#based on that 'the curtains were blue' meme

[pinkacademic]

Themes, Context and Problems of Studying Literature

We’re dealing with old books written by old people who had old views, so pretty frequently, we’re going to come across attitudes and language that… well, I hope none of you agree with it… but that’s not a bad thing. We should challenge our worldview, we should learn how to debate it eloquently, learn the context of why people thought the way they did, and learn how to discern between good intentions with bad choices of language, and bad intentions even with good choices of language.

I’m going to be coming back to Dracula a lot as my go-to example text because we all have ease-of-access to it through Dracula Daily, even if we aren’t participating, and I think its fair to focus on one we could all be reading for free.

Common Themes

Themes that come up a lot in any analysis of literature are always the major political issues of the world at the time the text was written, and that still widely apply eg racism and xenophobia, feminism/sex and gender, religion, environmentalism, class… Then, on top of that, there will be motifs that are specific to the book in question. For example, Wuthering Heights, as the name suggests, has a constant refrain that takes it back to pathetic fallacy- which means weather-based metaphor. And actually, the storms which can often in literature be forboding, to Cathy and Heathcliff represent thw call of the wild drawing them home to the moors.

It begs the question that many of you have probably encountered in that cringe Facebook meme about the curtains being blue.

Sometimes the character likes blue and has blue curtains and that’s it- and it is worth knowing that that can be true- but sometimes the curtains are blue because everything is blue and has been since the character’s mother designed the house, and blue is the oppressive colour of an old attitude but the main character wants to live in a modern world of yellow. Maybe, as soon as the mother dies, the main character is going to redesign the house that felt like a trap for so many years and the curtains will be yellow.

More on symbolism, metaphors, and other methods next week!

Interpretation

So, what are you supposed to do with this information? Well, pick an angle and defend it with your entire being. Here comes the Dracula because firstly, do you feel like Jonathan is a sexist because he expects Mina to be in the kitchen cooking paprika hendl for him? Or is he a true romantic who is thinking of her always on his trip to Transylvania?

This is the importance of opinion. Answering essay questions has, in my experience, always meant picking a side and gunning for it to the death. You have the evidence for your case. Look at this asshole Van Helsing being so condesceding to Mina, he’s so sexist! Alternatively, look at this feminist icon Van Helsing treating Mina as the only one with the brain cell.

It’s up to you, and that to me is the value of studying literature because it forces you to think for yourself. And the thing is, you can’t be wrong if you back it up.

Context

I think it’s important to understand where the author was in their lifewhen they wrote their book when we’re analysing its contents. I think the content should be the dominant force in your interpretations, but understanding some of the context matters.

Taking our faithful companion Dracula, it is important to know that this story where the beautiful Lucy is viciously attacked by a creature of the night was written in 1897, and that the murders of prostitutes committed by Jack the Ripper were less than a decade prior. It is also worth noting that the predominantly English cast of characters were written from the point-of-view of Irishman Bram Stoker who supported Home Rule for Ireland.

It can be useful to familiarise yourself with the language of the time, particularly when referring to issues such as sexuality, class, and race, when looking at broad questions such as, for example “is Dracula racist?” Not really, it mostly just uses period-typical language, but Jonathan himself can be pretty xenophobic because he represents the typical Englishman of the day.

That is also one hypothetical interpretation- it’s not even necessarily what I think- so, always keep these things in mind too.

My point is, understanding the time period can help you understand the work in question.

Why it is Important?

Ok, girls, I’m about to start PREACHING! As I mentioned, I think the value of a literature degree is how much it forces you to engage with challenging material, understand the nuances of creativity, and messages versus enjoying art for art’s sake. I think the reason creative subjects and humanities are underfunded because (tinfoil hat voice) THEY WANT US STUPID!! But in all seriousness, take every opportunity to expand your media literacy, your worldview, and your understanding of what counts as art, a classic, literature, and something worth thinking about.

Ok, girlies, I’m leaving it here for this week. This is my absolute PASSION, so I could talk about it FOREVER, but I’ll stop now to focus energy on the actual study section for next week!

#pink academia #pink #academia #pink academic #pink academia masterpost project #studying literature #studyblr #study tips #dracula #dracula daily

[9w1ft]

I loved your answers about CP and folklore. Something I had to accept with the entire folklore/evermore concept, and really, a lot of what’s she’s done with the vault songs and even midnights, is she has leaned into her folklore and her fans’ views of her personal life and found a way for people to attach whatever fits their own thoughts about her personal life onto her songs. And because of that, there is no “right” answer to what they are about. In a way, we’re all both right and wrong at the same time. The way most of her work also doesn’t entirely fit her established public narrative is similar (why write divorce songs while with joe? Why write relationship songs while saying you’re not dating?) It’s a deep and artful approach to her work and in my opinion, necessary for her progress as an artist and a person. It’s fun to have two or three very different interpretations to a song’s meaning and just sit with that, and not have to choose one definitively. It’s fun to have friends you can discuss the meaning with, even if you don’t agree on the best interpretation. And it’s also fun to know that you might get more information later to help you decide which interpretation might be the most true. It’s way more interesting than simply writing a song that fits everything. Some of the vault songs are very clearly fan service, and other than the initial “ah ha! This is about X!” they really are not very interesting songs (one reason why they were left in the vault.) They add to her folklore, but are forgettable as art. But when her folklore is her art, it’s still fun.

Just as an example, you and I have had many discussions about her song meanings and we definitely don’t always agree (happiness, it’s time to go, CP) Sometimes one of us convinces the other (Maroon, labyrinth), but that’s not what’s important. What’s fun is the process. It’s why people compare her work to literature. To borrow a popular meme about symbolism in literature, people can write an entire thesis about the meaning of the blue curtains but in reality we’ll never know if the author actually meant anything deep about the curtains. But the point is the intellectual exercise, not the right answer.

Art is amazing like that.

i think i keep the majority of my wild song ideas to myself or maybe share them one on one with like minded people who will tolerate me 😂 so thank you for this 🫶 means a lot coming from you.

another thing i love is how thoughts on songs can evolve over time. like sometimes i’ll have had one idea about a song for years and then suddenly a switch will flip and i’ll see it in a different way and never be able to listen to it the same!

and one thing i do like about tumblr as a system, which i think actually you mentioned to me before, is that by and large it’s set up to be less about debate (it’s set up that way) and more about the journey of collecting favorite ideas and sharing stuff for others to collect. like.. a post sinks or swims over time based just on how many people resonate, but if things don’t resonate it’s usually just on to the next thing. by contrast i think some social media holds each statement up for immediate judgment and people rush to agree or refute each thing they read. and so people might write things in a way that avoids or elicits a certain response, instead of just writing what they wanted to write. in this way i think that tumblr (at its best) can be a great way to engage with her art in a fun way. at the very least, not everything becomes a federal case.

[zacharybosch]

Tasseomancy - Chapter 1

Only once they were out of sight of the café did the man stop and take his arm away, giving Stede a sheepish little grin. “Looked like you needed rescuing back there,” he said, and then held out his free hand. “I’m Ed.”

Stede, still a little dumbfounded, grasped Ed’s hand in a weak shake. “Stede. Stede Bonnet. I’ll pay you back for the tea, I promise. I get paid next week.”

~☕~

hello and welcome to my first fic for Our Flag Means Death, based on this prompt from the OFMD kink meme for a fic featuring accidental sugar daddy ed

this fic is all written and i’ll be posting a new chapter every friday! it’s very soft and it will also get very sexy later

~☕~

read chapter 1 below or here on ao3

“Hey, mate, what’s good to drink here?”

Stede Bonnet, who had been staring longingly at the blackboard menu of exotic hand-blended loose leaf teas while trying to convince himself that regular mass-produced tea bags were just as good, turned to look at the man who’d sidled up next to him. It was late in the day at Jackie’s Café, and he was the last of a few straggling patrons who’d slipped in just before the door was shut and the sign flipped. He didn’t look much like the other patrons, who were all invariably tired office workers trying to make their commute a little more bearable; he had a short stubbly beard and thick moustache, very long salt-and-pepper hair tied back in a half bun, and a leather jacket that looked like it had really seen some shit over the course of its life.

He was also very beautiful, which made Stede’s brain stutter a bit mostly because he’d never really thought that about anyone before. Stede thought people were pretty, or handsome, or good-looking in a vague, wishy-washy sort of way, but never beautiful. This guy had a wide, gently sloping nose, and a soft mouth, and delicate little wrinkles around his lovely dark eyes, and yes, beautiful was definitely the word.

What had Stede been thinking about again? Right, of course, who this guy was. Maybe a movie star? Not that Stede could even name any movie stars. And movie stars probably didn’t go to Jackie’s anyway. Perhaps an artist, then, or a biker?

Either way, he looked like someone terribly cool who would never normally talk to Stede, and he also couldn’t figure out if the man looked more like a coffee-drinker or a tea-drinker. Probably coffee, judging from the whole cool guy vibe, but it didn’t matter much anyway because Stede only knew about tea, and so that was all he could recommend.

“The Blue Lady tea is very good,” Stede said, defaulting to his favourite drink. “Little bit fancy, beautiful depth of flavour. Floral and citrusy. If you want to treat yourself, go for that.”

The man smiled at him slightly, eyes narrowing. “Is that what you’re having?”

“No, I… no. No treats for me today, just a regular Earl Grey I think. Not that the Earl Grey isn’t also very pleasant—”

“Next please!” called the barista, and Stede moved forward on autopilot. “What’ll it be?”

“An Earl Grey tea please, small, no milk. No, nothing else. Thank you.” Stede tapped his card against the reader, and was halfway to putting his wallet back into his bag when the barista started to make apologetic eyes at him.

“Sorry, it looks like the payment didn’t go through properly. Please could you try again? Maybe hold the card there a little longer…”

Stede already knew what was happening, but he pulled his card back out and held it against the reader anyway in a desperate, misguided attempt to stave off the inevitable. He’d tried so hard to budget carefully this month, but he couldn’t pass up the deal on those velvet curtains last week, and of course he had to get some throw cushions to match otherwise it would’ve disrupted the whole vibe of his little studio flat, and there was just simply no universe where Stede could let that happen. Home décor was absolutely an essential expense.

The payment was declined again. And then a third time. Stede was just about to start searching hopelessly through the lint in his pockets when he felt an arm around his shoulders.

“Aw, I can’t believe you went ahead and ordered without me, babe!”

Stede opened and closed his mouth a few times like a fish. What on earth was going on? It was the man who’d asked him about the tea, draping his warm, leather-clad arms around him and saying, “Yeah, sorry, he’s with me. Gets a bit impatient when I take too long to decide, but he’s just so cute when he’s grumpy so I have to forgive him. Anyway, can I get, uh… two Blue Lady teas, please? Both large. Yep, that’s instead of the Earl Grey. Thanks.”

Before Stede could say anything, or even try to raise a hand to stop it happening, the man tapped his card on the reader and paid. He kept his arm around Stede and chatted away about nothing in particular while their drinks were prepared, and kept his arm around Stede while they each picked up their cups and said thanks to the barista, and then still kept his arm around Stede while they exited the café and walked off down the street.

It was the beginning of September and while the days were still hot, the evenings were just starting to turn with the crisp chill of autumn. As they carried on down the street, the cool breeze passed over Stede unnoticed, and all he could feel was the searing warmth of the arm around his shoulders.

Only once they were out of sight of the café did the man stop and take his arm away, giving Stede a sheepish little grin. “Looked like you needed rescuing back there,” he said, and then held out his free hand. “I’m Ed.”

Stede, still a little dumbfounded, grasped Ed’s hand in a weak shake. “Stede. Stede Bonnet. I’ll pay you back for the tea, I promise. I get paid next week.”

“Don’t worry about it man, it wasn’t much. I know what it’s like to be short before payday.” Ed took a sip of his tea, and his eyes almost popped out of his head in astonishment. “That’s fucking delicious. Didn’t know tea could taste this good without a million sugars in it.”

Stede preened a little, quietly pleased at the confirmation of his excellent taste. “That’s why I like it at Jackie’s. They brew it loose-leaf, and make each cup fresh so it doesn’t get bitter from steeping too long in the pot. The Blue Lady is their own house blend, it’s divine.”

“Get it a lot, do you?”

“Ah, I used to,” Stede said, a little wistful. “Not so much these days. I’m having to be a bit more strict with myself.” He had a sip of his own tea, and took a moment to bask in the flavour spilling over his tongue. Blissful. “I take it you’ve not been to Jackie’s before then? It’s practically an institution in this town.”

Ed turned to look down the street, back the way they’d come, and sighed. “Yeah, cafés were never really my thing. I work a lot. Or used to, anyway. Never had much time to faff about ordering cute little drinks and shit. Just wake up, down a pint of instant coffee, work all day, pass out, repeat.” He drained off the rest of his tea in one huge gulp, and made the weirdest, most satisfied noise that Stede had ever heard. He started to walk aimlessly along the street, and without thinking Stede fell into step beside him. “It’s no way to live really. Probably could’ve done with a few more cafés in my life.”

“I’ve always strongly believed that everyone has an inalienable right to spend time getting cute little drinks,” Stede said, with all the gravity of some deep philosophical pronouncement. He felt a pang in his chest for Ed; what an awful shame that he never had time to treat himself. No way to live, indeed. “I’m glad you’re making up for lost time now. Have you found an easier-going job, or…?”

“Nah, just made a fucktonne of money and decided to hand the reins over to someone else.” They were heading in the general direction of the seafront, and Ed gestured to the long stretch of beach and hazy ocean beyond it. “I worked on these beaches for years, every summer, all up and down the coast. Merry-go-rounds, jet skis, ice cream vans, pedalos, fuckin’ donkey rides, the whole lot. Sunrise to sunset every day, and then in the off-season I’d go labouring down at the quayside, hauling shit and hosing down fish guts, whatever needed doing. None of it was ever stable and so I never wanted to stop in case it didn’t start up again.”

Stede made a sympathetic noise around his mouthful of tea. “That sounds tough.”

“Yeah, it was. There were good times, for sure. Some friendships forged in fire and all that, you know the sort. But I just worked and worked and saved all my money and fed it all back into the work. I own a bunch of the warehouses on the quay now. Some of the fish guts being hosed away are my fish guts. I just signed a huge contract with a shipping company and I’m fuckin’ rolling in money now, and you know what I realised?”

They’d walked all the way down to the promenade that bordered the beach. The late evening sun was making its ponderous way towards the horizon, throwing long shadows over the ground and gilding everything with that warm golden hour light. The weathered old railings flaked with little rusty bits of paint as they stopped and leaned against them to take in the view. A gentle breeze tugged at Stede’s hair as he finished the last of his tea and said, “Money can’t buy you happiness?”

Ed snorted. “It can buy me a house and clear all my debts, which is the next best thing. No, I realised that being rich and having free time is a skill. I spent all my life scrimping and saving and just working my arse off and I never learned how to just switch off and enjoy the fruits of my own goddamn labour! I’m physically incapable of chilling out. It’s embarrassing. I go down to the warehouse all the time and hang around in the office and piss off the manager because I don’t know what else to do with myself.”

“Well, you went to Jackie’s and bought yourself a nice cup of fancy tea today. That’s a good first step!” Stede said, trying his best to sound encouraging and not at all patronising. “You could make it a habit, get yourself something nice every week and then enjoy a walk down here to watch the waves. You don’t have to be active to be spending time well.”

“So what you’re saying is, you want me to swoop in and buy you your cute little cups of tea on the regular,” Ed said with a laugh. “I don’t blame you to be honest, that tea was fucking nice.”

“Oh, you know that’s not what I meant. I can buy my own tea… most of the time. But it’s important to be nice to yourself, you know? You’ve worked very hard and now’s the time to enjoy the benefits. Treat yourself like you’d treat a loved one. Buy yourself gifts.”

Ed gave him an odd look, as if the thought of buying something just for the pleasure of it had never occurred to him in his life. “Sounds weird, but okay. It makes sense with other people: you buy them something or do something nice for them because you want them to like you. Why do I need to do that to myself? I’m not trying to convince me to like me.”

Maybe you need to, a little bit, Stede thought, but wisely kept his mouth shut. That wasn’t the kind of thing you can say to someone you’d only just met, even if talking with them felt like the easiest thing you’d ever done in your life. “But you also do it because it makes the other person feel loved and cared for and happy, right? And don’t you want that for yourself?”

Ed was quiet for a while. The tide was slowly coming in, one gentle wave after another, glittering with the last of the sunlight. “I guess so,” he said eventually, dropping his eyes down to where he was picking at a fleck of paint on the railings.

“Here’s a silly idea,” Stede said, trying to sound far more confident than he actually felt. “Why don’t we do this again? Meet at Jackie’s for tea. Perhaps get some pastries too. I’ll pay for myself, of course, but if having the excuse of doing it to please another person is what gets you to treat yourself, then I’m all for it.” He turned to look at Ed and gave him a nervous little half-smile. “How about it?”

Ed picked at the loose paint for a few more moments, and then suddenly straightened up and said, “Fuck it. Why not? The tea, the sunset, those sparkly fuckin’ waves… All we’ve done is have a little drink and a walk and a chat, and it’s the nicest evening I’ve had in ages. I’m so used to everything being a pain in the arse, didn’t realise it could be this fuckin’ easy.” He slung his arm around Stede’s shoulders, just like he had in the café, and smiled back at him, warm and sincere. “Let’s do it.”

Stede gave a happy, relieved laugh as Ed settled back against the railings, and they watched the seagulls potter about on the shoreline, conversation flowing down easy, meandering pathways until the sun finally sank into the sea. They discovered that they’d both been born and raised in this town, both had childhoods that they’d rather not talk about, and both ran to the sea as a means of escape. For Ed, the sea and the work it offered had given him the independence he needed to live his own life. For Stede, the sea was a dream, the setting of a thousand limitless fantasies to retreat into when real life was too crushing to bear.

They parted ways in the blue twilight, to the restless sound of the waves breaking on the shore and the sleepy calls of gulls settling in to roost for the night. Stede’s phone felt heavy in his pocket, weighed down with the new entry in his contacts list. Ed had input it himself; took Stede’s phone, cooed over his pretty leather flip case, and then tapped out his number and saved it under ‘Edward Tea(ch)’ with a seemingly random little collection of emojis after it.

Ed was— strange. Stede couldn’t seem to settle on just one read of the man. He was at once both dismissive and deeply invested, unbothered and very concerned, abrasive and achingly tender. There was an intense curiosity bubbling just beneath the surface that burst through in fits and starts, almost as if he was unsure whether or not he was allowed to ask questions and be interested in something.

All Stede could really figure out about Ed was that he liked him instantly. For all his contradictions, he was also warm and funny and haltingly, sincerely kind, and having his undivided attention was quietly thrilling. It had been a long time since Stede had made a friend, and he’d never had a friend quite like Ed. Was it too soon to be thinking of him as his friend already? Perhaps it was, but Stede had been so hideously lonely for so long that he was ready to cling to any possibility of friendship as though his life depended on it.

Walking alone on a Friday evening through this touristy, bustling seaside town was never fun for Stede. It brought everything he was missing into unbearably sharp focus; going past glowing restaurant windows, seeing couples or groups of people inside, eating, talking, laughing, being together. For the longest time, he’d thought it was normal to feel hollow all the time, no matter who he was with; hollow at work, hollow at home, hollow at his and Mary’s anniversary dinners and hollow in the bedroom afterwards. It was all he’d ever known, after all. With Mary, but also with his parents, and though he hated to admit it, even with his children.

Everyone always told him that his life was perfect, and so Stede learned that feeling like he was living in a stage play must be completely normal, and it was wrong of him to be unhappy about it. Of course everyone felt like they were acting all the time, of course everyone’s houses were carefully-designed set pieces aimed at pleasing an anonymous audience. They all had scripts and stories and costumes to wear and marks to hit. It was normal. How could he expect or deserve anything more than that?

He was happier now that he had left that life behind, of course he was. But the loneliness remained. It wasn’t the same wretched, soul-sucking, howling loneliness of his old life; rather it was a quieter, softer, sadder kind, like waiting for a phone call that never comes.

His walk home wasn’t far, and soon the busy sounds of nightlife faded behind him into nothing. He climbed the stairs to his studio flat, left all the lights off, and sat on his bed, staring out the window to the far smudge of the sea in the distance. He looked at the water, glittering in the moonlight, and thought about Ed.

#our flag means death #ofmd #gentlebeard #blackbonnet #our flag means death fanfic #edward teach #stede bonnet #my fic

[37q]

not even being resentful or engaging in bad faith here i genuinely think social justice voyeurs on tumblr got burnt out on reading critiques of stuff they didnt have the energy or drive to negotiate with in their personal lives.

this happened around 2017 ish, maybe before the twt exodus, when at some point the voiceless masses stopped reblogging those deeper critiques based on years of foundational build-up bcuz so many ppl were, until then, just suspending their disbelief for their "listen to marginalized voices" performance, and whatever that breaking point was made them shift from "nuanced interrogation" to "passive survival".

like during the pandemic for ex people got upset and were very smart sometimes, and then people got so mad at people getting upset, and then we all sucked back in to our most comfortable self-affirmations like how humor was one of the only things keeping intangible friend groups together. sure as hell cant bond forever over complex trauma.

my god the elevation of humor as like a social object over all critique and action... the virology of privately shared memes, the black and white publicity of thoughtfulness; if youre not fully entrenched in or committed to alternative lifestyles then the role humor plays in your group identity formation will be of status quo comfort.

humor pulls the ends of something we know and plucks it to make the sound of our laughter, with the distance and tension between the poles producing the frequency. and the thing about comfort is that... well actually i dont care to get into it like that. all i know is that nostalgia and comfort are crazy for anyone under, like, 45-50 at this point, and any kinda of meme can serve that purpose.

we dont see these objects of humor as any thing. they exist only in our appreciation, a prompt without cause. its so odd to me because i feel like it was only yday that ppl were unafraid to get long-winded about something seemingly innocuous, but now anything serious over a joke is just totally inappropriate.

i feel like so many ppl have jettisoned their critical compassion for the sake of small pleasures. sometimes i dont blame them because if i could find a cheap laugh somewhere id take it, but then i come back to my reality where cheap laughs are blatantly reactionary. it makes me wanna throw up a lil what my friends friends can detach from enough to laugh at.

see thats the thing about humor being elevated to its status as a social object -- we dont see anything for what it is or what it does, we detach it from social life but now our social life from it. we need to push back against "maybe the curtains are just blue", because its seriously meddling with ppls willingness to interrogate how we ourselves interpret seemingly neutral messaging!

its not intentional, because nobodys signing up to shill for their prison anymore, but we carry with us all the funny little stigmas that feel good to pluck, and it feels even better to pluck them in an orchestra! we "propagandize" ourselves and each other: the "cop in our head" seeks safety and order, and she conditions our social instincts to decay and stasis instead of growth. be skeptical of comfort!

we are given the tools to make meaning and play with it, but so many ppl are just too tired to consider who made those tools! the value we derive from humor and its conditions comes from somewhere, and its our responsibility to trace the ethical lineage of our actions imo!

[sweetpeawriter-tm]

Just kinda rambling -> expanding my thoughts but most conspiracy theories if you look at them closely. Are never quite ‘funny’ as general media makes them out to be. Things like ‘flat earth’ often relate to the idea the government is being controlled by Jewish people who want to lie to us to - well im sure you all get the idea.

Being anti vaccine, flat earth, refusing to be able to even understand *media* (YES EVEN THIS) are all ways the anti intellectual movement* has taken the ground running and results in any propaganda or conspiracy theories invented by bigots to gain extreme traction incredibly fast.

I tie all of these together because they all require critical thinking, or the idea of looking at what you know, and if it’s wrong, and what that means about your reality. There are so many people who cannot do this and they easily fall into conspiracy theories because of this,

And I use media as a example because the whole ‘maybe the curtains were just blue’ idea (or how it’s been formatted presently) literally overrides the idea of critical thinking and just accepting things as they are. Based off who tells you and where you hear it from. Which naturally can lead down many bad pipelines.

Idk. Sometimes I see conspiracy theories or alt right things be treated as a joke or a meme and how those are the beginning of the pipelines.

And I remember most people can’t *really* critically think their way out of those pipelines. And it gets really really scary.

*idk if I this is the legit term…or if there are issues with the term. If so please let me know.

#sweetpea.txt #SWEETPEA. RAMBLES

[metamelonisle]

I don't know about the "the curtains were blue" phenomenon, but I'm likely the opposite, considering I'm frequently the "I've connected the two dots" meme

(For some reason, I see a connection in the most mundane of things and go apeshit over it. I don't rub it in people's faces, I just think those are cool)

BASED BASED BASED BASED BASED BASED I LOVE YOU AND YOUR BRAIN IS INCREDIBLY DENSELY INTERCONNECTED WITH ITSELF

#paint.txt #askbox #you are absolutely one of my favorite types of people when it comes to stuff like this #i LOVE when peolle try to look at the narrative and examine and entertain potential connections it’s AWESOME #BASED

[floral-poisons]

ooh i'd totally place you in pomefiore. your writing has a romantic aspect to it. i get the vibes of contemporary with a mary shelley or giacomo leopardi flair to it ??

i'd love to hear about the topics in the arts and the humanities that you're into ! at the moment im graduating high school and likely going to double major in world history as well as literature and then eventually i'll get a law degree.

im an avid reader and writer, but i also delve into art through paintings and sketches. stem ?? idk her bc i cannot with stem-

on the topic of the humanities and arts though , i'd like to point out the 'why the curtains are blue' argument because i personally find it absurd. our english teachers were honestly trying to teach us critical thinking skills as well as opening our eyes to the ideas of symbolism. the argument is just stupid , to be frank.

i like to think that the little bits of symbolism that are claimed to be "unimportant" were subconscious. for example , im writing a drama novel that takes place in tahirid yemen and one of my protagonists furrowed his brows once a mabkhara brushed against his skin in the first chapter. at first i wrote it because he was worried since having the incense burner so close to the table's edge is dangerous, but then i wrote my fourth chapter and accidently gave him more reason to dislike mabkharas.

<3 genie anon <3

honestly it's probably because i go with vibes in my writing. like i'm all about description because my imagination is super vivid and i have super vivid scenes that play out like a movie.

i also don't know stem. we don't talk about her lol. i am a woman in humanities.

YES YES AND YES!! HIT IT RIGHT ON THE NAIL!! ironically enough i actually had a section of my final paper for my victorian literature class about the "why are the curtain blue?" meme. the fact that people look down upon humanities because "we're pulling at threads" is really absurd and it kind of stems from misogyny. humanities is 1. deemed "feminine" and 2. a lot of fears about reading stem from women reading and women becoming passionate about what they're reading. it's also based in capitalism. humanities isn't seen as "successful" and our degrees are seen as "useless" which is the funniest thing ever. in stem, ethics is extremely important so for stem people to disregard humanities as "useless" is super funny.

i personally like symbolism and i think reading into things more is also important for media literacy (which people clearly lack nowadays). symbolism, imo, makes things better (and so does philosophy but i'm apparently one of the rare few that thinks philosophy makes everything better).

i am a literature major actually genie anon! but i am specifically concentrating in cinema studies which means i am studying movies. symbolism in movies is a lot easier to portray than in books honestly which is why i think symbolism improves. i do love what i'm doing so much that i even write critical essays about film in my spare time!! rn though i'm more or less focusing on applications and on making sure i fulfill my undergrad requirements.

#genie anon #anon asks #floral poisons talk

[emoprincey]

Roman: The blue curtains in this room represent his immense depression...

Logan: Roman, get the fuck out of my room

#sanders sides #roman sanders #logan sanders #ts roman #ts logan #sanders sides incorrect quotes #based on that 'the curtains were blue' meme #tw cursing #tw swearing

[needleandhammer]

Prism

Pairing: Robert Pronge x Reader; featuring Jake Jensen

Warnings: 18+ only, dark fic, non-con touch, kidnapping, it's Freezy so yeah

Notes: Happy spooky season! I cannot believe the writers I am following have led me onto the Freezy Train 😳

For a year, you worked alongside Jake. He came through your office suite to set up new computers one morning. Designated the unofficial tech responder, you reached out to him often, asked questions politely and endlessly until he resigned himself to visiting your office multiple times per week. Somehow, the two of you ended up having lunch together as he listened to you grumble about coworkers adverse to seeking technological solutions on their own. Then going to happy hour together. Then texting each other; Jake followed your lead until the two of you could speak in memes and emojis.

Your friend abruptly left his job a few months ago. With no response to your text messages, you swallowed down the disappointment of losing touch with a friend when adulting kept your circle so small already. You only hoped he was okay.

Now, after a late night at the office, your coworker Carter lies unconscious in your peripheral. The person responsible for knocking out Carter stalks toward you. You’re scrambling around your desk trying to keep distance between him and you, this stranger with scraggly hair hanging over a pair of thick spectacles.

You’re so startled, mind trying to salvage some kind of escape plan that you haven’t even tried yelling for help. You hurl a solid glass paperweight at him. Air rushes up your throat – a scream working its way out when you see him dodge and strike forward at you. His hands circle your wrist, you’re yanked against him and a painful blow to the base of your neck sends you sinking into blackness.

---

You wake with a start. Where are you?

Your hands roam, grasping lightly across your body in search of any new injuries while you breathe past the lingering pain at the back of your head. At least it wasn’t bleeding. Assured that you were able to stand and move with relative ease, you’re on your feet and tiptoeing to the door of the bedroom. Your shoes are gone, dammit.

You swallow hard, breathing deep against grogginess and the aching pulse at the base of your skull. That fucker isn’t here so you need to act.

Go out that door.

Wait. You need something. A weapon. Anything.

A shaky breath forces your stark fear at bay as you look around the room. You make it to the open closet door.

A pink color halts you physically and mentally. Pink. You collapse to your knees and grasp at the cotton fabric. The word printed on the pink shirt triggers a breathless sob that you can’t control.

Petunias

Oh gods, did this deranged man kidnap Jake too? What can he possibly want with you and your friend? Is Jake in some kind of trouble? Questions bombard your mind, tangling into nothing that makes sense. Your head aches. Your limbs feel weak. Has it been long enough that your body has weakened from lack of nourishment?

Beneath another shirt, you discover a scraggly object. It’s chestnut colored, wavy strands that sends a creeping shivering down your spine. You quickly drop the Petunias t-shirt over it, as if to hide some vile creature from sight, and peer around the room again.

Damn it. No light décor or metal objects you can arm yourself with. You’ll have to be quick.

The door gives a creak when you swing it open, revealing a small galley kitchen.

Your heart skips – dread douses you – you freeze when you see the figure standing opposite you at the far end of this small building. He turns, arms falling from the curtained window, to look at you.

You reel backward; your hands reach and claw for something, anything that might help you in this horrible circumstance.

Right back where you started. You made it barely a foot out of your prison.

Your captor descends upon you. You shriek, push and shove against him but his weight follows you, presses you down on the bed.

His palm stifles your cries while he easily restrains you.

“Awake are we?”

You shake your head. You don’t want to hear his voice. You close your eyes. You don’t want to look at him – afraid that your eyes are deceiving you.

He tsks. “Don’t be a brat. We can make this part quick.”

Growling, you shake his hand away and snap at him. “What the fuck are you talking about? Let me go.”

He scoffs at the additional impolite names you call him.

Panting, you glare at him. “What do you want?”

“You gonna play nice?”

You try to headbutt him.

He sighs in irritation.

Your wrists are snuggly wrapped and tied to one bed post. You lean away from him as much as possible where you sit on a corner of the mattress, cutting him with a glare.

He still hasn’t answered you. That cold dread weighs down in your gut as you force another question out.

“What did you do to Jake?”

“Jake?” His smile grows.

“Don’t play with me! That’s his shirt. He – he has a family. His sister and niece, they’re…” Your words die on your lips as he starts laughing.

“Oh, sugar,” he says with a fond look your way. “Time to break the bad news to you. Your buddy Jake is…Well, you wanna take a guess?”

“You hurt him?”

The cold smile does not waver. You swallow down the lump in your throat. You already know the answer.

“C’mon. Don’t leave me hanging,” he purrs at you, waiting for your next guess.

You’re not ready to accept it, despite the tangible evidence in front of you. Despite the bright t-shirt lying in the closet. Covering the brunette wig. It can’t be true.

This man’s face, his nose, his lips. You feel like you’re going mad as you keep being pulled back to those blue eyes. The glasses are gone; you can see his full brows, the aquamarine of his irises. That laugh that sounded wrong, even though the tenor flows through you in familiar waves.

His hair is now a natural deep brown. It's shorter, lacking the gel that previously held it up in blonde spikes. The wig must have just been a precaution for when he showed up at your office. And his facial hair is grown out more evenly and that alone could have transformed the man you thought you knew.

He disappeared months ago.

You study his eyes – you know their exact color – and recognize the mirth glinting beneath dark lashes. But your heart starts racing when his signature crooked smile doesn’t appear. Instead, a hard smirk twists his face into a stranger.

“Jake…” Maybe you hope invoking his name as you know it will make this all go away - will make the world make sense again. Maybe you want to cling to an impossible salvation.

He scoffs softly, a quiet murmur of your name on his lips, almost remorseful. Almost.

“The name’s Robert.”

Gone is the awkward, clumsy colleague you had grown close to. The man you formed a slow companionship with during late office hours sharing fast food while ranting about administration or complaining about the local asshole that stood at the corner of your block shouting right-wing rhetoric to people trying to get to work.

Gone is Jake Jensen, the cute nerd you called friend.

Robert Pronge closes in, looms before you. His fingers skim your jawline before he grips your face tight, deliberate.

“I couldn’t leave you behind,” he says, dipping even closer so his lips graze your cheek. You grow stiff at the gentle affection. His grip loosens enough that you can drop your gaze.

“I…d-don’t know you.” You don’t know this man. “I don’t.”

Robert watches as you press your forehead to your hands. He supposes it’s normal - you haven’t arrived at acceptance of reality yet. Your frame clenches with stress, the physiological response to danger. Robert has witnessed this countless times with countless hits.

A breathy chuckle tickles your skin. He knew you well enough at this point. “You’re a smart one, sugar.”

“No, no, no…”

“And you know now that ole Jake Jensen. Never existed.”

Faced with this man’s remorseless confession, you steel yourself for the inevitable.

“Are you – are you going to kill me?” You raise your eyes. You'll look at this man's face one last time, you won't be deceived in your final moments.

That dark chuckle returns.

“You think I risked showing up in town just for a quick kill?"

He cages you in, enclosing you between arms thick with muscle.

"No, sugar. Wouldn’t wanna waste a sweet thing like you.”

His mouth is on yours and for several seconds, the heated, hungry pressure stuns you. Confuses you. You squawk at the sensation of him probing for a deeper taste, and start twisting out of his hold.

Strong fingers tighten in your hair and make you whimper in pain, stilling enough for his tongue to delve into your mouth.

A quiet moan of satisfaction rumbles through Robert when he accesses the hot taste of you for the first time.

Robert decided long ago. Once his mask is peeled back – that blonde, chirpy mask – he’s taking you as his. And he’ll make sure you get to know the real him intimately.

------------------------------------------

A/N: Hurrah! I have been wanting to write a Jekyll and Hyde inspired fic for a while. Tis the season and all, so I present to you all: "Jensen and Pronge." muahahaha. I am trying to plan this out as a multipart fic. 😏 I'm gonna try to make this soft!dark bc that's the kind of shit I'm into.

#robert pronge x reader #dark!fic #non con #tw noncon

[powdermelonkeg]

Hello Squid! I have a pressing question.

What the heck is post+. I’ve been seeing a lot of people complaining about it, and I know it has to do with a paywall, but thats about it. Mind illuminating the subject?

I've made a post on this before, but some people are still confused on it (understandably; it's a mess) and I've learned more in the past week, so I'm going to articulate it better.

So, basically, Post+ is Tumblr trying to squeeze money out of us content creators by giving us the option to put our content behind a monthly, $3.99 USD paywall. It's a feature we can opt out of using, but one Tumblr's not giving us a choice on having.

If I were to use it (OBLIGATORY DISCLAIMER: I WILL NOT. I will ONLY ever link to my Ko-Fi), then my posts would look something like this:

The Master Sword: Determining Link's height, pixel by pixel

Link's height has been something of an unanswered question among Zelda theorists. Sure, we have our guesses, but Hyrule doesn't really have a Hylian ruler we can measure ourselves up against to the nearest centimeter.

It DOES, however, have the Master Sword. And if we compare that to Link's model in each game that contains it...

Support squid-ink-personal by subscribing to their +Posts. As a supporter, you’ll get access to exclusive content and posts.

⚠️

The feature is BAD. Not only does it prey on people who are broke or underage for a monthly fee, Tumblr also specifically encourages monitization of fandom content.

This? A flat out lie. Ask anyone that’s ever had to take down a YouTube video.

According to laws regarding hosting sites here in the USA, Tumblr’s not responsible if you get sued for selling Disney merch.

THEY get their nice little paycut while throwing you under the bus.

And if you're under any illusions that Tumblr cares for their creators' reception and wellbeing, look no further than Post+'s guinea pig.

Sending death threats is abhorrent, and anyone who does so shouldn't be allowed to talk to creators. But death threats are what this site is known for. You can make even the coldest of takes and be sent a dozen anons from the same person, and staff does fuck all to punish this behavior.

The fact that the Tumblr staff didn't consider this an option when putting their pet project on the front lines means that they don't use their own site. They never have, they don't know the culture here. The most they likely know is a handful of memes that were screencapped to Reddit.

To put the cherry on this delightfully flavored cake, this site is not secure in the slightest. Rayban sunglasses haunt the echos of abandoned accounts. Bots follow on the daily, with automated messages like "22/f, hbu" or the newest wave which is mediocre sugar daddy bots. People with entry-level coding skills can dox people they don't like and send them irl death threats in the mail—that happened to user dairyisntscary.

This site is a navy blue curtain away from being open source. How many Firefox extensions are there for modifying Tumblr? How many dumb, broken ads get greenlit? How many custom themes can we add to our blogs? Who remembers John Green's palate? This site has so many bugs in its security and design it's LAUGHABLE.

Post+ is the result of a staff that is out of touch with its users, doesn't care for its creators, has no thought for its security, and wants to make a quick buck. And instead of using this site for what it is, slowly growing its user base with love and care and offering features content creators can use to improve their own content (like a better text editor, or higher image quality, or even fucking CUSTOM BORDERS), they're going the route of Twitter and Youtube and restricting the content their user base gets to enjoy.

#post+ #ask bee #not zelda #fave mutuals #hope this helped!

[remakethestars]

RAVENCLAW 💙🦅🤎

Headcanons.

❝Even in the blackness, light can be found. My enemy can be outsmarted.❞

— Alex Hirsch, Journal 3

This is my house, y'all; buckle up!

Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, & Slytherin. Headcanon masterlist.

The door'll let you in for witty responses.

We prop it open during exam season, when everyone's coming back from dinner, on party nights, & when no one can solve the riddle.

Questions become more difficult to answer after curfew.

Everyone waits outside & pretends not to know first night until the first-years figure it out.

Today's riddle & answer posted on the back of the door every morning; check before you leave just in case.

Sometimes you find the prefects debating over what the answer is; no one leaves the common room until someone's figured it out, so sometimes, the entirety of Ravenclaw is late to breakfast.

Again, if we absolutely can’t, we’ll prop it open.

If the door’s propped open and you remove the prop, we’ll use the guillotine on you.

Everyone has at least one hill to die on.

There's a podium by the fireplace with a record book on it of all the books in Ravenclaw's library that you can ask for help finding books from (pages flip in their own). 

If you’re in a reading slump, describe what you're looking for; we've probably got it!

If you don't like writing & highlighting in the books, it'll disappear while you have it, but everyone's free to mark in them. 

So good at reading their own messy notes and the notes their friends wrote they can read a doctor's handwriting.

And there are notes everywhere. As organized as some Raveclaws wish they could be, you can't make notebooks & journals as organized as Google Doc & Word documents. Unless, ya know … someone made a spell for that — hold on, I gotta write that down!

Professors find notes — ideas for spells & potions — on the back of homework & tests. More knowledgeable teachers will add their ideas or advice before handing it back.

Everyone leaves a copy of their favorite book with annotations before they leave seventh year. 

There's a coffee/tea cart in the common room. 

Hallways to the dorms are covered in graffiti from students long passed.

Dorms branch off based on your year. 

Girls can walk into the boy's dorms & vice versa. 

All rooms are extended for more space.

Beds are built into the wall like window seats & have bookshelves where the head and footboards should be. 

Dark blue curtains can be drawn shut if you're feeling introverted. 

Trunks go under the bed, so they're kinda high off the ground.

Cast an extension charm if you’re claustrophobic.

At the end of every year, everyone congregates in the common room, someone casts glisseo on the stairs to Ravenclaw tower, & everyone slides their trunks down (it's called "the trunk shoving").

No one gives a single sh¡t about house points.

Ravenclaw’s are always blowing something up & losing points.

Dramatic about stubbing their toe, but super casual about ending up in the hospital wing because they "wanted to test a hypothesis."

If you have a question or don't understand something, ask it loudly in the common room; someone will undoubtedly answer or direct you to another who can.

Just don't use bad grammar, or sixteen people will correct you in unison. 😅

Learn (a) new language(s) in the common room 20:00–21:00 Mon.–Fri.

Tutoring sessions are in the common room at 21:00–22:00 Mon.–Fri. Or ask for private lessons to work around your schedule.

If a particular teacher's sh¡t, we host a class in the common room after dinner.

Also, there're just classes for random stuff: art, budgeting, codes & code-breaking, cooking, dancing, darning, fencing, ice skating (in the winter months), knot tying, lock picking, makeup, Morse code, muggle martial arts, sewing…

First years are all offered a class on note taking.

A lot of us do our homework on Friday night so we don't have to worry about it all weekend, so there're no party activities tonight, but you can play a muggle board game if you want.

Karaoke on Saturday nights.

Dungeons & Dragons on Sunday nights.

D&D’s swapped out for a play once a month; screw the theater ban! (For an explanation of Hogwarts’s theater ban, see Albus Dumbledore’s notes on “The Fountain of Fair Fortune” in The Tales of Beedle the Bard.)

Morning yoga in the common room — feel free to join; we'll teach you some poses.

Ask around; whatever you're looking for — info, candy, contraband — someone probably hands it out, sells it, can get it for you, and/or can tell you where to find it.

Pass around a spell that allows them to clean themselves. Who has time for showering?

And a potion that gives them the same feeling & energy as if they slept. Who has time for sleeping?

Yes, we're building a guillotine in the common room.

Please don't utilize it in the decapitation of any living person or thing (unless it's the Snape or Umbridge)!

Our next project is a carousel. With working lights & everything.

Yes, we're building a house of cards in the common room; please don't blow on it.

Be quiet until noon on the weekends or get hexed.

Thank Merlin they teach sign language in the common room every year & everyone knows enough to get by.

Parties are highly regulated.

People volunteer to walk people back to their dorms & put up protection charms so you don't get assaulted. Those people are vetted with Veritaserum first to confirm the authenticity of their intentions.

People often get into academic debates, which can get a bit loud; just silencio them & move on.

The entrances to the dorms are hidden behind moving bookshelves.

The Ravenclaw copy of Hogwarts: A History will tell you more than you realized you needed to know; there're enough notes in the margins to make a second book, including how to enter the kitchens, how to sneak out if the castle, how to find the Room of Requirement…

They've located more secret passages & rooms in Hogwarts using spells they created than the Marauders were aware of.

First-years are told how to put extension charms on their backpacks so they're not heavy — that's a crap-ton of stairs.

There's an incredibly thick book by a armchair near the fireplace that's full of testaments of Ravenclaw's alumni. "What's one thing you wish you'd known when you started Hogwarts?" First-years are encouraged to flip through it.

And taught a low-concentration spell for levitating books while laying down so your arms don't get tired (flick wand to turn page).

Common room's extended to fit all kinds of activities (and the bookshelves).

Some third-years built an aquaponic system on top of one of the window seats; take a cucumber, if you want, or stop to look at the fish.

Again, explosions are not uncommon. (Please don’t drop any explosives in the fish tank. As water isn’t as compressible as air, this will kill the fish.)

Everyone just kinda glances over to make sure you’re okay before going back to what they were doing.

There's always a record playing.

They host a hike through the Forbidden Forest once a week, because what even are rules?

If you hear an intelligent conversation taking place, feel free to sit down & listen or jump in!

The wind whistles against the windows all year round, but they've been charmed to keep water out.

Played The Floor is Lava before it was a meme.

There's a two-way mirror on the wall above the fireplace. There's a muggle television on the other side. No one's sure whose T.V. it is, but a lady comes in in the mornings in hair curlers & watches the news.

She puts in V.H.S. tapes of Disney movies at the start of term. Hypothesis says it's for the first years & this person's a half-blood or a muggle-born.

Sometimes, people work together to solve the Friday crossword in The Daily Prophet. It's the hardest all week.

Look at each other like they're the camera in The Office when someone says something stupid.

Oh, boy, if someone's found a really good mystery book… That sh¡t’s getting magically copied & passed around. We discuss theories at meals, pass notes in class, & set up a murder board in the common room.

Actually, Ravenclaw house has solved a number of murders in its free time.

Visit my Ravenclaw YouTube playlist & Pinterest board.

DISCLAIMER ━━━ These headcanons are what I consider to be canon in my fanfictions. They may be others’s headcanons I’ve subconsciously filed away in my noggin. If one’s yours and you want it removed or credited, please send me your post and let me know.

#Ravenclaw #Ravenclaw Headcanons #Headcanons #Headcannons #remakethestars

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

The Great Curtain Caper

I remember back when everything was a goofy self-insert of you meeting your fav celebs, so I wrote a little throwback meme story for @thecomfortofoldstorries

So we break into Henry Cavill’s home and change his curtains for him because those things MUST go. It’s Shenanigans Time!

This story does not condone breaking into celebrity homes. It is for meme purposes only.

---

“It’s not like he’s home,” the first intruder scoffed, holding up two paint swatches and raising an eyebrow in her companion’s direction. “What do you think, blue or light grey? Those are the only two cans I brought with me.”

“Light grey. That’s going to give him the best background for videos and it won’t wash him out in front of his camera if he decides to use the natural light.”

“Brilliant decision making skills, as usual. What are you thinking we should do for the curtains?”

“I say we burn them and do a ceremonial dance around the ashes.”

“I meant what do you think we should do about the new curtains.”

“Oh. Uh… these?” the redhead held up a set of deep, almost metallic navy blue curtains in heavy, sleek material. They were both light and sound proof, ideal for people who spend a lot of time in front of the computer regardless of the time of day. “What do you think, Tadhg?”

“Killin’ it as usual, Regan.”

“You’re welcome.”

They turned back to their respective tasks and before long the small room was repainted from maroon to light grey and the windows were hung with a fresh set of curtains. Regan was stuffing the old, hideous floral ones into a plastic bag when they heard a familiar but definitely unexpected voice say, “Uhm, did someone spill paint in here?”

“Shit,” Tadhg hissed. “We gotta go!”

“I am aware,” Regan rolled her eyes. “I’m too beautiful for prison.”

“Who’s there? I can hear you whispering! Long halls have echoes, you know.”

“Fuck.”

“Uh… hi?” Tadhg greeted, watching as Henry Cavill strolled into the dimly lit room.

“Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house?”

“Well,” Regan began, calmly tying the bag in her hands closed, “We’re getting rid of these crimes against humanity, for one. We also painted over that terrible off-burgundy with something more light-reflecting and complimentary; that way your next thirsty Instagram video will have a decent enough background. The new window dressings are also lightproof for, you know, gaming and stuff.”

“I would say thank you but you broke into my house.”

“Yeah, and that was definitely wrong on a base moral level, but you should turn a light on and look around. I think you’ll dig the new look. In the meantime we’ll just chill here if you want to call the police or anything.”

“I probably should.”

“Fair enough and understandable,” Tadhg nodded. “We did break in.”

“How’s Kal?” Regan asked. Under normal circumstances this conversation would be terrifying, but the shock of it all seemed to be overriding the frantic, adrenaline-high fangirl screaming from inside. “It’s always a joy to see him on your Instagram.”

“He’s… good?”

“You seem unsure,” Tadhg joked, clearly under the same shock-based-calm that Regan seemed to be exuding. “Is he alright? Do we need to go track him down for you?”

“No, he really is good. He’s in excellent health. I’m just a little confused. You haven’t gone for a hug or tried to cut off any of my hair or-”

“Someone tried to cut off your hair!?” Tadhg gasped. “I’m pretty sure that’s a mortal sin. And also really invasive; although, all things considered, we did repaint an entire room of your house without asking first.”

“You didn’t sniff any of my stuff or steal my clothes as souvenirs or anything did you?” Henry suddenly asked, looking horrified.  

“No, that would be really creepy and gross! Obsessive behavior like that is just next level weird.”

“You painted my dining room.” 

“Once again, we understand that we have done wrong and we are probably going to be in trouble for that, but that color was just so bad for your skin tone and those curtains were…” Regan shook the bag in her hand for emphasis, “Just terrible, Mr. Cavill, really.”

He flicked a light on and glanced around, eyebrows rising into his hairline appreciatively. “No, you’re right. That looks much better. Still not super happy about the breaking and entering bit, but this is probably the calmest fan interaction I could possibly be having in my own house.”

“So do you want us to wait for the police, or…?”

“I think you did me a favor with this redecorating, so I’m going to do you a favor and not press any charges.”

“Neat.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Regan sighed, relieved. “I really want to finish my degree outside of prison.”

“Also,” Tadhg added, halfway out the door already, “Hunter was your best role and I appreciate the effort you put into acting with conviction despite the horrible script.”

“Uhm, thank you?”

“We will never forget to look down at our Guccis, angel,” Regan added as she yanked her friend out the door and down the driveway. Henry Cavill stood in mute shock, both from the strange interaction and their choice of parting words.

“What… What the fuck?”

#don't break into celebrity's houses #this is not condoning such actions at all #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill crackfic #crackfic #self insert nonsense #bouncey and comfy doing weird shit #red riding hood 2006 #the witcher cast #henry cavill #bad henry cavill fanfic #this is intentionally silly #sillyposting

[impossible-rat-babies]

first 20 lines meme

i got tagged by @coldshrugs tysm azia! tagging: @trvelyans, @zarneki, @rosykims, @forestcreatures, @starrypawz, @heartbrreak, @bitchesofostwick, @juniper-tree, @wayhavn, @pearlsandsteel​, and whomever else go for it !

The challenge is to list the first lines of your 20 latest fanfics. these’ll include wips too lol there’s some vague nsft stuff below the cut--nothing truly explicit in these though

1. prompt fill wip:

Rubble digging into Pollux’s shoulder blades, a heavy dead weight across his back pressing down on him. He winces, gritting his teeth and there’s just shallow breaths, ribs pressing painfully into the ground.

2. pollux finding out fic:

Mason curses as he breaks yet another cigarette and he tosses it into the trash, yanking out the old worn packaging for another one. Hands shaking, he takes a deep breath to steady himself and it works this time.

3. more shoe string french fry biting fic:

Pollux fishes another fry out from the little package of shoe strings, chewing slowly before he speaks: “You remember when I bit you?”

Ortega groans, shoulders hunching and the hood of the car once again protests under their weight. “You’ve bitten me no less than three times, Lux.” He reminds him and Pollux chews another couple of fries and swallows.

4. bathtub fic:

Pollux sinks lower into the water and for the first time in a long while, it’s quiet.

The faucet still drips, ripples spreading out until they hit his knees and he too lets them sink beneath the water--distorted and unclear.

5. the five feet apart because they’re not (gay)

Five feet.

A foot between him and the desk, another two and a half feet of desk, and then Grayson a foot and a half away. Might as well be miles and Pollux sniffs (again) picking at his thumbnail (again).

Five minutes.

Five minutes they’ve been sitting in silence. Nick is quiet too, but there’s a buzzing of anxiety whirling and twisting on itself that Pollux isn’t sure if it’s his own or just Nick. Probably both, if he’s being honest with himself.

6. nightmare/dropping the cups fic:

it’s too late to still be awake, Ortega thinks. He should be in bed with Pollux, instead he’s picking his way around the kitchen, cleaning up the remnants of dinner neither of them bothered to deal with once they were done.

7. phone go brr fic:

it’s far too early when the distant sound of the factory standard phone chime beeps over and over again, drawing him out of sleep. The sun hasn’t even come up, Pollux squinting his eyes open to stare at the blue hour haze coming through the thin curtains.

8. pollux shaving his head panic attack rip:

4am and he’s stuck sitting on the lid of the toilet, hands shaking uncontrollably with what he knows is yet another panic attack, his upper back and diaphragm aching from the frantic breaths. It’s all muted under the sound of clippers, the buzz and the strain as he combs the blades through his curls, watching ringlet after ringlet fall to the white tiles. They’re cold beneath his bare toes and and oh god he can *feel* it—

Why do they have to be white tiles?

Cool air on the back of an open shift, shivering at the cold and indignity of it all, laying on his side and staring at the floor, large needle pressing against his lower back deeper, between vertebra and poking into his spine—

9. legit just some pwp

Pushed against the wall and Pollux gasps, Ortega’s lips immediately following to meet his again, open mouths and trying to breathe while kissing is incredibly difficult. Ortega pulls him closer and Pollux has to crane his neck to keep reaching his lips but he doesn’t mind the effort.

Pollux grasp his shirt, pulling on fancy buttons and silk to find skin, fingers running across his stomach, feeling Ortega’s breath catching.

10. don’t stop (color on the walls) 

It’s a clear night out tonight, the sky an endless dome stretching miles and miles overhead out into deep inky blackness bespectacled by freckled stars.

Pollux blows a stream of smoke out of his mouth and it drifts up and up until it dissipates and he wonders if any particles of the smoke will reach that impossibly high ceiling. If they’ll touch moon perched on the roof, staring down at him with her grey blue light.

11. thigh kisses thigh kisses pollux kissing thighs (nsfw)

Hands on his belt buckle, sliding the belt through the loops and its tossed onto the floor. Pollux’s hands work at the button and zipper, sinking down to sit on the edge of the bed, knees trapping Ortega in close.

12. morning after stuff per usual lol

Pollux grumbles and grunts, hiking his pants up and over slim hips in a smooth motion, adjusting them around his waist once they’re buttoned and zipped up. His hip smarts a touch and he shift his weight from one foot to the other, rolling his ankle. It clicks like always does, his knee the same crackling as always.

13. more pwp bc. couches.

kissing a path down his erratically moving stomach and Pollux bites his trembling lip hard, head cocked at an awkward angle, shoulders pressed against the back cushion of the couch. Ortega’s hands gripping his hips, thumbs pressing into the divots of his hipbones and fuck he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget how big Ortega’s hands are, how he holds him so tightly and so assuredly.

14. the twenty questions fic im never going to finish:

“Okay question one.”

“Question one?”

“Well yeah, this is how twenty questions goes.”

Incredulous and obnoxious is how this is going. And the chair is especially uncomfortable, the stupid molded plastic thing.

Charge has refused to meet in his office, saying it was too professional of an environment to get to know someone and Pollux wonders if there’s anything professional about the man. Well, beyond the very nice (and expensive no doubt) dress shirt and slacks, but even then the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows.

15. a follow up to our reflections 

Pain greets him when his eyes open and Pollux clenches his eyes shut once more, the screaming headache cut off suddenly at motions too fast for his battered brain and body. It quiets to a dull roar at the base of neck, spreading down across his shoulders with each breath.

He groans softly, but steady arms and hands find him, pulling him in close. Mason buries his face in his hair and Pollux tucks his face against his chest, hand smoothing out and across Mason’s ribs, feeling him breathe long and deep. Warmth seeping into his hand.

16. a wip i made happy without trying:

“Okay, okay now it’s your turn sweetheart. Worst fuck you’ve had.”

Pollux sighs and sits further back on Mason’s hips he’s straddled, crossing his arms and he fusses with a loose strand on his borrowed shirt. Pity that Mason is left shirtless, but he hasn’t complained yet.

“Okay fine...does it have to actually have been like, dick in...?”

“Nah.”

“Give me a minute then.”

“Wow that many?”

Pollux glances down and gives Mason a wicked glare, but the anger is tempered by the grin tugging at the corners of his lips. Mason grins back, hands running down the slope of Pollux’s back and down the curve of his thigh, fingers tucking against the back of his knees pressed against the mattress. He shivers at the motions, giving Mason a brief glance. 

17. hotel california

A haze creeps around the edges of Rabbit’s mind, a steady rise back to consciousness; details escape them, the haze of drowsiness like cotton between their ears and they blink slowly in the dim yellow light. The gibberish hum of a tv turned down low on the edge of their hearing, but they know the sound of the news anywhere--the monotone of a newscaster droning

18. the “i refuse to believe adam doesn’t go down” fic + trans rights

Jamie pulls his head back when he hears Adam’s knees hit the floor, the air cool against his heated skin as he pulls his sweats down with him. Adam leans in, scattering Jamie’s hips with kisses and little marks he knows will leave behind marks. He’ll be covered in them by time they’re done and Jamie’s trembling, biting his lip and staring down at Adam.

19. another i dunno i just wanted a different perspective fic

ringing—ears ringing. sharp pain in his jaw and work out the kinks, make sure nothing is broken. Nothing is broken—he knows the pain of broken bones and this doesn’t feel like it. Nothing crunches as he moves his arms, the world rapidly spinning back into focus.

20. our reflections:

Feet stumbling over each other, Pollux’s shoulder slams into the door and he curses loudly. Pain radiates down his arm and into his ribs, scattering across his shoulder blades and ending at the headache welling across his scalp. Breath catching, pain making his diaphragm stutter but he knows this well. Pause, close his eyes, lean against the door, and take a few deep breaths to ease the tightness.

#tag meme #thank you azia im like a week late but im doing in nonetheless lol #owen writes #god i have so many wips #not counting the thousands of words sitting in other docs #pour one out for the abandoned 5k fic somewhere in my drafts

[route22ny]

*Gaslighting, if you don’t know the word, is defined as manipulation into doubting your own sanity; as in, Carl made Mary think she was crazy, even though she clearly caught him cheating. He gaslit her.

Pretty soon, as the country begins to figure out how we “open back up” and move forward, very powerful forces will try to convince us all to get back to normal. (That never happened. What are you talking about?) Billions of dollars will be spent on advertising, messaging, and television and media content to make you feel comfortable again. It will come in the traditional forms — a billboard here, a hundred commercials there — and in new-media forms: a 2020–2021 generation of memes to remind you that what you want again is normalcy. In truth, you want the feeling of normalcy, and we all want it. We want desperately to feel good again, to get back to the routines of life, to not lie in bed at night wondering how we’re going to afford our rent and bills, to not wake to an endless scroll of human tragedy on our phones, to have a cup of perfectly brewed coffee, and simply leave the house for work. The need for comfort will be real, and it will be strong. And every brand in America will come to your rescue, dear consumer, to help take away that darkness and get life back to the way it was before the crisis. I urge you to be well aware of what is coming.

For the last hundred years, the multibillion-dollar advertising business has operated based on this cardinal principle: Find the consumer’s problem and fix it with your product. When the problem is practical and tactical, the solution is “as seen on TV” and available at Home Depot. Command strips will save me from having to repaint. So will Mr. Clean’s Magic Eraser. Elfa shelving will get rid of the mess in my closet. The Ring doorbell will let me see who’s on the porch if I can’t take my eyes off Netflix. But when the problem is emotional, the fix becomes a new staple in your life, and you become a lifelong loyalist. Coca-Cola makes you: happy. A Mercedes makes you: successful. Taking your kids to Disneyland makes you: proud. Smart marketers know how to highlight what brands can do for you to make your life easier. But brilliant marketers know how to rewire your heart. And, make no mistake, the heart is what has been most traumatized this last month. We are, as a society, now vulnerable in a whole new way.

What the trauma has shown us, though, cannot be unseen. A carless Los Angeles has clear blue skies as pollution has simply stopped. In a quiet New York, you can hear the birds chirp in the middle of Madison Avenue. Coyotes have been spotted on the Golden Gate Bridge. These are the postcard images of what the world might be like if we could find a way to have a less deadly daily effect on the planet. What’s not fit for a postcard are the other scenes we have witnessed: a health care system that cannot provide basic protective equipment for its frontline; small businesses — and very large ones — that do not have enough cash to pay their rent or workers, sending over 16 million people to seek unemployment benefits; a government that has so severely damaged the credibility of our media that 300 million people don’t know who to listen to for basic facts that can save their lives.

The cat is out of the bag. We, as a nation, have deeply disturbing problems. You’re right. That’s not news. They are problems we ignore every day, not because we’re terrible people or because we don’t care about fixing them, but because we don’t have time. Sorry, we have other shit to do. The plain truth is that no matter our ethnicity, religion, gender, political party (the list goes on), nor even our socioeconomic status, as Americans we share this: We are busy. We’re out and about hustling to make our own lives work. We have goals to meet and meetings to attend and mortgages to pay — all while the phone is ringing and the laptop is pinging. And when we get home, Crate and Barrel and Louis Vuitton and Andy Cohen make us feel just good enough to get up the next day and do it all over again. It is very easy to close your eyes to a problem when you barely have enough time to close them to sleep. The greatest misconception among us, which causes deep and painful social and political tension every day in this country, is that we somehow don’t care about each other. White people don’t care about the problems of black America. Men don’t care about women’s rights. Cops don’t care about the communities they serve. Humans don’t care about the environment. These couldn’t be further from the truth. We do care. We just don’t have the time to do anything about it. Maybe that’s just me. But maybe it’s you, too.

Well, the treadmill you’ve been on for decades just stopped. Bam! And that feeling you have right now is the same as if you’d been thrown off your Peloton bike and onto the ground: What in the holy fuck just happened? I hope you might consider this: What happened is inexplicably incredible. It’s the greatest gift ever unwrapped. Not the deaths, not the virus, but The Great Pause. It is, in a word, profound. Please don’t recoil from the bright light beaming through the window. I know it hurts your eyes. It hurts mine, too. But the curtain is wide open. What the crisis has given us is a once-in-a-lifetime chance to see ourselves and our country in the plainest of views. At no other time, ever in our lives, have we gotten the opportunity to see what would happen if the world simply stopped. Here it is. We’re in it. Stores are closed. Restaurants are empty. Streets and six-lane highways are barren. Even the planet itself is rattling less (true story). And because it is rarer than rare, it has brought to light all of the beautiful and painful truths of how we live. And that feels weird. Really weird. Because it has… never… happened… before. If we want to create a better country and a better world for our kids, and if we want to make sure we are even sustainable as a nation and as a democracy, we have to pay attention to how we feel right now. I cannot speak for you, but I imagine you feel like I do: devastated, depressed, and heartbroken.

And what a perfect time for Best Buy and J. Crew and Gwyneth Paltrow to help me feel normal again. If I could just have the new iPhone in my hand, if I could rest my feet on a pillow of new Nikes, if I could drink a venti blonde vanilla latte with two pumps of syrup, then this very dark feeling would go away. You think I’m kidding, that I’m being cute, that I’m denying the very obvious benefits of having a roaring economy. You’re right. Our way of life is not ruinous. The economy is not, at its core, evil. Brands and their products create millions of jobs. Like people — and most anything in life — there are brands that are responsible and ethical, and there are others that are not. They are all part of a system that keeps us living long and strong. We have lifted more humans out of poverty through the power of economics than any other civilization in history. Yes, without a doubt, Americanism is a force for good. It is not some villainous plot to wreak havoc and destroy the planet and all our souls along with it. I get it, and I agree. But its flaws have been laid bare for all to see. It doesn’t work for everyone. It’s responsible for great destruction. It is so unevenly distributed in its benefit that three men own more wealth than 150 million people. Its intentions have been perverted and the protection it offers has disappeared. In fact, it’s been brought to its knees by one pangolin.

And so the onslaught is coming. Get ready, my friends. What is about to be unleashed on American society will be the greatest campaign ever created to get you to feel normal again. It will come from brands, it will come from government, it will even come from each other, and it will come from the left and from the right. We will do anything, spend anything, believe anything, just so we can take away how horribly uncomfortable all of this feels. And on top of that, just to turn the screw that much more, will be the one effort that’s even greater: the all-out blitz to make you believe you never saw what you saw. The air wasn’t really cleaner; those images were fake. The hospitals weren’t really a war zone; those stories were hyperbole. The numbers were not that high; the press is lying. You didn’t see people in masks standing in the rain risking their lives to vote. Not in America. You didn’t see the leader of the free world push an unproven miracle drug like a late-night infomercial salesman. That was a crisis update. You didn’t see homeless people dead on the street. You didn’t see inequality. You didn’t see indifference. You didn’t see utter failure of leadership and systems.

But you did. You are not crazy, my friends. And so we are about to be gaslit in a truly unprecedented way. It starts with a check for $1,200 (Don’t say I never gave you anything) and then it will be so big that it will be bigly. And it will be a one-two punch from both big business and the big White House — inextricably intertwined now more than ever and being led by, as our luck would have it, a Marketer in Chief. Business and government are about to band together to knock us unconscious again. It will be funded like no other operation in our lifetimes. It will be fast. It will be furious. And it will be overwhelming. The Great American Return to Normal is coming.

From one citizen to another, I beg of you: Take a deep breath, ignore the deafening noise, and think deeply about what you want to put back into your life. This is our chance to define a new version of normal, a rare and truly sacred (yes, sacred) opportunity to get rid of the bullshit and to only bring back what works for us, what makes our lives richer, what makes our kids happier, what makes us truly proud. We get to Marie Kondo the shit out of it all. We care deeply about one another. That is clear. That can be seen in every supportive Facebook post, in every meal dropped off for a neighbor, in every Zoom birthday party. We are a good people. And as a good people, we want to define — on our own terms — what this country looks like in five, 10, 50 years. This is our chance to do that, the biggest one we have ever gotten. And the best one we’ll ever get.

We can do that on a personal scale in our homes, in how we choose to spend our family time on nights and weekends, what we watch, what we listen to, what we eat, and what we choose to spend our dollars on and where. We can do it locally in our communities, in what organizations we support, what truths we tell, and what events we attend. And we can do it nationally in our government, in which leaders we vote in and to whom we give power. If we want cleaner air, we can make it happen. If we want to protect our doctors and nurses from the next virus — and protect all Americans — we can make it happen. If we want our neighbors and friends to earn a dignified income, we can make that happen. If we want millions of kids to be able to eat if suddenly their school is closed, we can make that happen. And, yes, if we just want to live a simpler life, we can make that happen, too. But only if we resist the massive gaslighting that is about to come. It’s on its way. Look out.

https://forge.medium.com/prepare-for-the-ultimate-gaslighting-6a8ce3f0a0e0

#covid19 #return to normalcy #social manipulation #everything is broken #julio vincent gambuto