#There was a time where I used to hate it

[tetheredfeathers]

Macbeth and Snow as parallels (a comparative analysis on ambitious protagonists)

Collins is no stranger to Shakespearean references, whether through character names or the deeper parallels that emerge between her characters and those in Shakespeare's plays. This is especially evident in the striking similarities between Coriolanus Snow in The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes and the main characters in Macbeth, where their ambition ultimately leads to their downfalls.

At the outset, both protagonists show potential. Macbeth begins with a relatively clean slate, while Snow is (debatably) portrayed as a morally grey character. Snow's narcissistic tendencies surface early on, as seen in his disdain for everyone around him and his deep-seated resentment of his own poverty. He believes he is entitled to wealth and power, much like Sejanus. Snow's entitlement is also evident in his condemnation of Tigris when she implies that she might have sold her body to feed their family. He begins to harbor skeptical feelings about her. Though Snow’s selfish and narcissistic tendencies are apparent from the beginning, they remain largely internalized, leaving his true nature ambiguous.

Macbeth and Snow heavily parallel each other at the beginning of their reign.They both encounter a major turning point—a moment of epiphany where they become so entangled in bloodshed that there is no return. For Snow, this moment occurs when he kills the tribute, Bobbin. Although the act is driven by desperation and survival, the way he kills is undeniably cruel. Snow chooses to brutally murder Bobbin even after the tribute is incapacitated and poses no real threat. This shift changes Snow's motivation from self-defence to pure hatred, reflecting his view of the districts as barbaric and savage. Similarly, Macbeth’s major turning point comes in Act I, Scene VII, during his soliloquy when he resolves to kill King Duncan. This decision marks the beginning of his irreversible descent into bloodshed and tyranny. This leads us to a common thread among literary antagonists: their ambition often ignites in a crucial moment of life, where they feel wronged or misunderstood.

So, we ask ourselves now, why is that one scene so crucial, and if it is, who is to blame—the circumstances or the person themselves? In other words, nature vs. nurture. Were Snow and Macbeth simply victims of their environments, or did they always harbour the potential for such destruction?

As we have already established, Snow exposes his corrupt disposition early in the book. He is willing to destroy, use, and manipulate anyone standing in his way, which is heavily focused on in his internal monologue. Each minute action is calculated and executed accordingly. In the scene where a tribute kills Lavinia, Snow's response is a striking reflection of his character. Instead of reacting with immediate panic or concern for Lavinia’s well-being, Snow remains unnervingly composed. His first instinct is not to help or comfort the person in distress but to deliberate on how his actions might affect his public image. As Lavinia's body writhes, Snow’s focus is on the potential repercussions of the situation rather than the immediate human tragedy unfolding before him. Snow’s pragmatic, calculated nature is evident right here.

Similarly, Macbeth’s nature is inherently ambitious, which is hinted at through the witches' prophecy that eventually drives him to regicide: "I have no spur to prick the sides of my intent, but only vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself and falls on the other." (Act 1, Scene 7) However, an observation can be made: Macbeth’s actions are only executed after being persuaded by Lady Macbeth. At the very beginning, Macbeth is constantly unsure of his actions and needs to be swayed by external forces. So how much of Macbeth’s nature can we hold accountable?

We see at the beginning that the witches are the ones who plant the seed of ambition in his mind. Even more so, Macbeth’s initial reaction to the prophecy is curiosity; it is the witches who nudge him down that path, which he might have otherwise not taken. Another critical factor is Lady Macbeth’s manipulation; her relentless questioning of his masculinity pushes him toward the edge. It can be said that Macbeth is more of a victim of external forces. It is also plausible to say that Macbeth’s initial ambition might have remained unchecked, and thus would not have committed regicide.

Naturally, we ask ourselves the following question: Was Snow a victim of nurture? Snow makes it very clear from the beginning that he is not here to play the game, but to control it. Despite the cutthroat politics in the Capitol, Snow finds a way to be cultivated by his environment instead of being exploited. Take Snow’s relationship with Doctor Gaul—time and time again, he goes out of his way to obey Dr. Gaul, to the point where he submits his best friend to her. He is not a victim but a willing student. In contrast to Macbeth, Snow lacks guilt and shows little to no moral conflict in his decisions. And hence, being devoid of guilt and hesitation makes Snow not a victim of his nurture but a product of it.

Circling back to the topic of guilt—we find ourselves in the position to ask whether Macbeth’s guilt is his greatest weakness. Macbeth’s guilt and paranoia begin immediately after his murder of King Duncan. He is plagued with insomnia and hallucinations as his guilt manifests, and he descends into madness. As his paranoia and guilt fester, he begins to act out of fear rather than necessity. His ability to think straight and calculate his actions completely erodes by this point. Macbeth certainly does not achieve that prosperous reign, but his guilt is one aspect that humanizes him and allows the audience to relate to him.

But what of Snow—was his lack of guilt and empathy his greatest strength? Snow certainly reigned for a long, prosperous period—longer than Macbeth could, that’s for sure. What was it that upheld him for so long? What did he possess that no other antagonist before him had? The answer to all our questions rests in one quote: “You take your own humanity out of the equation. And then you’re free to do whatever’s necessary. It’s the only way to be safe.” This is it—Snow’s dire philosophy encapsulated in one line. Snow completely rejects the idea of humanity; notice he uses the word "free." It is almost as if Snow views humanity as a burden, something that is tying him down, from which he wants to be freed. So, is rejecting humanity the only way to achieve such a long rule? Is it really a strength?

While we can certainly say Snow avails a longer rule than anyone that came before him, Snow’s lack of guilt and empathy is a double-edged sword. It most certainly helps him make swift, calculated decisions without bringing his victims' emotions into the equation, but it ultimately destroys him in the end. It is his incapability of understanding Peeta and Katniss’ effect that annihilates his rule. “Hope is the only thing stronger than fear. A little hope is effective; a lot of hope is dangerous.” Snow recognizing hope is accurate, yet it is his lack of empathy that blinds him from seeing the uncontrollable aspect of hope. His approach to overcoming hope is to manage it—notice I use the word "manage." His perception of hope is in a very technical manner, just like we see in The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes. Snow is prone to formulating plans, and thus, he uses this approach on Katniss as if she is just a step along his plan. But his failure to truly understand the power of hope is what leads him to make decisions that only spark the rebellion even more.

In conclusion, ambition is a powerful force in shaping the paths of literary antagonists like Snow and Macbeth. While their environments certainly played a role in nurturing their darker tendencies, it is their inherent ambition and how they choose to wield it that seals their fates. Macbeth's guilt humanizes him, making him a somewhat tragic figure who is ultimately consumed by his ambition. Snow, on the other hand, thrives by rejecting humanity altogether, but this very rejection blinds him to the power of hope, leading to his eventual downfall. Both characters remind us that unchecked ambition, whether fuelled by internal desires or external influences, can lead to self-destruction.

[infernal-lamb]

The Lamb Slaying Death Incarnate

(Part of a larger comic....but I sort of like this panel a lot on its own!)

[silvermoon424]

https://x.com/SkylerforNY/status/1868725620777345519

^^^ I hate billionaires so damn much.

We DESPERATELY need to start educating Americans on the difference between for-profit businesses and government public services, I'm so fucking serious. The government should not be run like a business!!!

It's actually vile how the USPS- one of the few government services that's actually good- is constantly under attack by Republicans and their billionaire overlords and mouthbreathing conservative voters justify it because "well, the USPS loses a lot of money." You know what burns tons of money for a way worse outcome than the USPS? The fucking US military, but you never catch these bootlickers arguing that we should drop fewer bombs on brown people overseas.

[clairedaring]

He was your first love, but you are my first love. Since I was born, I've never felt affection for anyone, until I met you.

THE EMPRESS OF AYODHAYA (2024) dir. Sant Srikaewlaw

[cowboylikeghost]

As a neurodivergent arospec you're either very oblivious to people having crushes on you or are cursed with the hyper awareness to people liking you in a way you DON'T want them too

[kurthummeldeservesbetter]

I feel like something that should have been explored more in Arcane is that despite the dangers and pretty much horrific conditions, Zaun children seemingly grow up a lot more caring and have a larger understanding of family in comparison to Piltover children. And if such a reflection of the real world in a sense.

The kids of Zaun seemingly grow up with a lot more adult support. Ekko is easily welcomed under Benzo’s wings. Vander adopts 4 kids (two of which we learn he knew of before their parents death, two of which we can’t be sure of). Silco, despite all what happened, and his ulterior motives, shows no problem adopting Powder/Jinx. In the alternate universe it seems as though he’s still played a part in the kids lives. Jinx adopts Isha easily and Sevika cares for her as well. Hell, even Mr. War Crimes Against Humanity does well with little Viktor (until ya know, the animal abuse).

Hell, up until Vander dies (the first time) there seems to be a large understanding of if there’s an orphan or a kid in need of guidance, take them in! (And certainly don’t inform them of your plans to turn a giant pink salamander into drugs and be confused when a nine year old doesn’t understand). If a kid wants to be your apprentice, let them! For the most part, until things all went wrong in the end of act 1 of season 1, the worst parts of Zaun seem pretty typical for any city in poverty.

Match that with what we see with how Caitlyn and Jayce grow up. Caitlyn is given adult support, yes, and it’s clearly a good adult mentor, but it’s not entirely by her choice. It’s been chosen for her. She’s safe, but there’s a lack of freedom of choice. Meanwhile, when Jayce gets older, and that same accident in Act 1 happens, the family that supported him and his mom turns their backs. His own mom doesn’t support him either, because she’s afraid of what he’s talking about, but also because he’s damming them to being outcasts.

Conversely, Vander is more than willing to take the fall for what Claggor, Milo, Vi and Powder did. He’s willing to go to prison for a long time, in order for them to have a better future. Despite Vi’s best efforts, he’s not going to listen to her (she is just a kid) and he’s not letting his family go down and get hurt.

Meanwhile, a man who grew up in this mentality, where there’s a wide sense of family support from people who aren’t your biological family, is the one to go to Jayce, a stranger, and tells him he believes in him. It’s why it’s such a shock to Jayce; his own family and family friends denied him. They didn’t support him.

I think that’s what makes all the difference. Piltover and Zaun have wildly different understandings of family and forgiveness. For Piltover, it shuns and damns the lives of those who upset the balance. For Zaun, it provides safety and never ending understanding.

Just. I’m thinking.

[wandixx]

Danny, the Young Justice member snippet nr 2

these snippets aren't connected in anyway but just some little scenes I came up with, everyone is welcome to build up on them if they want to

Trigger warning: death mentioned, self-harm mentioned, idk, Danny gets flashback to portal incident

unrelated snippet nr 1, unrelated snippet nr 3 (?)

Out, out, out.

He tripped over his own legs and almost fell and it didn’t matter because he needed to get out. 

Away, away, away. 

He wasn’t sure if he ran or flew or dragged himself on the rough floor but he had to get away. His back hit a wall and he couldn’t get past it, intangibility just out of his grasp.

He logically knew that Zeta Tube wasn't the same as the portal but it was similar. So deadly similar.

He wasn’t sure when his own, corps-like, trembling with rigor mortis cold hands started rubbing his arms. He also wasn’t sure whether it was to comfort himself in this lonely self-hug or to try to rub hard enough that the hazmat and skin underneath would be torn, allowing him to see his own, red blood running in his veins. It was still red, right? It was still red, right? Of course it was still running, why wouldn’t it?

His knees gave up. He fell to the ground with quiet reverbatting thump, his eyes fixated on danger at the other side of the large room. He had to get further away but he couldn’t.

Because he was dying again.

Eyes full of tears and terror were jumping around, unable to see the room around him. Why couldn’t he see anything? Why were there only splashes of various colors, all contrasting with a light gray background. Were these people? Colors were moving, that seemed likely. Ghosts?! He had to get ready if these were ghosts he needed to fight them. People could be in danger and he couldn’t even stand without support. He started it, he had to take care of it, no matter how he felt right now.

His normally overly, unnaturally sensitive ears were filled with constant electric buzz from still active Zeta Tubes.

He was quite sure someone was yelling something but no matter what, Danny couldn’t understand what was being said. He tried looking around again but his teary eyes still failed him. There were no red stains though. Not in the right shade at least. No one was bleeding. It was okay for now.

Was it really? He hadn’t bled when he was dying had his accident though. It was all inside him, the crushing hollowness inside him and infinite outside pressure making his body implode. Ectoplasm bubbling in his mouth, throat, stomach and fingers, silencing his scream of agony and destroying his muscles. His limbs were limp and tense, twitching like a broken light bulb, out of his control but not out of his senses. It was so cold that it bit his bones and so hot that his skin was melting. There were screams so loud that it could shatter glass, as if every inhabitant of the Ghost Zone wanted to be heard and absolute suffocating silence. He was alone like nobody ever was and stuck in a stifling crowd that could stomp him to death any second. It was all contrasting, impossible but happening, existing together. He lived died it.

It was impossible, just like him.

There were others, they could help while Danny got himself together.

They couldn’t help if it was a ghost. He had to calm down and get ready to fight.

He couldn’t.

It was all happening again.

He was dying again.

It hurt to even think about.

Would it at least kill him for good?

Air he hadn’t needed before, not since his first death he always needed, like all functioning, alive human beings, got stuck in his lungs. He was gasping for it, choking on it. There was something stuck in his throat. SOme part of his brain that wasn’t screaming in agony and panic and loneliness had considered tearing his neck open just to get whatever was stuck swallowing but it didn’t help. 

He rubbed his arms harder. His eyes were locked on a blurred, still active portal. One of the color blobs moved, growing larger but he couldn’t think about what it meant. His arms hurt. It was good. Pain was grounding. In a gray room with few portals. Not the basement. Ghosts still could be there but it wasn't a basement. He still needed to get ready to fight

If he could feel pain, it meant he was alive, right? Ghosts never showed that they felt pain right? His parents always said they couldn’t.

He knew it was a lie but he felt like it was his last hope.

He realized that growing group of colors actually looked like a person but he had no way to tell whether they were alive or not. His ghost sense was quiet but he didn’t trust himself to not miss it. His throat was still shut tightly. His body kept twitching like a glitching character. No matter what, he couldn’t fight right then. He had to get himself together.

He scratched his arms almost violently.

Warm, soft, gentle hands pried his palms away from his arms. It wasn't a ghost. Ghosts weren't this gentle, this calmingly warm. Someone, someone who was alive, was crouching in front of him, face at the same level as his, hiding portals from his sight. Danny nearly sunk into their gentle touch.

“-om." their voice also was so gentle, filled with concern but firm enough to get to him over the buzz of portals. He tried to concentrate on this voice. He didn't want to hear portals.

"-ntom." It sounded like they were calling someone. He had to focus more to understand. Gentle grip on his wrists got more firm. There he was. He wouldn't feel it if he was dying again.

"Phantom." They called quietly, like little windbells Sam gave him as a birthday present. It was his name, they were asking him something he couldn't understand, something he couldn't do.

"I'm sorry."

He wasn't sure if any sound came out of his mouth.

Grip on his hands loosened a little, not enough for him to do anything about it, but enough to return to the pure feeling of safety and reassurance it gave him before.

“It's okay Phantom." they murmured. Danny nearly cried at their kindness and calmness. Air slowly started to fill his lungs again. It truly was okay, he wasn't dying again."Can you focus on five things you can see for me?"

He could do it. It wasn't much to repay the gentle person kneeling in front of him.

He blinked tears away and started the list in his head.

Black Canary in front of him.

Superboy in the middle of the room. He looked like he didn't know what to do.

Kid Flash next to him, ready to come to where Danny was shaking on the floor.

Robin and Artemis both made sure that Kid stayed where he was.

Miss Martian for sure feeling his panic and having trouble coping with this. He should calm down as soon as he can, he didn't want to cause any of his teammates too much stress.

Danny nodded, looking once again at the only adult hero in the room.

Molecules in his body were rearranging again. It all hurt.

"Thank you Phantom. Can you focus on four things you can hear?"

Five racing heartbeats.

One heartbeat that sounded more like buzz because of its speed. KF's heart was always weird.

Tapping of someone's feet.

Zeta Tubes.

He had been in the portal again, it had turned on with him inside again. He was dying again.

Next cautious nod.

"Alright. Now three things you can touch." Black Canary still sounded so calm, so sure she had it all under control. So contrary to her panicked heart. Danny wanted to believe her voice.

Canary's hands still on his wrists. In fact she was touching him more than he was her, but it still counted. There was some physics rule about it.

Cold stone he was sitting on. Weird, he was sure this cave was heated.

Hard wall pressing on his spine.

"Excellent. Two things you can smell?"

Jazz had done same exercise with him before.

Cookies made by Megan before she went on a mission.

Ectoplasm. Somewhere there was ectoplasm that wasn't inside him. He couldn't smell his own ecto. But there was no ghost in the cave. His sense was silent. It was there somehow else. It was concerning but not enough to make him panic again. They could handle it.

His lungs were still aching but air started filling them nearly as much as it did normally. His limbs stopped shaking so much too. He knew he wasn't dying this time. He was calming down.

"You're doing great Phantom. Now think, what's one thing you can taste?"

Aftertaste of ectoplasm he spat between the rough fight and the moment when Kid Flash rushed him to the nearest Zeta Tube, talking about medical attention. Danny tried to tell him, he didn't need that but he was inside before his explanation left his mouth.

"Do you feel better now?"

"Yeah," It was all he was able to say at the moment. He truly felt better but that didn't mean good. It was only a little less bad than shitty, one step from fully dead.

I considered writing continuation with Danny explaining a bit what happened and how he even ended up in Zeta Tube but a) lost spark to rewrite it b) hated what already had But if you want, I can probably rub my remaining two braincels together and continue. Or someone else can. Do it if you want to. Do it. Do it

[laniidae-passerine]

positively obsessed with how Rockstar Lestat is the exact kind of guy one of my friends would show me a picture of and swear he’s really sexy and cool and brilliant. Whole time I’m thinking “oh dear GOD” staring at a trainwreck weirdo and wondering what’s happened to everybody else that is absolutely missing me. jesus christ he’s blond

[littlefankingdom]

Tumblr: You seem to like Bruce Wayne, aka Batman.

Me: Yeah, I do.

Tumblr: Then can I recommend you these posts tagged "Anti Bruce Wayne"?

Me: Why do you hate me so much?

[mosaickiwi]

Home Away From

I love hopeless agony almost as much as tooth rotting fluff??

Post-kidnapping Angel adjusting (badly) to the new normal.

might do a part 2 where it gets even worse idk ← my last words before i get thrown out of the plane

Kidnapping, imprisonment, codependency, etc.

proceed with caution

Eyes straight forward, you had to keep yourself occupied fiddling with the edge of a couch cushion. Every single one had a few loose threads from how often you worried away at them. 

Twelve… thirteen… fourteen neatly aligned book spines on the lowest shelf behind the dark haired man kneeling in front of you. A full, hardcover collection of your favorite webcomic, each book signed and dedicated to you. Maybe you'd force yourself to read them all again. For the third time since your arrival.

"Angel."

It was hard to keep track of how long you'd been here—in this house far removed from Corland Bay, with everything you ever wanted in a forever home. All those wild, fantasy-ridden dreams you joked about with Ren, and then [REDACTED], were true now.

And yet your supposed fiancé carried you over the threshold of that forever home kicking and screaming. 

"Still not talking?"

His hand reached for yours, fingers gently lacing between your own before you eventually pulled away. You saw their real reaction in the corner of your vision. By now, you knew him as obsessively as he knew you—there wasn't much he could hide anymore. The pain in his blue eyes lingered for too long this time.

It hurt. You hated to see that look on his face. But you hated being trapped here so much more than that. Why couldn't he understand?

Realistically, a silent treatment would get you nowhere. A few hours had turned to days, then weeks, and he was still soft-spoken and doting towards you. There was hardly a difference in the man you proposed to, and the one that bolted the front door shut from the outside on the few occasions they left for supplies.

You were too used to domestic life, too docile compared to that first day—sometimes you'd lose yourself and forget you were a prisoner. All your old hobbies still occupied your days while he sat nearby, and it just felt natural to include the only person you ever saw. To call his name and read a passage from a book aloud for him to laugh, or casually scoot closer to him for warmth during a movie.

Those moments when you forgot felt like they could slot in between all your old memories with ease.

"I'm sorry, love. I only wanted t'keep you safe," he whispered.

His breath almost tickled your legs, followed by the feel of his forehead resting against them. The urge to brush a hand through their hair—an innocent gesture you did at least daily back home—hurt just as much to ignore.

Were it not for their words of apology, even now could've been another memory. Who could fault you for falling into habits of comfort with the one who lived for you, and you alone?

The silent treatment was the best you could do.

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

Tired and disoriented, you woke up alone in your bedroom. The pink haired plushie you normally cuddled had disappeared somewhere, probably tossed to a corner of the room in your fitful sleep. Your usual replacement for a space heater was nowhere to be found, either.

Had he stayed up late? You called their name. "Ren?"

A muted commotion in the hallway outside, then the door creaked open. "Angel?" your beloved hacker answered back cautiously.

"Are you coming to bed?"

There was no response for a long moment. But soon enough, his familiar footsteps sounded against the floor.

You sat up and pulled the blanket to the side for them. As he settled in, you cuddled close, resting one arm over their chest while your head laid in its rightful place atop his shoulder. You managed to lean up and find their lips for a quick kiss before closing your eyes.

Though you couldn't see his face, you imagined the blush that painted his cheeks at every piece of affection you gave. With the thought fresh in your mind, you drifted off.

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

Hours later you woke again, your rest this time far more peaceful in their embrace. A pitiful, lazy groan left you as you stretched, then opened your eyes to greet your partner.

[REDACTED] was silently looking down at you, propped up on one arm. 

You reached up to cup his cheek and smiled at him. He leaned into your touch like always, but their usual loving gaze was laced with hesitation. As if waiting for something. Anxious of what could bother him, your hand followed the line of his jaw down to their neck, past the tattooed heart of your name, and settled on a piece of jewelry. 

Was that correct? It felt off. A long moment passed as you fiddled with it, trying to figure out what was so out of place about that silver chain, until it hit you.

The golden ring was back on his necklace, instead of on your finger where it belonged. Where it used to belong.

Weeks, or maybe even months ago, when they kept you in a careful hold while locking the bedroom door behind them—you'd thrown that ring in his face the second he let you go. 

For all the scratches and bite marks you'd put on his arm, tearing at skin that was already long scarred, he hadn't shown a hint of worry. Not until they bent down to get the ring that hit their chest and clattered to the floor.

It was the same worried face you saw now.

Your hand stilled, and before you could even whisper the words you wanted to yell, he slipped from the bed to give you space. The door clicked shut behind them to trap you in with your thoughts.

How could you be so stupid? Weak? They didn't have to try at all to wear you down; you did it all on your own. He tore you away from friends and family, yet here you were, forgetting yourself to play house with him. Then you took it a step further and let him sleep in your bed.

Nails dug into the pillow under your head, but instead of throwing it you squeezed it tight to your chest. You bit your lip to hold back the tears, glaring down at the empty spot on your ring finger that had only now begun to match the skin around it.

Another foolish dream to pile with all the others.

As much as you wanted to hope they would see reason one day and bring you back home to make things right—a thought far past irrational by now—you had to mourn the life taken from you.

You knew them, you knew them. Always seeking your favor so quickly that any argument quelled before it had a chance to begin, but stubborn when he felt it necessary.

If the first answer was a no… the next one and the next one wouldn't change. You should've accepted it the second he locked the door.

Ren was the only person you'd ever see again.

[lotus-pear]

regret

[dollypopup]

"Penelope should have chosen Debling!"

My sister in Christ. . .he literally dumped her???

Like just before Colin Bridgerton was on his knees after outrunning her carriage to profess how he can't stop thinking about her in his love me, choose me, I'm yours speech, Debling did the Regency equivalent of calling her a floozy who would undoubtedly cheat on him when he abandoned her for several years to chase his passions (because she would never be one of said passions since she asked outright if he could ever come to care for her and he went 'hmmmm seems unlikely! good thing you have solitary hobbies to occupy you instead!') when he has been given 0 evidence of such other than realizing she liked to look out the window because she had a crush on the boy across the street. I was ready to challenge that man to a duel for Pen's honor

His feelings for her were middling at best, I mean Christ on a Pogostick, after he asked her mum for permission to propose he isn't even happy when he opens the door and Pen is there? She's looking like a snack- nay, a whole ass MEAL, and he can't even smile? He just nods at her and dips the fuck out? You don't think it would kill Penelope to know that both her sisters have husbands who absolutely adore them and she's out here with an absent dude who likely won't even write to her?

Portia's 'Love is make believe!' speech is so transparently full of shit when you realize that we've got Dankworth who is so obsessed with Prudence that he makes heart eyes at her every waking moment and considers her his little bonbon and Albion who loves Phillipa so much that he was waiting for her to consent to sex (not realizing she didn't know what it was) for two entire years because he would never pressure her and so he was content with finishing in his pants when he kissed her to make sure she was comfortable. And you want Penelope to settle for a life of loneliness? When Colin is so besotted with her that he dreams of her and breaks every societal expectation in the book as a notorious People Pleaser to run after her and cannot even wait for the morning after being intimate with her to introduce her as his wife to his family in the middle of the night? You want her to turn down Mr "When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible" Bridgerton? For LORD PENGUIN?

Be so serious right now

[heybiji]

dandelion casually dropping traumatic information while insisting that instead of killing the problem wizard they simply burn his tongue

[helixcraft]

the fish that keeps appearing all over my recommended only that he's out of jail and happy

[ube-bluebay]

i have a problem

really long rambling in tags

[pansyfemme]

mmm but. i miss pansyfemme as a url already. but im lowkey really tired of people sending me asks questioning terminology i have explained dozens of times in the past so ive been. stepping away a bit from the term femme- not because i dont identify with it anymore. just that this blog’s gotten a bit of attention lately, and while a lot of the circles ive always run in tend to know the history of the term femme is not one exclusive to one gender or identity, people seeing my posts on my dash send me a lot of asks about it in heavily varying levels of politeness. and while i have explained it with sources and everything in the past,, i kind of. hate doing that all the time and despite having a faq people still. dont read it. so i kinda. uh. more so just. dont feel like justifying myself ten times a day and i also. dont like ignoring the asks so.. it will be definitly a term i will still use but kind of dont want in my username anymore. does that make any sense.