i used to be so good at writing strong, thoroughly-researched, thoroughly-edited essays.
as a kid in hs, my teacher literally came up to me, holding my 40 page essay on the intersection of the European witch hunts and capitalism/exploitation/gender roles (it was supposed to be 7 pages...whoops) and went like "this is literally a master's-degree level thesis. what are you doing?? you could literally use this as your final dissertation in a master's program, what the fuck."
NOW??? NOW?? you'd think I'd be oh so skilled. but alas. i can barely piece together two ideas. adhd skill-regression is so so real. im SOBBING
47K notes
·
View notes
Uh-
just found out my cousin (who lives in England) is in the art department of a bunch of shows??? And she worked oN DOCTOR WHO? AND HAD LUNCH WITH DAVID TENNANT???? and she just told me so casually because she's interested in the art, not the show? I mean, excuse me? She worked on SHERLOCK???? FOR A WHOLE SEASON?? She worked on Peaky Blinders and Lord of the Rings and Game of Thrones??? And probably other things because she has a shitty memory and according to her everything is a blur?? AND AT ONE POINT SHE WAS LIKE: "oh and have you ever heard of Neil Gaiman?" And I was trying not to scream, because yes, of course I've heard of Neil, he's only my favorite author, I've only read like all of his books multiple times, and if you say you worked on Good Omens or the Sandman I'm going to lose it completely. So I said "yeah I've read a couple of his books," -you know, like a liar- "what about him?" and she goes "well I worked on one of his shows and he's brilliant i just can't remember which one" and i go "w-what do you mean he's brilliant? You're.. you're talking about his writing... his writing is brilliant, right?" And she cheerfully says "oh no I don't read books, I ment he was really nice and brilliant when I talked to him" and i go "WHAT DID YOU TALK ABOUT WHAT DID YOU TALK ABOUT" and she thinks for a moment and goes "oh! BRICKS" WHAT IN THE WORLD YES NO THAT MAKES SENSE YOU GET TO WORK AND TALK WITH NEIL FUCKING GAIMAN AND YOU TALK ABOUT BRICKS? NO THAT'S TOTALLY NORMAL I'M NOT MAD ".... it was what I was designing at the time, I needed to know what vibe the bricks should have. Anyway want to see the spinning fireplace I made for doctor who" WHAT THE FUCK.
@neil-gaiman do you remember any brick conversations by any chance
27K notes
·
View notes
Charles whose dad smashed his cassette tape with a hammer learns to navigate the backpack cause, like, he needs to be useful, yeah?
and this way Charles has everything Edwin needs, and if Edwin gets sick of him he’ll just.. he doesn’t know what he’ll do.
but then Edwin gets the record player.
he suggests, tentatively, that Charles might play some of his “queen” if he liked. after all, if they are to haunt potential realtors away from their new office, they may as well entertain themselves.
so they take turns, switching out; edwin likes opera. he shows Charles how to waltz, chiding Charles to stop looking at his feet til they’re gliding, whirling around like they’re in the movies. Edwin’s smile is small and pleased and lovely. (Charles attempt to get Edwin to headbang along to queen results in a sort of awkward rhythmic nodding. Charles loves him so much he could die again.)
And, like. Edwin doesn’t like clutter. he doesn’t bother with the random tidbits ghosts give them for solving cases.
until now, apparently.
now he comes back from trading at the goblin market with little useless things—a cursed rubix cube, records from bands Charles mentioned years ago.
Charles is so busy trying to subtly read his book on Edwardian courting rituals (disguised by Nikos discreet manga covers) that he doesn’t realize what Edwin’s set down in front of him. he stares at Edwin’s spiky handwriting, the tidy numbered list.
“I thought, perhaps, that we might—start a new tradition.”
Charles blinks, eyes stinging. “Mate, did you.. make me a mixtape?”
“Crystal assisted me, and while she was absolutely insuffer—“ Edwin staggers, catching him with a surprised little noise.
“I love you so much,” Charles says, muffled into his throat. “You’re my favorite person. I love you so much it hurts, sometimes.”
“Yes,” Edwin says softly, hands curling around his waist. He takes Charles weight like it’s nothing. “I believe I know the feeling.”
1K notes
·
View notes