in all of them. i knoowwwwwwww, they held hands and now they can't anymore, i knowwww. they ran through a meadow, i knowwwwwwwwwwwwww.

watching her scenes almost drove me to printing out a bechdel test and ticking off as many boxes as possible.

i hated it. it made me sad.

i wanted more alina. i want her power to be her own. i wanted that tension between her and mal in the books because his flaws gave her a chance to stand up for herself and say that she liked being powerful. that summoning is a part of her and she would never give it up. that there was a tinge of corruption, of greed, of wanting to be the sun summoner, and it was intriguing! mal's issue of not accepting alina's power allowed her to express how much it meant to her. i wanted the alina who said "the night was velvety black and strewn with jewels. the hunger struck me suddenly. i want them, i thought." i wanted a hint of the sun summoner who decided when it got dark and relished in it (yes i know this can be expanded upon in s2). alina has a cocky side, her insecurities are explored and she finds strength in her new gift and eventually has to find strength outside of it, but in the show the catalyst to her powers is mal. always. is it romantic? sure. but it's hard to enjoy the romance when all we see of alina is her romantic connection to mal. can't she be more than that?

[words-writ-in-starlight]

so i'm assuming that all the reincarnated ham crew look like their musical actors, which, awesome. but i was thinking about jefferson, who was a racist fucker being reincarnated as a black man. like. how would that even go down?

*emerges from cave, shamefaced* Right, so, does anyone remember that this AU exists?  Because I swear to God I didn’t forget, I just only now have had the time.  I actually have a bunch of prompts for it, not all of them are going to get written based on...like...my inspiration level, but also this series is alive again, so like.  Yep.  Here is some Jefferson.  Full disclosure, I dislike Jefferson and think his economic plan was some racist bullshit, so...that is evident.

To all you newcomers, I do recommend reading the other stuff, even if you could probably figure it out.  

All In One Spot AU

So, the academic affairs office holds out longer than theirpredecessor.  Not by much, but by alittle.  It takes two full weeks for Alexto hammer through his petition to be allowed to take more than max credits—and it’squite a petition.  Angelica takes one look at the twenty-page,double-sided, single-spaced letter to the dean of academics and disavows anyinvolvement, and John grins fondly, remarking that the dean has no idea what he’sgotten into.

The dean, incidentally, has lived his life with pleasantly dim memoriesof Philedelphia with cobblestone streets and a vague impression that he knowsthe unfortunate teacher annually strong-armed into teaching History of theAmerican Revolution.  He recalls verylittle else of his time in the Continental Congress—indeed, at gunpoint hecouldn’t have identified what exactly he was doing, back then.

He has a blindingly vividflashback upon looking at the first page of the letter—the pamphlet, really—and immediately feeds the entire thing through hisshredder.

“Jake,” he says, sticking his head out of his office to look at hissecretary.

“Yes, sir?”

“Approve whatever Hamilton’s request was before he sends anymoreletters.  I’ve seen enough for severallifetimes.”

“You got it, boss,” says Jake, whose past life was a blissfullyunremarkable farmer in the Italian countryside and who therefore has no ideathat his boss is sparing them all a lot of trouble.

Now, the reason this matters is because Alex walks into his Econ 101class for the first time two weeks into the semester, takes one look at thelesson outline the grad student wrote on the board, and makes a sound ofabsolute incoherent horror.

“Oh my god,” Alex says faintly, frozen in place two steps inside thedoor.  He was never an especiallyreligious person, but he’s wondering if maybe the universe is punishing him forpast crimes.  He’s not saying one way orthe other if he deserves it, but this seems excessive.  “Jefferson is haunting me from beyond thegrave.”

“Listen, kid,” sighs the grad student. She wears her hair buzzed short on one side and is clutching her coffeealmost as fiercely as Alex is, and he thinks this is maybe not her first classtoday from the also, I don’t carelook on her face.  “We’re doing a reviewof some basic socioeconomic structures, and the Jeffersonian/Hamiltonian debateis, like, critical.  So could you--”

“But it’s bullshit,” Alexbursts out before he can even try to hold his tongue.  “It was bullshit when Jefferson first came upwith it, and it’s bullshit now.”

“Jesus Christ,” a voice fromsomewhere in the front third of the lecture hall mutters.  A tall figure unfolds itself from a chair andsays, “Have you ever taken an economics class in your life?”

Alex can actually taste the way his blood pressure skyrockets.  It occurs to him, briefly, that someone—possiblyEliza, also possibly the General—might kill him if he starts a fight right now,but.  On the other hand.  He’s going to start a fight.  He’s got no choice, basically.

“Have you?” he demands rudely,turning to stare up the lecture hall at the young man—maybe a sophomore, he’stoo angry to be sure, but he’s wearing a very questionable magenta hoodie andhis hair is even fluffier than Lafayette’s and honestly he has a very punchableface, in Alex’s humble opinion—and narrowing his eyes.  “I mean, do you have a single legitimateargument for why Jefferson’s bullshit plan would work?  Because let me just say, plenty of Southernersloved to sit around and talk about how the country was being railroaded by thebig cities in the North but--”

“If the North can’t balance their own needs with the supply they cangenerate, why should the South--”

Fine, if that’s how he wants to play it. Alex raises his voice to try to drown the other guy out.  “If the South wants to call itself a part ofa country, it needs to support--”

“State-by-state trade--”

“—what, you expect landowners to share their profits freely enough tokeep a country alive, God you’re naïve--”

“—freedom from the chokeholdof a national bank--”

“—so the country can be held hostage by the South?”

“Farms and farm owners should be able to dictate where their finances--”

“—can’t punish the North for the sin of not having huge arable fields--”

“—your vaunted manufacturing facilities cover it?”

By now they’re bellowing at each other over the heads of the rest of theclass, real anger kicking up an intellectual debate into something familiar,and so Alex isn’t really surprised by the next slip of his tongue.  Old habits, new dogs—old dogs?  Something like that.

Anyway.

Point is, Alex slams his textbook down onto the grad student’s table andhollers, “Goddamnit, Jefferson, I wasright and history proves it, get off your fucking high horse!”

There’s a long couple seconds where Alex remembers, in the dead silencethat’s settled on the lecture hall, that he was kind of planning to keep a lidon that?   Oh well, any hope of secrecywas blown to shit by Washington’s class anyway and fuck it, he’s right, he was right then and he’s right now, andfurthermore—

“Go fuck yourself, Hamilton,” the tall guy says, and Alex has a smallheart attack.

“Jesus God, fucking Christ, what the fuck,” the grad student blurts allat once in a rush, but Alex doesn’t answer her, too busy taking a deep breathto launch his next volley.

Admittedly, it’s not a gracious one, but listen, just listen: Alex is not a gracious personand no one ever said he was, certainly never more than once, and definitely notafter having an argument with him.  

“Hey, look, I’m sure it’s rough to realize that all your best effortsonly ended in Andrew Jackson’s racist ass closing down the federal bank andlanding us all neck deep in shit a hundred and fifty years later--”

“Excuse me, I wrote--”

Alex drives over the tall guy’s protests—Jefferson’s protests, and wow, he’s going to hear about this fromWashington later.  “—but you really haveto get over your bullshit economic plan and just admit that it depends on slavery.”

“It does not!”

“Oh my god it does, it totallydoes, the only way your plan works is if there’s basically no economic overheadfor labor, and like, listen, buddy, I’m not sure if anyone ever told you this,but we had a whole war about the slavery thing, it was a very big deal, itkilled like a million people and then we agreed that slavery was bad.”  Alex pauses and very slowly arches an eyebrowat Jefferson, enjoying this…probably more than he should.  “Do youagree that slavery was bad, Thomas?” he asks with a wide smile.

If Jefferson purses his lips any harder, Alex thinks they might actuallyfuse.  “Still an asshole and animmigrant, I see.”

“Well, not all of us had such an easy karmic target on our backs as,say, just for example, a slave owner with a realbad track record getting brought back as a black guy,” Alex points outgenerously.  “If Maria shows up, I’m morethan happy to let her follow Peggy’s example and punch me, I’m doing mypenance.”

“I don’t deserve this,” Jefferson tells the ceiling.

“I dunno, man,” the girl sitting next to him says.  “Sounds like you might.  Like, I did the reading and your plan was kind of bullshit.”

Honestly this is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to him—well,no, it’s not even the greatest thing to happen to him this month, but it’s upthere, okay, it’s way up there.  “I feel so, so validated,” Alex tells thegrad student, who looks like she might be in shock?  Her eyes are wide and her jaw is slack, so hecocks his head and asks, “Are you okay?”

She shuts her mouth with a click, closes her eyes, swallows.  Pinches the bridge of her nose between herthumb and finger.  It’s shockinglysimilar to Washington’s patented Headache Pose that always appeared during thelatest cabinet battle royal.  

“Can you two be trusted to not kill each other if you sit on oppositesides of the hall?”

“Come on, now, we worked together for like—most of a couple decades,”Alex says after a second of mental math.

“Yeah,” she says, opening her eyes and visibly trying not to be star struck, which Alex…appreciates, to becompletely honest.  “And then you, youknow, mutually annihilated each other and he spent a couple more decades tryingto blackball your name out of the history books.”

“It’s so rare that I feel like the bigger person,” Alex says, bouncingon his toes.

“That’s because you’re unnaturally small,” Jefferson mutters, sullenlyresuming his seat.

“I am not listening to baseless insults about my height right now, thankyou, Jefferson, I have the eternal trump card and there’s nothing you can doabout it.”

The grad student puts her head back into her hand, and squeezes her eyesshut.