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writer problems: trying to figure out how many chapters you’re going to stall until An Event™

It's 10:52 and I just woke up from a nap. Why am I napping at night, you may ask? It's cuz I'm a HEATHEN.

But no I been thinking. What the fuck is up with people going the Egyptians couldn't build the pyramids, they didn't know calculus. That's a thing right? Tell me if I'm wrong.

But I'm be operating under the presumptions that it is. HOW THE FUCK DO YOU KNOW IT'S NOT A THING. MOTHERFUCKING AUGUSTUS CAESER BURNT DOWN THE GREAT LIBRARY OF ALEXANDRIA. Also, like, if Isaac Newton discovered calculus in the 1600s, some 600 years after the dark ages, how come the Egpytians couldn't do it? They got together in 3100 BCE and production started in like 2500 BCE. Good timing to figure out what calculus is.

These are my thoughts in this fine evening. I must study now and hope to find sleep in a few hours. Good night.

puipui_the_bunny on ig

Y'all what fresh hell is this. This is actively horrifying. I'm not on Twitter, thank god, so I haven't seen the hate on Nora to this extent. These are her characters????

In conclusion, I have nothing productive to say I just wanted to say I am so sorry to Nora (@korakos) if she ever sees this and jesus fucking christ, what.

Also, @lyndiscealin, that's a really valid point and fear. All I can really say is that I hope assholes dont stymie you at all in your works and mental health and best of luck

I really hate the twitter aftg fandom. People were hating on Nora and saying all this shit about her and were like "I'd be scared of the fandom and leave social media too if I wrote such shitty takes" and hating on her for the EC???? And calling her a bigot and all of these really rude things even though she was always so nice and interactive with her fans. like what the fuck y'all, why are you even in the fandom if you hate her so much? "They're OUR characters now" ok bitch??? Then go write your own fanfics and shit, no one cares what you do with them because they're fictional characters anyways. Just like how Nora can say what she thinks would happen with the characters after the books were completed. It's not like the EC is set in stone anyways, she CHOSE not to write those things into the story for a reason and said multiple times that we can choose what we think happens.

And people were calling HER misogynist and a "woman hater" for no fuckin reason too smfh, because she said Andrew is misogynistic. Which he kinda IS, and tbh he has valid reasons for being like that. He doesn't hate ALL women and Nora never said he does, but of course he has some feelings of resentment towards a lot of women because how he felt betrayed by his own mother.

But like look at this shit smh. If any of these people are you then LOL block me IDC, I don't want your negative attitude on my dash anyways

Prologue

I’m writing a novel and it’s the primary basis of my description.

The new slave girl darted her eyes around constantly and, when she thought no one was looking, furrowed her dark brow in thought. It intrigued Priscilla Elizabeth Hamilton as she observed people often herself. She noted that the girl was younger than she was, maybe fourteen or fifteen while she herself was already seventeen. Priscilla watched her continue to take in her surroundings rapidly and consistently while she knelt on the floor, hands and ankles bound in iron. There was something clever behind her dark eyes despite the anxiety radiating off of her. The two other new slaves beside her were much older and seemed resigned to their fate; their eyes trained on the floor and shoulders weighed down. Priscilla was used to slaves like that - subdued and docile. The little girl who twitched and fidgeted in her shackles, as if she could wriggle her way to freedom, was certainly interesting. Priscilla was apparently not the only one to notice.

“Little slave. What are you doing, writhing in your chains like that? Are they too loose for you?” Her father’s voice drawled out, lazy and condescending; his power made apparent by his effortless arrogance.

The girl’s head snapped to Edward Hamilton. The air around her turned prickly. Her face debated a snarl. The other slaves stared, somehow feeling the terror that escaped her. There were two very clear choices the girl had. Priscilla oddly hoped that she would be wise and not get herself killed; she was too interesting to die so soon.

In hardly a fraction of a second, the slave lowered her eyes in submission, shaking her head repeatedly and cowering. Edward settled back in his chair, satisfied with the alarm he instilled in the room. Priscilla’s father had always been a simple man - in both mind and wishes. “Good. Now, what is your name? Or can you even understand me? A savage like you would find our civilized speech complicated, after all.” Priscilla fought the urge to roll her eyes at the irony.

“My name is Halima.” The soft voice that floated from the girl’s mouth was accented like all the slaves; the vowels stretched out and the words almost musical. The lilt in their voices was always something Priscilla secretly enjoyed.

“Halima,” her father pronounced it with a lazy sneer as he strutted over to the trembling girl. “Perhaps you are unfamiliar with the role you have now.” He kicked her onto her stomach and sunk a foot into her back. “The only movement I should see from you should be done in accordance to what you are ordered to do. I have no need to see you squirming like a pig and making a racket.” He dug his foot in harder and sneered, “But don’t you worry my dear, you won’t need those chains for that much longer - I’ll have you branded soon enough.”

With a final harsh kick, Edward finally relented off the girl and dragged her back into a kneel by the shackles around her wrists. Priscilla was unsurprised that the blood Halima coughed up and dripped down her chin was red as her own. Halima’s eyes brimmed with unshed tears; her thin frame wracked with silent sobs.

Her father, who had seated himself once again, watched with something akin to satisfaction. “Don’t dribble on the carpet, Halima.” He didn’t bother looking at the other slaves when he said, “Get out; I expect not to be able to distinguish them from the rest come morning.”

“Yes master,” came three soft, musical voices, followed by a flurry of movement. The new slaves were heaved up, albeit in a kind, supporting manner, and lead away.

Priscilla’s sisters and mother were too bored and distracted; her father too pleased and self-absorbed; her brother too starstruck by their father’s showcase of power to notice what happened as the slaves fled the room. But she saw it clearly. Halima’s shoulders were stiff and tense; there was a flash of blood-stained teeth as her lips pulled back in a quiet snarl. She was small and young but had all the presence of a caged beast, one too strong to stay confined. A threat of a reckoning shimmered behind her dark eyes.

There was a distinctive lack of alarm and an abundance of excitement when Priscilla thought, Oh, this is fascinating.

i can domesticate him

Heeyyy Death. You looking hella fine in that tattered, black robe man. No, no listen - I’m dead serious. Is that new? No? That makes sense, retro is making one helluva comeback. Anyway, how’s it hangin? Everything aight? Or...no, no okay - yeah, humans can be pretty bitchy. Speaking of hanging and bitchy people actually, I think you should eliminate some of those rude ass mofos, especially the unnaturally old ones. The issue is that they think they're so high and mighty, they feel like they can even defy Death. You gotta show them what's up. You are Death, with a motherfucking capital D. Ain't no ho, no matter how bitchy they are, can fuck with you. You gotta smack the shit out of these people and pry their overly long lives outta their wrinkly ass hands. And you're accomplishin everything at once. There are more resources, we can actually eat right without selling our kidneys, balance is restored. And most importantly, you get your revenge. You get to put your enemies in their graves, scare the shit outta people, and get your due respect, man. It's a perfect plan. You got this, you hear me. All you gotta do is grab your wicked scythe and smack one of those assholes in the face with it. It's a done deal. I got all the faith in you man, fuck's sake - you're Death. Aight? Good, hit me up when the first one's six feet under.

Humanity has found a way to live forever: Death is actually super insecure and every time he shows up to take a life they bully him for his fashion sense and tell him that nobody likes him. Now Death has lost his confidence and has completely stopped doing his job. The world is getting overpopulated and it’s a serious problem. You have been chosen to give Death a pep talk and help him in regaining his confidence so the world can be in balance once more.

Oh this makes me so genuinely happy (T.T)

Blessed_Nest

"the curtains weren't blue on purpose. why should we care?"

my love! let me ask you this - did you eat breakfast today? this tiny moment in your life. just think about it. did you?

for some of you, the answer is yes and for some of you it is technically and for some of you it is does coffee count. some of you reached for cereal or gmo-free overnight oats or frozen waffles or 3-day-old pizza. sometimes we eat the same thing, every day, for weeks. i get tired of eggs randomly, only to go back to craving them desperately. i'm cuban; i take my coffee like my father showed me, very milky and sweet.

some of us ate in a hurry. some of us hate eating breakfast but if we don't we will get nauseous later. some of us took our meds first or took our meds after. some of us have a kitchen 5 feet wide and sometimes it's the biggest room in the house. some of us are confident there will be food in the pantry and some of us flinch and say well, the paycheck is coming. some of us turn on a podcast while we eat or we scroll our phones or write in our diaries.

some of us are choosing, specifically, not to eat breakfast. some of us are too busy. some of us are pretending we "just forgot," but we are ignoring the warning signs that everything feels too-heavy. some of us are so consumed with anxiety or grief that we can't eat. some of us can't stand up long enough to make our coffee. some of us have no table to sit down and eat.

i cannot tell you what an artist "meant" by their choices. but they did have to make a choice, conscious or otherwise, to give you information. to give you a little bit more light. each of these choices are little stars of data; connecting speckles for you to weave through, drawing a line.

you cannot use a mirror in a dark room. for some of us; we will not care that the curtains are blue, because that will just be a data point and not enough light to see by. for some of us, the blue curtains will be the same as our childhood bedroom. it will make us seasick. for some of us, blue will be the color of frostbite. it might look like a pixel up close; but from a distance, oh! the picture blooms.

i cannot tell you what will stick out for you. what will carry meaning. some of you will read the sentence "i didn't have breakfast today" and say "this means nothing." some of you will read that and say "oh, me neither." some of you will say "this means the character is probably a little grouchy." some of you will say "oh, i wonder if they're okay. why didn't they eat anything?" ... art is a mirror. i am holding hands with you, over space and time, and asking you to feel something with me.

i want you to read my work and find a blue pair of curtains. i want you to read my work and find things in it that i never imagined placing. i have no way of knowing what will resonate with you, that's true. and maybe i just was hungry while i wrote this, and thinking about the eggs in my fridge. but if you found meaning, that meaning is yours. it cannot be erased just because i didn't "intend" it. you created a different world by interpreting my work. it's collaborative! that's beautiful! that's stunning!

just! imagine looking at the night sky and saying - it's stupid to have a favorite constellation or a favorite star. they're just there.

because here's the thing - across centuries and cultures, we look up. we still find meaning in the stars. these beautiful, lovely scattered accidents. are you looking? they call. and we look back and say oh! of course we are!