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indelibleevidence · 2 years

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I'm only just catching up on the rewatch I've been running now (I needed a breather after tagging 2x08, and it kind of got away from me with the Christmas blues and everything), so new thoughts on 2x09:

* Watching the scenes where Reade was trapped, knowing how 4x22-5x01 turns out, was really hard. I think Reade's conversation with Nas, about how he'd been in this whole Sandstorm thing since Jane crawled out of the bag, and teams living and dying for each other, like they're supposed to, and that she should get back to making noise because he was actually starting to get used to it - that's one of my favourite Reade moments. (It was also nice to see Nas knocked off her perch and actually doubting herself, for once. I mean, I don't hate Nas like, *ahem*, some of us do, but she did need that.)

* Zapata's commenting on 'this whole Weller and Nas thing' and Reade's complete refusal to even entertain the topic of conversation is ALL of us. But especially since it came just after 2x08.

* Every time I watch this episode, I always think Jane's NOOOO! is right by the end, but obviously it's only halfway through. It was great to see the team working so hard to rescue each other in the aftermath of the explosion, and frantically worrying about each other, and Kurt screaming for Jane because that's what he does (you know I love it), right after he was screaming for Nas, who he knew was actually there, and instead of yelling for Reade or Zapata. XD

* Patty deserves all the cuddles and hair-strokes.

* I still think of Borden's little 'this wasn't what I wanted' way too much in my everyday life. We've all had that moment. Most of us just did far less douchey things to get there.

* Everyone already knows I wish Borden hadn't been the mole. But WHY, GERO, WHY? 😭😭😭

* I also love Reade and Zapata's FRIENDSHIP a lot. 💔

* I absolutely love and hate the way Michelle Hurd chose to portray Shepherd. She's almost childlike at times in her body language, leaning on the back of Jane's chair, hissing in her ear, and then that 'turns out, he was wrong' is almost comedic. I really do think the Lake Aurora chemicals helped to make her batshit. But then she turns on the guilt trips so damn easily, too. *shudder* And using the 'kill your rabbit' analogy on Roman was just plain mean.

* I made a post about Roman and the ZIP during 2x09 week, so I'll leave that there.

* It always feels like Patterson is with the team during the big, dramatic scenes, even though she rarely is out in the field. The writers (and Ashley) are great with that.

* You guys already know I have an insane love for Remi, but damn, if she tried to recruit me to her scary mum's terrorist organisation, I'd go too. I wonder how much of Jaimie's own emotions went into her delivery of the 'my country has lost its mind' line, because let's not forget it was filmed one year into the Trump presidency... Also, I need to apply 'there is always something you can do' to everyday life more.

* Also, to anyone who thinks my pre-Jane Remi is softer than canon, please see the scene where Remi tries to struggle out of bed to save two strangers she doesn't know from the dangers of being associated with her, a few seconds after regaining consciousness from near death. She doesn't know where she is or what country she's in, but she needs to get away, so these two British people's lives aren't put at risk for the kindness of saving her life. Would that woman knowingly agree to a plan where everyone and their kids, dog and elderly aunt got nuked?

* Hi, intelligence services who are undoubtedly checking my blog for terror information right now. I'm fangirling about a TV show, not planning Phase Two. XD

Time to watch 2x10!

#blindspot #blindspot rewatch 2021 #blindspot 2x09

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meet-me-in-the-kitchen · 4 years

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is it weird that literally all of my dreams are batshit crazy and don’t make sense?? can you write something

+ i was the one about the crazy dreams, how do you think harry would react to them or you re telling a of them??

DREAM A LITTLE DREAM OF ME

Y/N felt mystified by the dream she’d had the night before. She woke and stared at the ceiling for a while, simply thinking it through and questioning the peculiar recesses of her mind, along with the tangent it’d gone on. At one point, she found herself on the windowsill, staring out as dusk became dawn.

Harry had the habit of holding onto his girlfriend while they both slept, squeezing her as tight as possible while nuzzling his face into her neck, breathing in the fresh scent of her hair. Waking up to a mouthful of her longer hair had easily become one of his favourite morning rituals, as had watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the peaceful look on her pretty face as she slept soundly, and feeling her curves meld perfectly into his body once she’d eventually turn, meeting him halfway for some messy version of a hybrid hug/cuddle. After them both wiggling to adjust, his hand would find its way to her hip, and her leg would slope over his.

Today, however, with his eyes screwed shut he reached his hand for the familiar feel of her waist, or some estranged limb. A frown overcame his features as he shivered further into the mattress, longing for her body heat to warm his. With newfound determination, he outstretched his foot, wiggling it around in hopes of finding hers, wrapping his toes around her ankle, and tugging her towards his chest, where, he added grumpily in his head, she was supposed to be.

When they come back empty, much to his discontent, he opens his eyes, squinting as the green in them adjusts to the light in the room, before skimming it. They land on her figure, sat rather primly on the windowsill, out of which she gazed at the world with a sort of detachedness that confirms that she is, indeed, overthinking at—he turned his head slightly to the clock—5:30 in the morning. The thin white curtains rustle slightly as a gust of wind makes its way through the crack of the window, whistling slightly as it causes y/n’s hair to move with the breeze, her arms crossing across her chest to protect her body—clad in one of his jerseys and not much else, thrown on after last night’s activities—from the chill.

As angelic as she looks like this from afar, he decides he’d much rather be loving on her from closer.

“What’re you doin’ there for?” he cooed, her jumping a little bit at the low raspy, much welcome intrusion to her thoughts. She turned and smiled at him shyly, bare toes dancing on the ivory walls.

“Come to bed,” he said thickly, blinking at her sleepily, feigning innocence to seduce her back while burrowed into the covers. “You’ll catch cold.”

She jumped off of the sill, him chuckling warmly at the sight of her hopping about trying not to let her toes touch the cool hardwood. He made a note to get her some slippers for her feet, while grabbing her wrist and tugging lightly, smirking when she squealed a bit in surprise, easily falling to his chest.

“G’morning, baby,” he greeted slowly, eyes lighting up pleasantly to find her so close, before closing his mouth over hers. One of his hands found her cheek, stroking deftly while sleep still beckoned them both, while the other smoothed down her sides, hips, before finally squeezing lightly at her bum, then resting there as she arched then melted in his hold, kissing back and suckling on his bottom lip while he continued to suction kisses off hers.

“Mmm,” she stretched out on top of him, smiling almost lazily. Perfectly. Her eyes sparkled. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” he grinned, perfectly aware he was being repetitive. He sealed the greeting with yet another slow kiss he stole from her lips, which warmed him instantly. He pulled the thick comforter over her, and then closed his eyes while she brushed her fingers through his curly hair. “What were you doing so far away?”

Pause.

“I just...had a weird dream and couldn’t go to sleep afterwards,” she said nonchalantly, but Harry’s eyes flickered up inquisitively once he traced slight restraint in her voice, hesitance on her face.

“A dream?” he asked, skeptically. This felt a bit suspicious, the way she wasn’t meeting his eyes entirely. She nodded. “And what was this dream of, may I ask?”

Her cheeks filled with colour, her body warming noticeably against his. She averted all eye contact, causing him to raise an eyebrow.

“Did you dream of me?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows. She shook her head ‘no.’

“It was honestly a weird dream. I’m just trying to forget about it. You probably wouldn’t be interested—“

“Try me,” he pried further, peppering kisses to her jawline to weaken her resolve. His fingers brushed lightly against the nape of her neck; she whimpered. Got it.

“It was of,” she took a deep breath. “Timothee Chalamet.”

“Timothee Chalamet?” Harry hoped to be asking nonchalantly, his grip on her tightening a bit while she nodded in affirmation. Well, maybe they were just hanging out, he tried to convince himself. “Doing what?”

Pause.

“Y/N!”

She sighed, her fingers stilling for a moment as she burrowed her face into his chest, voice coming out muffled.

“I dreamt that he was...impregnating me.”

Silence. You could hear a pin drop.

...and then...

“You dreamt what?” He asked, jolting slightly, a bizarre look in his eyes, darkening from a blend of emotions—jealousy, confusion, surprise, er, unadulterated fury. “He what?”

“This is why I didn’t want to tell you!” She squeaked, trying to think of ways to explain herself while Harry formulated a plan on how to get on the nearest plane and then show up to Chalamet’s front door to throttle him. “I can explain!”

“Explain, then,” he huffed, more than a bit put off, but not wanting to part from the warmth of her sleek against his chest.

“Fine,” Y/N said cautiously, “but don’t go murder him just yet.”

Harry grumbled something along the lines of “you give a bloke one interview...and he tries to steal your girl...”

She rolls her eyes before continuing on with her nervous tale.

“Okay, so. I had this vivid dream that, yes, revolves around Timothee Chalamet impregnating me,” she shook her head at Harry’s glare. “Except, he wasn’t really Timothee Chalamet, he was some dude named Matt who just looked like Timothee Chalamet and was also Timothee Chalamet’s age—“ Harry was gaping at this point. “—and I spent most of the dream going ‘Oh my god, why would I even have sex with him? How do I not remember this? That’s really not cool, because I love you. Why did I do it?’ But I told my whole family and my dad went and found Timothee somewhere and he was being a real stand-up gent about the whole thing, and then we all trekked to the doctor, where my nurse was Hilary Duff. So we’re chilling in the waiting room for a really long time and all of a sudden I realize that I’m in trouble because I’ve been taking medicine I can’t take while pregnant, because I didn’t know I was pregnant, and so I go to my dad, freaking out, and my dad’s all “I’m sure it’s fine. Just go talk to the nice nurse about it,” so I’m on my way to go talk to Hil—” Harry snorts at the nickname, and she glares. “—when all of sudden I realize something else—I HAVE MY PERIOD.”

Harry is momentarily thrown aback by this loud, melodramatic proclamation, nodding along as Y/N raises her hands.

“And if I have my period, I can’t be pregnant. So, I go to Hil and I��m all, ‘Um, my period...? And she gives me the most ‘oh, honey’ nod and says she knows, they were just waiting for me to realize it. And I’m mortified, because look at the mess I caused. Poor Timothee slash Matt. Then I woke up,” she finished, breathless and still looking a bit nervous for Harry’s reaction. “So, you see, it was strange and unwarranted, and I don’t even like—”

Harry gives her a strange look. Stares at her for a second, and when she goes “what?” he throws his head back and laughs. Really laughs. He erupts into guffaws and is properly slapping his knee at this point, while Y/N looks as if she’s debating either running to the nearest train station or smacking him upside the head.

“Y-you,” he gasped, cackling, tears springing to his eyes. “You thought you were pregnant, but you weren’t, so you went t-to Hil—”

“Er, Harry?” Y/N asked uncertainly as he wheezed, smacking his head against the headboard.

“Oh, God. You’re bloody amazing.”

“Um, thanks?”

This sends him off into another fit of giggles, peals of laughter echoing in their flat.

A few minutes were spent with her awkwardly sitting there, letting him have his moment, while he wheezed, and laughed himself something stupid. By the time it was causing him physical pain, he stopped, and Y/N nearly got whiplash from how quickly his eyes went from light and sparkling with mirth, to darkened jade jewels. She gulped.

“You have to do one thing to make it up to me,” he says huskily, fingers trailing down the thin packer’s jersey she was wearing, one of his own. They slipped under the material and she inhaled sharply once his hand was flat against her stomach, thumb brushing softly against her navel.

“What?” She asked softly. His lips were now at the shell of her ear.

“Tell me,” he whispered, tongue poking out slightly, warm against her skin, causing her to hum. He suddenly flipped her so she was lying underneath him, and she barely got a chance to fully interpret the devious look that overcame his mischievous green eyes, the smirk tugging amusedly at his lips before his fingers dug into her stomach and wiggled around.

He was tickling her.

“Tell me you want no one but me to impregnate you.”

“Harry!” She gasped, in between a fit of laughter. He simply bit into her shoulder, not not trying to suppress his own boyish grin, she could tell by the rumble of his chest he was laughing. His fingers continued to tickle her, and she spawned, laughed, and tried to break free, but he kept her pinned down.

“Yeh’ve got to say it!”

“I won’t,” she sang before collapsing into forced giggles, throat growing raw. He was relentless.

“Then I’ll keep going,” he sang back.

“Harry!”

“Y/N.”

“Fine!” She huffed, still letting out the odd chuckle, every now and then while the touch of his fingertips lingered. Unwilling to say it still, she paused, and he went back to tickling her. “Fine! I want no one but you to impregnate me!”

His fingers grew still, while his smirk only became larger. His green eyes twinkled teasingly.

“Oh, do you now?”

She sneakily slipped out of his hold, rolling a safe enough distance before putting on her most honest-to-God-above face and nodding affirmatively.

“Only you,” she bit back a smile, leaping out of bed and onto the cool hardwood. Already walking backwards with her front to him, who was laying inquisitively on the mattress, she finished:

“Well, you...and Timothee Chalamet.”

With this, she squealed at the expression on his face, first like a fish out of water, and then dangerous, and ran for her life. After counting for three seconds, giving her a headstart, Harry chortled and lifted himself from the bed; her name rolling off of his tongue threateningly while she giggled from the kitchen. With a smile so wide, it was positively ripping his face apart, he went after her.

MASTERLIST

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #IMAGINE HARRY CHASING AFTER YOU #harry styles imagines #one direction #I SMILED SO BIG WRITING THE END OF THIS LMAO #fun fact: one of my fave people on this site actually had this dream

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lesbianaglaya · 4 years

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Please elaborate on that The Idiot essay

Okay anon, ask and ye shall receive. Here is my manifesto on why I love The Idiot (1868-1869). Homoeroticism and me crying over Bakhtin under the cut.

Okay from here on out let me just warn you that there will be discussion of epilepsy, sexual abuse, violence against women, murder, and suicide. I never claimed it wasn’t a messed up story.

Let me start off by saying, this is not a good novel. It was written as a desperate cash grab by Dostoevsky after he and his wife Anna had had to move to Switzerland for financial reasons (they were rather continually in debt due to Dostoevsky’s gambling problem. In fact, they’d met when Fyodor hired Anna as a stenographer to help him write down The Gambler, the completion of which he’d bet all his rights to his published works on). The four separate parts are only loosely linked by narrative threads, things don’t follow the course you would expect from a work of literature, and the protagonist of the novel’s literal schtick is that he was supposed to be “a perfectly beautiful man”. Which, yeah, great in theory but in reality people don’t want perfect protagonists. The morals of the novel tend towards Dostoevsky’s own often troubling views of religion and morality, and it is a distinctly 19th century work.

And yet, it’s still one of my favourite things I’ve ever read. Not only are there some truly insane homoerotic moments in here, but there are some brilliant moments of play with narrative voice, society novel-esque shenanigans, questions about the nature of goodness and what that really means, and, of course, one really hot moment where a woman slaps a guy who’s being a dick in the face with a riding crop.

The loose plot of the novel is that Prince Lev Nikolaevich Myshkin, the eponymous idiot (and a holy fool, or as Dostoevsky once described him, “Prince Christ”), is returning to Russia from a period of many years in Switzerland being treated for epilepsy. On the train into Petersburg he meets Rogozhin, a young man who has just inherited an enormous fortune after the death of his father. They begin talking, and Rogozhin confides in Myshkin about his love for (read: obsession with) a girl known as Nastasya Filipovna. (This seems weird doesn’t it? Just confessing your major life problems to this weird guy sitting next to you on the train? Yea that’s just what people do around Myshkin). Upon arriving in Petersburg, Myshkin goes to meet with his distant relations, the Epanchins, to get to know them and form a family connection. The rest of the novel is these characters cycling through various love (?) plots, more random inheritances, people dying of consumption, going to stay in the country for a while Just Because, and other stereotypical 19th century novel things.

What makes it unique is that each character is their own person with their own thoughts, experiences and world views and the novel is these views interacting and clashing, or as Bakhtin puts it “a plurality of consciousness, with equal rights and each with its own world”. The characters are not there to help prove any thesis or idea; instead the thesis of the novel is how these characters differing views interact with each other. Myshkin is the lens of this, making it a picture of how each different character (or world view) reacts to his inherent goodness.

Of course, that’s all very... meta. Fun to discuss, but it doesn’t necessarily make the book fun to read. That’s where Nastasya Filipovna comes in.

Nastasya Filipovna, the girl that Rogoshin is “in love with” is a young woman who was born to nobility but orphaned and then sexually abused and turned into a concubine by her guardian Totsky. At the beginning of the novel she has escaped the control of Totsky and is in the incredibly tenuous situation of being provided an income from him for not completely destroying his reputation. A marriage has been arranged by Totsky (so that he won't have to worry about her any more) between her and this one asshole Ganya, but she has not agreed to it yet and has said she will announce her decision at her name day party.

At said name day party is where things get Crazy. She goes ham, mocking Ganya (who she knows hates her) for selling himself for the money promised in marrying her, verbally torturing Totsky, and generally saying fuck you to everyone while also tossing in a good amount of self hatred. Myshkin (whom she invited after meeting him once earlier that day for like five seconds seriously just role with it) declares quite earnestly that he thinks she is a good person and if she likes he’ll marry her amd also that he just inherited a fuck ton of money. Nastya is taken aback, and agrees to marry Myshkin. Then Rogozhin shows up (drunk, with the lads) and we find out Nastya has been planning all this. She tells Myshkin that she can’t actually marry him because he’s too innocent and she believes herself to be awful, and then asks Rogozhin for the money he promised her. Rogozhin hands over 100,000 rubles and Nastasya proceeds to toss them in the fire, tell Ganya that they’re his if he’ll reach in to get them out, and then leaves her own party with Rogozhin!!! I said this novel was batshit!!!!

Nastya through out the novel continues to be The Best Character, writing homoerotic letters to Aglaya Epanchina, who I FIRMLY choose to see as a lesbian, smoking cigars, and of course, upon hearing a man say of her “Here you simply need a whip, there’s no other way with this creature”, in return “she rushed to a young man completely unknown to her who was standing two steps away and holding a thin, braided riding crop, tore it out of his hand, and struck the offender accross the face as hard as she could”. Iconique. Of course, her story ends tragically but we’ll get into that later.

To quickly touch on Aglaya Epanchina, because I love her, she is one of the daughters of the Epanchin family, she and Myshkin almost get married, and she ends the novel by running off with a foreigner and becoming (horrified whisper) Catholic. Anyway she and Nastya have a brief but horribly gay dicourse where Nastya confesses her love (platonic of course. That is definitely how I, a lesbian, read this) for Aglaya and Aglaya refuses to believe her. Aglaya says she wants to marry Myshkin specifically because then she wouldn’t have to be a wife and a mother and could pursue what she wants and continue to learn. Also at one point Aglaya adopts a hedgehog. That’s Lesbianism Baybee. Her ending is supposed to be tragic but I choose to believe that her marriage is a lavender marriage and she and her gay husband are having wild fun around Europe. Let me have this.

Now for what you’ve all been waiting for — more homoeroticism.

Myshkin and Rogoshin’s dynamic is, like, fully insane. After their first meeting on the train, Rogozhin says to Myshkin “Prince, I don’t know why I’ve come to love you. . . . Come and see me, Prince. We’ll take those wretched gaiters off you; I’ll dress you in a top-notch marten coat; I’ll have the best of tailcoats made for you, a white waistcoat, or whatever you like; I’ll stuff your pockets with money”. Slow down lover boy you met this man five minutes ago and you’re already trying to sugar daddy him?? It only gets worse from here.

Part II of the novel picks up six months after the name day party. Rogozhin and Myshkin have in the intervening time “often happened to spend long hours together, and there had even been several moments during their meetings that had left an all too memorable imprint upon their hearts”. Yeah. It’s also said that Rogozhin is jealous of Myshkin maybe holding some of Nastya’s affection but like. It just reads a lot like Rogozhin is torn between Nastya and Myshkin, which he is in a way because being in love with friends with Myshkin and Nastya (lavender) marrying Myshkin (that’s not an exaggeration it’s basically out right stated that if Myshkin and Nastya married they would not have sex), would mean giving up the weird destructive obsession he and Nastya have with each other. This is supposed to imply coming to Jesus. I take it as accepting your homosexuality because Dostoevsky is dead and I can do what I want.

So Myshkin shows up at Rogozhin’s house and things are a bit awkward (Rogozhin has maybe been stalking Myshkin??) His “affectionate” smile is described “as if something had been broken, and try as he might, he was unable to glue it back together.” Anyway.

They begin actually talking and oh boy. I’ll just present these without comment.

“I’ve come to bring you peace, because you, too, are dear to me. I love you very much Parfyon. And now I’ll go and never come again. Farewell.” “‘Stay with me a little’ Parfyon said quietly, without getting up from his place and leaning his head on his right hand, ‘I haven’t seen you in a very long time.’”

“When you’re not in front of me, I feel spite for you Lev Nikolaevich. . . . Now you haven’t sat with me a quarter of an hour and all my spite is gone, and I love you like before. Stay with me a little . . .’”

“Nobody’s asking our opinion. It got decided without us. And we love differently too.”

“I didn’t want to come here! I wanted to forget everything here, tear it out of my heart!”

Not to mention the jealousy Rogozhin has for the perceived relationship between Myshkin and Nastya. Hmmmm. Anyway after all That, Rogozhin insists that he and Myshkin trade crosses, his golden one for Myshkin’s tin one.

And THEN Rogozhin proceeds to stop Myshkin from leaving again, and takes him to get his mother’s blessing, which is the same thing he did with Nastasya!!!!!! I feel insane.

After this Myshkin returns to his hotel but then Rogozhin follows him and um. Tries to stab him. With the knife that’s been built up as a phallic symbol through the whole novel. But then Myshkin falls into an epileptic fit and Rogozhin flees. Like this is deeply fucked up but What The Hell am I supposed to be thinking rn??

Anyway the next time they meet it’s in the countryside and Myshkin has fully forgiven him for the murder attempt. Indeed “struck by Rogozhin’s sudden appearance, the prince was unable to collect his thoughts for sometime, and a painful sensation rose again in his heart.”

Rogoshin has apparently not forgiven himself for trying to kill Myshkin, to which Myshkin responds “all that you went through that day I now know as well as I know my own self. What you were imagining did not and could not exist.” *jenny slate scream*

Myshkin proceeds to invite Rogozhin home with him, saying “I have some wine, we’ll drink wine, you must wish me something I myself don’t know how to wish for now, and it’s precisely you who must wish it, and I’ll wish you your fullest happiness. Or else give me back my cross! You didn’t even send it back to me the next day! You’re wearing it? Wearing it even now?” and THEN he says “I don’t want to meet my new life without you because my new life has begun! Don’t you know that my new life begins today?” and then they head home together.

Okay skipping over a bunch of stuff because 1) I havent read the novel in a year and while i know there’s more stuff in there I don’t know exactly where and I don’t want to be flipping pages for another hour and 2) this is already insanely long so. For context in the intervening time Rogozhin and Nastya do end up getting married (which everyone including the two of them kind of agree that it’s just a way for them both to kill each other/basically comit suicide. Fun!). So that’s exactly what happens, and Myshkin runs to their house, arriving too late and finding that Rogozhin has stabbed Nastya and she is dead. Thus ensues a scene that makes me so insane I cant... look here just take this:

“‘So let her lie here now, next to us, next to me and you...’

‘Yes, yes!’ the prince agreed warmly.”

And

“‘I’ll make up the bed and you can lie down... and I’ll lie down with you... and we’ll listen... because I don’t know yet man... I don’t know everything yet, man, so I’m telling you about it ahead of time, so you’ll know all about it ahead of time...’”

And

“But two people could not lie on the sofa, and he absolutely wanted to make up beds now side by side, and that way why, with great effort, he now dragged pillows of various sizesfrom both sofas all the way across the room, right up to the opening in the curtain. The bed got made up anyhow; he went over to the prince, took him tenderly and rapturously by the arm, got him to his feet, and led him to the bed”

And

“[Rogozhin was] laying the prince down on the left, better, pillows, himself on the right”

And

“‘What did you use? A knife? That same one?’

‘That same one’”

And

“The prince would reach out his trembling hand to him and quietly touch his head, his hair, stroke it and stroke his cheeks... there was nothing more he could do! . . . and pressed his face to the pale and motionless face of Rogozhin; tears flowed from his eyes onto Rogozhin’s cheeks”

And

“He quietly hastened to pass his trembling hand over his hair and cheeks, as if caressing and soothing him”

And then the cops show up and there’s a brief epilogue talking about how everything is terrible now and Myshkin goes back to Switzerland because he’s incoherent with grief. Insane.

So there’s also a lot in this novel about what is actually good, and how people react when confronted with goodness, etc. etc. but this is five pages in google docs and I need to. Stop. Anyway if you made it to the end cheers this novel is awful and insane and I love it. Dostoevsky do not interact I hate your crusty ass even if your prose makes me feel things.

#gabby.txt #mail #anon #the idiot #anyway sorry this took so long but ah. yeah.#i have a lot of Thoughts #literature #Anonymous

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