I saw a post the other day by someone feeling hopeless about their chances of ever doing anything great or being remembered, because Hamilton made them feel so unaccomplished. I wish I could share my experience of the show with that person. This musical cranks the spigot of my creative juices like nothing else I can remember. When I want to write and I’m just not in the right headspace for it, all I have to do is listen to “Non-Stop” and “Hurricane.” It makes me feel unaccomplished too, but it also makes me feel like I have all the tools I need to become accomplished. All I have to do is use them.
I’m not inspired by stories of tortured artists who drank their depression away. I’m not inspired by stories of well-bred, well-mannered historical figures with their hands neatly folded. I’m inspired by this story of a stubborn defensive loudmouth fucker with an often-misdirected knack for writing. That’s me. I’m self-centered. I talk too much. I don’t know when to let go. He looked at me like I was stupid–I’m not stupid. If this asshole can go down in history, so can I.
i feel like age of ultron is like that one really bad fanfic set in canonverse that you read until the end because well you started it and it looked promising and youre halfway through so you might as well finish it and afterwards you sit there feeling confused and weirded out like ‘wtf did i just read’ and spend the next 3 weeks trying to forget you ever read it or pretending it doesn’t exist
I know I already made a post about how Non-Stop makes it sound like Hamilton showed up at Burr’s place for a booty call but it sounds exactly like Hamilton showed up at Burr’s place for a booty call
the letter writing in The Election of 1800 makes it sound like Hamilton runs an advice column in the local newspaper
“Talk less, smile more” sounds like Burr is a creepy sexist guy hitting on female Hamilton in a bar
Farmer Refuted is just Hamilton muttering sarcastically under his breath and slowly getting louder and louder until he’s heckling from the back of the crowd
You’ll Be Back sounds like King George is like, grabbing members of the ensemble to waltz with randomly
“At the right hand of the father” George Washington confirmed for God, Hamilton grudgingly recruited for Jesus
I have no idea if Burr exited at the end of Aaron Burr, Sir, but I like to imagine that during My Shot and The Story of Tonight he’s sitting in a booth in the back of the bar reading a book and trying to ignore everyone else
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Here’s what fanfiction understands that the Puppies don’t: inversion and subversion don’t ruin the story – they just give you new ways to tell it, and new tools to tell it with. Take a platonic relationship and make it romantic; there’s a story in that. Take a romantic relationship and make it platonic; there’s a story in that, too. Take a human and make her a werewolf; take a werewolf and make him human. Don’t try and sidle up on hurt/comfort like it’s something you’re ashamed to be indulging in; embrace the tropes until you have their mastery. Take a gang of broken souls surviving the apocalypse and make them happy in high school; take a bunch of funny, loving high school kids and shove them in the apocalypse. Like Archimedes, fanfic writers find the soul, the essence of what makes the characters real, and use it as a fulcrum on which to pivot entire worlds, with inversion/subversion as their lever of infinite length.
Here’s your angsty harkstiel headcanon for the afternoon.
Jack met Castiel by chance before he met the Doctor. Maybe it was war-torn London, maybe it was some far flung planet far in the future, where one lonely traveler comforted another. He has no idea what an impression he left on Castiel, or even what he was.
But even if he’s never seen the angel since, he’s dreamed about him. Not often, maybe a handful of times a century, but boy, are they memorable. Flying biplanes over France like a pair of sunfishing dolphins. Screaming down a lonely Umbrian road on an old motorcycle, spires of trees and gilded fields whipping by, Castiel a hot wall against his back and hips. Spitting gravel from the tires of a jeep at midnight in a hilly wasteland, and this time Castiel is driving, and Jack has his hand between the stranger’s thighs.
All that heat and crazy speed and joy. Jack never sees the unwinding dragon, the storm, the smoke of the wildfire behind them. Never knows that what they’re running from are the worst of his nightmares. Never knows he’s being watched and protected.
One lonely traveler, wounded and trapped in the dark, does what he can to shield the man who once did the same for him.
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Ask about Torchwood and most people point towards the bay.
Ianto, “Torchwood,” S03 E01
THEY ARE THE LEAST SECRET SECRET ORGANIZATION IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD. I MEAN DEAR GOD PEOPLE ARE YOU EVEN TRYING.
It’s always surprised me that Rhiannon’s conversation with Ianto in COE1 was “I hear you’re dating a man,” and not “So, I get asked once a week when you started working for Torchwood. How long did you think you could put off talking to me about that? Also, rumor has it you’re shagging Jack Harkness. I’m not sure I believe it, but you wouldn’t be the first he’s turned, would you?” which, lbr, would have been a way more fun conversation.
