#reading well is resistance

[fshoulders]

Thought I didn't have anything to add here, but then I pondered. I do have something to add about "what I assume my teachers were trying to teach me with the classics".

I'm not a secondary school English teacher, but I've played one in the past: I used to substitute-teach English at the private high school where I myself matriculated around the time of Jurassic Park. I've taught classes on Great Expectations, Jane Eyre, Henry IV Part...mumble, the Iliad, the Ramayana, Their Eyes Were Watching God (if you didn't get taught that as a classic, go enjoy it now, oh my word).... Lots of stuff. And one time, I taught a class on why we take English class.

It was at the end of my first and longest stint as a substitute, when the head of the English department had broken her arm in twelventy places so I ended up teaching 3 or 4 sections of Junior English for several weeks. We'd started and finished Their Eyes Were Watching God, and moved on to something else, and by then I knew I loved these kids. Which was a shock: when I was their age, I was a misanthropic little paladin and did not like most of my peers. But high school juniors (16-17 years old) are whip-smart, but not yet cocky with it like seniors. They like to have fun, but they're easier to get to quiet down and think seriously than sophomores. However, after those weeks, I felt like even the kids who were best at English class -- who did the reading and raised their hands and weren't afraid to make wild, beautiful connections -- didn't really know why they were there.

So I asked their Regular Teacher if I could take one class period in each class and just do a group discusssion about what English class is for. Because the vibe I was getting off them was 'so I have English grades to use to get into college with'. I had 'em write down their answers anonymously to "What is English Class For?"

They handed their answers in, and I read 'em out. And we talked about their answers, and then we talked about my answers. They had some answers I hadn't thought of. And some of my own answers I didn't have to bring up, because that class already had! A lot of them knew they needed to learn to write well, for instance. We talked about the different kind of things they might want to write besides college essays and eventual job 'deliverables'. (I seem to recall telling them that even if they never wanted to try to write original fiction, that didn't mean cribbing techniques off the 'masters' couldn't make their fanfic better. I know I am a dork, but they laughed!) Some of them talked about a sort of cultural acquisition: getting to know exactly the sort of 'great books' and liberal arts touchstones that were getting beaten up in those screenshots at the top of the thread.

But I think maybe one kid in one of the classes, if that, wrote down the thing I really wanted them to take with 'em out of English class -- English class teaches you how to read more skillfully.

And some of the texts they practice reading on are texts they wouldn't have chosen, which makes them surly. (It sure made me surly in middle and high school.) Some of them are difficult to read. But reading is a skill, like any other. Even if they hadn't wanted to read Jane Eyre, or A River Runs Through It, or Elizabeth Bishop's poetry, or Toni Cade Bambara's short fiction, they could use those texts to improve their facility to read deeply, closely, and well. Then they could apply that facility to any text they wanted to read. For academic ambition, for pleasure or self-improvement or curiosity, or to keep up with a crush. And much of that skill is even transferable, out of the English language, out of the written word! They could read into and under horror movies, political ads, rap lyrics, art films, video games! They could notice and name the biases in the things they read, or read the context around a story the way this whole beautiful thread above did with Huckleberry Finn.

Reading deeply and critically is an underrated skill. We don't talk about it enough, we don't practice it enough, and maybe we don't even know when we're supposed to be learning it. Maybe the screenshotted people had terrible teachers who never made it clear that art isn't endorsement, that we can read against the past but still understand it, or indeed why they were sitting in that classroom at all. If you don't hand the student a scalpel, maybe this is what you get: a reader who stared at each book like the outside of a frog and took nothing away but the fact it reeked of formaldehyde. Maybe it's just a series of bad jokes!

But come, for Muses' sake let us sit upon the ground, and tell mad stories of why we hate Gatsby's guts. (With supporting evidence from the text.) Tell me whether you think the narrator of Wuthering Heights wants you to approve of Kathy and Heathcliff's relationship, and why you think that! Is he manipulating you to feel a certain way? What language feels manipulative, or engages you more with one character's emotions than another's? What do you think Jim thinks of Huck in this chapter, and why do you think that? Which racism do you think is the character's, and which is the author's? How do you tease that out?

English Class: You can bear that book a grudge for the rest of your life, but learning a lot from it today is the best revenge.

[aueua]

love these guys. the musical chairs

[emeraldotter]

baby boy

[bethanyactually]

sometimes I boggle at things the fandom Youths™ don't seem to know these days, especially in an era where virtually anything you want to look up is a mere internet search away and then I realized: it's because bored tweens don't have to resort to reading old issues of Ladies' Home Journal or Glamour in waiting rooms anymore

[daddy-long-legssss]

[saym0-0]

bumblebee holoform take 2. i like this one a whole better now, i feel like the outfit fits the vibe i was going for a lot better hehe

the car was admittedly traced from the screenshot below, from the 2007 movie, and the whole thing kinda turned into a colour study of that scene because i just really love the lighting in that film, its so pretty :33

i kinda just had fun with it towards the end though with all the scribbly bits haha

close ups:

sorry for the low res, i drew it really tiny on the canvas 🤭🤭

[lucrezianoin]

(The song is "Just a man" by EPIC Ensemble and Jorge Rivera-Herrans)

Imagine tho that this is what they are thinking of themselves (as monsters). But they truly are not.

alternative version because i could not decide

[verstappen100]

Daniel Ricciardo | August 28th Piquadro event

[bearotonin-international]

thank you. I did not expect a reply, nor one so fast.

you are beary welcome friend

[whomeidontknowthem]

Eyes on me – an interactive whump story. Part 5.

Previous part. Masterpost.

Content: institutionalized slavery, imprisonment, dehumanizing language, it/its for an inhuman whumpee, pet whump, whipping, blood, physical abuse, withholding of food, training, torture, intimate whumper, carewhumper, mentioned pet death, tell me if i missed something

Lord Teelo didn’t strike. 

He lowered his arm, eyes never straying from holding the creature’s terrified gaze. The room reeked of blood, now streaming down the lord’s fingers in a warm waterfall. He worked hard on pushing his fury back, taking it under control as many times before. He was in control. He would show it, careful and persistent and levelheaded. He would make sure it remembered the lesson forever. The crop was not meant for punishments, it was too short, too soft – he hadn’t meant to punish it. He was going to be a kind and gracious owner. It had left him no choice!

He opened the door, finding the redheaded guard still in the corridor.

“Get a proper whip,” he ordered. “More chains – gods damned handcuffs, whichever idiot thought of leaving it like this?! And a knife, scissors – or whatever, something to file its atrocious claws.”

The guard stared at him, not in the face – at his arm. Lord Teelo felt it – the consistent drip-drip-drip of his blood. He didn’t feel the ache yet. Nothing but the quiet, cold fury he couldn’t wait to unleash at the world. Haltingly, the guard started, “Should I bring someone to take a look at–”

“I have told you what you should do,” his voice came out as a hiss.

“Yes, my lord,” the guard saluted and hesitated only a moment before running down the corridor. 

Lord Teelo closed the door with a loud crash. He paced inside, steps echoing around the room, as the pain slowly started to radiate out. He hated it. Oh how he wished he could slice the thing’s skin just this moment, not waiting for anything and anyone. He picked up the crop once more, stoped before the creature – it cowered to the very corner between the wall and its cage, never letting its eyes away from him. Oh, now it was looking. It dared to look! 

“You think yourself smart?” the lord hissed. “Think you did something good for yourself? Oh, no, you’re gonna regret this. You’re gonna regret this so much.”

The pain seeped into his consciousness with every heartbeat, radiant and nauseatingly familiar. He held a handkerchief to the cuts until it filled with deep red. He threw it away – it landed in a wet disgusting lump on the table, by the bowl of wet disgusting meat. Oh how the lord had tried to be a nice host, how he had tried to accommodate this, this– 

“Damned, ungrateful, hateful beast!” Lord Teelo roared. The glass of the bowl nearly slipped from his bloodied fingers when he grabbed it, and then shattered to thousands pieces to the side of the creature’s head. Its dinner fell onto the floor, useless. Oh, it wouldn’t get any, it would have to work, to beg for any crumb from then on – it would regret, regret it so much!..

The door slid open soundlessly after a short knock, letting in the heavy footsteps and the clanging of metal. The lord turned on his heels, facing the guard. “And why in the world have you not brought a damned healer!” he hissed. “Can’t you see I’m bleeding out!”

The guard blinked. “But you have–” 

“YOU DARE ARGUE WITH ME?!” 

He was struggling to breathe, chest heaving with effort. The blood was still warm down his arm, still bright on the broken glass and light wood of his floors. How could the idiot not understand!

There were chains in the guard’s arms and a leathery length of the whip. Lord Teelo snatched it and demanded, “Chain it up!” The guard hesitated, opened his mouth. “NOW!” 

He did. The lord watched as he came to the beast, careful with his steps, cautious of it. It squeezed itself deeper into the corner. Lord Teelo could see it shaking. He was delighted to see it shaking. The guard reached out, the first cuff prepared, and Lord Teelo watched from a step away as it lifted its hands up, close to its chest. Its teeth were bared, pupils wide and eyes wider. It tried saying something, but what came out was only a mess of sounds with no meaning. 

The guard squeezed its arm even as it tried to avoid it. It whined and fought back, tried getting out of the grasp, tried pushing him away, tried and fought and struggled as he cursed under his nose. Its claws went through the skin of his palm ripping out a sharp hiss. It managed to raise its hind leg as the cuff clicked around its wrist, its claws scratching against the metal in an effort that only delayed the inevitable. 

Lord Teelo had little patience left. He stepped forward, connecting his heel with the middle of the creature’s tail. It yelped, flinched backwards – its head connected with the wall, and before it could regroup the second handcuff was in place. After that, restraining its legs was only a matter of time.

“Turn it around,” the lord ordered. Chains clang as it fought in an ever increasing panic. “To the wall, yes… yes, just like that.” The locks rattled, forced closed. The guard let the key fall onto the ground, forcing the creature to kneel. It hid its tail between its legs, whining as its head was pressed into the wall. “Is the chain short enough? Will it be able to move?”

“I don’t think so, my lord,” the guard answered. 

Lord Teelo played with the whip, trying it out. “Good. Go fetch the healer– wait. I need – something sharp, something – to secure on its tail. See how it hides it? I need something it can’t hide from.”

The guard looked puzzled. He eased his hold in a test, and the creature threw its whole weight backwards, fighting the chains. They held. Kneeling, with its tail hidden and only back visible, it looked strikingly like a human. “Perhaps clothespins, my lord?” It wasn’t what he had in mind. What he wanted – it wasn’t that. Not this easy, tame solution.

“It would work,” he drew out. He would go to the smith when he had time. He had an idea, oh, that would be a genius idea. “Just this once."

He flexed his left arm and rubbed his right. It hurt as all deaths, but it had stopped bleeding. He failed to crack the whip the first time but managed it the second, inches from the creature’s back. The guard bowed, taking it as a sign to leave. 

The creature mumbled and mumbled more, sounds a meaningless mush falling from its tongue. If Lord Teelo was generous, he could see it as an apology; he would not even entertain the possibility of giving in to it, of course. 

The second crack was right by its ear. It flinched and curled up further but couldn't hide.

It wailed when the whip connected with its back – so loud, so quickly, taken by surprise. Lord Teelo bared his teeth in a smile and struck again, violent purple already flowering on the gray of its skin, and struck again without waiting – three, four, six, twelve hits in a row, as it flinched and writhed and cried out.

He paused afterwards, and saw as it tensed, first, its whole body shaking with the effort of breathing, hiccupping in what sounded almost like sobs. He waited, watching how it trembled more and more. He let it marinate in the anticipation, the fear coiling and coiling with no release, the stinging of its sore back growing as its patience ran thin. 

When it raised its head, just barely, as if to look, the whip snapped through the air again. 

It screamed out. He didn’t give it time to recover. 

The lord hit it with no pattern, pausing and continuing at his leisure, until his arm grew heavy with pain and the creature nearly silent. Lord Teelo could only hear its labored breathing, air forced out of its body with every strike. Its back bloomed with purple that gave way to red when the skin opened, the new lines covering the rainbow pattern in an unstructured, repulsive mess.

Oh, he nearly pitied it, trembling pathetically in the corner. Then he rubbed his arm and the sharp pain was enough to remember why he didn’t. 

He struck for the last time, lazily, with his left, and then a few more for a good measure. When a polite knock announced the guard’s return, he felt pleasantly tired, like after a good work out. He called out for the man to enter. 

The guard did and the healer, an old woman the lord knew for most of his life, followed in. She looked the room over with stony, unreadable expression, and Lord Teelo met her gaze with a nice enough smile. “You’ve got your toy,” she stated and that was all the attention the creature got from her. 

She made a quick enough work of the wounds: cleaned and bandaged them up after applying that miraculous numbing cream the lord appreciated since early childhood. The creature would appreciate it even more, he thought, glancing at the pathetic thing. It had shifted at some point, stretching its legs just a bit but keeping its head hidden. Its body shook violently, trembling so much it in itself looked tiring. 

“Should I look it over?” the healer suggested, all business. 

The lord huffed, “What would the point of a punishment be then?” 

The woman looked him over with that annoying, unreadable gaze. “Call me whenever you change your mind,” she bowed and left when he dismissed her. 

Lord Teelo tried the clothespins with interest, forcing the spring to coil and then letting it go softly around his finger, just a tad, until it started hurting. “Good enough,” he concluded finally and got up. 

The creature flinched when his boots stopped by its form but didn’t try anything. “Poor thing,” he drew out and crouched, ran his fingers along its back lightly, brushing fingertips over the painful ridges of future bruises. Its breaths hitched, but it didn’t make a sound. “And all you needed was to not act like a brainless brat to avoid all this. You have no one but yourself to blame, silly thing,” he told it. It didn’t answer, shivering under his touch but not attempting anything stupid. 

“But maybe you can learn,” he hummed and moved his hand down to where its tail started. It tensed even further, if it was possible at all. “Let’s just make sure the lesson sticks, huh?” It curled up even further as he tagged on its tail, releasing from under the creature’s body. He flickered it back and forth and rubbed between his fingers and was satisfied when it sobbed and shuddered but remained motionless otherwise. 

“Like this, yes,” he muttered. With the softest touch of his second hand, he stoked its head. “But look at me now. Eyes on me,” It didn’t understand. He caught a fistful of its fur and tagged. “Eyes on me.”

Too drained to resist, it lifted its head as he guided it. “Eyes on me,” he demanded again, and it either guessed or truly learned – its gaze settled on him, focusing to the best of its ability – and, oh, what a pathetic mess it looked, eyes bloodshot and wet in ways he’d thought only a human's could be, dark lines from where it pressed into the floorboards marking its cheeks. There was something red around its mouth – did it bite itself, the poor thing? 

Lord Teelo clicked his tongue, smiled softly and released its fur. It settled back instantly, curling up again. Its tail remained in his hands. 

He picked up the first pin. 

It must have assumed at first that he was just playing like he had been, – at least, it didn’t seem to tense up too much, nor expect the sharp pain when he released the spring around its tail. It shuddered, head whipping up, staring at him once again. He smiled. Picked up the second clothespin. 

It tried to get its tail free – oh, it tried as much as it could without hurting him, but he tightened the grasp and played with the pins as it couldn’t help a new whimper, and hushed it and urged it to sit still. “That’s for you to remember the lesson better,” he told it pleasantly. It must have cried, body shaking again, and tried to kick just once, the movement stopped halfway through by a short chain. 

Lord Teelo wondered how many pins would be good for it – should he go with the whole set the guard had brought? He settled on five, at the end, a nice even number not even halfway through what he had. He was feeling rather merciful and forgiving, and it sounded just so pathetic. 

He called the guard in to urge it into the cage when it was done. It didn’t even try fighting, following the man's tagging and pushing until it was inside, drawing its limbs close and curling up to fully fit. Nearly immediately, its fingers itched towards the pins, human-like thumbs ready to work on the problem. Lord Teelo snapped his fingers to get its attention.

“No,” he said, words dripping with finality. He reached through the bars and tagged its tail outside. “The clothespins stay here for the night,” he told it. It probably didn’t understand – there was so little thought in its eyes. He let go of it hoped for its sake it understood what he meant. He didn’t want to have to punish it so soon for their lack of common language. 

When he went to sleep, the shaky breaths and the rare clanging when it tried to settle more comfortable sounded like a lullaby to his ears.

In the morning, his arm stung mercilessly and unendingly, and no melodies of birds and gentle sunrays could make his mood better. He turned lazily, letting his eyes fall onto the cage. The creature was curled inside of it, eyes shut tight and ears flickering restlessly. Its tail fluttered too, freed at some point from the pins, one of its hands curling around it protectively. 

Lord Teelo felt stuck between endearment and irritation. He moved and the cuts on his arm ached, and irritation won. 

“Hey… you,” he called and realized he hadn’t come up with a name. He should think about it as some point, he decided grimly, and banished the thought of the last pet he’d named, back in childhood. That was a just a cat, a stupid spoilt creature with too much attitude. The lord remembered the way it looked, painted red and unmoving, after crossing one too many lines. 

The creature didn’t move at his call, either. He picked up an extinguished candle from his bedside table and threw it towards the cage. “Hey!” 

There was no reaction. With an undignified groan, he forced himself on his feet and towards the cage. He rattled the key across the bars, the way that always seemed to get the creature’s attention.

It didn’t react. It was outright ignoring him! 

Had it learned nothing?!

He reached through the bars and tagged on its tail, finally getting some response in return – it flinched weakly and grimaced. Slowly, its eyes fluttered open, but didn’t settle on the lord. They looked as if through him, unfocused and dizzy, and a pang of worry cut through the just rage when they closed back and its chest heaved, struggling for breath. 

Something was wrong.

He reached through the bars and towards its forehead, forgetting for a second it wasn’t a human. The skin under his fingers was blasting hot and sickly wet. It moved closer to his fingers, all but nuzzling against him. 

Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

Updates every 7-10 days (depending on how much time I have and how obvious the poll result is) (unless something goes wrong and it takes me too weeks to get myself to write something. I'm so very sorry about the delay!)

@isikedmyself878, @fraugustends, @otterfrost, @fuchstastisch, @3-2-whump,

@the-lone-youth, @will-o-the-wips, @catnykit, @granny-aaravos, @mj-or-say10

Tell me to be tagged in the new parts!

[uniquezombiedestiny]

I don't want you to forget me I want you to die with me. I miss you I should have lived. I love you. Why are you putting these words in my mouth?

(artfight attack for @tsunagite, ft. reinhardt :3)

[ahalliance]

how do i turn qantoine’s spontaneous marriage proposal to qetoiles into evidence of his early-days fear of qfrench drifing away and keeping secrets from one another

[hood-ex]

Man, I can't believe I used to read every NW issues the very day they came out, even during the amnesia arc. And then TT took over and very quickly I stopped cause it sucked so much and it feels like every issue was a nail in the proverbial coffin and now this zur shit and Dick being so dumb and incompetent feels like they're throwing cement on top lmao

Yeah it's kinda just same shit, different day. Something actually enjoyable with Dick feels more like a rare treat now, and it usually happens outside of the Nightwing run.

[sugarsnappeases]

Hi

hello!!!! you did not ask but i’ve been getting emotional recently about hogwarts…. jen said ‘heart of wizarding britain’ and yeah oh my god it makes me fucking crazy. like. imagine you’ve just been through a year of all-out war. everyone you know is fighting for their lives or in hiding or dead and you don’t know who’s alive and you haven’t spoken to anyone bc you don’t know who you can trust but you get word that the final battle is happening. and not only that but it’s happening at hogwarts. and hogwarts is a place that was always safe and holds so many happy memories and is HOME for so many people and now it’s under attack and so you go, maybe not even necessarily bc you particularly support either side but bc it’s HOGWARTS and hogwarts is HOME and so much love and the crux of so many people’s lives and you just have to go and help where you can. the thought of people piling through that tunnel from the hog’s head makes me fucking insane. like the amount of love in that room. the reunions. the people you thought you’d never see again. and you’re all there joined together to defend the place where you met, where you grew up together, where you became the people that you are today. and maybe you’ll die but hogwarts is home. you couldn’t possibly let it go down without a fight.

i’ve also been thinking about the death eaters who are there ATTACKING the castle. and maybe some of them called it home as well…. like even tom called it home at one point in time and although he’s way too far gone by that point and his memories were probs kinda soured anyway by dumbledore etc there must be some of his death eaters for whom hogwarts was always safety when they were students but now they’re THREATENING that safety. tainting those memories. like do you guys think they felt remorse??? guilt??? horror??? idk it’s just so interesting to me. the fact that the war proper starts (w dumbledore’s death) and ends at hogwarts. it’s really the centre of everything. even without taking the war into consideration it’s the centre of everything. it makes me CRAAAZY

[hopecomesbacktolife]

thinking of rereading the entirety of HoME again. for my health

[harmonysanreads]

The opening line of Anna Karenina is... wow.