#<- prev absolutely

[lycheeleeches]

ON MY HANDS AND KNEES MAKE STONE GO INSANE FOR SONIC 4 PLEASE

[m-kyunie]

genie in a bottle by Christina Aguilera except its pharaoh in a puzzle

[taraxippos]

Related thing that annoys me is when a fantasy/other spec fiction story really wants to have an arc that's like "female protagonist defies crushing patriarchal norms to do [xyz]", and it falls on its face because the author doesn't really seem to understand how systemic oppression works and treats it as a few bad people doing bad things rather than something that is structured into a society, effects most aspects of said society, and is internalized to some extent by all members of the society. (Yes even the victims of this structure). (Yes even the nice people). (Yes even the people who love and care about your protagonist). (Yes even your protagonist).

So like you'll maybe have a stock despicable antagonist going like "A PATHETIC FRAIL WOMAN CANNOT POSSIBLY SUCCEED AT 'KNIGHT SCHOOL' ON HER OWN MERITS... UNLESS SHE IS PERHAPS A WITCH? KILL HER", and that's like. It. At most you get an antagonist Faction that's like that. No one you're supposed to Like has any misogynist elements to their thinking besides maybe cutesy 'ahhh I saw your ankles!' shit or the gentlest sort of 'I believe in you completely I'm only scared for your safety'. Much less seeing the effects of patriarchal thought solidly embodied in other aspects of the worldbuilding.

Like I'm not asking you to show a hate crime, but if you want to tackle a story about a STRUGGLE AGAINST OPPRESSION to begin with, maybe put in the work to show that your protagonist has something to struggle against besides a few bad actors and Vague Implications?

[nonna-carmela]

anyways... Patti in a Mamet play with dykey hair and mommy issues

[lovesickeros]

☆ from gold, i am undone

{☆} characters tsaritsa {☆} notes cult au, yandere, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood, implied self harm, implied suicide attempts {☆} word count 0.9k

You weren't meant to be here.

You can feel it in the marrow of your bones– it weighs you down like heavy shackles, gold bleeding from your pores until it is all you know. The taste of ichor on your tongue, the warmth of its invasion beneath your skin, that gleam of gold that lingers in the color of your eyes like specks of dust.

You are changed, and you are whole.

But you are so unbearably broken.

A shattered piece of porcelain hastily put back together with gold to fill the cracks.

Decoration, in the end, for you are not fit to walk as "mortals" do. This gold had filled every empty crevice of your body, spilled the red into your frantic hands and made you bleed so it's callous gold could make room inside your body. It has taken from you many things, given many more, but you scratch and bite and tear until it drips onto the floor and even then it never leaves. It stains the floor no matter how hard you scrub– a permanent reminder of the sickening gold that molds you into something that used to look like you– that does look like you. Desecrated, yet so horribly divine.

All you see is a monster.

Something new, something old.

A hollowed out shell, wounds left to rot and fester until you suited the image of the Creator they bore upon statues and murals, the Creator worshiped in prayers spoken in hushed whispers and joyous chants praising your magnificence.

But what magnificence is there in detachment? What joy is there to be found in carving a God out of a human? They kneel like lambs before the shepherd, but the flock has made you– and you want to unmake them. Unweave the tapestry of their being stitch by stitch until it all falls apart and the world knows the cost of casting molten gold into the shape of a human, knows the price that has been left unpaid.

You want to take it from them. Watch them squabble and pray, blind sheep stepping into the wolf's open maw– to tear the seams of their being until the world is unwound by your heavy hands.

But you know it will not satisfy you.

Nothing does anymore.

You are no wolf. Only the shepherd who guides.

And with every drop of blood spilled, they ripped the humanity from your very bones until your body was the cast in which they made something anew– something gold, something horrific. A monster as much a God, a beast as much a man.

There is nothing left but absolute authority.

You try again and again to mend this act of desecration, to peel back the outer shell and rend the gold from your marrow– but your body cannot, will not, die. It mends itself back into place no matter how damaged, and all you feel is the uncomfortable tug of your body forcing itself to live. You cannot die, but were you ever truly alive at all?

Yet with every cycle, you know only one constant besides the thrum of golden ichor in your veins– cold.

Ice that burns, ice that spreads and festers and devours. Claws that pull you apart until the gold runs thick, teeth that burrow into your bones and rip it out from the source..eyes that witness the fall of a God with reverence– hungering, all consuming reverence.

You welcome it.

It is the first time you felt pain since you were cast into an image of a being you were not meant to be. The sting of cold upon your skin makes you shiver, your body tries to reject it, but you want to welcome it– for a brief moment that lasts only as long as it takes for you to blink, you see the glint of something familiar in the reflection of her empty eyes. Something achingly, horribly familiar– something human, all the more terrifying for it.

Even when Teyvat itself crumples like paper beneath the weight of her sins – of this desecration anew, this wretched heresy – you allow her hands to do it again. You grasp her hands in yours like chains, willing her to shackle you, willing her to pull you apart and make you whole again. To break you until the gold cannot put you back together again.

You long, each time, for those eyes like spears that lodge into your skin– burrow deep and sting deeper, making gold flow like water. You long for the biting tongue, the cutting words and those teeth like weapons– long to see the spite and anger and impure disgust aimed at the woman of silver who leads you down a hall that ends only in damnation. You follow each time like the lamb led astray by the wolf, but you do not wail in betrayal when she sinks her teeth into your throat and devours you whole.

For is it a sin if you welcome it? Has their God sinned, in the eyes of the flock, for welcoming such heresy with open arms? For allowing the wolf into their home?

Is it a sin to be broken beneath the only hands that have loved you?

Is it a sin to want to love, too, those hands and teeth stained in gold?

Then you shall be damned, you swear it. Damned, but gold no more.

For death is the closest you have ever felt to being human.

[ingravinoveritas]

That picture of Michael and Tom Hardy...

So I just had to share some more thoughts regarding this picture of Michael and Tom Hardy from the Oliviers in 2004, because there is so much happening here...

This was right after Michael and Kate had broken up, and he was quoted at the time as saying that he was back into dating. I keep thinking about the "and friend" description for Tom Hardy on Getty Images and how that phrase is doing all kinds of work. Given the closeness and the pull between them in this pic, "friend" feels about one step away from "business associate" here, as both terms (and other similar ones) have historically served as coded euphemisms for a same-sex relationship.

What I really love is how much this flies in the face of the "Michael's never publicly been with a man" argument that's been used to dismiss and erase his bisexuality. I know some might say that they didn't "label" whatever this was, so how could you say that they were together...but that's kind of the entire point. That Michael didn't think twice about showing up to an event with a man or how it would look and just let whatever...this was be what it was.

It also speaks to the (what should be common knowledge, but somehow isn't) idea that "official" public relationships listed on Wikipedia are not the only ones that a person has or can have. Those relationships/situationships/FWBs/hookups/whatever you want to call them can happen at any point in time, whether we know about them or not. And when you factor in Michael repeatedly talking about his attractions to men and Tom saying that "I'm actor, of course I have" in reference to having sex with men, it further augments the possibility that something could have happened between them.

As I said in my previous post, I have no idea how I didn't stumble across this picture before now, but I just find it so endlessly intriguing. I'd love to hear what other folks think, though, so feel free to chime in...

[changdol]

Haknyeon ❤️ DAZED Behind

[togetherness23]

btw, doxxing is a serious action to resort to for someone. maybe DONT do that for an art reposter.

some of y’all need to reevaluate acting upon things bc it’s morally right or whether it’s legally right. just because you won’t get in trouble with the law doesn’t mean you’re not crossing lines

if you’re a bystander, please don’t go looking for that evidence. if you care abt internet safety (as w/the whole nirmal usernames list situation), kindly don’t pry out of decency

[ahamkara-apologist]

havent had time to watch the stream bc i lack the brain sauce for it but that fucker in glasses. why does he look like a white jake english.

[marius-ponting-that-mercy]

i think the scene where hickey is initially trying to get hodge to agree with his plans is kind of interesting. he's actively trying to make it seem like crozier's choices as captain aren't good for the men as a whole, while simultaneously proposing a solution that only benefits a handful of the men

plus, i think it's also interesting that hickey is trying to make it seem like following his plan will end in anything different/better than crozier's. if they find game, it won't be enough to sustain anyone for very long. it'll only really be enough to keep a couple men alive long enough that they'll be able to die by each other's hands rather than by their own stomachs

it also almost feels like, at least to me, that hickey is subtly trying to propose a "survival of the fittest" solution, while not really realizing (or wanting to acknowledge) the fact that he is not the "fittest" to survive. he doesn't understand nor have a place in the nature of the arctic (nor does he seem to have that back in england), and that comes back to be his eventual, final downfall. even if he was able to manipulate some of the situation to his advantage, manipulation is not equivalent to adaptation. "you can be whatever you need to be now" is what he says to hodge, but i honestly think that he's saying that to himself. he's become someone else, and that's worked well enough for him so far, so his logic is that it'll keep working for him. he believes that he can become the person who survives, who holds the power

last little part of this post- in the scene just after, where they're out in the hunting party, i think it's interesting that the camera is on hickey when hodge is talking about the origin of the word "diet". someone's diet is their way of life, and when it comes to hickey, his way of life could very well be described as cannibalistic. he eats people for all they can give him and he tosses aside the remains once the bones have been picked clean. once there's no more use in keeping up the false identity of a man he killed and replaced, he tosses aside that name and life and moves onto what he thinks will be his next meal.

[muirneach]

you get far enough into tennis and you start thinking real hard about random coaches. and that’s how you know you’re gone

[stellewriites]

no thoughts, just grabbing butch!soap by her stupid little haircut (affectionate) and tugging on it casually 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

it doesn’t matter where you are or what you’re doing, if you give her a little playful yank, close to the root so it bites, she’s on you like white on rice

her hands are suddenly tugging at your shirt, pawing at your jeans even as you slap them away; her eyes are unseeing with how glazed over they’ve gone, almost staring through your tits but with the way she licks her lips you know she’s just concentrating; she’s rutting against your hip like an excited dog and she pants in your ear, begging you to let her have ye,

“i know ye want it as bad as i do, bonnie, please. ah’ll make it so good f’ya, ah know you did it on purpose.”

[skellyjingles]

even when it’s not in a shippy context, I still draw Jax and Ragatha a lot. they’re my favorite characters for a reason.

[bottle-of-allay]

Xb! He's got a discord status that's "I'm so good at this game!" and i say that both ironically and when i make a difficult parkour jump

[blackwaves]

okay i lied i am insufferable and refuse to shut up the post abt how i contradict myself constantly is about romance in media. anyway: prev me's takes on romantic+platonic dynamics were flawed btw it can instead be boiled down to

i dislike lazy writing in terms of preset and "acceptable" rship dynamics. there are so many things outside of that & overlapping in that.

i am unconvinced by shipping in-fandom that rearranges a character's pre-existing priorities in favor of saying. these two characters feel romantic things about each other hence this is what matters the most; i think both that romance does not automatically do that and that you have to show your work in how you modify from canon. & i resent the stripping away of (perceived-to-be-)romantic subtext from other character dynamics in favor of it.

i have a disease in my brain that makes me calculate which characters would be ideal outsiderpovs for each other and it's frustrating when people make them be nice + communicate openly about it. they would not be friends; they would look at each other and feel reluctant understanding.

i like it when characters have teeth 🥰

[its-all-papaya]

wrote 800 words of dad lando in 45 minutes ! first meaningful progress on her in forever ! amazing what you can do when you set aside purposeful writing time at the end of your night instead of staring half-assedly at the document all evening while also feeling guilty for not accomplishing the tasks you're meant to be completing. wow ! my brain !