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#been having Thoughts today
sixstringpansy · 1 year
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unkillable.
every lyric from tonight's setlist that preaches survival, and living on against all odds // the drumhead.
(+bonus:)
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(x)
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fandom-trash-goblin · 2 months
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i beg you to love me, say that i'm enough, but you tell me— why are you like this? i think there's something wrong with you.
for @shestrying
thanks to @acelania for finding the unknowns!
in image / desperation sits heavy on my tongue, tumblr user tullipsink / mary oliver, ‘north country’ / virginia woolf, letter to violet dickinson / in image / blythe baird, from if my body could speak / Alice in Bed: A Play' by Susan Sontag (link in comment) / lynee rae perkins, criss cross / elena ferrante, Those Who Leave and Those Who Stay' (trans. Ann Goldstein) / rainer maria rilke, from rilke’s book of hours / in image/ in image
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puppyeared · 8 months
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learned something about myself lately
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conscydraws · 10 days
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My first 15 hours in Death Stranding
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potionpeddlerpatchy · 2 months
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Crowned Prince Shouto who is so very much in love with you, even if it did take a while to come around after the arranged marriage occurred.
Crowned Prince Shouto whose brow creases and eyes twitch every time people in high court mock how plain you are under hushed breaths.
Crowned Prince Shouto who gets absolutely sloshed at a royal banquet to try and drown his anger when he hears a rumor going around that his marriage is unconsummated due to finding you so repulsive before storming off to find you.
Royal Advisor Izuku who rushes off to try and follow, only to hear a shriek coming from your room. When scrambling to investigate if you're okay he finds his master on his knees absolutely devouring your cunt while your receiving chamber door remains open a crack.
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froggtogs · 3 months
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gone fishing
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cosmicdreamgrl · 1 month
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jungkook x for youth for @jkvjimin 💜
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rebouks · 6 months
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♦ simulated dreams ♦
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takeme-totheworld · 2 months
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Something about the specific kinds of disagreements and contradictory headcanons that I see popping up over and over again between GO fans who identify strongly with Crowley vs those who identify strongly with Aziraphale
...and, idk, life imitating art imitating life?
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hychlorions · 5 months
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they match :')
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destefaniart · 1 year
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fictionadventurer · 8 months
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There's something about reading really great writing that's so relaxing. You can just sit back and let the words wash over you, knowing that you can trust the writer.
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ghouljams · 9 months
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I do love the mental image you supplied of Price being out there with a broom trying to shoo the Mimic away, like-
Price: Get out of here, shoo!
Mimic: :((
Price: No! Go find another witch to snack on! *whacks*
Mimic: :(((((
You watch from your window as Price leaves your garden. The not-moose moves from one side of the wall towards Price. You aren't sure why that makes your stomach twist. You grip your chest, twisting your shirt in your hand, feeling that warm magic buzz at the tips of your finger again. Price can take care of himself, you're sure of it.
Price feels his tethers pull tight as the mimic walks towards him. The overgrown beast doesn't even have the common courtesy to pretend to be a regular animal. It stares right at him, it's eyes moving in different directions as it attempts to keep its focus on you as well as the new threat. Price cracks his knuckles, moves towards the mimic with the same predatory intent that it had been.
"Fuck off," Price advises the mimic, "kindly."
The mimic stops, shakes it's head. It's lips pull back in what Price is sure is supposed to be a terrifying display. He will admit that the noise it makes is downright unsettling, the sobbing wail that seems to broadcast from the mimic. It's face doesn't move at all, the sound just shakes out of it. Price raises a brow.
"You don't look starving."
Another wail from the mimic, the moose turns and butts its horns against the threshold. The twist of horn against your wards makes even Price grimace. It unhinges its jaw to press the full extent of its teeth against the garden's barrier. Price growls, leaning to reach over the wall to grab your watering can.
The iron burns.
Price twitches, his jaw clenched as his head pulls to one side. The unnatural sting of metal against his skin is almost as unpleasant as the scream the mimic lets out upon seeing it. The glassy eyes of it roll to look at him, it slides its teeth off the threshold like dragging knives through molasses. It gives another wail, almost bargaining. Price weighs the sentiment against the iron in his grasp before swinging the can hard at the mimic.
The creature flinches, stumbling back away from him. It drops its head low, menacing. Price doesn't move except to raise his free hand and make a shoo-ing motion.
"If you're not going to leave on your own I have no qualms makin' you."
The mimics eyes roll between Price and the house. It's lips curl, tongue lolling out over its razor sharp teeth. The menacing posturing doesn't let up, in fact the mimic almost seems to be challenging that assertion.
"Price," it sobs in your voice. Price's eyes narrow, his grip on the iron watering can tightening. The burn of it bites into his flesh.
"Now you're tryin' to make me mad." He growls, the mimic takes a half step back, "I'm tryin' to be civil, bet you can't even remember that part of yourself."
A step forward, the mimic attempts another show of aggression only to be caught by the swing of cold iron. The metal scrapes fur and flesh from its muzzle, oily blood sloughing off it into the snow before it can pull its skin back together. It scrambles back away from Price, away from your property. The mimic tries another sobbing voice, aiming for sympathy over threats. Isn't it pathetic? Cursed with only might and the decaying sense it once had as a human. If it could just get enough magic...
"Then find another witch to snack on, this one's mine." Though Price imagines any witch it finds will yield the exact same results. Well, maybe not exactly the same. He can't think of a single other fae that would- That would be eager to help? Have the tethers to be called on? The conviction to grab Iron in defense of their- of a witch. God help him this is getting out of hand.
The mimic seems to ponder this for a moment. It's neck twisting its head one way then another, its horns scraping the snowy ground as it does. It lets out an agreeable is terrified scream, before turning and making its way back into the thicket of trees. Price watches it go for a moment before tossing the watering can back towards the fence with a pained swear.
He grips his wrist, staring at the consumed flesh, the sinew revealed by the acidic burn of the iron. His fingers clench and shake, the muscles pulled tight with pain. Behind him the house door opens and closes, the iron back gate creaks, the sound of rapid footsteps through snow reaches him. He turns in time for you to throw your arms around him.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you," You squeeze your arms tightly around his shoulders. Price wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you more securely against his chest. You pull away too quickly to cup his face graciously, briefly, between your hands. He can feel his tethers singing for you as you leave his hold, eager to have you close again. His fingers still drag along your waist, reluctant to stop touching you as you turn to grab his injured hand.
Your fingers are so gentle as they graze the outer edges of the wound. Your expression pained, it makes him want to rip his hand from your hold. Instead he lets you finish your exam, his fingers tightening on your waist when you prod a little too hard. You mumble a quiet apology and release his hand, crouching to pick up a handful of snow.
"This might feel a little strange," You tell him, without actually telling him what exactly it is that's going to feel strange. You press the snow against his hand, careful to spread the ice down his fingers as well. Sort of weird that you'd think he'd never iced a burn before.
You lean over his hand, your face close to the snow, close enough he can feel the brush of your breath as you exhale. Then your lips move, and he feels it. The soft shift of the wind, the ringing in his ears, the lacing of his skin knitting back together under rapidly melting ice, the magic that races up his arm and circulates through his heart like a shot of ecstasy. Your grip on his wrist is far flung from the light touches it was, and he sees why now.
Your magic makes him want to jerk away, an involuntary reaction that he tries to steady as soon as it happens. It's hot and molten, it rustles past his ears like a sea breeze, and it is a foreign body invading his own. Price's pulse races, instinct keyed to the highest settings, and you are mouthwatering. All potential power and pretty packaging. He brushes your hair off your neck with his uninjured hand. You're so trusting. He can feel the itch in his teeth, and smell blood.
Price grips your shoulder hard enough to bruise, and leans down to press his teeth to your neck. He can feel your pulse rushing under his tongue, smell your scent under all those lovely herbs. You drop his hand and he's quick to thread it through your hair, to hold your neck long for his consumption. There's no pain, and the tethers between you are so brilliantly warm. No pain. Price blinks. The ringing is gone, the sea breeze gone, you're not holding his hand. You're finished.
He pull back, looks at how you've squeezed your eyes shut, lips thin with fear. That's not right. Fuck.
"Fuck," Price clears his throat, it feels like he hasn't had anything to drink in days, "I'm not gonna hurt you, that's-" He takes his hands off you, as a show of sincerity. Tension bleeds out of you as you open your eyes.
"I told you, it'll feel weird." You tell him, turning quickly to go and grab your watering can. Weird is not how he'd describe it, nor is that how he would've warned about it. But it's done now.
"That was real magic," Price swallows, flexes his fingers now miraculously, magically, healed. You don't miss a step in your quick pace back to your garden.
"It's all real magic," You call over your shoulder, "I just didn't use a buffer this time."
You only turn to look at him when you're closing your garden gate, your smile a little shy and your cheeks pink. You mouth a last 'thank you' and disappear into your house. It's strange. There should be a new tether between you, something solid, something the weight of unfiltered magical expertise, but there's nothing. Even done out of just the kindness of your heart he should have some evidence that you'd done him a service, nobody gives themselves that freely. Even those that do, a recipient would never accept such a gift without a debt; save maybe the few foolish enough to think they're in love.
Fuck.
Fuck.
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caffichai · 11 months
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Gravel, second place in the first ever poll on here!
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windslar · 2 months
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current project: streamline my editing process
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ziskeyt · 3 months
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When I wrote my thesis a few years back I read this article/book chapter that I found useful for the discussion of the ways that blaming Jews turns into caricatures of Jews which in turn became character tropes and narrative turns that we can find in literature, specifically children's fantasy per the scope of my research. Over the past number of months I keep thinking about this one piece specifically, and how I think it would be good for more people to read it.
The Ritual Murder or Blood Libel Legend: A Study of Anti-Semitic Victimization through Projective Inversion by Alan Dundes, edited by Simon J. Bronner. JSTOR stable link: https://www.jstor.org/stable/pdf/j.ctt4cgrzn.24.pdf It's openly available, you do not need institution access to be able to view it, please do give it a read.
It's a discussion about the blood libel legend, where it comes from, why it proliferates, and why Christians are so obsessed with it. I found it to be a really well argued take on the idea of projecting internal guilt onto the other and how that is a large aspect of the longevity of this particular antisemitic legend. Given what we've seen in the past four months, there is room to discuss the way that this idea of projective inversion is very relevant today.
I am a scholar in literary antisemitism, not in politics, not in war, not in human rights. I am looking at what is happening online and in leftist spaces from the view of someone who spent years studying antisemitic rhetoric.
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