#The book is 20 years old

[veronicaneptunes]

A long time ago, we used to be friends... The Veronica Mars pilot aired 20 years ago today- on the 22nd of September, 2004.

[communistkenobi]

While queer studies remains the most hospitable place to undertake transgender work, all too often queer remains a code word for “gay” or “lesbian,” and all too often transgender phenomena are misapprehended through a lens that privileges sexual orientation and sexual identity as the primary means of differing from heteronormativity.

Most disturbingly, “transgender” increasingly functions as the site in which to contain all gender trouble, thereby helping secure both homosexuality and heterosexuality as stable and normative categories of personhood. This has damaging, isolative political correlaries. It is the same developmental logic that transformed an antiassimilationist “queer” politics into a more palatable LGBT civil rights movement, with T reduced to merely another (easily detached) genre of sexual identity rather than perceived, like race or class, as something that cuts across existing sexualities, revealing in often unexpected ways the means through which all identities achieve their specificities.

The field of transgender studies has taken shape over the past decade in the shadow of queer theory. Sometimes it has claimed its place in the queer family and offered an in-house critique, and sometimes it has angrily spurned its lineage and set out to make a home of its own. Either way, transgender studies is following its own trajectory and has the potential to address emerging problems in the critical study of gender and sexuality, identity, embodiment, and desire in ways that gay, lesbian, and queer studies have not always successfully managed. This seems particularly true of the ways that transgender studies resonate with disability studies and intersex studies, two other critical enterprises that investigate atypical forms of embodiment and subjectivity that do not readily reduce to heteronormativity, yet that largely fall outside the analytic framework of sexual identity that so dominates queer theory.

— Transgender Studies: Queer Theory's Evil Twin by Susan Stryker (2004)

[dansemacabre]

decoded a stan twins “fun” fact from book of bill below the cut. SPOILERZ

if you assign the bros secret code to a thru z in order (see figure 1):

then you can decode what ford writes in the journal when he’s thinking about calling stanley (see figure 2, already decoded)

this is devastating right? this is bad and evil and makes you want to curl up and weep? because he misses his brother so dearly and it’s really tragic that they’ve been so angry with each other for so long? Well it gets worse

there’s a bit in the end where stanley cussed out bill. i recognized the code and Chat i wanted this word to be fuck so badly you had no idea. i would’ve been happy with a bullshit. but INSTEAD it’s SAD AND DISMAL.

assuming that ! is y (since it’s not legible from the photo) it says LOVE YA BRO. SHUT THE FUCK UP.

this hurts right? this too is bad? because now you’ve let The Implications sink in. because The Implications are that over decades and decades of hating each other and missing each other and Being Complicated both stanley and stanford REMEMBERED the secret code they made together at 12.

and then you go, duh! stanley got his memory wiped. stanford must have RETAUGHT HIM THE BROS SECRET CODE. WHICH IS ALMOST SADDER AND SWEETER.

DUDE. DUDEEEEEE

they are so brothers. this made me really abnormal. if u can’t tell

[moonsnqil]

tell me i'm not the only one who regularly has this thought

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

"I'm packing for a trip," I say, "gotta sort out my priorities, limited baggage..."

*proceeds to contemplate how few clothes i can live with in order to pack as many books as possible*

[dolls-self-ships]

lazy morning doodles

[toasts-httyd-hyperfixation]

Love that with the way its set up, Snotlout is anwhere from barely 3 to almost 5 years older than Hiccup

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 142

Prince Geralt is the second of three sons born to King Vesemir. Court... Isn't his thing. Court isn't really any of the three boys' things. Eskel was certainly polite enough for it, but many thought him too intimidating looking to even approach. Geralt detested the finery and the clothing that made him look like a sad silk trader. Lambert nearly killed a woman with a heart attack the last time he was in court and opened his mouth to speak. Geralt doesn't like court, or meetings, or what-have-you. He much prefers riding his favorite mare, Roach, into the nearby woodland. Whether they'd just go for a trot, or hunt something, or swim in a creek was a choice he usually made up on the spot. One afternoon however, as he dismounts from his trusty steed, he hears a noise on the wind. A rather lovely one, at that. It's singing. Someone's singing, and they've the voice of an angel. Geralt freezes in place for multiple minutes, too engrossed in just listening. Geralt glances around, attempting to make sense of which direction it's coming from. He doesn't even tie up Roach before he sprints off in the direction of the singing. He doesn't know what he'll do. Applaud? Say 'thank you, that was great'? Faint? But he does want to get closer. Just the slightest bit, so he can hear the singing better. After a moment or two of trompsing through the underbrush, however, the singing stops. Geralt loses all traces of the voice, and is left to return to his horse, stood where he left her, in disappointment. He tells his brother of the encounter, tells them to try hearing the voice in the woods. Lambert warns him it might be a troll in disguise, and Eskel gets so caught up correcting Lambert's thoughts on trolls that Geralt can't even gush about the voice any more, and returns to his room, eager to set out to the forest as soon as he can.

It's been two weeks, and Geralt is saddened by the voice's disappearance. It was a once-in-a-lifetime blessing he'd just have to hold onto. Even as he hears the voice in his thoughts and dreams every night. It's not the same. Not the real thing. Geralt is being moody about all of this as he lays on his back, floating in a small pond. Roach is there, on the shore, occasionally bending her neck down and taking a sip. He tried to invite her in to swim with him, at least get her feet wet, but she'd harshly declined, giving him a little nip on his arm. And then, he hears it. The voice. The singing. Geralt is so shocked, he flails in the water, and inhales some. Geralt rushes to the shore, hacking like a cat about to present it's owner with a hairball, and rushing to put all his clothes back on. As soon as he's fully dressed, the voice has stopped. He hadn't even had the time to try and seek them out again! He kicks the dirt, and sits down to pout next to his horse. Despite the failure, he was overjoyed when he revealed the news to his brothers. "My siren is back!" He said with a grin. Eskel loved when Geralt grinned, he didn't do it nearly enough any more. Not since they were all children. "I was in the pond when-" "Can't be a siren if you were in the water and they weren't." Lambert points out, mouth full of food. "I know they're not really a siren, that's just what I call them!" "Why is that?" Eskel inquires, raising an eyebrow. "Every time they sing, I- I feel as if I'm bespelled." Geralt whispers with awe, his eyes sparkling. Lambert begins chortling as loud as possible. "Prettyboy is whipped over a VOICE!" "You would be too, if you could hear them!" Geralt argued, just before a servant came in to alert them all that it was getting rather late, and their father requested them all in bed.

Another few weeks go by without his siren, but Geralt knows they must still be out there. They're just biding their time before they enchant him again. Geralt is home after a long day of messing around in the woods hoping to hear them. He's stood on his balcony, looking out toward the forest, sighing. It's just as he's about to walk back inside when he hears it... Ever so quiet, ever so soft, in the distance, coming from the woods. His siren. He freezes, and listens for a moment, before shaking his head. He slams his door open and races down the hall, only to run straight into Eskel. "Geralt? What's wrong?" "My siren! They're singing! I have to go to the woods!" "Geralt, it's the middle of the night-" Eskel worries. "You haven't found them yet, but you think you can find them now?" Lambert pipes up from the room farther down the hall, rubbing his eyes, evidently annoyed he was awoken by his brother's urgency. "I have to try." is all Geralt tells them, as he pushes past Eskel and continues down the hall. After a few minutes, both Lambert and Eskel are out on their own balconies, hearing nothing but the ambient sounds of night. "He's gone fuckin' batty!" Lambert shouts over to Eskel's balcony. "SHUSH! You'll wake father!" Eskel hisses back. Geralt came back that next morning, disappointed, and no closer to finding the mysterious vocalist.

Two entire months pass, and Geralt is distraught. It's beginning to feel like his siren is really gone for good this time. "Smiiiile, it's a happy day for you." Eskel lovingly reminds Geralt. They're all sat on their thrones, awaiting nobility and gentry to pass by and give Geralt gifts, for it was his birthday. All Geralt wanted for his birthday was to hear from the siren again, but even if his siren came back, he wasn't in the woods to hear them anyhow. "The Pankratz family!" A servant loudly introduces, snapping Geralt out of his thoughts. They looked the same as every other noble family did, though there was an exception. A boy around Geralt's age was the first to give Geralt an actual, genuine smile. "We are delighted to present you with our gift, it's a-" "I have a gift for the prince, too!" The boy interrupts his father, taking a step closer. "Julian!" The mother hisses. "It's a song." "Julian, don't embarrass us like this." The father snarls. Geralt holds up a hand. "...I'd like to hear it." The boy, who was quite handsome in retrospect, races to their bags and finds a lute he smuggled along. He steps in front of his family, looks into Geralt's eyes, and begins to sing. Geralt freezes. Eskel glances between the viscount and his brother, who was seemingly in a trance. Eskel was at first worried about the way his mouth parted a bit in shock as he realized what was happening, but then he looked to see Lambert was gaping like he was physically incapable of shutting his mouth... Which... It being Lambert, was actually quite possible. When the boy finishes, everyone politely claps, except for Geralt, still staring in awe. The boy flushes and fidgets in place. "..I cannot accept this song as a gift." Geralt says. "We're so, so, so dreadfully sorry about Julian, your highness-" Geralt shuts the man up with a wave of his hand, still staring at the musician who captured his heart. "I would rather my gift from your family to be your son." The Pankratz all gasp and gawk, as Julian's eyes widen. King Vesemir leans over and whispers "What the hell are you doing, boy?" "I would like to give him the official position as court bard, and I'd like to hear him sing again. Every day, if I can." Geralt explains. "Your highness, we simply can't just give away our dearest son-" "I'll do it!" "Julian-!" "I'd love to be the court bard, Prince Geralt!" Julian crows, bouncing up and down in delight. "...Then it shall be." King Vesemir said, giving a confused glance to Eskel. Eskel and Lambert are alone that night. Geralt was busy being serenaded, they assumed. "So. Geralt found his siren." Eskel says softly. "I really thought he was just nuts." Lambert snorts. "Apparently not." "..." "..." "..." "..." "Wanna bet on how long it takes until they start fucking?" "You know it."

[straightedgesavior434]

Elphaba’s train of thought during Popular:

*This white woman is doing Sabrina Carpenter things to me*

[francy-sketches]

I ❤️ thinking about joffreymargaery failmarriage but it’s almost always w the show version *crowd boos* bc it’s more fun to imagine adults in a toxic relationship like book version is just

[exactly-another-one-piece-blog]

Love the press’s dedication to discussing Charithra Chandran’s casting as “Miss Wednesday” like yes there are actually people out there who will be experiencing this global phenomenon’s story for the first time and they deserve to have it’s twists and turns preserved

[books-coffee-and-the-woods]

Currently Reading: Wild Magic by Tamora Pierce!

This book (and the sequel Wolf Speaker) were 10th birthday presents from my aunt. I remember thinking the cover looked sooooo cool and "adult" and being really excited and intimidated by them. I think at the time they were also some of the longest books I'd read yet 😅 They've been dropped in the tub, dragged around in every backpack and purse and suitcase, battered, thrown, squished, ripped, and survived several moves and questionable bookshelf situations. Twenty years with a less-than-reverent human. Still one of my favourite series 🐎

[doloneia]

i love telemachus to bits but we gotta stop with the idea that he’s “wholesome” and a mama’s boy, that guy is like 2 youtube shorts away from falling down the alt right pipeline

[rosekasa]

do you ever look at pics of yourself from 12 years ago compared to now and feel oddly emotional

[sarcastic-clapping]

some of the fancasts i see for gabrielle de lioncourt on this website…staring hard at some of you. looking some of you deeply in the eye in a way that communicates disgust and disappointment. why are you afraid of women over 50. answer me.

[wonder-worker]

I've been thinking about the tragedy of Elizabeth Woodville living to see the end of her family name.

I don't mean her family with her husband, which lived on through her daughter and grandson. I mean her own.

Her sisters died, one by one, many of them after 1485. When Elizabeth died, only Katherine was left, and she would die before the turn of the century as well.

All her brothers died, too. Lewis died in childhood. John was executed. Anthony was murdered. Lionel died suddenly in the peak of Richard's reign, unable to see his niece become queen. Edward perished at war. Richard died in grieving peace. For all the violence and judgement the family endured, it was "an accident of biology" that ended their line: none of the brothers left heirs, and the Woodville name was extinguished. We know the family was aware of this. We know they mourned it, too:

“Buy a bell to be a tenor at Grafton to the bells now there, for a remembrance of the last of my blood.”

Elizabeth lived through the deposition and death of her young sons, and lived to see the end of her own family name. It must have been such a haunting loss, on both sides.