#prufrock's love

[lilydalexf]

👽 Random X-Files Fic Rec

There is a very captivating story about what could have happened had Mulder, Scully, and William all stayed separated. Except of course none of them can stay separated, not really. This story is captivating but also at times very tense and upsetting because it’s written so well with such humor and such care to every detail and character. It’s always worth a read (or re-read). Title: Dr. Scully's School for Exceptional Boys Author: Prufrock's Love Summary: More than a decade had passed. Mulder had no reason to hole up in his apartment alone, wearing a Three Dog Night T-shirt with dried mustard on the hem and blue jeans that had seen better days. He wasn't "saving himself" for anyone. Especially not Her. Though she remained epically, beautifully, brilliantly kick-A-S-S. Length: 71,467 words Classification: Novel, MSR, Other Rating: R Spoilers: Veers AU after season 7, with a few bits from 8 & 9. Favorite line: As if I'd pick only one. Read the story!

[fine-nephrit]

🥏 TXF Fic Rec #50: "Dr. Scully's School for Exceptional Boys" by Prufrock’s Love

Today’s rec is an AU set a decade after S9, tackling the emotional fallout of Scully giving up William for adoption.

Since it’s PFL, you know what you’re in for: mega-angst and pain (more, please), an appealing Mulder characterization and POV (dad!Mulder front and center), twisted, dark, messy dysfunction, and that intense, unyielding love we’re all here for, all wrapped up in a narrative so riveting that you won’t be able to put down.

I have mixed feelings about this story, but it features THE reunion scene of all time, breath-stopping, crazy hot, and hitting every note perfectly. That’s the fabulous PFL at her finest.

---

🥏 on AO3 🥏 on xffics

length: novel, 71,000+ words season: season 9 pairing(s): M/S UST to RST, Mulder/Other, Scully/Other tags: AU, action adventure, colonization, angst, Mytharc, jealousy, rift, separated/reunited, baby fic, theGunmen, Mulder-POV rating: mature/R

Tagging @today-in-fic

[gayalfredprufrock]

did u always ship the hp ships that u enjoy currently or do u have a secret past (me personally i was reading harry/ginny i think. also romione)

very interesting question fourfeetteninches. i think it sounds really you to be reading romione. i dont mean this as an insult. i do indeed have a secret past! im putting it below the cut because this is longer than i expected it to be

i was never not into hp but i wasn't always in the fandom so while i have always been ride or die for hp since i my dad started reading it with my dad at 5 years old, there was still a gap in like early-mid 20s. i explain this to say that when i ~got back into~ hp despite not necessarily being ~gone~ it was because i read the 6th book first that time and i was like omgggggggg i love ginny i need to read more of ginny/harry. I was even writing an ouat/hp crossover and hinny was a side pair in it.

Then when i first got into hp fandom i think the very first fic i read was atyd so it didnt make sense for me that jily could possibly be with anyone but each other and for the LONGEST time i wanted to read narcissa fics but didnt ship her with anyone so i was reading Narcissa/reader, Narcissa/Alice, Narcissa/Pansy, even narcissa/bellatrix although i got really icked out by that one and any time there was a big focus in the fic on them being sisters i yeeted away (i only liked when i could pretend they were just two hot ladies who weren't related) but yeah none of those really did it for me I just wanted to read narcissa f/f. I think this is actually why i first JOKED about narcissa/ginny but jokes are dangerous as we now know. And ginny is a lesbian so idk how I liked her and harry. And i stumbled upon narlily by accident! I don't remember how!!! Because for a minute I was into bellalily but not as a shipper just as a desperate for bella fics (and again i wont read hermione so bellamione was out). And suddenly i was like how did I ever ship Lily with anyone but narcissa!!!

My other past is less secret bc i still ship it but after atyd I was sooooo into Sirius and wolfstar and I think the first hp ship I was super into (and not reading out of desperation for fics) was wolfstar!!! I read a lot but idk i ascribe to the idea that your ships are someone you identify with and someone you want to bang and remus is neither of those things to me and reading smut with him was kind of icky to me because i just felt nothing for him outside of casual adoration i guess so i still do ship wolfstar but i dont read it at all anymore. i love drarry too but there was a minute when i was experimenting with snape/sirius and with snarry and i read a lot of mushy uwu fall in love fics for those ships that i enjoyed at the time but now i think the only thing i support them for is hate sex

[wittgensteinsmistrust]

In the room the women come and go Talking of Michelangelo.

T.S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

[chiliontherocks]

hang on it's 2/2 let me post this old comic from last year

[itspileofgoodthings]

the poets have NOT been strangely silent on the subject of peaches.

[zwischen-immer-und-nie]

T. S. Eliot, from "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" (1915)

[misti31]

[tiktaaliker]

i can't find an image of gar can you show me one pls? also shoutout ts eliot in the bio

oh man the reason why you cant find gar is because ive only drawn the guy once ever

gar is the second to the left, the brown dog-adjacent thing with robot hands. he's the founder of DIRE and also an asshole. btw i still love this group pic because it really brings out how much they do NOT work together visually which is entirely intentional. DIRE is a complete mess

[shy-veil]

My Chemical Romance - The Jetset Life is Gonna Kill You / T.S. Eliot - The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

[tsyellalot]

I don’t want a hot girl summer I want a Prufrock summer:

- Wear white flannel trousers

- Walk upon the beach

- Part my hair behind (maybe)

- Eat a peach (if daring enough)

- Become a pair of ragged claws scuttling across the floors of silent seas

[julianpeterscomics]

"The Waste Land" by T. S. Eliot, page 1

Ever since completing my comics adaptation of T. S. Eliot’s “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,��� I have wanted to do something similar with Eliot’s most famous and celebrated poem, “The Waste Land.” But besides being extremely complex and often difficult to interpret,”The Waste Land” (First published 1922) is very long, and this always deterred me from getting started. It was only recently that…

[cosmik-homo]

I really can't quite explain it, but I think "Once in a lifetime" by the Talking Heads and The Love Song Of J. Alfred Prufrock (by T.S. Elliott) really are about the same thing. Things. I'm very normal about these pieces.

[gayalfredprufrock]

explain how your favorite fruit tastes without using any food words

sour-ish but a little sweet and cruncha cruncha. asmr chewing

[alliwanttodoiscollectpoetry]

Excerpt from The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T. S. Eliot

[poems-from-around-the-world]

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock - T.S. Eliot - USA

S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse A persona che mai tornasse al mondo, Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse. Ma percioche giammai di questo fondo Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero, Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.

Let us go then, you and I,

When the evening is spread out against the sky

Like a patient etherized upon a table;

Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,

The muttering retreats

Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels

And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:

Streets that follow like a tedious argument

Of insidious intent

To lead you to an overwhelming question ...

Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”

Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go

Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,

The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes,

Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,

Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,

Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,

Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,

And seeing that it was a soft October night,

Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time

For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,

Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;

There will be time, there will be time

To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;

There will be time to murder and create,

And time for all the works and days of hands

That lift and drop a question on your plate;

Time for you and time for me,

And time yet for a hundred indecisions,

And for a hundred visions and revisions,

Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go

Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time

To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”

Time to turn back and descend the stair,

With a bald spot in the middle of my hair —

(They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”)

My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,

My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin —

(They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”)

Do I dare

Disturb the universe?

In a minute there is time

For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:

Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,

I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;

I know the voices dying with a dying fall

Beneath the music from a farther room.

               So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all—

The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,

And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,

When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,

Then how should I begin

To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?

               And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all—

Arms that are braceleted and white and bare

(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)

Is it perfume from a dress

That makes me so digress?

Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.

               And should I then presume?

               And how should I begin?

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets

And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes

Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? ...

I should have been a pair of ragged claws

Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!

Smoothed by long fingers,

Asleep ... tired ... or it malingers,

Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.

Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,

Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?

But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,

Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,

I am no prophet — and here’s no great matter;

I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,

And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,

And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,

After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,

Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,

Would it have been worth while,

To have bitten off the matter with a smile,

To have squeezed the universe into a ball

To roll it towards some overwhelming question,

To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,

Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—

If one, settling a pillow by her head

               Should say: “That is not what I meant at all;

               That is not it, at all.”

And would it have been worth it, after all,

Would it have been worth while,

After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,

After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—

And this, and so much more?—

It is impossible to say just what I mean!

But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:

Would it have been worth while

If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,

And turning toward the window, should say:

               “That is not it at all,

               That is not what I meant, at all.”

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;

Am an attendant lord, one that will do

To swell a progress, start a scene or two,

Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,

Deferential, glad to be of use,

Politic, cautious, and meticulous;

Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;

At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—

Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old ... I grow old ...

I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind?   Do I dare to eat a peach?

I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.

I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves

Combing the white hair of the waves blown back

When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea

By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown

Till human voices wake us, and we drown.