#i am perhaps not mad

[anna-scribbles]

last one i promise(<—lie)

[teslacoils-and-hubris]

We live such different lives... come with me I can show you the beautiful intimacy of literally holding someone's heart in your hands

[theofficialpresidentofmars]

I’d like to propose a performance of Hamlet in which the audience is addressed, looked at, and treated as if they were there but ONLY by characters who have gone mad.

in Act 2, when Hamlet’s pretending to go mad, while in the presence of Polonius and others, he sort of pretends to look at the audience, but always glancing over, looking sort of in the wrong direction, putting on a show for the only eyes he thinks are watching. When he’s alone and doing his soliloquies, it’s clear that he’s talking to himself, even though we’re listening in.

And it continues this way until Act 3 Scene 4, when Hamlet runs Polonius through with the sword. For a moment after the deed is done, there’s a shocked silence on the stage. As Hamlet goes to examine the body, he falters, slightly, as he becomes aware of just how many eyes are on him. And slowly; he looks at us, and through the rest of the scene his attention is torn between the audience and his mother, until the ghost appears (perhaps in the audience as well) and he’s… sort of put back on track. But from then on, all his soliloquies, asides, he begins to talk to us, in the audience.

And we notice the change, sure, but we don’t really get what it means, not until Ophelia goes mad, and while onstage she begins to give audience members flowers, to talk to them as the others call her crazy. And at that point most of us can make the connection.

From then until the play is over, Hamlet can’t fully ignore us. Every other character will, and does (besides maybe the gravediggers if you wanted to include anyone else), but we’re ever present in his sight. As he dies, we’re the ones he refers to when he says ‘you that look pale and tremble at this chance, that are but mutes or audience to this act’

[sidesteppostinghours]

ok. question.

ortega ended up hallucinating sidestep after they "died", but sidestep doesnt know about that. they know it got bad, but never the full extent of how their death affected them. so if your sidestep Did learn, if they found out ortega looked for them in every little piece they could, would that change anything for your sidesteps? would their relationship with ortega be any different?

[zecoritheweirdone]

eyyyy,, guess who's been drawing more of that hc x msa au?

been making a lot of scene redraws/edits for the past few days,, buuut i'm not quite done with them yet,, so i'll prolly share them another time. until then- here's a lil pearl design! mostly made these to finalize her design,, since the next scene i'm doing involves lewis,, sksnsks.

[foldingfittedsheets]

Okay so. We were driving on the freeway home. A two lane road out of the mountains. There was a truck camped out in the left lane, pacing the van in the right lane.

Now common courtesy is that you use the left lane to pass and move right when there’s a car behind you because it means they’re going faster than you.

But this truck. Had a line of seven cars backed up in the left lane, all stymied by this blockade. The right lane backed up too, all because this truck wouldn’t move over. He was dedicated too, braking when the van did to keep them level and keep any cars from getting passed. This went on for over ten miles to much honking and frustration.

When the van finally broke free and traffic was able to move through we saw that the asshole truck was a company truck. So….

Edit to clarify: I cannot call the company, it’s international, and there’s no business email.

[jtl-fics]

But also... Andreil on the great British bake off (they have celebrity seasons)

Look, I'm gonna be honest.

It's a disaster in two parts.

Neil is there EXPLICITLY because Stuart found out that he had been asked to go do it because he is technically British. Stuart has asked him to be the bane of Paul Hollywood's existence and is willing to do quite a bit to make the man's life hell.

"He knows what he did." is all Stuart will say on the matter.

Neil agrees to come be a Baker on the stipulation that Andrew also gets to come. Andrew has no interest in baking other than what it can produce for him to eat, he has no desire to do the laborious task of baking himself.

Stuart offers him an Aston.

Andrew agrees.

Neil is a nightmare in the tent. He hates desserts. He hates measuring. He has never done a single prep bake. He has no idea what the desserts are during the technical challenge. He just goes with his gut (his iron gut). He produces three straight desserts that Paul will not let Prue eat for fear that she will just straight up die if she eats it. He is a pile of misery upon consuming all three.

When Neil is kicked off in round one no one is surprised. Paul pats Neil on the back as he leaves the tent and Neil just leans in, "Stuart Hatford sends his regards." he says now that the mic has been removed. Paul Hollywood's tan fades but Neil doesn't look back.

Andrew is a nightmare for a completely different reason and that reason is that he very visibly and honestly does not give a single flying fuck about what he's doing but he's doing quite well. He is the most boring man on camera, zero quips, won't interact with Noel and whoever the fuck is the other presenter by this point, just him doing exactly what the recipe requires and then he always makes a point of grabbing whatever Paul and Prue have judged and taking it all back to his station so that he can eat it. He stares straight into the camera as he eats an entire three tier cake. He dedicates every week he is Star Baker to his inspiration: Kevin Day.

Andrew makes it all the way to the Finals with impressive bakes that he basically just decided on 100% by how much he thinks it would upset Kevin to watch him eat it knowing that he SHOULD be doing weight training for the olympics. ("Weight TRAINING not Weight GAINING Andrew! Do you have to hold up two fingers as you eat the entire thing? Can you at least PRETEND it's not to SPITE me?" Kevin wails as Andrew calls him for the post-credit scene where the star bakers call their families usually but Andrew just uses it so everyone can hear Kevin Day lose his mind on Public Access.)

Andrew gets to the finals and his show stopper....it's immaculate. It's gorgeous. It's a work of art. Paul Hollywood is looking at this feat of modern baking engineering in wonder.

He shakes Andrew's hand before he even tastes it and-

"Stuart Hatford sends his regards."

Paul Hollywood is now nervous to eat this cake. Does he look out at the gathered friends and family of the contestants and see Stuart Hatford? Does he remember what he did?

He eats the cake because show obligations and it tastes as good as it looks but he is oddly silent as Prue talks about it.

Andrew Wins and Paul Hollywood stays exactly one entire party's width away from Neil, Stuart, and Andrew during the entire victory picnic.

Andrew gives his post bake-off speech and flat out says it was kind of boring and he wants to go home to America. The next scene is him driving off with Neil in an Aston Martin.

Edit: Thanks @the-inner-musings-of-a-worm for the idea once again!

[age-of-moonknight]

“The Killing of Moon Knight,” Vengeance of the Moon Knight (Vol. 2/2024), #9.

Writer: Jed MacKay; Penciler and Inker: Devmalya Pramanik; Colorist: Rachelle Rosenberg; Letterer: Cory Petit

[androidboy]

a lot of times age gap is completely forgotten and then sometimes people talk about things and it does make me feel really young and dumb and life inexperienced

[sleepinginmygrave]

when a really cool blog have a lot of common with me don't follow me back even tho we should be best friends... this hurt more than anything else

[dashiellqvverty]

i cannot tell you how much it infuriates me to see headlines about starbucks losing money captioned with “boycotts work!!” like…. okay what change did starbucks make in response to losing that money?? what change did you WANT them to make? what ties to israel do they have and how would it impact israel if they cut those ties?? starbucks losing money is evidence that a boycott is HAPPENING, but not that it is “working” or achieving any particular goal. the point of a boycott isn’t simply to punish a company for being shitty, it is to force their hand to make a CHANGE. and to be absolutely clear, fuck starbucks i am all for not giving them your money. but an organized boycott with a tangible goal and choosing not to support a place are two different things.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

when the art block hitteth

[cannibalovers]

important question,

[felignis]

i think chappell roan enforcing her boundaries to creepo parasocial fans is so fucking awesome and based and she should be allowed to do whatever she wants forever

[youngpettyqueen]

I think Doctor Who being my first plunge into sci-fi as a child was like. the best decision possible. growing up imprinting on a show that is full of continuity bullshit, constantly retcons itself, and just keeps the "yes, and?" bit going with every season, has truly made me impervious to things like inconsequential plot holes, absurd references, and missed details. something has to be truly egregious for me to actually be annoyed about it because otherwise ill just find it funny

[katsu28]

Kait these prompts are so cute what about feed with Stevie!!!! 🥺

god this one was so cute i totally got carried away! thank you for requesting it, my dear emma!! <3

[FEED] sender offers receiver a spoonful of what they're cooking so receiver can taste it, steve harrington x reader, 1.6k

Living with Steve Harrington was a dream come true. Hell, better than a dream. 

Steve had sold his parents’ house a little while ago, taking some of the money that he’d gotten for it and buying a nice little place just on the outskirts of town, small enough for the two of you but big enough if anyone needed a place to crash for a bit.

Since you’d moved in a few months ago, there was rarely a day where it was just you and Steve at home. There were always people coming in and out, hanging around, swinging by to borrow something. It was the de facto hangout spot for your friends, always loud and full of warmth because both Steve and yourself had already been through enough cold empty hallways to last yourselves a lifetime. 

You wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Today was no different. It was Dustin’s sixteenth birthday, and Steve had come up with the genius idea of having a little surprise party at your place. This obviously meant that he and you would be in charge of getting his favorite foods, which, like any good mother would, Steve knew off the top of his head. 

“Stevie, where do we keep the nice napkins?” You asked, sticking your head into the kitchen. Steve glanced up from where he was parked in front of the stove stirring the giant pot. His apron was wrinkled, glasses askew and hair a mess like he’d been through a tornado, when in reality he was the tornado. 

He’d been bustling around the house from the minute he woke up, muttering to himself about how much food he needed to make for the party tonight. You’d barely gotten in a good morning kiss before he’d rushed the both of you to the grocery store, and since you’d gotten home he’d been posted up in the kitchen, chopping, dicing, stirring, you name it. 

You offered to help many times, but Steve had a thing about people being in his space when he was in the zone. You were an exception most of the time, but today was not one of those times.

“You wanna let those hooligans use the good napkins? No way, they’re getting paper.” He scoffed, propping one hand on his hip. 

“You have such low expectations of them. They’re teenagers now.” You giggled, swatting his butt playfully on your way to the cabinet to break out the paper napkins. Steve jumped a little bit, but managed to keep his composure, shooting you a pointed look. It was half obscured by the steam wafting out of the pot, but still served its purpose. 

“Yeah, that’s exactly why I have such low expectations of them.”  He grumbled. You hopped up on the counter by the sink, far enough away from Steve to where you weren’t crowding him, but close enough to see the crinkle in his brow as he frowned at the pot in front of him. 

“I still don’t understand why you had to make so much chili for the party.” You sighed, hopping up on the counter. “There’s only eleven of us.” 

“Have you seen the appetite of those boys? And Eddie too, for that matter? I honestly think this might not be enough.” He wondered aloud, peering into the depths of the pot. You snorted. There was enough chili to feed a whole army. “Plus, it’s not called Claudia’s famous chili for nothing. And don’t you look at me like that, Dustin adores his mom’s recipe, so I asked her for it.” 

“Steve…” 

“What? What, what’s wrong? Why are you saying my name like that?” 

“You are so his second mom.” 

Steve’s worried frown morphed into an annoyed one, eyes rolling so far towards the back of his head you wouldn’t be surprised if they got stuck. You could tell he was trying to play it cool, but the flush of pink creeping across his cheeks gave him away. “Shut up.” 

“It’s cute!” You insisted. 

“I am not his mother!” 

“No, of course not.” 

“I’m not.” He said, just one more time for good measure. When all you did was nod very unconvincingly, he rolled his eyes. “C’mere, try this.” He scooped up a little bit of his concoction, padding across the kitchen to you and holding the spoon up to your lips. 

You were too busy looking at him to notice the droplets dribbling down your chin as you ate it, too busy admiring the way a few wayward strands of chestnut fell over his forehead, the way he gazed at you like you making a mess out of a spoonful of chili was the greatest thing he’d ever seen. 

If you asked Steve, he would say that everything you’ve done was the best thing he’s ever seen. 

His thumb swiped across your chin gently, wiping your face clean with the utmost care. “Good?” 

“Holy fuck.” 

“Right?” 

“Keep the recipe, you’re definitely making this again for us.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Steve mock saluted you, pressing a brief kiss to your forehead before turning on his heel and heading back to the stove. 

The apartment soon became chaos again, but this time instead of just Steve whirling around the place, everyone was here, chattering away, straightening out last minute details, waiting for Eddie to bring the birthday boy under the guise of a new DnD campaign. Jonathan and Argyle were finishing up hanging the birthday banner El and Will had painted, with Nancy directing them. Robin was “testing the quality of the food dingus cooked” (she was really just snacking), Lucas and Mike were arguing about who got the better gift for Dustin. El, Will, and Max were really the only calm ones, deep into a conversation about god knows what. 

Steve, ever the perfectionist, was squinting at the list in his hand as he paced a hole in the floor, the other hand dragging through his hair, again and again. 

You snagged him by the elbow, tugging him into the empty hall gently. “Relax, Steve. Everything’s sorted out.” 

“I just want him to have a good birthday.” His shoulders slumped, and you suspected that it might’ve been more than just that. You slid your hand up his chest, around to smooth your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Hey, c’mon. Talk to me, what’s going on?” 

“I don’t know, I just…sixteen is big. Important.” He sighed, letting his forehead lean against yours. His brow was furrowed, lips downturned into a frown that you wanted nothing more than to kiss away. “I remember my sixteenth birthday, it was awful. My parents weren’t even there, and I had a party, but I didn’t have anyone who really cared about me.” 

“Oh, honey…” You sighed, giving the back of his neck a gentle squeeze. 

“Maybe I’m just projecting, I dunno. It’s not like I really care about what happened back then anymore. I just don’t want him to turn out like me.” 

“You turned out great, Steve. Take my word for it, you are so much better than whoever you thought you were gonna be.” You said firmly, taking his face in your hands. You needed him to know that whatever happened to him when he was sixteen, it didn’t determine who he was now. If anything, it helped him get to where he was today. “And Dustin’s gonna turn out just fine too. You wanna know why? Because he’s got a good group of friends who always have his back. He has Eddie and Nancy and the rest of us, but most of all, he’s got you. And you’re gonna be there for him, for whatever he needs. Whether he likes it or not.” 

You wished you could bottle up the look on Steve’s face and keep it forever with the way he was looking at you right now, bright honey eyes shining, perfect pink lips parted. 

“Everybody shut up, Eddie just pulled up in front,” Max hissed, cutting off anything Steve wanted to say. She quickly threw the curtains shut from her position as lookout. “Go hide!” 

You raised an eyebrow at your boyfriend, who was still staring at you. “You okay now?” 

Steve blinked, nodded quickly, letting a small smile stretch his lips as he intertwined your fingers. “I’m good.” He guided you into the kitchen to hide, pulling you a lot closer to him than you actually needed to be. “Thank you.” 

“I’m always your number one fan, Steve Harrington.” 

Eddie’s loud voice echoed from outside, boots clomping along the walk that gave away exactly when Dustin swung the door open. 

“Surprise!!!” 

“Jesus Christ!” Dustin yelled, jumping about five feet into the air. “Dickheads!” 

El rushed forward before anyone else could say anything, squishing the curly haired boy in a very enthusiastic, possibly bone-crushing hug before holding him at arm's length and beaming at him as she poked a finger into his chest. “Happy birthday, Dustin. You’re old now.” 

“Thanks, El.” He chuckled. The rest of you took your turns wishing him a happy birthday, until it was just Steve left. 

“You planned this?” Dustin asked the older boy, raising an amused brow. Steve shrugged nonchalantly, but the fond grin on his face told Dustin all he needed to know.  

“Happy birthday, Henderson.” Steve said, holding his hand out for a shake. Dustin looked down at his outstretched hand, then back up at Steve briefly before lunging at him in a rather forceful hug. Steve stumbled back a step or two, but wrapped his arms around the younger boy, slapping him on the back a few times. When both boys pulled back from the hug, Steve planted his hands on Dustin’s shoulders, plastering a faux serious look on his face. “Right, so…sixteen. You’re becoming a man now, you gotta—” 

“Oh my god, stop it!” Dustin groaned.  

“No, I’m serious! Eddie, back me up here—” 

“Harrington’s right, Henderson, sixteen is big!” 

“Jesus, not you too!”

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