(no subject)

And...today I woke up with the burning desire to write Peter/Caspian/Peta.

I'll just be over here in my orner of the country, packing for college (AGAIN!), studying, and throwing things at "Old Timber." (Yeah, I'm gonna have to change the title, because "Old Timber to New FireS" is no longer relevant. Why, yes, that's a quote from T.S. Eliot's Four Quartets. "East Coker", in fact, Quartet No. 2, which is where all the "In Constellated Wars" titles came from. But the point of the story changed, so the title's no longer relevant. Hmm.)

I should probably get a Caspian icon.

at least Tolkien drew his own maps, and they *all matched up with each other*

Things that are frustrating: when this Narnia map is the one I have to check, because it's the movie map and it has more detail, and this Narnia map is my default one because it's the one I have in hard copy, but neither of them match up with my mental map of Narnia (well, my Narnia). Argh. Argh. All I want to do is name the damn river that the Pevensies cross in LWW -- and that at least is clear, I'm pretty sure it's the Great River from the map (which is a stupid name) -- but I keep getting distracted by how much the other landmarks don't match up, because, just, no. No. Also, my Narnia is about twice as large in area (not counting everything Peter conquers) than what the map shows, so...it hurts.

If I could draw, at all (or better, at least, it's been a while since I made maps, and that was for my fantasy novel, the one with the elves), I would draw my own Narnia map, and it would make sense, and have Belgarion and Shoushan and Natare and all the rest of those westron countries on the border, and the giants and Ettinsmoor up north (there's a moment of cognitive dissonance in the movie, and I'm waiting for PC to come out on DVD before I expound on it further), and the islands in the west, and just...yeah. One of these days, I should probably do a world map, too, or at least figure out where all the rest of those countries are.

No, I'm sorry, today is going to be the day of a thousand posts, and none of them fic. *sad face* I'm debating if I want to step back from "Old Timber", leave it alone for a bit, then come back and rewrite from the beginning (SHOOT ME) or just keep writing to the end and then rewrite...and rewrite...and rewrite.

And somewhere in the middle of this I have to do homework. God, I hate school.

(no subject)

Caspian. Caspian. There are these little things called self-preservation instincts. Please develop them. Or at least have the brains to not say what you're thinking to Peter or Edmund. You don't even the excuse of not knowing what you're getting yourself into this time. Don't say it. Come on.

(I don't think he is going to say it, but he's thinking it.)

Dude, Caspian, you've already gotten your ass kicked by Peter once this fic. Twice if we count the time he knocked you out. You've been here before. It's not like Peter's changed that much in, oh, nine years or so. He may look older, but he's actually younger, and you've heard him referred to as both "Bittersteel" and "Breakneck." What does this tell you? You are not that much of a martyr. Or at all.

I am also fairly certain that if I took a poll about whether or not you're going to trip over your tongue, the answer would be a resounding yes.

OH MY GOD

I figured it out! And it is glorious and messy and brilliant and tiny, a butterfly flapping its wings and Peter, Peter and hubris and fate and love, and Caspian doesn't have a thing to do with it except in all the ways that he does.

And I'm going to have to set up a metric fuckton of Dying Times history, and do so subtly, but oh my God. And it works thematically, too! Because when it comes to the Golden Age, we know the ending. We know how hard Narnia (and Peter, and Susan, and Edmund, and Lucy) falls. But we have to know where it falls from -- and how. And why.

"As if it matters, how a man falls down."
"When the fall is all that's left, it matters."

(no subject)

My plans for tomorrow are as following: get up at one, leave at two, get to Seattle at four, get on a plane at six, arrive in Atlanta at two-ish (pm, this time), leave at four-ish, arrive in New Orleans five-fifteen-ish, arrive at Tulane six-ish, go to Bruff, eat dinner, read a hundred pages of my theatre textbook since I didn't bring it to Ellensburg, write up my responses, and collapse.

Yes. I have a six am flight. I thought I was getting an eight am flight, but now, somehow I managed to get a six am flight. I live two hours away from Seattle, guys. That means to get on a six am flight, I have to leave at two IN THE FUCKING MORNING.

No, I'm not packed, either. (Why would I be? Y'all know me.) I am doing laundry, and then I will pack. Well. I'm in the process of picking and choosing which of my DVDs are coming with me. Holy God, I own a lot of DVDs. I guess this is what happens when your drug of choice is television. Alas, it looks like no Stargate whatsoever will be coming. I can probably fit in one season (I have a 75 CD/DVD case). I own five seasons.