certified gay menace, manufactured in america. cannot be exchanged or sold. opening casing voids warranty. contains purely carbon-based material except for after-market modifications. distributed under a they/them label.
Do you want to read a very specific fic from me – one I haven’t actually written? Maybe you want to see my take on a particular trope or pairing, or you really want a sequel or missing scene from one of my works?
Starting this month, I’m offering one slot per month to prompt a fic in return for proof of donating at least $10 USD (or equivalent) to a pro-choice organization. (List below; includes both US and international options).
Status: July closed, check back August first!
How this works:
1. Contact me to make sure the slot is open and check any details you’re set on, like a particular fandom, pairing, trope, etc. Please make sure the post opening the slot for the month is up first. In order to be fair to everyone, I won't accept requests sent before I announce the opening. (You can feel free to message again later if you accidentally send one early.)
You can email me at [email protected], or message me on Discord, where I'm also slashmarks, or DM me on tumblr. Please don't send an ask, because they're hard to answer privately.
2. Make your donation after verifying the slot is open. Take a screenshot of your emailed receipt or donation confirmation page, crop/black out details like your address or legal name, and send it to me along with your prompt details. Make sure I can see the donation amount and organization name.
3. Your request should include at least two different prompts. If you haven’t checked the character/pairing with me in advance, they should include at least two different pairings or main characters. You should also tell me anything you want me to avoid in your fic.
Please make sure to include your AO3 username if you have one, so I can gift the fic to you on AO3. (Please confirm this even if it’s the same as your tumblr name or email, since it might not be!)
4. Answer any follow-up questions from me.
5. Your fic will be complete and posted by the end of the following month (for example, today is January 2nd. If you contact me between January 1st and January 31st, it will be posted by the end of February 29th, EST). It will be at least 1,000 words.
Fandoms Available:
(You can check with me if your fandom isn’t on this list. I may know it, or be willing to pick it up. This is most likely in the case of books.)
Harry Potter (books)
Silm/LotR
Star Wars Original Trilogy
Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Star Wars: KOTOR (games only)
Many Star Wars old EU novels – please check for specific titles
Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Imperial Radch series
The Old Guard (2020)
The Locked Tomb series
Dragonriders of Pern series
Hetalia
Anita Blake series
Teixcalaan Series
Arthuriana
Suggested Organizations:
(Where I was able to confirm websites would accept donations in non-US currencies and from a non-US IP I’ve noted it.)
Women on Waves – International
Women Help Women – International (donate via site link to Women’s Wallet)
Abortion Support Network – EU & Northern Ireland; accepts international donations
If/When/How - US (lawyers supporting reproductive justice); accepts donations via paypal
Fondo de Aborto para la Justicia Social MARIA – Mexico; accepts donations via paypal
Kentucky Health Justice Network – US org
Indigenous Women Rising – US org; accepts donations via Paypal
Louisiana Abortion Fund – US org
National Abortion Federation – US org, accepts international donations
Kentucky – A Fund – US org, accepts donations via Paypal
Abortion Freedom Fund – US org, accepts donations via Paypal and Venmo
Abortion Liberation Fund of Pennsylvania – US org
DC Abortion Fund - US org
Or browse the National Network of Abortion Funds list.
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I was tagged to share a WIP snippet by @ecofutural, @lissomelace and @balrogballs, and this seems like a great opportunity to announce I have GIVEN UP and started a new long WIP. Here is the prologue to what I am temporarily calling panoptolin. Tagging all of you back, and @pearlescentpearl @aran-morinorea @whirlception @amorbidcorvid @annarobots.
***
The crowd murmurs: the king's sister is dead. (Princess Irisse, dead? Princess Irisse is gone – no back – no, dead.) The king's sister is murdered and her killer will be executed. (Her husband will be executed – her husband murdered her – she has a husband? She's dead.)
The crowd also murmurs: this will be a disappointing execution. Mourning banners are strung from the house of the king, in the marketplace and on the walls. The king has declared a period of mourning. Gondolin is in mourning. There will be a severe limit to the spectacle of this execution. The execution will be disappointing for the crowd. Nevertheless – it is a public event--
Nevertheless, the food vendors and drinksellers are out, taking money with a more solemn air than usual; nevertheless, the crowds line the streets and lean down from balconies and rooftopst, and the city walls-
The city walls are packed, as usual, and as much bribing as shoving is in play to achieve a better spot from which to watch. The walls are the sight of executions. The crowd does not know where – some things, it's better not to plan – and under other circumstances it would be possible to rush the executioners and free a prisoner if it was clear – so the exact time and place are always kept secret for the general public. A certain amount of guessing is possible, for higher profile executions: convenience to the jail, the availability of space, the particular households whose windows overlook the spot, when a message is necessary. There is no one to take this message, but surely the king will want all to see justice be done – surely the king will share the exaltation of vengeance, for Princess Irisse belongs to them all and she is dead--
No one is about to say any of this to Maeglin, but they don't have to.
It's easy to sift gossip and popular sentiment out of an excited crowd. He's never seen a crowd quite this excited before. The thoughts come to him as strong currents in water, or sudden shifts of wind, without effort or search. He wouldn't be sure how to shut them out if he wanted to.
He doesn't, quite. It's useful to know. It's always useful to know more; complete information is the key to a successful plan, and Maeglin has too-clearly been operating on incomplete information too often, lately.
This is all his fault.
The screaming makes him jump as it starts up – up the city streets, out of his sight, but he knows what it must be even before the crowd's anticipation tells him. They are bringing his father out of the prison. They are about to execute his father. Maeglin feels light-headed, and other things he doesn't care to name. Naming them will only be productive if they are useful things to feel; otherwise, easier to ignore if not.
So, sometimes it isn't useful to know more; correction noted.
He had made the best plan he could think of, and it had come so close to working. He had learned enough to free his mother from enchantment – he had borrowed the horses from Prince Celegorm – he had deceived his father's servants and misled him in his pursuit -
And his mother, free of mind and heart, had come alive outside the borders of Nan Elmoth, and he had thought in a wild daze that he was seeing her for the very first time: confident, quick in her step and proud in her bearing, finding their way easily herself when they strayed from woods known to Maeglin; finding their way even through Nan Dungortheb, the part of the plan that had frightened him most. And she had loved him – she had wanted him – she had wept, when she understood that he had taken them out, and she had called him her son, and said she loved him...
Maeglin would have to hold to that and that alone now, because his plan had not been good enough. His father had come after them in the end, and he had killed her.
The screaming rises in pitch, and splits, a wailing and a low rumble, and words come; Maeglin can't tell which he hears in the air and which through currents of thought. They are cursing Eol, calling him names – Dark elf, spider-fucker, rapist, Morgoth's misbegotten halfbreed and more, and worse – and they are laughing, and mocking him; and too, the wails rise above the curses, mourning Princess Irisse, or screaming and singing for the sake of it – and weeping – and clapping hands, stomping feet, hissing...
Maeglin leans against the balcony railing, and keeps watching. He realizes he's biting his lip, and forces himself to let go. It's a childish habit. It's a tell. He must not have tells.
They offered to let him watch from up close, but he said no. He doesn't really want to see. He knows his father will try to curse him with his death, anyway. It would be useful, to know how they look during the execution – Turukano; the Lords of Gondolin, and particularly the Lord of the Golden Flower who arranges Turukano's executions – but he would give something away in the watching.
The door opens, and he nearly hides his jump, before he turns. Unfortunately, he is flushing, and that takes time to quiet.
Princess Itarille stands in the doorway, face pale and drawn. His cousin – his new cousin. Maeglin thinks of Luthien, and the last crowd from which he had siphoned thought – not enough people in Nan Elmoth, but he's visited Menegroth – and feels his flush deepen. He does not have concrete hopes about Princess Itarille, yet – little enough time to think of it – but he hopes she is not much like Luthien. She hadn't seemed like Luthien, yesterday, when they sat together over his mother's sickbed; but he, too, had been focused on his mother.
"Lomion?" Itarille says, uncertainly.
He tries to smile. He knows the aristocracy all speak Quenya, here. He can sort of manage, having been taught the language in secret by his mother. It's easier when he can supplement his understanding with osanwe, and Itarille's shields are very strong. She might be the strongest in osanwe he's met, aside from himself. He's better than his father is.
Possibly, by now, he is better than his father was.
"I really prefer Maeglin," he says, testing.
"Maeglin, then," Itarille says, and glances past him at the thronging crowds below. "Won't you come inside? You shouldn't – you have no need to watch."
He feels the indignation, observes it, and doesn't let it reflect on his face. He is very young for the authority his father has allowed him in Nan Elmoth. She must think him a child. She does not mean this as an insult to his capabilities; she means to be kind.
"Thank you," he says softly, and follows her through the door, back inside the House of the King.
Hi! In the tags for the poll about Maglor’s marriage, you said that, per Tolkien himself, not all of Fëanor’s descendants are textually attested. Do you recall where it was that he stated that? I’ve never managed to branch out into the extra texts so that’s a fascinating new bit of information to me, and I’m curious if it was just a brief mention (like the footnote saying Maglor and Caranthir were married) or if he expanded on it a little more somehow.
My phrasing was kind of loose, but I was thinking of two comments. One of them is from a footnote to Of Dwarves and Men, about Celebrimbor's heritage:
On one of his copies of The Return of the King he underlined the name Fëanor in this sentence, and wrote the following two notes on the opposite page (the opening of the first of these means, I think: ‘What then was his parentage? He must have been descended from one of Fëanor’s sons, about whose progeny nothing has been told’).
How could he be? Fëanor’s only descendants were his seven sons, six of whom reached Beleriand. So far nothing has been said of their wives and children. It seems probable that Celebrinbaur (silverfisted, > Celebrimbor) was son of Curufin, but though inheriting his skills he was an Elf of wholly different temper (his mother had refused to take part in the rebellion of Fëanor and remained in Aman with the people of Finarphin). During their dwelling in Nargothrond as refugees he had grown to love Finrod and^his wife, and was aghast at the behaviour of his father and would not go with him. He later became a great friend of Celeborn and Galadriel.
Which I would read as indicating Tolkien thought there should be/were more descendants of Feanor and never got around to making them up, at least at the time those notes were made.
There's also a general comment in the Nature of Middle Earth, from the chapter "Time-Scales" and speaking of Elf family size:
It must be remembered, however, in considering the records and legends of the past, that these (especially those made by or handed down through Men) often only mention or name persons who play a recorded part in the events, or were the direct ancestors of such chief actors. It cannot therefore be concluded from silence alone, whether in narrative or in genealogy, that any given person had no children, or no more than are named.
Which of your fics would you keep the basic plot of but rewrite completely?
So I am not ever going to do this given the scope, probably, but I do kind of think about the first book of brilliant difficulty and wince every so often. It's nothing really specific, I guess, I was just still figuring out some things about plot at that scale, and there were some tone shifts that I think are slightly jarring in the series as a whole now.
19. Share a snippet from a wip without giving any context for it.
Snippet from evil overlord midlife crisis:
Yes, Reinhard did it; he fell on his face with Ino, and they carried the room with them, more and less quickly, greatly or not at all enthusiastic, to the floor, heads bowed if not all down to the ground. Tom smiled, slightly – none of them were looking at him, so it did not matter if it more resembled a smirk – and then smoothed out his face. "I am honored by your enthusiasm," he said softly into the silence, and gave it a full five seconds before continuing in a relatively normal speaking voice, "At our next meeting we will discuss the best means of cooperating in our libraries, and naturally I will accept your donations to our own collective library," by which he meant his own.
He hadn't been sure this would work, but practically all of them had immediate offerings of rare and celebrated works (likely mostly not as rare as described, but that was fine; it was a start).
other guild members are trying to convince me to do a unicorn embroidery series. I have said that I'll see how I feel when I finish the second one and if it's "I never want to see another unicorn again," given that the first one took six months
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If someone ever tells you they’ve “reached a good place to stop” in lace they either mean “the thread is running out and I don’t want to do a changeover” or “I’ve done something I shouldn’t and have decided to make it my future self’s problem”
600 words on TRSB fic; prep and 400 words on songs of power exchange. Snippet:
"This hardly counts as discouragement, does it?"
"You don't want me to be discouraged," Maitirussa pointed out, and winced into his folded arms when Findekano struck him in retaliation. "You'd be disappointed."
"I'd rather not completely waste the time. I ought to stand over and make you practice vocal warm ups every day, I suppose," said Findekano, who was amusingly, genuinely somewhat aggrieved; and then the first serious blow landed across Maitirussa's shoulders.
"Thank you, my lord." Eleviel glanced at Arwen and kept her tone soft. "I only – where did you learn that song?"
He had to think to remember which it had been. "As a child, I think," he said, though with some apology; as a young adult, some of the relationships among the ever-formal Feanorian retainers had escaped him, but he had realized later that Eleviel was not only Maedhros's herald but probably his closest remaining friend, and she did not enjoy unexpected reminders of that time before his death. "The wordplay is rather unique; after Celebrian heard it she spent an hour in the library checking etymologies in frustration with the puns."
"Prince Feanaro wrote it for his children, my lord," Eleviel said. "I haven't heard it since, let me think – when we went to visit Prince Caranthir when his children were young. I hadn't realized Prince Maglor sang it to you."
"It was Father, actually," said Elrond, meaning Maedhros.
Eleviel blinked in surprise. "Maedhros didn't sing. Not—" She stopped, and finished the phrase, "Not usually, my lord." It was clearly not her first meaning.
"I hope you don't mind the company," he said lightly, crossing to stand a few paces down but still beside her, looking. "I'm not sure I care for my brother's choice of musicians tonight."
"Devastating, from you," said Nimveril, who had finally stopped calling him 'my lord' a couple of months back.
"Oh, if Maedhros actually likes her and isn't just baiting me again he won't care what I think," said Maglor. With the fullness of Maglor's fame had come pressure to evaluate all Noldorin and Noldorin-adjacent music which was frankly unfair to everyone and annoying besides; Maglor had his particular tastes, foibles and prejudices when it came to music as everyone, and was better suited too for some students than others – and some genres, instruments, vocal styles and so on. It was a great relief that Maedhros didn't take his reputation overly seriously, and Maglor generally did his best to return the favor.
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@lyragoth tagged me to share a WIP (snippet), and I thought I would share a fanart WIP for once! Tagging to share, writing or art: @lyragoth, @southaway @goldenatreides @annarobots @amorbidcorvid
I do think the right way to think about the Mirror of Galadriel is that it‘s the equivalent of an entirely home-built computer tower, with chips that are only barely legal for civilians to buy and wires that look like a rat’s nest but are actually hyperoptimized for efficiency, and a homemade OS in a coding language she invented, and cybersecurity that would make the CIA cry, and also some judiciously applied superglue and/or gorilla tape, made in their home office by someone who helped invent the internet at DARPA in the 60s.
And that a Palantir is, comparatively, a MacBook Air.
400 words on evil overlord midlife crisis; 700 words on PL challenge fic. Snippet:
"I thought about it," she said, "But on the offchance she was serious I'd have had to look at it for the rest of eternity."
"She does have a pretty face," said Maglor, amused and slightly relieved to get some bite back. Nimveril had been talkative enough out on the Gap, but it was obvious that the concept of Maedhros had intimidated her (and fair enough).
That made Nimveril snort. "Pretty, nothing – I'd be thinking about how I fucked up the stitches for the rest of time!"
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the "indoor cats live way longer" stat that gets passed around is Fake News, the actual data is all over the place but there probably isn't much difference outside of places with really environmental-specific factors
