#are you posting to be constructive? no. no you are not

[his-madness-keeps-him-sane]

I honestly think that the inability to understand the most basic ideas of ASOIAF characters comes from bad faith criticism, especially if they think that "long winter" is not a central plot point of the story.

Whatever about worldbuilding, I don't care about the freaking bees of Westeros (and the problem is again that Martin has a stick up his ass and should act more like Tolkien and embrace more the poetry and less the pedantry).

I understand and enjoy criticism (1- I think he deserves it, 2- I like to interact with different opinions of things I read/watch/whatever) but saying "winter is unimportant" explains why so many understand the books as a misanthrope story.

Because you have Jaime's journey after "being evil" or Sansa learning the game of thrones to survive while knowing that she doesn't want to become a Cersei.

There's a lot of dark and cruelty but the central conclusion is always the same: be clever!

That's where the TV show failed, in the book consequences matter!

Ned is not dead because he was "good", Ned is dead because he was DUMB!

Nobody said "oh but why did he have to die?" because we know why!

Every single death happens because someone didn't know how to play the game.

That's why Daenerys is doomed to become a fascist (the tv show was BAD but the general idea of Dany turning "bad" is there in the books too).

That's why I will always defend Sansa (arguably the biggest victim of fan's misogyny).

The characters, good or bad, are (usually) incredibly well written, with (usually) a lot of nuance.

From the anti chosen one/Prince Charming of Dany/Jon to the child soldier metaphors of Arya there's really a lot of though and care behind them all. And that's why the books have become impossible to finish. Too many complex pieces to play with.

Martin has A LOT to criticize and I wish he stopped with the bullshit (and the obsession with rape, and the racism, and the...) but I can't understand how someone can read those books and think "this author thinks humans are awful".

Everyone hates Cersei and then Martin goes "Take this, a Cersei POV chapter" and... Fuck.

Yes, she's bad. But suddenly she is a person, not a fairy tale evil queen. She has ambition, she's scared, she's a mother, she's a woman in a sexist world full of violence against women... And we learn all those fears and dreams directly from her, from the "evil queen".

One of the little things that the TV show did well was Joffrey's death.

I remember people being... Uncomfortable. Because while enjoying the death of a monster they realized "wow... He's just a 16 year old boy... Dying in his mother's arms..."

And that, and not "historical accuracy" or whatever Martin claims, is the true golden heart of ASOIAF.

That the world is awful and make us awful

And that it doesn't have to be like that.

That's why the winter IS central.

Because a looming doom should be enough to make them realize how dumb the whole "game of thrones" is (like, you know...the real world and climate change??? The pandemic and the totally insufficient collaboration between countries???) and yet they keep fighting for an ugly chair that kills you if you sit on it too hard because it's made out of the swords of a colonialist war.

IT'S NOT SUBTLE

For all its faults, what ASOIAF is saying (or should be if Martin stopped with the bullshit) is that the world is awful, but you don't have to, and that it's never too late to change.

That you can be good but you have to be CLEVER.

That the kids are the future and can be the change.

That the Starks were always right and the winter is coming.

And that the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.

And I don't think he's ever gonna finish the books, but I don't think it's a coincidence that the last book is called "A promise of Spring".

Say what you want about Martin and his stupidity and empty pride.

But ASOIAF, even if failing a lot in achieving it, is ultimately about hope.

Hope in spite of horror.

Btw, a disclaimer: I'm not even a fan anymore!

I haven't even read the last published book!

But to be a hater you have to admit the good parts too!

Listen to Orson Welles, the OG hater!

Jeez!

Disclaimer x2: I refuse to acknowledge any grammar or orthographic mistake, I can't read anymore 😌

Someone over on Discord asked, "I'm morbidly curious: How BAD is A Song of Ice and Fire in terms of the authenticity George claims it to be?"

My reply was straightforward:

The long and the short of it is that ASOIAF is basically a vehicle for GRRM to present both his rape fetish and his Hobbesian view on human nature and has less historical accuracy than Frozen or most other Disney movies.

That's actually a good way to think of it, now that I've said it--he's Family Unfriendly, they're Family Friendly, but both have the same relationship with History: just Pure Aesthetic with no consideration for how the worldbuilding would work.

[hasgavlebockenburneddownyet]

Idea: we somehow train the jackdaws from last year to retrieve the straw from the goat, piece by piece, and then bring it to an undisclosed location. As we gather the straw, we use it to construct our OWN Gävlebocken, which also THE Gävlebocken. Once construction is almost complete, we begin a competing livestream. We nominate a spokesperson to go on the livestream and deliver a villain-style monologue about how the goat must burn. As they begin their speech, you can see on the original live as a jackdaw steals the last bit of straw and flies away, and it ends with the same jackdaw flying onto OUR livestream, dropping the straw into the hand of the monologuer, who then ceremoniously tucks it into the goat. They then walk towards the camera and raise their arms, and as they do, a jackdaw drops a lit match into the straw, and the goat goes up in flames. Exactly two people will watch our livestream, neither of which speak any Swedish or are familiar with the goat, but it will be discovered when the YouTube algorithm picks it up in two years and shows it to everyone. Controversy erupts around the authenticity of the livestream. Video essays and deep dives and icebergs are made. Investigative journalists struggle to find the true story behind all the internet lore that has now been built. The internal editor drama on Wikipedia has never been more intense. Though all of this, we wait. We bide our time. Then, just as people begin to lose interest, we use the channel to post a single video. All it is is ten seconds of a black screen with coordinates on it. People scramble to be the first to get there, and when someone finally does, they find nothing but an empty, snowy clearing. Disappointed, they kick at the snow, and their toe hits something hard. They bend down and unbury it, slowly unearthing what forensics will soon confirm is one of the two-by-fours that had been stolen by a flock of very buff, very well trained jackdaws.

.

[cranberrydietcoke]

𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 - 𝘭𝘶𝘪𝘨𝘪 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘦

heavily inspired by this post by @subtlehums

content: 18+, lore accurate luigi, cigarettes, mentions of prescription drugs, guns, L word, established relationship, unprotected p in v, riding, breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy, kinda emo but fluffy but smutty, he’s so tragically beautiful idk i hope this does him justice

wc: 2.1k

a/n: i am a woman possessed. he is all i think about like its bad. shout out the girlies who found my blog thru tiktok comments lmaooo enjoy

“𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗶 𝗱𝗼𝗻’𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗳𝗼𝗿𝘁. 𝗶 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗴𝗼𝗱, 𝗶 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗽𝗼𝗲𝘁𝗿𝘆, 𝗶 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹 𝗱𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿, 𝗶 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗳𝗿𝗲𝗲𝗱𝗼𝗺, 𝗶 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗴𝗼𝗼𝗱𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀, 𝗶 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝘀𝗶𝗻. – 𝗯𝗿𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗻𝗲𝘄 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗱.” - tweeted by @ pepmangione, may 1st, 2024.

you missed hawaii. that tiny apartment for just the two of you seemed impossibly big now, as you imagined the sunlight weaving in through the windows, casting shadows of waves onto the kitchen tile. you missed that kitchen, sharing coffee in the mornings before work, baking together. you missed the way the island held you both, lush and warm and predictable. the late nights, the conferences, the schedule – it’s funny how everything always seems so simple in hindsight. he had a way of making it clear he knew best, and you’d stopped arguing years ago. so, when he said to pack a bag for the mainland, you didn’t question it. you trusted him with a kind of faith that went deeper than any earthly explanation could offer.

the frosty breeze whips by you as you step out onto the fire escape of the hostel, headlights and billboards illuminating the city below. you could hear luigi’s furious typing from the chair inside over the sound of honking horns and screeching tires, occasionally pausing to reread it back to himself and flip through the starched pages of the book he’d been in for days. the eraser of the pencil he annotated with was gnawed to damn near nothing. the flick of your lighter shook him from his focus, snapping his head to watch as you wrapped yourself in your fur coat and brought a cigarette to your lips with deep red manicured nails.

“that’s gonna kill you, y’know that right?”

and he was right. not that it made a difference. six months ago, the thought of smoking a cigarette would’ve seemed absurd. now, it almost felt inevitable, like the distance between who you were and who you are had blurred and widened into a festering chasm.

 and yet, here he was – the one steady thing in your life, lounging in the peeling leather of the black desk chair, eyes meeting yours like nothing else mattered. the air inside was thick, saturated with things unsaid. tomorrow would inevitably come, but that seemed irrelevant compared to the man in front of you. you crouched with bent knees, weight balanced on the balls of your feet as you blew out thick spirals of smoke, teetering on the tip toes of your flats with each gust of wind.

“lu,” you strain through quick puffs, tapping a nail to the lit stick, causing ash to fall through the metal bars that held you up and onto the concrete of the new york sidewalk. “please.”  you scoff, lash-lidded gaze lingering over him through the open window, a look that he couldn’t bring himself to argue with. you were the fracture in the foundation of his carefully constructed logic, the one thing he couldn’t solve.

 the first time he saw you at some hazy phi psi social in undergrad, something in him just…stopped. a whirlwind of wild dark hair with an unapologetic laugh that was too loud for the space but too beautiful to be mad at. you spoke with precision, arguing like someone who had points to make, yet there was a strange charm about you, an effortless grace. he had to have you. he assumed that bringing you to maryland for holiday break would be overwhelming, that the sheer volume of his family would cause you to tone yourself down. instead, they welcomed you as one of their own, perhaps because your bold opinions and high standards mirrored theirs. but that was a lifetime ago – before the pandemic, the accident, the surgery. before everything splintered into what it is now.

his puffy, purple-ringed and exhausted eyes follow you as you climb back into the warmth, slamming the window shut and shedding your coat. resting his elbows on his knees, he brought his hands to drag down his face with a deep, weary sigh, letting them fall to his denim-clad thighs with a slap. motioning you over to him with a nod of the head.

brass casings littered the floor, the bed a mess of neon monopoly bills - scattered in the dingy sheets like confetti after some great gatsby party. you’d been holed up in that room for a week now, and his restless energy was palpable. it wasn’t like his stress was something you’d never seen before. in fact, it was normal after all these years. but this. this was a different level. completely enrapturing, not only mental, but physical.

 you slip off your shoes with a soft thud on the floor. your steps are slow, deliberate, as you meander toward him, eyes heavy with sympathy. three sleepless nights had made his face hollow, and he’d refused every pill you’d offered – hydros, oxys, anything to subside the pain. you stand in front of him, positioned between his spread legs. his hands reach to meet your plush hips, each digit pressing firmly into your skin, grounding himself in your presence.

when al pacino said the eyes never lie, he was completely correct. luigi’s were sullen, dark, angry. pleading for help, for recognition. you lift a hand to cradle his cheek, tracing over the stubble that wasn’t there when you left hawaii. wordlessly, you sink to your knees on the warped wood of the hotel floor, looking up into his big brown eyes. your fingers trace a slow path from the curve of his jaw to the firm plane of his chest, before settling your palm on the denim of his thigh, smoothing it up and down his leg. you tilt your head, letting your temple rest gently against his knee.

“i love you, lu,” you spoke in a near whisper against him, gaze fixed on nothing in particular, thoughts somewhere far away. “i just wish shit was different.”

“i know baby, i know,” he answered without hesitation, cooing down at you and bringing a meticulous hand to brush the mess of hair from your face. “we’ll be back home soon, i jus- i have some stuff to take care of, love, you know that.” his voice softened as he looked down at you, coaxing your glassy eyes up to his steady stare. with a subtle touch, he grabbed your chin between his thumb and index fingers, lifting your face to meet his. only inches way, you felt the heat of his breath on your lips, drinking it in.

“i know this isn’t who you fell in love with, n’ i’m sorry. i-i’m a fucking shell,” he rambled, bobbing his head with each word, eyes darting around each feature on your face.

“this world, me, everything, is a fucking lie.” he spat, “just t-touch me so i know that i’m real.”

his eyes were wide and manic, brow furrowing as if every thought, every word, was a battle being played out behind those unblinking, shifty eyes. your mouth hangs open, and every part of you seems to be falling into him, melting in his touch. your eyes are unfocused and glazed over as they follow his, drunk off the very essence of him.

“fuck me so i know that i’m real. i’ve been dying to know if i am.”

heady puffs of breath fell against your face with each word, his eyes drifting down to your glossy pout. he ran his tongue up the curve of your parted lips, a tiny gasp escaping them, your eyes never leaving his. it was perverted almost, urgent and depraved. without thinking, you curl your tongue out, meeting and circling his without your lips even touching, saliva dripping onto the floor below. his hands grasp at the sides of your head, pulling you in closer as his tongue forces its way past yours, lips crashing together in a heated kiss. he stands you both up with a swift movement, each kiss growing deeper, more consuming, as he guides you backward onto the bed.

you can’t help but whimper into his mouth through the soft, wet smack of your lips that fills the room as he lays you on your back, pinned by the wrist in a pool of pink and orange paper money. hot, hungry kisses trailed down your neck and across your chest, his hands firm as he peeled off your white tank top. your fingers roamed over every inch of him – gripping a handful of curls, your palm finding the small of his neck to pull him closer. softly, your hands slid over the hard lines of his shoulder blades, tracing the muscles beneath his skin. for a split second, it felt like undergrad again – fooling around on that tiny twin bed, stealing kisses between whispered laughs and desperately hoping that none of the boys in the chapter house heard you.

“baby, sit back,” you murmur, craning your neck and biting into your lower lip as he licks spirals into the sensitive skin, sending a chill down your spine. with a smirk, he flips over to settle onto the edge of the bed, fidgeting with the cold metal button of his levi’s and squirming out of them. the print of his length pressed through the thin fabric of his boxers as you hook your fingers in the waistband, tugging them to fall around his ankles. you shimmy out of your leggings and black lace panties, leaving them in a crumpled heap on the hardwood.

letting a stringy drop of spit fall from your lips, you work and twist your hands over him, whimpers and pants making his chest fall and rise, head lolling back as you plant tiny kisses on both thighs. turning around with bent knees, hips between his legs and feet flat on the floor, you sink down onto him inch by inch, whining incoherently as it stretches you out.

his hands on your sides, thumbs running down the valley of your spine, molding you like pottery as he guides you up and down. the tips of your fingers balance on the floor as you gently bounce and roll your hips, stuffing yourself over and over again on his cock.

“f-fuck – mine, all fuckin’ mine,” he spoke breathlessly, watching your drooly hole take him in with little plap plap plap’s, the fat of your ass recoiling as his length disappeared into you. his grip tightened on your sides, and you felt his legs getting wobbly under your stabilizing hand. “my girl, my good fucking girl…” he spoke absently, almost to himself, each syllable dripping with lust. appreciation. worship, even.

“god, fuck – please.” you babble, whipping your hair back to steal a glance at him from over your shoulder – all focused and blissed out, slack-jawed as he groped and pawed at the lower contour of your ass, spreading open the sticky mess and watching with wild, amazed eyes at the way you wet him up.

“what, baby? want it inside? yeah?” he panted out with squeaky desperation, lower stomach tensing and turning as you gripped and slid over him. “wanna get pregnant, huh, the way you’re takin’ it – fuck!”

his thrusts got sloppy, breath hitching in his throat and translating to desperate whines as he pumped you full. even if he didn’t come back tomorrow, if you never saw him alive again, he was determined to leave you with a little permanent piece of him. bringing a strong, warm palm to the small of your lower back to slow down your pace and push you off of him, he fell back onto the bed with a sigh, rattling the bed frame with the impact. ribbons of thick, opalescent seed seeped from your hole, all fucked open and raw.

laying together, swimming in those hotel sheets, the cold touch of fingerprints tracing numbers and letters into your thighs. truly believing you both had nothing to lose, even though that was far from the truth because you had each other. the shrill sound of wind against windows was stomach-churning compared to the familiar crash of the ocean, and you’ve accepted that you’ll probably never see that apartment again. even if you did, it wouldn’t be the same. but, you trusted him. believed in him, his capability, his intelligence. holding onto that tiny sliver of hope that told you everything would be okay, he would be careful, come home unseen and unscathed. those worries were reserved for the future version of you, one that could carry the weight of tomorrow in the daylight. all of it – the pain, the planning, the uncertainty – was beside the point now. all that mattered was the shelter of his lingering touch, quieting the rest of the world, only if for a few more hours.

[lanternfeather]

someone on here posted about blue collar worker sevika and housewife reader a little while back and i haven’t been able to stop thinking about it so here are a few of my headcanons for it.

• i envision her as working in either welding or bridge construction. they are very sexy and cool to me. and a little dangerous so maybe that’s how she lost her arm.

• she buys the two of you a fixer upper house in a quiet, affordable neighborhood near her workplace.

• as part of being a housewife/stay at home partner, you made it clear to her that you wanted a project house to fulfill you and exercise your creative side.

• you are always working on something or another for your house and it gives you great pride for sevika to see your finished projects that turn your house into a cozy home for the two of you

• you are both pretty active, her with her physical job and you with your house renovations, but when you both have energy/time you’ll go on runs together or hit the gym together

• sevika struggles to make friends at work 🥺 she doesn’t feel like she fits in with the guys and she feels so awkward around the few women in her profession. her intimidating presence is a wall she’s built over many years in order to be taken seriously as a woman in tradework. she vents to you a lot about it and you slowly help her be more social at work.

• eventually, she feels able to invite some coworkers over for a dinner party at your house. you LOVE hosting and you spend two days cooking and cleaning and creating an inviting atmosphere. it goes so well and after that, sevika starts feeling like maybe she can have work friends afterall, all because you were there for her through her anxieties

[mercury-waters]

This is a really good post, but I just want to add that, economically speaking, exploitation is not about a specific number.

it's an important observation that someone making $200k a year is still far and away from the actual ultrawealthy. But where's the line, who gets to draw the line, and what does the distinction represent? Especially across countries and cultures, where that line will tend to vary wildly! That's a really reasonable question, and there's a good answer.

This was Karl Marx's central work, basically. He wrote Das Kapital setting out to explain some recurring features of capitalism as the system was growing, developing, and taking over the world: that it tended to accumulate wealth at the very top, that it tended to have a major crash every ten or so years, and some other features.

What he was able to show - and that was pretty definitively accepted by other even pro-capitalist economists at the time - is that capitalism is exploitative in an economic sense, meaning that an 'owner' of a business made money off of someone else doing work.

For example, I worked for a guy named Gary who owned a pizza shop. I was paid $14 an hour, but each pizza cost $8 plus tax. I would make between 20 and 50 pizzas in an hour, depending on the time of day, so across my four-hour shift I made $56 (before tax lol), but I made the business $160-$400. Some of that money after I'm paid goes to buying more ingredients, some of it goes to pay off the building's rent, but everything else went to Gary, who did nothing except steal from our tip jar.

Gary probably made somewhere to the tune of $150-$200k a year, off of me and my high school coworkers slinging pizzas all day next to an 800-degree oven.

In contrast, a dude I knew named Nick made between $150-200k every year as an ironworker and dockworker. He was paid well, but he wasn't taking from anyone else's livelihood - in fact, he still made more money for the construction company than he took home.

Gary was, in an economic sense, exploitive. Nick wasn't. And Gary is who socialists have a problem with. This is the distinction between "working class" and "owning class", not a number. And it's an issue not just because it's frankly an antisocial, cruel way to organize society, but because it actually causes crises.

This was another thing Marx figured out. The reason that capitalism tended to crash, over and over, was because of the accumulation of wealth. With successful businesses under capitalism, Gary keeps making more and more money -- I and my coworkers keep making $14/hour or only marginally more. Eventually, that means I cannot buy a pizza at the place I work, or much of anything else for that matter. When that happens, people stop buying what they used to, profits crash, and capitalism has a crisis.

Understanding this is what class consciousness is. Your class is not the number on your paycheck, it's whether or not someone is taking part of your paycheck from you, or you're taking from someone else's labor. It's applicable in America where you're talking about median incomes in the tens of thousands of dollars versus billionaires, it's applicable in countries where people are living on just a few dollars a day; the system that oppresses us is international and revolutions have to target the real exploiters, or risk failing to transform society into something better.

Okay, so, friends. Occasionally I see an American post on here about “guillotine the rich,” and it turns out that “rich” means “anyone making over $50k.”

We need to clear this shit up REAL fast, because otherwise it’s gonna wind up like the French Revolution, where more middle class and poor people were killed for being “class traitors” than actual nobles. (Did you know that France has more nobles today than during the French Revolution? While there were a few showy executions, many nobles did just fine or experienced minor setbacks.)

If someone makes $60,000 a year, they are making about twice as much as a full time worker making minimum wage in California, Arizona, Colorado, Connecticut, DC, Hawaii, Illinois, Maine, Maryland, Massachusetts, New Jersey, New York, Oregon, Rhode Island, or Washington State.

Brian Thompson, the CEO of United HealthCare who was just assassinated in New York City, earned $10 million a year, which means he earned 333 times minimum wage in those states. Basically, he cleared an annual minimum wage salary in just over a day. And that “rich” person making $60k/year that you want to guillotine? He made their salary in a bit over two days of a year.

So he was rich, right?

Well. Tesla is trying to give Elon Musk a pay package of $101 billion. That is 10,100 times what Brian Thompson earned and 3,366,667 times more than a minimum wage worker. (Tesla hasn’t been successful yet because of a complicated lawsuit from a shareholder, but they’ll get there.) If you are a minimum wage worker, Elon Musk makes more every SECOND than you do in a year. And that “rich” person who you want to guillotine? He makes their salary in about 1.6 seconds. Even when he’s sleeping.

Now, remember. The Muskrat also is the head of SpaceX, the Boring Company, X.ai, and X.com, so this is just ONE pay package for him.

What I’m saying is — you have much more in common when it comes to economic grievances with someone earning $60,000 (or even $200,000) than the ultra wealthy that have real power. They are not the people you should expend your energy on.

[stellamancer]

notes: time is a construct that bten!reader no longer understands. anyway, yes hellow, late gojo birthday fic that i am pretending that i'm not posting on megumi's birthday LMAO.

takes place in the same universe as beyond the unending night, however reading that fic is not necessary, all you need to know is that reader has a CT that can rewind time. slight and implied reader x gojo if you're squinting. also. reader is very unreliable narrator (there are some things in the narration that gojo responds to because reader is unaware they said it aloud oops.) not proofread.

wc: 944

“Your birthday was a couple days ago?” 

Gojo tilts his head toward you, expression passive for a split second before a broad grin spreads across his face. “It was! How did you know! Wait, let me guess, you—”

“The students,” you supply flatly before he can make any outlandish suggestions regarding how you happened across the information. “Yuta-kun mentioned it.” 

There’s a slight pucker to Gojo’s lips, but it’s gone almost instantly as he remarks. “Oh Yuta… He’s always been an exemplary student! Even going so far as to remember his dear old teacher’s birthday…” 

You stare at Gojo. There’s a trap here. Bait. It’s not well hidden either, if his exaggerated tone is any indication. You consider telling him straight up: it’s not possible to remember something you never knew in the first place. But instead, you decide to indulge him. “Do people usually not remember?” 

Now that you say that, you find the words hard to believe. You can barely call yourself a part of jujutsu society, but there’s no denying that Gojo is something of a big deal. There’s no way that these illustrious ‘higher ups’ would forget the birthday of someone as important as Satoru Gojo.

“It’s not that they don’t remember,” Gojo says, “it’s that they just don’t care.” 

The nonchalance in his voice stuns you, more so than the fact that you cannot detect even a hint of bitterness in it. They… don’t care? You want to be in denial, to think that that simply cannot be true. And yet…

You cannot deny it. 

Not when you know what you do of the top brass.

“Well, not the students,” Gojo adds, fondness seeping into his tone as the tiniest smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Threw me a party and everything. As expected of students of the Great Teacher Gojo!”

He puffs his chest out a little, clearly pleased, no doubt proud. 

“...did you do anything else?” you ask. Knowing someone as whimsical as Gojo, you can imagine him spending the day as he pleased, going from sweet shop to sweet shop spending exorbitant amounts of money on any and every sugary item he could possibly get his hands on. 

“Nope.” 

You blink at him. “What.”

“I was waaaaaay too busy to do anything else,” Gojo says with a dramatic sigh. “Honestly, I’m lucky that the students love me so much that they took on a couple extra missions just so we could party for a half hour.”

Gojo’s words have you gawking at him, slack jawed and in awe. You’re well aware that he’s a busy guy, but to only have had a half hour of free time on his birthday to celebrate is just…

“Don’t make that face.” His voice is quiet. Gentle. “It’s fine; I’m used to it. Just a part of being an adult, you know?”

He’s not wrong, but… 

Somehow, it doesn’t sit well with you. 

“....you’re done with everything you have to do today, right?” you ask, reaching into your pocket to check the time; it’s nearly midnight.

“Yeah?” Gojo answers, and while he sounds mostly amused, you think you can hear the smallest hint of confusion. “You thinking of having a late night snack together to make up for missing my birthday? How romantic of you!” 

“Not exactly,” you shoot back without missing a beat, but Gojo doesn’t seem to be disappointed by you rebuffing him. You outstretch your palm toward him and he inclines his head down slightly to show that he’s looking down at it. 

Gojo hums. He knows what you’re thinking. Of course he does. “You know that’s technically against the rules.” 

“And?” you ask as you stare back at him.

“You could get in biiiiiiig trouble, you know.”

Your gaze doesn’t waver.

“Could even be sentenced to death for it!” 

Your hand doesn’t move.

Gojo tilts his head to the side before heaving a sigh and shaking his head. He raises his hand, but rather than take yours, he reaches up higher and moves to flick your forehead. That would work just as well, and for a split second you gather your cursed energy, ready to use your technique, but—

You merely wince and Gojo tilts his head to the side, raising an eyebrow as your energy quickly dissipates.

“Change your mind?” he asks.

“Wasn’t sure if you were actually going to do it,” you answer honestly. Did he actually flick you or did he just ‘pretend’ to? There wouldn't have been any point if he pretended. 

“What do you think?”

You frown as a playful, yet menacing grin spreads across Gojo's face. He knows full well that you can't tell, especially if you can't even see the point of contact. 

“Well wishes aside, the only other thing I can really offer you is time,” you deadpan. It wasn't like you were going to be stupid and give him a week or even a month, but…

Gojo wags his finger at you, tutting. “No, not true! There's something else!”

You give him a pointed look. What else could you possibly give? 

“Well, it's really more like an IOU,” he explains airily, before his tone shifts, growing quieter and more serious. “Just get stronger. Strong enough to take on missions just like me and maybe next year we can have a longer party.” 

You sigh. His suggestion is more practical, more useful in the long run, and while you can agree with what he's proposed… It's his birthday. He could afford to be a little more selfish. 

“Oh?” He raises an eyebrow, his smile ever wide and absolutely ominous. “I'll keep that in mind next time.” 

[afinestoutlove]

TL;DR Joe Locke is a really good actor

I accidentally came across a couple people saying Joe Locke isn't a good actor and like... what tf were you all watching?? Cos it wasn't what I was watching, he's so fucking good!! (I can only talk about Heartstopper here cos I haven't seen much of him in other things, but given these posts were related to Heartstopper...) I think this is firstly straight up (ha!) homophobia, with a side helping of shitty masculine beauty standards. I think it also comes down to the story Joe Locke is acting being something people are super uncomfortable seeing, and his success at telling it makes them uncomfortable in a way they don't want to deal with.

Homophobia first. These are almost always people who like Nick/Kit Connor, and that's not a coincidence. Nick/Kit fits very neatly into normative masculinity (although you know I have things to say about that around Nick's character), so people who haven't done the work to recognise their homophobia don't feel so weird about him. (He IS a great actor, but not "better" than Joe, or any of the other actors in the show. He just has a different story to tell that some people find easier to digest.) But Charlie/Joe Locke reads as more "stereotypically" gay, and no matter what BS reasons people come up with for not liking him, it almost always comes down to "he makes me uncomfortable because GAY".

Masculine beauty standards are so related to homophobia, because what we construct as an attractive man is so linked to heteronormative masculinity - tall, muscular, strong etc (let's not forget white, although that's less relevant to this discussion). Charlie/Joe not only falls outside these standards, but he's shown in the story as still being desirable. I love that about this story, because people who fall outside the very narrow beauty standards in Hollywood are still desirable to a lot of people - including people like Nick who meet those beauty standards. We see this happen in public couples all the time, tons of people suggesting that the partner who is further from conventional beauty standards is somehow a bad person, or is "tricking" the more conventionally attractive one. (See all the years of people trying to suggest Hugh Jackman is secretly gay because they thought his wife wasn't pretty enough and therefore must be a beard, it's so fucking gross.)

Finally the whole "character makes me uncomfortable" thing. Charlie Spring's story is super important and it makes people feel things that, if they haven't done their own work, are going to be super uncomfortable. Again, this is tied to homophobia, because Charlie's story challenges masculine norms about what counts as strength, what men "should" be like, etc. He has an ED, he has anxiety, he requires and seeks help, he forms affectionate and strong relationships and needs them to be healthy, etc. These are things men "aren't supposed to do" (and Nick only gets away with it bEcAuSe He'S hOt, that's it, that's the whole reason). People read Charlie as manipulative or selfish or whatever because he's not acting the way they think men "should" act. It's not based in Charlie's character - he is none of those things. But they want to read it that way because to actually recognise what makes them uncomfortable about Charlie would require them to unpack their own homophobia and bullshit masculinity standards.

Anyway, the short version is: I think people need to stop confusing "character that makes me feel uncomfortable feelings" or "person who is unconventionally attractive" with "can't act" cos y'all are very confused.

[wintergrofyuri]

i am of the opinion gender doesnt exist to any creature in the construct (except for the narrator). the princesses are only shaped like women. they have no use for gender. the voices even less so, considering they dont have bodies.

"oh but they use he/him" "oh but they use she/her" and? that doesnt mean shit. its the same as using she/her for a boat.

one of the princesses even said herself, in plain emglish, they dont need labels. theyre not human. theyre not mortal. this shit is just whatever to them. if not for the narrator im not even sure they'd Use pronouns.

now, femininity and masculinity are Still big parts of the metanarrative, but besides like. how it affects people and media, i dont think gender itself matters at all. the princess is more the Idea of a woman. and the long quiet is the Idea of a man.

i actually have a lot to say about this but 1) im tired and 2) this post aint about that. point is: they're all trans and gay. use whatever pronouns you want. call them whatever you want. none of it matters, positively.

[whatsaterrarium]

I understand the message of this post and agree for the most part but it is genuinely troubling that all of our ideas of “self-care” for women are predominantly based on their appearance. It feels like a pervasive faux-feminist rebranding of “retail therapy”, and the exact people selling skincare products and marketing make up tutorials to young women are the same people who profit directly off of young women feeling ugly or lacking self esteem.

Obviously there are women who genuinely enjoy these things; who find genuine joy and comfort in getting their nails done and playing with fun make up looks, I know that and that is obviously in no way a moral failing, but we have to be very careful lest we fall into the trap of “making yourself more aesthetically pleasing” = “self care”.

Our society expects women to look and behave in a certain way; while it’s great if you want to and have the ability to abandon these expectations, so many women are unable to without having the way they are treated in their day to day lives severely affected and that is unfortunately a very real struggle. Because of this, it is crucial that we work on not allowing culturally constructed ideas of beauty determine our sense of self worth. The oversexed photoshopped capitalist ideal of “beauty” is not the only way to be beautiful, but more importantly, not being beautiful does not make you worth any less. If you are the furthest thing from “conventionally attractive”, you are still a person with strengths, skills, and worth.

By all means, if putting make-up on truly makes you happy, then do it! But if your idea of self-care is eating that food you know will make you gain weight, or sleeping in a few extra minutes instead of your skin care routine, or putting on your baggiest, ugliest, laziest sweats and getting cozy, do it.

Coming from a girl in her 20s, it is genuine self care, not self presentation, that will save us.

To all my bitches in their 20s please do not waste this time thinking you're ugly. I'm begging you not to. Try not to speak unkindly of yourself, try to do things FOR YOU that are self care. If that's nails, if that's an at home spa day, if that's the full works shower where you shave everything, if that's a hair mask, if it's walking for fifteen minutes or just doing your makeup to wear around the house I don't care what it is do it.

If you continue to fall into bad habits of speaking rudely to yourself, of not believing in yourself it's only going to get harder the older you get. Society is not kind to women, especially not aging women, which we all do. Please I implore you to look in the mirror today and compliment yourself on at least one thing. It can be physical it can be a personality trait you have, anything but you have to look yourself in the eye and you have to mean it.

[narutouzumakiarchive]

How to deal with the homophobic and horrible ss, nh, sh etc. stans? Just reading their content makes me feel gaslighted and makes me want to quit my little sns blog, because I feel isolated.

First of all, I'm sorry you feel that way. The best thing to do is honestly to just ignore them. The canon ships, in particular, are horrid and are consequently routinely subjected to lots of criticism by people outside of the carefully constructed echo chambers of canon shippers. SS/NH fans cope with this by harassing SNS shippers who have been a particular source of insecurity for the entire run of the show. There's a reason why they routinely steal from the sns dynamic to prop up their ship and have to rely on fillers and novels and databooks, etc. instead of working with the manga.

This brings me to my next point. Part of the reason they are so emboldened is because the "victors" are the ones who write the story, and they've used this to control the narrative and recontextualize what actually happened during the original run of the story. So, something you should know is that SNS fans have always been right about the core of the manga.

While there were obviously endgame SS/NH believers, the idea that Sasuke/Sakura and Naruto/Hinata were mutually in love was not a unifying factor in those fandoms.

In the Naruto Collector Book 3, there was an interview in which Kishimoto himself acknowledged the fact that Sakura and Hinata's feelings of love were unrequited. This interview is practically lost media, and is conveniently never discussed but the book is still available. The collector series has other interviews with Kishimoto as well.

But the main point is that this interview was released in 2007, long after we were already into Part 2 of the manga. This firstly debunks the idea that there was a secret budding love story that was sabotaged by SP, though you don't need any interview to tell you that Sasuke literally only thinking of Team 7 during Sakura's love confession, or Naruto not reflecting on any special moments with Hinata was proof enough of the lack of romance. More importantly, however, this is connected to my point about belief in "true love all along" was not a unifying factor in the SS/NH fandoms. Many of them were aware of this interview (see the respective examples of a SS fan and a NH fan reacting to it below) and thus spent their time taking solace in databooks and writing longwinded posts about how mutual romantic development weren't required for endgame.

What DID unite solo/multshipping SS in particular was the belief that Sasuke considered Sakura special, and thus, she would be the one who helped heal his heart. And this belief is where the real "war" between SS/SNS lied. If you look at old SNS posts, you'll see that there was never a unifying belief that SNS would be canon either, for obvious reasons. You'll notice that many posts were prefaced with some variation of "regardless of the nature of their bond...." because it wasn't so much what they were to each other rather than how significant they were to each other. You'll see a lot of posts about them transcending traditional relationship categories.

So this was the primary context in which SS and SNS fans argued. You can see below just some of the drivel that SS came up with. They have always been relentlessly insecure harassers who used to attack SNS fans for simply seeing the direction in which the manga would go.

They ignored Naruto making Sasuke's heart beat repeatedly, they ignored Naruto being tied to Sasuke's sharingan transformation — which later in the manga was explicitly called out for being the reflection of the heart that SNS fans postulated it was. They ignored the fact that Sakura was rendered fungible [a fact you can see reflected in the interview below when Kishimoto discusses what makes Team 7 special and completely evades mention of Sakura] and that Kishi usurped moments that could have been special for Sasuke and Sakura by including Naruto (eg. Sasuke bringing up not wanting Naruto to worry in the FOD, Sasuke thinking about Naruto to keep the curse mark at bay as well despite the fact that Sakura was the one who was explicitly worried about him, Sasuke including Naruto and talking about precious nakama in the fight against Gaara despite the fact that Sakura was the only one in mortal danger, etc.). They ignored the fact that Sasuke quite literally hierarchially ranked Naruto as a more intimate friend than Sakura. Harassed SNS fans for pointing out the basic setup in the manga that served to reinforce SNS fans' interpretations because they constructed a version of the manga that was wholly centered on the special and unique "bond" between Sakura/Sasuke.

All this lasted to the war arc. They twisted themselves in pretzels to argue about how Sasuke leaving Sakura to burn in lava and outright stating that her and Kakashi's lives didn't matter was him repressing his super secret feelings of care for her while attempting to downplay the mutual affection displayed in the SNS bond. Even the more "neutral" pro team 7 SS fans looked for ways to subtly denigrate SNS' bond. Sasuke makes no mentions of Sakura when the 10 tails is about to blow up the shinobi alliance? Who cares because at least Sakura's face doesn't have a cut across it (yes, they really did misinterpret pro SNS moments where Sasuke individuated Naruto as negative). And they did all this while making anti Sasunaru clubs and hiding in forums to complain about how SNS was getting too much focus in the manga (something older fans can attest to) because deep down many of them saw the writing on the wall.

Now SNS fans, on the other hand, displayed the critical reading skills that the SS fandom lacked — and I don't mean that facetiously. They picked up on the fact that it was significant that Sasuke lost control of himself when Naruto showed up. They understood the significance of Sasuke specifically asking about the status of the 9 tails given the prior context of Sasuke specifically needing to kill Naruto because he wanted to become stronger. They recognized that Naruto was specifically singled out with a cut precisely because he was special by picking up on the patterns peppered throughout the text. They also respected the Team 7 bonds established in Part 1 — they had no need to undermine it because there was a confidence in Naruto/Sasuke's relationship being special — while understanding the disadvantage in the fact that Sasuke and Sakura dynamic always included a "we" (see example from a 2008 analysis below). They knew there would be a reconciliation in which the tension between duty and desire would be resolved and would lead to Sasuke accepting his heart/inner child which would lead him to Naruto.

And lo and behold, 698 came and SNS fans were validated while SS fans were livid and angry. They complained and harassed SNS blogs and threw tantrums and cried about the manga being retconned. It's so easy for them to pretend they knew everything in hindsight, but the receipts don't lie. There has never been anyone more in denial about the core facts of the manga than SS/NH fans. Don't let them prevent you from supporting SNS. The SNS bond was validated.

Even to this day, they have never gotten over the fact that Sasuke confirmed their worst nightmares which is why they have to cope by literally cropping Naruto out of panels (Look at the 97 likes — and this is tame for them), spreading poor translations, and taking glee in the idea of Kishimoto not being the arbiter of canonicity, so they can take refuge in material not written by him, because they hate what he did write.

As I type this, they are getting made fun of in different languages and SS fans are coping by pretending that anyone who points out the dysfunction of their implied no kiss couple has has no literacy and is ignoring 700 chapters of development, the development in question being Sakura still acting infantile while Sasuke remains indifferent.

Why should you feel isolated because you want to support the main bond when SS fans even have to lie about the poorly written filler novels that were expressly created FOR them (eg. Sakura forcefully kissing Sasuke and then Sasuke immediately grabbing Naruto and leaving Sakura to fall off the motorcycle they were all riding on; A scene SS fans repeatedly lied about and repeatedly misrepresented).

Unfortunately I've nearly run out of images and I didn't even get to finish highlighting all of the lies of SS or discuss NH fans the way I wanted too but please, don't worry about the hate and the homophobia. A significant part of it is them lashing out because of insecurity.

Then and now, nothing has changed.

They hated the fact that Kishimoto wasn't concerned with Hinata's unrequited feelings and patiently waited for Sasuke to fade into oblivion so Naruto and Hinata could ride off into the sunset. When that didn't come, and Naruto prioritized Sasuke even after Hinata's confession, they took to harassing SNS fans. All they have is a retcon movie that Kishimoto wasn't even devoted to, which is why, in addition to lionizing scenes from the film, they even have to read panels incorrectly to achieve some satisfaction.

SNS is amazing and enough to keep me occupied, but another way of dealing with the hatred and homophobia (which is the main point of this post) is remembering why it's so rampant in the first place. The reason you feel gaslighted is because they are literally trying to rewrite history (these people have even lied about how much their novel sold and had to be corrected by a sale tracking account).

I haven't even scratched the surface, but you can see a few more examples here, here, here, and here. Giving in to their bullying is how the liars win. Don't let them!

[velvetvexations]

i remember years ago, devon price made a post talking about a novel about a trans character. I really related to it, to the way the book described the trans experience. even though the author and character were trans women and i was not, I connected to it over shared trans experience.

I remember then being slightly put off by price's description of the book including something about how the book isn't really for "tmes" and we just need to sit and listen and not contribute.

it was this sort of strange moment for me, because it felt like I was being denied what had been this very wonderful moment of connection between trans people who were more similar than we were different.

i didn't think much of it at the time, this was before all this discourse and it seemed like a weird one-off thing, but I think of it now when I see how he talks about transandrophobia.

I think about how this separation works to kill solidarity and connection between trans people. when support becomes one-sided, it is weakened. we lack the strength of a unified group. your liberation is bound up in mine. when we construct a rigid no-man's-land between our experiences and identities, our connection becomes sterile. there is no life capable of flourishing in these conditions. there is none of the colour and music and beauty that always made me love being trans so much. if anyone gives without receiving, listens without being listened to, in time they will dry up.

bitterly, this also comes with the realization that price's denials of trans masc oppression run deeper than I initially remembered.

if something I had wrote had a fucking trans man going "we all need to be quiet and listen to the nice twans wady" I would scream lmao like shut the fuck up you pretentious little loser I'm trying to connect to people not distribute a manifesto but I wish you luck on some day translating your chivalry into sex

[martianbugsbunny]

That's How He Knows He's Yours (A Lokius Fic)

Okayyyy I would have sworn up and down that I had already posted this fic ??? but I did a bunch of different search attempts and I couldn't find it so I guess I didn't

The premise is basically Loki and Mobius are going to a party and Mobius is helping him with his hair, but Mobius has been studying up on the meanings of different Jotun hairstyles and accidentally-on-purpose picks the one that means "I'm taken." Ofc there's a bit of cultural headcanon involved. It's super fluffy w a little bit of flirtatiousness, so read on and enjoy!

The TVA was having a party.

That wasn’t really the important thing, but it was interesting. Mobius couldn’t remember the last time they’d had a party—but they needed to keep their spirits up after finding out that their entire lives were, in fact, lies, so a party it was. Every sector was having its own, because the TVA was too immense for all of the employees to have fit in a single room if they’d been threatened with death to do it.

Well, anyway, the important thing was that Mobius wasn’t going alone. He’d convinced Loki that it would be more fun to go together than to go separately, or not to go at all.

The other important thing was that Mobius had offered to braid Loki’s hair, which had grown considerably longer than it had been the first time they’d met, and that Loki had taken him up on it.

He’d spent hours studying both Jotun and Aesir braiding styles—not just the actual construction, but also the meaning behind them. In the end he’d picked the Jotun style that signaled “I’m taken” because it was beautiful, and because he was pretty sure Loki didn’t know enough about his own culture to know what it meant himself, so Mobius could convince himself it wasn’t that much of a presumption.

“I’m not so sure about this suit,” Loki said, sitting patiently as Mobius brushed his hair before plaiting it. “The gold stripes are a bit much, don’t you think?”

“What happened to the guy who used to strut around wearing gold armor and a cape?” Mobius teased, beginning the first braid. Left under the middle, right under the middle, he muttered under his breath.

“I’ve been wearing your boring TVA clothes for months,” Loki said, holding out one arm to watch the threads glitter. “The drab must’ve rubbed off on me.”

Mobius rolled his eyes. The truth was, he was outside his own comfort zone in a fancy suit. His didn’t have metallic pin-striping on it like Loki’s did (because it was a bit much) but it was a much sharper cut and a much more dashing style than he was used to wearing. He’d been just an analyst in a plain brown suit for centuries, and now here he was all dressed up like he thought he was Prince Charming or something.

He tried to focus more on the different strands of dark hair in his hands than on the way his fingertips brushed against Loki’s temples as he gathered new locks to add to the braids.

He failed.

As he began to pin the braids up using glittering golden hair pins, he tried to focus more on not stabbing Loki’s  scalp than on the brush of his hands against the nape of Loki’s neck.

He failed.

Loki was built like a prince, Mobius sometimes caught himself thinking. It didn’t matter if it was princedom of Asgard or of Jotunheim. There was an elegance in the set of his shoulders, in the movements of his hands as he wielded his magic, and a determination in the curve of his back and the way he stepped, that was utterly regal. Gold, like the simple rings he was wearing that night and the hair pins Mobius had found for him and the single slim chain around his neck, seemed to have been built into the cosmos for no reason other than to decorate Loki's trim form.

That was waxing poetic. Mobius didn’t do that often—only for Loki and Jet Skis. What could he say, they were both remarkable singularities in the universe.

He finished setting the last braid into place, nestled among several others like a crown across the top of Loki’s head. “All done, puss,” he said, patting Loki on the shoulder.

Loki’s head turned slightly to the side at the use of the nickname, and Mobius could just see a smile tugging at the corner of his mauve-tinted lips. “Do I dare look?” he asked.

“I didn’t mess it up that bad,” Mobius said. Loki chuckled and got up from the floor in front of Mobius’s couch to go check his reflection in the mirror on the other side of the room.

Mobius could see the reflected green eyes widening as Loki caught sight of himself. For some reason Mobius’s heart was in his throat.

“I didn’t know you knew how to do this,” Loki said.

“What, braids?” Mobius managed to speak past his racing pulse. “It’s not that hard.” It was, actually, quite difficult to his untrained hands, but learning it for Loki had made it seem easier.

“No. The Jotun style.”

That quick pulse stopped altogether. Mobius sat there, stock still, feeling very much like he was going to throw up if Loki didn’t break the sudden silence.

He turned from the mirror to look Mobius in the eyes properly. He was smiling, his eyes glittering beneath the faint liner he’d applied earlier that evening and a light dusting of shimmery grey eyeshadow. “Seems the pussycat has caught himself a guilty little mouse,” he said, his voice sultry and honey-smooth, dripping into Mobius’s soul. “You didn’t realize I knew what these braids meant.” It was a statement, not a question. There wasn’t a hint of doubt on his face.

“You caught me,” Mobius said. He was impressed with himself for being able to get any words out at all with Loki’s gaze focused on him like that.

“I’m taken, am I?”

Now Mobius found himself entirely unable to speak. What could he say, after all, other than we’ve been spending a lot of time together and you don’t mind when I call you ‘puss’ and I catch you staring at me sometimes in a way nobody ever has? It seemed stupid even in his brain. None of it meant he and Loki were…whatever he’d been subconsciously thinking they could be when he’d picked the style.

Loki walked back across the room, a new sway in his hips that Mobius was positive hadn’t been there before, and sat down on the couch to lean directly into Mobius’s personal space. For a long moment, far too long, far too breathless, he simply studied Mobius’s face, as though he could see everything single thought that had ever crossed his mind.

“We’ll see about that when we get back from the party,” he said finally, gaze flicking briefly down to Mobius’s lips. “Maybe you’re the one who’s going to be…taken.”

He crossed into that last bit of personal space and pressed their lips together, his touch surprisingly light, stunningly tender, as one arm came up to drape across Mobius’s shoulders and draw him even closer.

“Don’t be so sure of yourself, puss.” Mobius finally found his tongue again and flirted back, laying a hand on Loki’s thigh. “You’re the one with the fancy hairstyle to prove it.”

As Loki laughed, Mobius captured his lips in another kiss, just as soft as before but oh-so-many leagues more passionate, and he thanked his lucky stars he’d been fool enough to pick a Jotun way to call Loki his.

[wediedlaughing]

Harvard Square, 2008.

Harvard Square's Crimson Corner news stand at night. 2009. I hate that this closed while I was in college, sometime shortly after 2017(?). Now it's mostly been empty and fenced off due to construction. I been like that for years now.

The Coop doesn't have a cafe anymore. It hasn't for years but old customers come in and still complain that it's gone.

Here's the coop from the other side of the street where the enterance to the T is. The Crimson Corner newstand would be the the right of these people behind them.

The Garage has been lingering in a state of pugatory for years now. There was talk of tearing it down, revnovations and more. Since 2016, I've seen a slew of stores come and go. I didn't know there was a 7/11 here until doing my research. It's currently a Tasty Burger with a bar and pool tables (associated with Tasty Burger) on the basment floor. There may or may not be hanidcap/elevator acess into the T from inside the shop. There is signage for it, and a few doors but I haven't explored further. I really hope to find pictures of the inside of this 7/11.

According to google maps street view, the 7/11 was replaced with Tasty Burger sometime between November 2011 - September 2013.

The building in the middle of the image is the Crismon Corner. That giant weird statue has been long gone, replaced with some benches and tables and surrounded by short hedges. One time in college, while waiting for the light to cross the street here at night, some crazy lady yelled at my friends and I calling us cannibals?? Yeah, I have no idea.

That CVS moved into the Citizens Banks across from The Coop. (bank not pictured in this post). The bank of America is still there. The CVS has been empty since it moved sometime between 2014-2015.

Finagle a Bagel turned into an Otto's Pizza sometime between 2009 and 2011. C'est Bon Convenience turned into "C'est Bon MARKET & LIQUORS"

Via Google Maps

And wow, I'm getting emotional about change and the passage of time :'(

I hope you found this interesting! One of the strangest things is that we set the comic in Cambridge/Somerville having no idea I'd end up living there eventually!

[towns-end-bindery]

Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea

By Jules Verne

🌊🐙🐳

Boy this was a lot of foiling, and my hand definitely hurt by the end of it. Despite my efforts, the hand foiling is quite patchy, but somehow aesthetically it kinda works?

I printed the pattern on inkjet canvas first, then I laid over it a printout of the leaf border pattern (originally designed by @alderdoodle). I used vellum paper so that I could see the cover underneath and line up the pattern. Then, once everything was secured with tape, I inserted green foil between the vellum and the cover. From there I traced the pattern by hand with a foil quill. Meanwhile, the spine was debossed first with a foil quill and then filled in with gold paint.

This is the biggest book I’ve ever tried to rebind, and I’ve learned that the weight of the text block is definitely something I need to consider more in the future for how I decide to construct the case. Even with the mull, the inner shoulders feel quite weak unfortunately. I should have either chosen stronger endpapers, or done more to reinforce the marbled paper I used, especially at the hinges to prevent the text block from sagging.

Apart from the leaf pattern, all other elements are from Canva.

————

You can also check out this post on my Cara or Mastodon.

[emmabirb8]

My first official venture into a super rare pair, EmmaStan, aka Emma-May Dixon and Stanley Pines!! @cosmo-shell and @slug-ball opened my eyes to the concept of these two, and WHOA the potential really stole my heart. It's absolutely not what they're serving out front, lmao, but the ship has bewitched me body and soul nonetheless. I just fell in love with the idea of these two tortured souls finding comfort in each other during the most difficult periods of their lives. They've been through HELL and deserve nice things. 😊💖 (And Emma-May in particular deserves WAY more love and attention in this fandom!)

My personal interpretation of Emma-May was mainly inspired by this piece by @birdskullz and this piece by @cosmo-shell.

Check out my AU fic for them here if you want! I haven't attempted a multi-chaptered fic in a VERY long time, lol, so hopefully this one will pan out well. First two chapters are up, but I've got more drafted out that will be posted very soon!

Writing out some key HCs about Emma-May and a rough timeline of events I constructed for my AU fic under the cut here:

Emma-May's family moved from Kansas to Tennessee when she was less than a year old, so she was raised in TN

Her mother is black while her father is white, and she has two older sisters

She became friends with Fiddleford and his siblings sometime during childhood

She attended college in New Jersey (went to a school I made up called “Gertrude University,” sort of a ref to the real university of Rutgers), majoring in botany, while Fidds ofc went to Backupsmore somewhere in the midwest 

Met Stan by chance once as a college student about a year after he was kicked out of his house and was still struggling with treasure hunting (probably around 1970 or 1971)

Married Fidds anywhere from 1973-1975 when they were in their 20s – felt pressured from family and society to get married, but they were best friends and did love each other (but the marriage was covertly strained from the beginning bc neither could get what they truly needed from each other – best friends don't necessarily work as a married couple even if some level of attraction is there along with the love)

Had Tate in the early-mid 70s, both love him to pieces and Fidds was a very devoted father up until he started unraveling 

Fidds left his family around the very late 70s to early 80s to work with Ford

Fidds abandoned the portal project in the early 80s, at that point already having started his descent into madness due to his reliance on the memory gun

Emma-May filed for divorce after becoming fed up with his bizarre behavior, lack of calls home, and a big fight they had around Christmas of the early 80s

The “homicidal pterodactyl-tron” attack happened during springtime after that Christmas, and this solidified Emma-May's decision to take Tate someplace safe (to stay with her aunt who lives in another state) while she set off to Gravity Falls herself to try to track Fiddleford down and figure out wtf happened to make him so different and dangerous 

At some point either right before or after the pterodactyl attack, Fidds created the Society of the Blind Eye and subsequently lost what remained of his mind and memories

Emma-May bumped into Stan, once again by chance, the night before he arrived in Gravity Falls upon Ford's request

[canmom]

yeah, for sure!

it's a portal system, where the playing field is level, meaning there's loads of stuff getting posted and you just have the contents of that box to entice someone to try your story - there's no blurb for them to look at, and of course, here these ads are being shown while you're reading another story so they have only seconds to intrigue you enough to pop it open in another tab. in that context, simple is better! it's the same reason (I imagine) so many Japanese web novels on shōsetsu spell out their entire premise in the title...

a lot of the tools available to printed books aren't available to web novel authors. you don't have a blurb. you don't have famous authors or critics to provide pull quotes about how important or profound the book is. you don't have the style of the binding, communicating what type of novel you have in your hands, or how physically long it is from the spine. with such limited information... well, memes win right? they're a format optimised for rapid communication in tiny boxes.

but what's fascinating about it for me is like, it's a window into a different literary subculture, with totally different priorities to what i'm used to.

fanfics are usually categorised by things like relationship dynamics and in particular the sort of emotions aimed to be evoked by a story. for example, hurt/comfort, slow burn, porn without plot. by far the majority of stories are romances; we have a term gen for the minority category of non-romance stories. as you mention, mainstream fantasy/ya/etc. novels have increasingly started to be marketed in similar terms ('cozy'), as well as emphasising demographic boxes (e.g. asexual protagonist).

here, by contrast, stories are largely sorted by types of power-fantasy premise such as isekai, cultivation, litRPG and harem. the 'MC' exists as a kind of meta-character, an audience-projection figure who will presumably be more or less similar in most stories. it's a feedback system: the more RR becomes known for a certain type of story, the more readers will be attracted there to read it, and the more readers will be inspired to become writers of the kind of genre they've been reading.

at least, that's what I surmise from the window of advert boxes - i've only been on RR to read Worth the Candle and The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere, which don't really fit the stereotype of a RR story, but rather use its familiar genres as a point of departure for character-focused stories and examine familiar science fiction themes like power, mortality, the weirdness of the mind, moral philosophy, sexuality, trauma, and so on.

and maybe some of these stories are that too. after all, you bait the hook with an easy-to-comprehend premise, you can't lead with anything too dry. but i get the impression (from memories of writing similar stories as a kid) a lot of people approach this kind of thing more like a solo TTRPG. it's sort of like. what if you wrote down the narrative you construct in your head when you're playing a game?

anyway i shouldn't speculate too much about a genre i don't read and don't super plan to get into, i just think it's cool to see all the different things people do on earth, you know

so on royalroad, the english-language serial webnovel website, there's ads created by users for other stories at the top of each chapter - you know, for the common case where you're reading a book and you want to suddenly start reading a different book. (they set it up in a way that's fiddly to block.)

they're kinda fascinating? I almost want to start collecting them. they triangulate into genres with bulletpoints. isekai. cultivation. reincarnation. yes romance. no romance. harem. no harem. some of them use anime-styled art or fantasy concept art (most likely a lot of it either AI-generated or used without permission/attribution, I get the vibe)... but a lot of them are straight up just memes.

hell lemme just refresh the page a bit and see what I get. I'm only a liiiiittle selective here.

...I could keep refreshing but you get the picture.

and sure, it's just the same as the AO3 tagging system with a different set of aesthetic priorities right? people are searching for stories which scratch a very specific itch. but there's something weirdly fascinating in advertising a story based on how formulaic it is. or ads for a novel that look like ads for a mobile game. how so many of them refer to their protagonist as 'MC'.

I assume this like, works, or people wouldn't do it? Same principle as long light novel titles. otaku database theory stuff. I just... don't really get it! who's it for?