#rather than actually watching something new

[thumperdaetime]

the music is punk because it challenges the norm. the clothing is punk because it challenges the norm. the politics are punk because they challenge the norm. it's not a sound, or a look, or a book, or a slogan. it's a way of thinking that puts radical acceptance and relentless pursuit of joy, face to face with a world that wants you dead. you can't put a price on it. the disabled woman that says "fuck it people know I can't hold my blatter anyway. I don't care if they can tell I'm wearing the rehab-provided brief. Get me my bright lipstick I'm going to bingo!" is flexing the same muscles as the suburban white boy who steals eyeliner from his conservative mother. they are both people using identity, to create joy and signal comradery in lonely times, reputation be damned.

not to mention, all of the clothes I have been able to afford new when I was in my poorest moments were shit quality anyway. anything you can do to extend the lifespan of a physical object that was made under the modern fast fashion system past "thrown out, unsold at the store" is a win. in the same way that any pressure you can keep against an actively bleeding wound is a win. cloths are a common class of tools we use to help regulate our comfort, with that is with the temperature or our cave-mates. if the clothes make you feel uncomfortable they are already useless. it is already trash. why not try anything to see if it works? there are intelligent capable people across the centuries who died dreaming of what to do with once gorgeous expensive trendy fabric, that will now look dated and trashy outside of "the spring of '32 when i fell in love with jazz." or whatever the kids are into these days. the stupid walmart blazer you took a chance on 2 years ago but now feel "too X to wear" is no different. either you trash it now, or live with that trash in your home until your kids do it for you, while crying about how they always thought you looked good in that color. you might as well see if there's enough fabric to re-make that halter top you loved in college. when it looks homemade you get to boast and explain all about how you're trying to make shit better in little ways. and who cares if it fails? Aren't you deserving of a little petty violence? when the last time you really didn't give a shit about seam Ripping and just went to town? don't you want to be able to yell at something with no moral consequences? so much in this world is complicated and nuanced and requires forethought and responsibility. Wouldn't it feel nice to have a hobby that lets you get reasonably angry at evil fabric for not doing the thing, and then you can just throw it and swear, and then never have to think about it again. because it doesn't matter. it was already cheep plastic made to feed a system that would rather watch the world burn than lose a shareholder. you eat credit cards a year. you can not hurt wasted disposable plastic more than it will hurt you.

and then if it works you have a cute top to wear around places to show you are the kind of person who has cool tops! and help you ease people into the idea that a political movements starts with people deciding what things they inherited they actually want to keep around. and then maybe one day you cut apart and re-make out of nice quality fabric, with the mistakes you learned from the first one. so you can weaponize your ability to present yourself as ""respectable"" when you have to play the politics game in big official ways.

or (imagine this) you can even use your new knowledge of what types of edits you often make to clothing to buy a quality garment that will be more worth investing in. Ones that are made in ways that add value to their communities will feel good on your body from day one, and you can be mened and adapt in ways that may let it outlive you.

or maybe you elevate that shity, guilt ridden- shirt out of the gym lost and found on the last day of freshman year, because "fuck it- I liked that middle-school library fit. and Its a size too small but I'm bound to get thinner eventually. and I don't think its actually stealing if no one else wants it." Maybe if you make it into a statement piece scrap in your favorite "look I'm not happy about it either!" outfit, to show that you want to fuck with the systems in a "hey we should still have A Library tho right?" sort of way. you might run into the middle school girl who gets to break the ice with a fellow "cool garment person" friend. and she gets to laugh about your shirt deadnaming her. and you get to apologize and offer to let her sign something over it. and now you are advertising the formative art of a local queer-punk-artisan who you know is also out there trying her best to make the shitty stuff a little less shitty when they can, even if it means learning how to thread a sewing machine.... eventually.... hopefully.

also, as a person who has spent about a decade trying to figure out ways to keep kids of all ages informed and prepared and enriched on a budget. "Tug of War turned tie-dye Party" would of been a smash hit, my queer and rural in the 90's type parents would have loved it. after growing up with Halloweens filled with pieced-together costumes that made room for sensory issues and accessibility aids. and family "vacations" taken on public land with what's left of the food stamps. i think there is definitely a market for how to teach your children the fundamentals of serving in a world that might find their misery profitable. without like... terrafing them.

imagine how much easier alot of it would have been if someone early in your life had sat you down and said "ok. a lot of times things are going to be bad and unfair and evil. and there's going to be complicated reasons you cant do much about it but feel bad. but if you feel bad all the time it will only get worse. so what you can do is take what is around you, figure out what it is and how it works and why it's there, and then break it in ways that are meaningful and delibrite. and re-shape it to help the actual people who are trying survive."

then they showed you and all of your little friends how to research, what fabric is and understand why you bought supplies, and then get their hands dirty testing how strong it is, and why jeans have rivets even when you want to sew right there. and re-asure them that it's ok you paved the way to make sure they can't hurt anything too bad even if they are really really bad at it. and then let them find joy and pride in making something unique and custom with their own tools for the cost of cleaning out a closet, and some rite dye.

and then the community has a couple new little baby punks making decent folks smile with little bold fashion statements, and turning heads when they experiment with which parts of society they want to bring into the new age. tl;dr: I think we need to start telling the “I’m too poor to dress punk” crowd that they’re posers. -polyamorouspunk, November 2024, tumbr.com

I think we need to start telling the “I’m too poor to dress punk” crowd that they’re posers.

[julietifsheneverdied]

hiii can i ask something for james potter??

i’ll absolutely take anything you give meee

thank youuuu

YAYAYAY TY FOR THIS I HAD FUN!!!

GIFT GIVING 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𓇼 ࣪ 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒ james potter x reader christmas breaks spent at his house was the best thing you could do.

fluff | friends to lovers

━━━━ WHEN YOU woke up in the potter manor christmas day, you didn’t expect it to be because the three of your friends - james, sirius, and remus - had been violently shaking you awake for a long time.

the three greeted you with wide smiles, accepting the usual morning hug with the same wide smiles unmoved. you grabbed a sweater (who’s sweater it was, you had no clue - they seemed to show up randomly in your bags) and followed them downstairs to where james’s parents were waiting.

“good morning, everyone.” james’s mom greeted the four of you, pulling everyone in separately for a hug. she held you the longest, running her hand through your hair and kissing your head. you had always been her favorite (even if she didn’t say it).

“okay mom,” james huffed, “don’t hog my friend.” he reached for your hand and tugged you to him. you smiled at james and took the spot on the carpet next to him, and managed to miss the glance james’s mom gave his dad.

with the gifts handed out, you spent time with your dear friends opening every gift and have a special reaction for each. you relied heavily on “thank you” for a response to everything.

from james’s parents; you got new clothes and book and chocolate, from sirius and remus (who both did joint presents for everyone) you got new vinyls, and from james you got a bracelet.

he even assisted in putting the bracelet on, sending a fluster of butterflies rampant in your stomach. after gifts and putting them away, you ate brunch with everyone.

it was peaceful to spend christmas break away from hogwarts here, in the warmth of the potter manor beside your best friends. you had never once taking advantage of it, enjoying every second you stayed in this house.

now you sat, quiet and peaceful, in the room assigned to you this time and every other time, without anyone bothering you. for now, at least, no one was bothering you.

“hey,” james slid your door open (had he knocked?), “can i come in?” he carefully asked, looking like a wounded puppy walking in with wide eyes looking at you where you sat at the window.

“‘course james, c’mon.” you beckoned him over, patting the seat beside you. he took it without another thought, holding a second box in his hand.

“i got you something else, but i didn’t wanna give it to you downstairs. moony and pads would’ve lost it if i got you more than them.” he smiled lopsided and handed you the carefully wrapped gift.

you took it in your hands, it was light, (like you’ve said before,) wrapped with precision, and well-thought about. the wrapping paper wasn’t like the one james’s parents had - this one didn’t have snowflakes like that one, it was covered in hearts and hearts galore.

“james,” you gushed over the small box, “what is it?” you met his eyes, watching you with a misty layer resting over the brown irises you’d come to love.

“you have to open it to find out, you idiot.” james scoffed, flicking your forehead carefully (god forbid he ever actually hit you and inflicted pain).

you tore through the wrapping paper, smiling at the clearly handmade necklace that had his initials and was in his favorite color.

when you looked back up to gush over the beauty (rather than the box this time), you found james fishing under his shirt to pull out a necklace just like yours - your initials and your favorite color replacing his on your version.

“james,” you were at a loss for words, “help me put it on?” you held out the necklace with such delicacy. you’d never want to break it before you even got to wear it.

he did, and you let it hang above your shirt. you were too busy smiling down at where his initials reached on your chest to see him smiling at you.

“do you like it?” he was careful as he spoke.

“of course i do!” you gasped, “it’s beautiful. did you make it?” you smiled at him now (much to his delight) with a fond look in your eyes that had his heart warm and beating faster than normal.

“yeah, i thought you’d like it i guess.”

“you know me so well.” you hummed.

there wasn’t much else to be said now, your legs had found themselves (at some point, somehow,) intertwined with james’s legs on the cushions of the windowsill, looking out it.

at least you were, james had his eyes solely trained on you. warmth filled him despite where he sat beside the cold glass window.

maybe it was you, he noticed, your vibrant personality that shone above everyone else’s, your kind smile and caring actions towards people you didn’t even like - you had mean bones, but you had more kind ones.

he decided then that that’s why he was so warm - you. you kept him warm and happy, and maybe that’s all he wanted.

“it’s now or never.” lily had told him, one day when he was seeking solace on what to do regarding the ever piling feelings he had towards you. he liked you, and god did he need to tell you before it was too late.

“can i… can i tell you something?” he hesitated, suddenly his hands were clammy and his heart was (if possible) beating faster minute after minute. it caught your attention what he said, and you looked away from the snowy landscape in front of you to see his eyes drilling into yours.

“mhm, of course.” you smiled. it was your smile that made him realize how badly he needed to tell you.

“i like you,” he sighed, “well i think i love you, but i know i like you. and not in a friendly way, i really really like you.” james wasn’t looking into your eyes anymore, his hands were much more interesting it seems.

“it’s fine if you don’t like me back,” he started.

“well if you had given me a second james you’d know i felt the same way, you idiot.” you were smiling wider, and james saw you in a different light.

no longer were you the quietly charming first year, or pranking second year, or focused third year. you weren’t even the calm and charming fourth year you were last year - you were james’s first love, a beautiful and loving fifth year.

“really?” he spoke breathlessly, looking to you for any signs of lying or joking. when you nodded, and reached out for his hand, he knew. and it made so much more sense.

“cmon, it’s cold over here.” you had his hand in yours, and you brought him to the messy bed. he sat in front of you, your back facing the pillows behind you.

you were too busy wrapping james into a hug and pulling his head to rest comfortably on your chest to notice sirius and remus peeking through.

“about bloody time.” sirius used his foot to kick the door wider open, letting himself in with remus following - obviously scolding the dark haired boy.

“no matter, moony, it’s alright.” you smiled, waving them over. there was plenty of space.

and so the four of you, together, spent the rest of the morning and a good chunk of the evening on your bed in the potter manor. maybe it was because you were fifteen, and had so many fears surrounding growing up, but you would’ve traded anything to spend even another minute where you sat that day.

you were happy, james was happy, sirius was happy, and remus was happy. it was all you needed.

MAIN MASTERLIST — REQUESTS ARE OPEN — HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST

authors note; hi guys listen my tumblr is being weird so FOR NOW i can’t link stuff to the masterlists I AM FIGURING IT PUT I PROMISE

- juliet ⋆♆.˚

[firstkanaphans]

RE your tags on the bromance thing - I think I allowed myself to get a little panicky earlier when seeing a few people talk about there potentially being more, and whilst there are a few points made that I can understand, I do feel like the amount of worry I’m seeing it maybe a little preemptive?

Like, I do agree that it feels stupid to put TayNew in a bromance series; if they wanted two actors that are close & have worked together before, why not Tay and Off or New and Gun or something? BUT I did see that Tay and New actually wanted to do a bromance series together, so there’s part of me thinking that this was THEIR choice to do this series and not give it to some other actors. (And let’s be fair, I don’t think there’s anyone else who could have made this show so warm, angsty, and lovely.)

I feel like GMMTV has really been embracing their BLs a bit more if I’m honest, and sure, they do queer baiting in their non-queer shows, but who doesn’t? You can watch anything on Netflix or whatever and find ‘bromances’ that are severe queer baiting.

I kinda feel like sometimes people pile on GMMTV a bit much, all because they’re kinda like the biggest company in the drama community that does decent queer dramas? I don’t know if that’s just me being blind to their flaws, but I sometimes think they get a little more hate than other production companies and not always deservedly? (I mean I know they aren’t perfect and I call out their bullshit myself, but I feel like sometimes it’s ‘cool’ to hate on them?)

Sorry if none of this makes sense and I’m rambling - it’s almost 2am and I really need to sleep 🤣

In my opinion, these claims that GMMTV is going to pivot to bromances because they’re less gay and more profitable are absolutely baseless. Bromances are not new to GMMTV. They’re not even new to TayNew as I believe I’m Tee, Me Too was a bromance as well. Like you said, P’Dome explicitly stated that TayNew wanted to film a show together that was not a BL. Should they not be able to? And weren’t these same people complaining just days ago that CPs are never allowed to act outside of their CP? Now, they’re mad when they do.

What people are losing their marbles over is literally just the cast and crew having a good time with the fans. Did they play into the shipping aspect both onscreen and off? Of course they did! What writer worth their salt would have passed up such a perfect opportunity? But to me, it didn’t feel malicious. It felt like P’Dome was just having fun and giving Polcas a little nod. I almost feel like it would have been more strange if he hadn’t.

People certainly don’t have to like bromances, but it’s like We Are all over again where people were saying its very existence was indicative of the fall of the genre as we know it. And that’s just utterly ridiculous. This isn’t a queer story where the queerness was censored. In fact, there were explicit queer themes throughout. This is just a platonic love story and a lot of people who may not be interested in romantic relationships have found immense value in that.

Like I said in my tags, P’Aof is the Director of Content Production at GMMTV, meaning he is literally the one in charge of what content is being produced, and I’m choosing to trust the gay Thai man who has dedicated his career to this. He has such a passion for telling queer stories. Why would he stop now?

But like you said, it’s become hip to hate on GMMTV. And look, I don’t like corporations either, but let’s not pretend like GMMTV isn’t really fucking gay. Because they are. This is not a company that has ever shied away from explicitly queer content and is actually making more of it than ever before, so I’m not going to fault them for adding a few shows for the straights too. And if they have to make het stuff, I would much rather sit through a bromance than anything else.

I mean Jesus Christ. Peaceful Property was fun. I had fun. And it was also really good—easily my favorite offering from GMMTV all year—so if they want to make a hundred more bromances just like this, I’m certainly not going to complain about it. Some people just don’t want to enjoy anything.

(And go to sleep, Pip! It’s late 😂)

[vidavalor]

I love and respect all views and I don't mean to single you out @electricarpeggio because your views aren't uncommon. It's just so wild to me that some people think they aren't already a long-time couple or that Crowley just figured it out in S2. Crowley's contact page image for Aziraphale on his phone in S1 was hearts being consumed by flames so it he definitely knew how he felt prior to S1.

He also objected to Aziraphale using a word to describe their relationship that, at the time, meant only "brotherly" back in 1862-- a word Aziraphale was only using because he thought they might be watched. That alone pretty much says they're a couple and were back then, let alone all the other clues. Believing that they just realized this in S2 is completely discounting the romantic ending of S1. How do people watch the last scene at The Ritz without thinking that Crowley and Aziraphale know that they're in love?

Imho, Crowley was telling Aziraphale he was mad for him back in 33 A.D.. and the subtle thing about it is that it takes S2's Job minisode for us to fully see just how romantic it was. He told Aziraphale that he changed his name and we learn what it means in S2 and that it's something only the two of them understand. The Golgotha scene in 33 AD also sets up the ancient Rome scene not long after it and its euphemistic oysters-- a scene that exists to basically tell us when they started sleeping together.

So, while they have people focused on The Final 15 for now and having some people think it's all new in S2, they've really also actually given the audience enough in the Job minisode to more fully understand that Golgotha in 33 A.D.-- where Crowley responds to Aziraphale being jealous over Crowley's reputation as Asmodeus, the Demonic Prince of Lust, with a confession that he's changed his name to this thing that Aziraphale will understand because he's that crazy about him-- was Crowley admitting to Aziraphale that he's down bad for him. The flashbacks weren't just put here to twinkle-- they're telling the whole, full story of the thousands-year-old romance that we've been watching.

Every human around them in S2 assuming they're a couple is because they are one but they aren't used to publicly being open about it because they've been sneaking around for thousands of years. They're figuring out how they want to handle other people knowing rather than just now realizing that they're in love, imho.

The thing I love most about Crowley and Aziraphale is that they're friends. Yes, they're also deeply in love, but first and foremost, they are friends. They love each other platonically, romantically, and everything else in between, and I hate when fanworks diminish that. They are not "more than friends". They are friends, plus lovers, plus family.

[kiiyomei]

𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒅𝒖𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑩𝒂𝒅 & 𝑩𝒐𝒖𝒋𝒆𝒆 𝑲𝒐𝒐𝒌

Bad & Boujee Kook! Grown up in New York, Manhattan partially most of her life and grown up with old money due to the family business. Her father was one of the best CEO in the country.

She lived the high life and only luxury, nothing less or lesser than what she deserves. She was high maintenance and never saw an issue with it.

Including the type in guys, she wouldn’t bother to settle for anything less than what is desired. (Unless of course, they’re the exception.)

Bad & Boujee Kook! quickly became the hot topic of the island after her arrival and it wasn’t a mere surprise that she caught the attention of the male gaze and female envy to the locals.

It wasn’t anything new to her to deal with jealousy from specifically the girls, considering she always had troubling times to make friends with other girls since most were not as genuine. And it wasn’t shocking that the male gaze sprung upon her, since it was something she was accustomed to but remained unbothered.

She was rather pre-cautious or in better words; warily than most with making friends with just anybody, until determining whether or not they’re trust worthy in the first place.

As for the guys, in particular she was rather picky with choosing to give her time to. It was like money, she didn’t just throw—well maybe she did throw it around, but guys were different.

Bad & Boujee Kook! had high confidence, yet kept it humbled to not grow an ego bigger than her own body size. She held herself with grace, class, and dignity to be who she is today.

Don’t get it twisted, she knows how to handle her own against man or woman. She had the cut-throat attitude and sharp tongue that none could handle, not even herself.

Everyone might’ve learned about her mean right-hook after growing up with older brothers and including one of the poor Kook boys at the country club when he thought he could grab a quick feel to her backside. He left with a black-eye.

Bad & Boujee Kook! Style : she is through and through girly girl, highly into fashionista and heart desiring for the designer brand logos such as Gucci, Chanel, Yves Saint Laurent, and many more.

She still obsessed over Juicy Couture, Playboy, Ed Hardy and many more to keep the Y2K style.

Her Style in outfits and to parties

Lounge-Around Outfits

The Beach or Yacht Parties

Bad & Boujee Kook! Eventually met the Pogues through Sarah, which took time for her to be used of their lifestyle on the cut. She was always prefer to be clean and avoid lifting a finger.

Kiara and JJ were the hard shells to break-through unlike John B and Pope, but eventually they warmed up to her despite her boujee attitude.

She learned to loosen up and join them to their adventures unless it involved trouble with the law and strayed away to avoid causing trouble to her dad’s high image, instead protect it.

Sometimes, she’d be hanging out with Pope to talk about the things the others wouldn’t pay attention to and learn new stuff she didn’t know.

She would be seen with John B, trying to keep an eye out for JJ to make sure he wasn’t picking any fights with the Kooks or Tourons. (Which he does anyway) or actually just hanging out.

Kiara took time to come around, until Bad & Boujee Kook! took into consideration for her down to nature mindset about Mother Nature and all. They’ve later became good friends.

And lastly, JJ came around after Bad & Boujee Kook invited him to her house for the night after one of the Kook Parties they crashed earlier, to smoke a couple joints and watch movies.

Bad & Boujee Kook! managed to meet Rafe and his group of friends; Topper and Kelce, at one of the Kook Parties hosted in Tanneyhill.

She was instantly welcomed after tearing a new one into one of the local kook guys, after he tried to hit on her and become passive aggressive when she rejected his advances.

Topper was the first, ready to be the knight in shining armor until overhearing the way Bad & Boujee Kook’s cutthroat attitude rip into the guy and ending it with a sharp slap.

The trio took her under their wing, despite having interest and attraction to her—it was obvious she wasn’t going to fall for it that easy.

They’ve had their opinion and comments about her hanging out with the Pogues, including Sarah that ‘betrayed’ the Kooks of the island. But she only replied with an ‘go cry about it to someone that truly cares.’

all likes & reblogs are appreciated xoxo

please do not copy/remake/repost any of my work.

[divorcedfiddleford]

and you may say to yourself: "my god! what have i done?" and you may tell yourself: "this is not my beautiful wife!" and you may tell yourself: "this is not my beautiful house!" and you may ask yourself: "well, how did i get here?"

time isn't holding up, time isn't after us, time is a pony ride! (images described in alt text)

[ducktracy]

"posting this because i NEEEEEED this on my blog" is probably going to be the caption for 95% of the Shin-chan stuff i post BUT IT IS NO LESS TRUE BECAUSE OF IT. Masaaki Yuasa is quickly becoming one of my favorite animators and i want to have easy access to ogle at his work at any time. and i hope for you to do the same! so here's his animation for Ending 3 of the show from 1993

[adickaboutspoons]

All of this, yes, but also to say nothing of the fact that, considering Ed is the world's best tactician? While weaving together the various elements listed above in the moment to come up with something plausible to perform Blackbeard at Izzy and placate him is quite clever and quick-thinking, the actual plan itself is terrible and doesn't actually hold up if you think about it too long. Consider the French Boat Party - Stede was taking quite the risk passing himself off as Sir Godfrey. Had anyone at the party actually been acquainted with the man, the whole jig would have been up before it even started. Ed, on the other hand, was able to invent an identity out of whole cloth, and no one questioned his identity in the slightest or snubbed him for it. This in itself is evidence enough that it would be easier and safer to create a whole new identity rather than try to pass himself off as Stede Bonnet. Then the party falls out as it does, and Ed has had a bellyfull of posh knobs - he no longer has any inducement or desire to mix with the hoity-toity crowd now that he knows how cruel and loathesome they are, and that Stede is the exception rather than the rule. From that point we no longer see Ed and Stede having anything that resembles gentleman lessons; Ed is flirting with teaching Stede fencing and fuckeries - but of all the other times we see them together, they're just... hanging out? Whale-watching and having a drink with their feet dangling between the rails. Lounging on the desk and having a lovely meal with the crew. Having brekkie alone together, even if it's just a perfectly prepared cuppa. Stede taking Ed on a treasure hunt. Honestly, the only reason I imagine that it took Izzy "almost a fortnight" to figure out that Ed no longer expressed any interest in learning to become a gentleman is because he was primed to accept whatever Ed said at face-value when he had so recently been proved wrong to doubt Ed by dismissing the significance of the sausage clouds and that Ed was not worried about coming up with a plan because he already had one.

Ed’s Initial Intentions regarding Stede

Thank you so much for your attention to the poll. The consensus is it’s complicated - and I sort of agree - although I’m swayed towards Fascination alone.

This is my interpretation…

Stede causes Ed to access hidden or denied parts of himself before they’ve even met. And it causes a change in Ed’s behaviour. Ed’s come across many rich or aristocratic folks to rob whom he would see killed without issue; but not someone who’s also a pirate, doing their own original thing, and who seems ambivalent towards Blackbeard’s existence. It’s dopamine to Ed’s novelty-starved brain. It’s not as if Ed carries out a usual raid on the Revenge intending to kill Stede, only to find himself unexpectedly charmed. Ed’s bewitched even before he meets Stede, which means Ed’s entire approach and thought-processes are altered.

Killing Stede and the crew isn’t necessarily off the table should the need arise, but I don’t think it’s actively on in any capacity. There’s no plan, and there’s no ‘uszh’ for once either. Because none of this is uszh. Ed’s engagement with the Revenge is not his normal MO. History’s most brilliant tactician is free-styling. Possibly free-falling.

At the end of 102, Izzy states, ‘Captain says follow that ship.’ And Fang answers ‘Oh really? Why?’ To which Izzy replies, ‘How should I know? The man’s half-insane.’ This conversation shows this isn’t usual strategy. Even Fang asks why - he thought they’d seen the last of those ‘fancyboys’. And Ivan’s sad he didn’t get the chance to murder them, which seems the usual way of things. Plus they’d already had the chance to take or plunder the ship when it ran aground, so this stalking manoeuvre is out of the ordinary. It feels like wasted time and energy.

By the start of episode three, Blackbeard’s ship is a few hundred yards out from the Revenge, and Izzy’s trying to manipulate Ed into usual strategy again by suggesting opening fire, or boarding and throwing the Revenge crew to the sharks. Instead, Ed wants to wait until they make landfall and invite them aboard his ship. Ed’s doing something very different again because he’s unwittingly engaging with an unfamiliar part of himself. And interestingly ‘Go suck eggs in Hell’ appears not to insult, but to somewhat seduce him further. Before meeting Stede, he’s already out of his depth emotionally, and acting out of character, literally.

Despite what Ed would do normally, I just cannot see him landing on the Revenge with the active intent of plundering the ship and / or killing Stede and the crew. His words and actions suggest he’s already through the looking-glass.

So, to The Plan. We have three interesting moments which lead up to its revelation: the clothes swap, ‘careful of your face’ and ‘show me the ways of an aristocrat’.

For me, the three strands, which have no previous connection (other than Ed and Stede playing together), come together in Ed’s mind somewhere between Ed leaving Stede on the lookout, and Ed speaking with Izzy below: a matter of seconds. It reminds me of Keyser Söze in The Usual Suspects, pulling together disparate ideas into a cohesive story spontaneously. It’s the mind of a quick-thinker. And it’s in-keeping with Ed’s ability of reacting in the moment to the moment when necessary.

I think Ed also feels forced to perform Blackbeard for Izzy because Izzy’s threatening to leave pushes on that white father-figure emotional bruise. At this stage, Ed doesn’t have enough emotional loyalty to Stede to not voice such a plan; whilst his identity is still too caught in Izzy’s web to let him go - ‘you’re needed here’. For me, the plan to kill Stede is brought about in the moment via an act of psychological coercive control.

But Ed’s also kicking the can down the road. It’s a sort of Faustian bargain. Why not promise Izzy both their souls if it means Ed and Stede can hang out a little longer? Yet on another level Ed’s possibly hoping the debt won’t be called in, such is the complexity of the push and pull here. He’s putting it on the tab, the never-never. He’ll out-manoeuvre it if he decides that’s what he wants. Of course there’s doublethink going on because Ed’s in the middle of an identity crisis.

Ed daren’t admit his real reason for wanting to stay on the Revenge. He can’t comprehend himself even how deep this goes. His look as he turns is one of exhaustion and confusion. Stede Bonnet has him rattled. What started as a trickle of unease and ennui before they’d even met is now a whirlpool of unidentifiable feelings around both Stede, and Ed’s own perception of self.

Ed’s free-falling in liminal space.

[bigcryptiddies]

It might just be that I’m a little dumb but I feel like jjk has the most convoluted ability system to the point where the creator can have their characters explain what’s happening every single time and yet I don’t understand it even once

[magiefish]

THEY DID THE METACRISIS AGAIN.

AND THIS TIME HE'S NOT EVEN SAFELY CONTAINED IN HIS OWN UNIVERSE!

AND THEY MADE THE FIRST BLACK DOCTOR PLAY SECOND FIDDLE TO A WHITE ONE AND

OH MY GOD TAKE THAT BOYS TARDIS AWAY FROM HIM GODDAMIT I WANT TO WATCH HIM

DIE

[cuubism]

needless to say I've written many new fics instead of finishing my existing ones. and this is one of them. a strange little fic for you.

-

Something was preying on the village's children, and Hob had been elected to go out and kill it.

Alright, it wasn't actually eating the children, they were still alive and largely unharmed. But something out there was doing something to them, because children kept going out to play by the edge of the woods and coming back wrong.

Indefinably wrong. Quiet. Serious. Disinclined to play as they were before. Even the parents who'd once complained of their children's lack of discipline and work ethic were disturbed by the sudden absence of laughter and energy in the village.

So Hob was sent to make it stop. Probably because he'd spent so much time in the forest he knew it better than he even knew the village. Probably because he had no children of his own. No one to leave behind.

He'd been sent into the woods to find out what was what--or rather, to simply take the thing's head off its shoulders, but Hob was more inclined to find out what was what first, for curiosity's sake if nothing else.

It was near dusk when he reached the edge of the forest. Mist lay heavy on the tree branches, haze stole between the bramble bushes. Darker still it was deep in the woods, wet and hushed, no animal life now with the sun going down behind the clouds, only leaves ghosting down, the whispers of early autumn decay.

Hob loved this time of year, not least for the good deer hunting it brought, but also for the quiet, the last breath of settling down for winter. Everything was starting to go grey, and it was good, after the activity of the summer, and of the harvest, to fall into that cycle again, setting fires and shuttering windows, waiting for the onset of the cold.

Or, as was he wont, as he was doing now, treading silently into the forest, steps careful on the wet, leafy floor. His bow was at the ready, the grip familiar in his hand, quiver of arrows at his back. He wasn't sure where exactly he would find the thing, the creature he was hunting, though if it liked to prey on the children playing by the edge of the forest, it couldn't live too deep in the trees. Perhaps it would come for him, thinking him prey, though Hob thought he might be too big for it, in comparison to a child.

Still, he made his way into the chill embrace of the woods. In the low light the trees all started to blend together, yellow orange and brown all melting and bleeding like wet paints. Droplets fell on his shoulders, branches tugged on his hair. But Hob knew how not to draw the attention of anything but the trees.

Eventually he made it to the edge of the lake. The water was utterly still, reflecting the forest in perfect mirror. And Hob went equally still, grip tightening on his bow, for there was something crouched by the water's edge, peering into the shallows.

Hob froze in the trees, watching. It was a leggy thing, long thin limbs curled under an angular body, spine curved as it bowed before the water. Black fur--or feathers? he was unsure--ghosted along the back and limbs, though the face was pale, angular and more human-like than Hob had expected. It was a solemn, contemplative face, reflected moonlike in the water, and the overall impression was haunting but beautiful. Hob had always felt he belonged in these woods, but in comparison to this creature he was an intruder, a blundering interloper, while the creature emerged right from the mist, and could very well vanish back into it.

He knew, somehow, that this was what he was looking for.

And he didn't want to kill it. He couldn't bear to just kill it.

But at the same time, he couldn't just let it keep preying on the children. No matter how pretty it was. Wolves, too, were beautiful, but when one got too comfortable going after the sheep it was time to take action.

He crept closer. The creature didn’t seem to hear him, or was absorbed in its thoughts. As Hob watched, it shook mist droplets from its feathers, but didn’t otherwise stir.

Hob crept ever closer. He could not seem to find the usual thrill of the hunt he felt when he followed a deer or a fox. He felt sort of… sick. Like his soul was rebelling against the idea of hurting the thing by the water. Still he came closer, trying to shake off the feeling.

Suddenly, though Hob made no notable sound, that pale sharp face whipped up to look at him. Its black gaze pierced through him like a dagger, and Hob flinched—and in the breath of that flinch, it ran.

Hob’s instincts caught up to him a second later. He had his bow nocked and drawn before he’d consciously thought of it, operating on muscle memory, the ingrained motions of the hunt. He couldn’t let it get away.

He fired.

The creature dodged his first shot, pelting out of the way through the trees, but Hob was used to the erratic sprints of deer and foxes, and aimed better the second time. He caught it on a turn, just as it was... disappearing? It started to go kind of thin, kind of see-through, like mist—but Hob's arrow sliced through its thigh before it could vanish.

The creature shrieked, tumbling to a stop in the leaves. Hob chased after it, bow now loose in one hand—he didn’t want to shoot again, he still didn’t want to kill it. But he chased it, skidding to a stop by the prone body where it lay shuddering in the shadows, Hob’s arrow stuck clean through its thigh.

Hob noted with relief that it did not seem to be a fatal wound, though the creature was doing its damnedest to make it so. Its form flickered before his eyes, vanishing and returning, vanishing and returning, and all the while dark blood spilled from the wound, staining the forest floor black. It seemed to be trying to disappear, but the arrow held it fast.

"Quit panicking, you're making it worse," Hob warned, now genuinely concerned it would aggravate the wound and make itself bleed out. He moved to press his hands over the gash, but the creature made an awful, grating panicked sound and clawed at his hands, scrambling away with another trill of pain as the arrow caught and dragged. Hob hissed at the scratch torn across the back of his hand, but he couldn't truly blame the creature for it. Fair enough, honestly.

"I don't want to kill you," Hob said, raising his hands in surrender.

The creature narrowed its black eyes at him. "Take back your arrows, put the fire back into your bowstring, perhaps then I might believe you."

Hob stared, dumbfounded. He honestly hadn't expected it to speak. He'd expected it to be more like an animal—a particularly intelligent one, a magical one, to be sure, perhaps even a spirit of some kind, like in the stories—but not to open its mouth and speak just like a man would. Then again, it did wear a human face. Perhaps that face was truer than he’d assumed.

“Okay, you’re right,” Hob conceded. “But I couldn’t just let you run.”

“What right had you to stop me, human?” The tone was indignant—but it was afraid of him, Hob thought. The dark eyes glinted and rolled, and every muscle was taut, blood pulsing sluggishly from the wound, unimpeded as the creature kept its hands free to attack him if needed. “To chase me down like a common beast?”

“What right?” Hob said, incredulously. “What right did you have to prey on those children?”

“I am not,” said the creature stiffly, some of its fear sloughing off in the course of its offense, “preying upon them. You humans only see what you inflict upon others. The children will soon be returned to how they were. In fact. They will be better than they were.”

“That’s not how it seems right now,” Hob said, remembering the listless gazes of the village children as they went about their chores.

The creature huffed, irritated. “You give them no time. I needed only to borrow their dreams,  that I might sustain the magic that upholds all dreams. They will have them back. In addition. I have given them a gift. Children so often lose touch with their dreams as they grow. Becoming dull. Narrow-minded.” He glared as if Hob was an example of this. “But these will not.”

“…What are you, then?” Hob asked, trying to process.

The creature edged away from him, wincing as the movement tugged on its wound. “It matters not to you. Leave me. And perhaps I may not punish you for these crimes.”

“Doesn’t seem like you can do much with that arrow in you,” Hob observed. It had prevented the creature from disappearing, after all.

And before Hob could react, the creature had grasped the arrow in one clawed hand and yanked it from its leg.

“No!” Hob yelled, but it was too late, blood was already gushing from the creature’s thigh.

“Better than whatever fate you might have in mind,” it hissed, form starting to flicker. But its eyelids fell just as fast, consciousness slipping as blood poured from the wound.

“No!” Hob yelled again, grabbing the creature and pressing his hands to the wound, staunching the flow of blood. The beast slumped against him, unconscious. But alive. For now.

Hob felt he’d made a terrible mistake. He still didn’t understand what exactly the creature had been doing to the children—but he didn’t want to just let it die.

He had some bandages stashed in his tunic—he’d brought them for himself in case the creature turned on him—and quickly wrapped the wound, tying it tight to stem the bleeding. Then, having no other recourse, he picked the creature up to take it back with him.

I’m going to get bit for this, Hob thought, as he started to make his way back out of the woods. The creature would not be pleased to find itself in Hob’s cabin when—if—it woke up. But he carried it back anyway, through the damp, misty trees, night properly falling around them.

The creature was lighter than Hob would have thought, barely there in his arms. As he walked he had the chance to observe its features at peace. The face, as he’d thought, was very human, especially with those dark eyes closed—soft lashes and messy hair, sharp, almost gaunt cheekbones, bitten lips. It—he? Hob wasn’t sure—was really quite beautiful.

Fortunately Hob’s cabin was far enough from the rest of town that no one would see him bringing the creature back instead of killing it. He hurried inside, set the dream creature on his bed and stoked the fire from embers back to blazing warmth. The creature—he wished he knew if it had a name—had started shivering, and Hob laid a thick blanket over him, careful of the wounded leg.

Damn thing, he thought, but with more guilt than ire. If only it hadn’t struggled, hadn’t tried to yank the arrow out. Then again, Hob would probably have done the same, in its position.

He had come into the woods to kill it, after all.

He double-checked the bandage on the creature’s leg—the bleeding had stopped, thankfully—and kept watch into the night. The creature gradually stopped shivering, and Hob found himself obsessively checking its breathing every few minutes, sure that this meant it had died rather than simply warmed up. But the creature lived on. And as night fell to utter blackness, as the fire crackled warm in the hearth and Hob kept up his position in the chair by the bed, his eyelids began to droop.

He shook himself, pinched himself, tried to stay awake. But sleep tugged on him anyway. Its draw was impossible to resist, and he sank down into his chair, body slumping, head dropping to rest on the chair’s back.

The wood was dark, and Hob was hunting.

He wasn’t sure what, but he knew he had to catch it. He was chasing it, running through darkness, stepping on instinct, bow clasped in his hand. The thing scurried before him, he could hear it, even if he couldn’t see it.

And— there! In a patch of moonlight. A flash of dark feathers and pale flesh and—

—Hob reached out and caught it. His hands wrapped around a slim, fragile neck, and he pounced on the thing, pressing it into the ground.

As his weight landed on it, Hob would have expected the creature to scream, fight, claw at him—but it just watched him with dark eyes, fingers gripped lightly around his wrists. It looked… perhaps faintly scared, but mostly resigned to its fate.

All at once Hob felt sick at the thought of hurting it. He lurched back, letting it go, falling back on his haunches in his haste.

The creature leapt for him, landing on his chest, nails digging in—

Hob woke with a gasp, and couldn’t move. He flailed, but the weight on his chest didn’t budge, he opened his eyes—

—the dream creature stared back. Hob was lying on the floor, having apparently slid from his chair while asleep, and just as in the dream the creature was perched upon his chest, staring at him with its piercing blue eyes. “You are an interesting human,” it said. “Hob Gadling.”

Hob started, heart still pounding from the dream. How did it know his name?

“I thought to uncover your real intentions in your dream, but it seems your word is true,” it continued. “Unusual among adult humans. Usually you lose your honesty as you grow.”

“Is it?” Hob asked shakily. The thing’s talons were digging into his chest. “You know a lot about dreams, I guess.”

The creature narrowed its eyes and Hob got the distinct feeling that it thought he was stupid. “I am Dream. I am the spirit that governs and shepherds that realm. Why did you try to save me?”

“Felt bad,” Hob said, trying to grapple with the spirit that governs dreams. It wasn’t like he didn’t know such spirits existed—but he had never heard of one that could walk dreams before. “I’m the one that shot you, after all.”

“Hmm.” Finally, it— Dream— climbed off him, sitting beside him with limbs folded up, studying him. He really was kind of a strange-looking thing, but more human-like than Hob had realized in the dark wood. Very much like a human stepped out of a dream, a little twisted and shadowy and wrong. He was very beautiful too, birdlike where he wasn’t quite human, sleek feathers and sharp features.

“Look,” Hob said. “If you’re really not hurting the children, then we don’t have any trouble, do we? Just go.”

Instead of fleeing into the night, Dream crept closer again, reaching out with a taloned hand to comb through Hob’s hair. Hob stayed very still, with those claws so close to his eyes.

“I enjoyed your dreams,” he said. “They were… rejuvenating.”

“They were?” They hadn’t been very rejuvenating to Hob.

“Mmm. Rich, dimensional like a fine wine.”

Oh, great.

“Other dreams aren’t rejuvenating to you?” Hob asked, strangely breathless.

“I rarely partake,” said Dream, now tracing his fingertips over Hob’s face, as if mapping the shape of it. “I merely borrow dreams to strengthen them, and solidify their power for dreamers.”

“For kids who aren’t yet adult hopeless cases,” Hob said.

Dream’s lips turned up in a smile. “Yes. Adults cannot be helped. You have already lost your whimsy.”

“Have we?” Hob asked. “You don’t even want to try?”

Dream looked at him sideways. “Will they shoot me if I do?”

Well. Kind of fair.

“I’ll at least tell everyone that you’re not a threat,” Hob promised. “How about that?”

“Very well. I shall hold you to it, Hob Gadling.”

He stepped away then, letting go of Hob’s face, and Hob tried not to feel disappointed that he was going. Dream was definitely the most interesting thing he’d seen in a long while.

Magic started to swirl around Dream, his form becoming more indistinct. But before he could disappear, Hob sat up quickly, called out, filled with some strange desperation he couldn't quite name, “Wait!”

The magic settled down again, and Dream studied him questioningly.

“Come meet me again,” Hob said. “In the forest.”

Dream narrowed his eyes. “Why.”

“I’m curious,” Hob said. It had gotten him in trouble before, but somehow he didn't think it would this time. “I want to know more about what you do. About— about dreams. In return— well, you said my dreams were ‘rejuvenating.’”

Now that he thought it, Dream seemed… hungry. He was very thin, and if he truly never took anything from the dreams he walked…

“They are,” said Dream, cautiously. Then, at length, “Very well, Hob Gadling. I shall find you again. But know that should you betray me, and lead other humans to me to capture me, then your dreams shall be very unpleasant indeed.”

With that, he was gone.

Hob finally got to his feet, shaking a little from the crash of emotions in the wake of Dream’s departure. What a deeply strange creature. His touch, though, had been surprisingly gentle— his look upon Hob, in the end, more interested than angry.

Though he knew Dream had gone into whatever spirit or dream realm he traveled through, still Hob went to the door and looked out.

It was late—or rather early—enough now that dawn was just starting to rise, the grey haze of morning seeping over the horizon. Mist covered the fields, and settled heavy and wet on the edge of the forest. Hob gazed out towards that forest, thinking of its darkness, and of Dream, somewhere in it. He knew he would not get Dream out of his mind for a very long time.

In fact. He may be going back out to the forest much sooner than he’d anticipated.

First, he had to let the villagers know that Dream wasn’t a threat. He wasn’t sure whether they would believe him. But maybe by learning more about Dream, Hob would be able to convince them.

For now, Hob closed the door, and went back inside to make some breakfast. He doubted he’d be getting back to sleep this morning.

Even if he was somewhat tempted to try. In the hopes that he just might meet a certain dream.

promised myself i wasn't going to write any new fics until i finished some of my existing wips, but it's been such a beautiful fall week that i've got a little fall drabble for them spinning in my head. though much like my winter drabble from last year, it's not so much cozy seasonal vibes as it is about Strange Creatures in the woods. after all the best fall day is one where it's drizzly and misty and a little grey, and the yellow leaves are stuck to the pavement, and everything looks painted in dripping watercolor. and i think it's a good sort of day to meet a strange thing in the woods, especially when that thing finds you, a human, more horrifying than you find it.

[cupiidzbow]

youtube is showing me things right up my alley rn. this is an hour long

[joocin-thebox]

I have come to the conclusion that I shall just take my headcanons for g5 and put them in my au and get my OWN characterization for them! Huzzah!

[clownkiwi]

day of the devs always manages to impress me more than like. the big gaming events

[toiletcthulhu]

Skyrim has such an inoffensive style of game design that allows it to appeal to a lot of people, but I've known a lot of people who really need solid dialogue or non-violent options who just can't get into the game. Largely, I think Skyrim focuses on aesthetic and combat immersion (although I think combat has been more immersive in previous games, especially magic). The environment and music contribute to a cozy or scary vibe depending on the situation and do heavy lifting for lackluster level design, in my opinion. Whatever character you play, there's most likely an outfit, weapon, spell, and combat style that allow you to validate your perception of your character. Using these forms of expression to watch your character interact with an open world is quite addictive. The dialogue is vague enough that, although you may not be playing for it, it usually isn't bold enough to ruin the immersion of your experience. Basically the dialogue experience of Skyrim is so neutered and bland that it could almost be taken away and just replaced with quest descriptions. This would seem like a temporarily fun arrangement, but still not very substantive to even the most mainstream player, and that's where all the hard work of previous writers comes into play. Elder Scrolls has had a lot of passionate minds putting work into writing in-game libraries, fleshing out the histories of several different empires and peoples from different cultural perspectives, as well as creating an incomprehensibly intricate deity pantheon and creation story. I struggle to remember one part of any of these things that Bethesda improved upon in Skyrim. Pretty much no new lore for the Brotherhood, the Blades, the Dwemer, most of the Daedric princes, the civil war factions are barely fleshed out, hardly any new politics in the Dragonborn expansion or even seeing the ramifications of the Argonian revolt. There's basically a treasure trove of immense and honestly quite interesting knowlegde that compose at the bedrock of interest for desiring to remain in these worlds. It's funny because Fallout 4 was actually TOO ambitious for them, they tried to write their own stuff and rather embarrassingly couldn't write factions in a AAA game with more complexity than a middle schooler. This is why I think 3 and Skyrim are the most succesful of Bethesda's slop. They defile the carcass of good ideas and cover it with a polish of improved gameplay and a simple yet iconic aesthetic style, and so long as they try not to do anything that fundamentally damages the narriative integrity of the world they've had built for them, they're golden. It's ironic because I think this skillset would lend itself very nicely to high quality remakes, something that fans have often asked for. I used to think that it was a stupid request and that I desired freshness, but after seeing what Bethesda has to offer, I can't help but wonder how much cooler things would've been if they never made any new Fallout games and just remade them.

What is it about Skyrim that feels like the peak of Bethesda games

[sysig]

I thought I was done being feral about Tamagotchis but no, it was just a lull