#is this any good?
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They hate him for his autistic swagger and also the time he killed two people and injured more.
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You can't call me
In the middle of the night
Cause when you hold me
It just feels so right
And I know you don't feel the same
Cause I heard you sobbing, calling out his name
So you can't call me
In the middle of the night
In the middle of the night
I was asleep last time you dialed my phone
I thought I told you to leave me alone
Cause you'll tell me you're curious
Or promise that your serious
But tomorrow you won't pick up your phone
You can't call me
In the middle of the night
Cause when you hold me
It just feels so right
And I know you don't feel the same
Cause I heard you sobbing, calling out his name
So you can't call me
In the middle of the night
In the middle of the night
Despite the bright red warning signs
I drive to be by your side
You'll kiss me and let me in
Say you want to be more than friends
But tomorrow you won't pick up your phone
So you can't call me
In the middle of the night
Cause when you hold me
It feels so right
And I know you don't feel the same
Cause I saw you out with what's his name
So you can't call me
In the middle of the night
Cause when you hold me
It just feels so right
And I know you don't feel the same
Cause I heard you sobbing, calling out his name
So you can't call me
In the middle of the night
#edited to include whole thing#sad poetry#poetry#sad quotes#lgbt#lgbtq#trans#genderqueer#nonbinary#transgender#lesbian#song lyrics#song writing#is this any good?
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Something After This
(Oof, ouch. I'm angsty as of late.)
for @hinnymicrofic prompt 10 for May: flower(s)
It’s the first Sunday in June, hot, overcast, miserable. Doesn’t help that her view is of the graveyard, of Fred’s headstone covered in multicolored flowers. Ginny thinks it’s rather obnoxious, kind of perfect, miserable.
She gazes up at Harry, standing in stoic silence beside her.
“Do you… do you think there’s Something?” she asks him, voice stilted and rough. “Something after this?”
A muscle jumps in his jaw, and he turns to her with this look in his eyes, one Ginny reads as uncertain, miserable.
Everything is fucking miserable.
“You know what?” says Ginny, staring back down at the stupid, miserable ground her brother is buried beneath. “Nevermind. Forget I said anything.”
Harry takes a shuddering breath, and–
“Ginny?” calls Mum from the churchyard gate. “Harry?”
Ginny pivots, ready to leave this miserable place behind as soon as possible, her head feeling a bit like it’s stuffed, her eyes beginning to sting, but Harry catches her by the elbow, holding her back. A part of her wants to pull away, but the fight has left her completely...
“We’ll meet you back at the Burrow if that’s alright,” he says, statement more than question, towards her family waiting for them on the main path to and from the village church.
Ginny keeps her focus on the ground, rich brown soil and manicured green grass all a blur.
“Not too long now,” Dad calls back, a hint of hesitancy in his voice.
Fleur’s reassuring voice chimes in, “Harry weel take care of her.”
Ginny waits until they’re out of earshot, then beats him to the punch, peering up at him as she wipes at her cheeks with the sleeves of her miserable black robes.
“You died, didn’t you?”
Harry blanches, glancing over her shoulder before meeting her gaze again, and the little sunlight they’re awarded with today glints off the rim of his glasses. “I might have a bit, yeah.”
She snorts, an ugly, wet sound, and she wonders how he’s put up with her, how he’s stuck by her side these past few weeks; she has been nothing but a wretched, miserable thing.
“I’m sorry.”
“What are you possibly apologizing for?” cries Ginny.
Harry’s mouth twists around the words. “Not quite sure. Everything?”
“You selfless, stupid, noble prat, for Merlin’s sake–”
He’s absolutely deranged, and apparently, so is she, because she grabs a fistful of his robes and yanks him to her, and it doesn’t matter that their second first kiss is in a miserable graveyard, witnessed by the dead, on bloody, sacred ground. Harry is in her lungs again, filling her up again, lips gentle and warm and very much alive. There is not a single ounce of misery in this. Insanity? Sure. But this is her Something, after the war.
Ginny’s going to seize it.
#hinny#harry/ginny#fanfiction#is this any good?#kind of on the fence#the graveyard fence#get it?#(what the fuck is wrong with me?)#brightlybound#my writing#hp
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It's kind of a thing at this point that Hob Gadling has an irrational hatred for hatred of Shakespeare born of jealousy because Dream walked out on one of their meetings with him. But what if Hob actually loved Shakespeare’s plays because he used them to try to find out more about his stranger and just got obsessed. Obviously, Hob had put together that his stranger had probably helped Shakespeare write better plays.
So what if when Shakespeare started to get recognized, Hob decided to see what all the fuss was about, after all he used to be shit. But when he saw that his plays were actually good, he put two and two together. He suspected that his stranger had something to do with this, exactly what he wasn't sure. But in order to figure out what was going on, Hob spent the twenty years afterwards watching as many of Shakespeare's plays as he possibly could, trying to get to know his stranger through the plays. Of course, he wasn't exactly sure what he was looking for because he knows so little about him. But nonetheless, he tried to find Something and inadvertently became almost an expert in Shakespeare's plays and grew to love the play, though he was always rather salty that Shakespeare had stolen his stranger’s hard earned attention away from him.
When he lost his fortune, he was not able to see many plays or read much for a long time, but in the time that he was on the streets he would recite what he could remember of the plays to those who would hear it and he would occasionally make some small amount of money that might feed him for a little while.
After their conversation in 1789, he had confirmation that his stranger had helped Shakespeare and his passion in trying to find out more about him through Shakespeare’s work was reignited. He doesn’t have confirmation for anything but he does have a few theories.
1: Hob wonders if his stranger might be fae, this is inspired by the play A Midsummer Night’s Dream, he wasn’t sure. It didn’t seem quite right but it was a theory.
2: He wasn’t sure what sort of deal the one with Shakespeare was, other than that it wasn’t for his soul, but he could use the information that he had gained immortality at no cost to himself. So perhaps the deal was something similar. Hob only met with his stranger once a century to tell him about the last 100 years as part of his deal, (and he wasn’t even sure if that was required anymore, regardless he was happy that they were still meeting as he wanted to get to know his stranger more). So perhaps the deal was similarly benign, maybe Shakespeare had to do some task for him. Maybe he had to dedicate a play to him.
3: The fair youth sonnets were a subject of Hob’s fascination, if for no other reason than the possibility that they might have been about his stranger. He had no proof, nor was he sure, but he thought it a possibility and it both delighted him that his stranger could have been the subject of such work, and inspired jealousy in him. Still, Shakespeare was long dead and he was alive and so was his stranger, even if they met only once a century.
4: There were certain lines in Shakespeare’s works that with some irrational certainty, for he knew very little about his stranger, he felt his stranger’s personality and feelings about the world shine through. Such as, “We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with sleep” from The Tempest, or “There’s nothing in this world that can make me joy. Life is as tedious as a twice told tale, vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man;” from King John. His stranger had never struck him as someone in love with life and had always seemed to Hob as other worldly.
There were other quotes that reminded Hob of his stranger such as, “How like a winter hath my absence been from thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year. What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen, what old December’s bareness everywhere!” This quote in particular struck Hob especially during the years he spent in poverty 20 years after their meeting in 1589 and when he was stood up in 1989.
Fast forward to 2022, Hob is a history professor who specializes in medieval English history and he’s quite well known as the guy around the campus as the guy you go to when you need any help with anything regarding Shakespeare. He’s known for having an odd relationship with Shakespeare, complimenting his work and then insulting him for being an attention stealing twat in the same sentence.
When his stranger walks into the New Inn 33 years late, calling Hob his friend, Hob has many questions but is a patient man. Dream introduces himself properly and in as little detail as possible, explains why he missed their 1989 meeting. He also says that he will grant Hob a favor that is within his power as an apology for missing their last meeting, to Dream’s surprise, Hob only asks that they meet more often than once a century.
After their meeting, Hob has some serious suspicions about the play A Midsummer Night’s Dream, after all, it had his friend’s name in it. He now knew that his friend was not fae, but the title of the play could not just be a coincidence. After all, it was June when he had met Shakespeare.
One day, about three weeks after they reunite in the New Inn, Hob is teaching a class and happens to be talking about Shakespeare’s plays and inspiration that would have inspired his plays. Then on total coincidence Dream walks in, standing at the back of the lecture hall as Hob rambles on about the plays. One of the students asks Hob what his favorite quote is, to which he replies, “For you, in my respect, are all the world. Then how can it be said I am alone when all the world is here to look on me?” from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. It was after saying this that he realized that Dream was standing at the back of the classroom with a small but fond smile upon his face. After making eye contact, Hob started stuttering through the rest of the lecture, which was cut short.
Afterwards, Hob went to greet Dream. Dream tells him that he was not aware of his love for Shakespeare. To which Hob, while very red in the face, tries to explain his fascination with his work without giving his obsession with learning more about his friend away. Dream gets the point however, and says that he was not aware of how curious Hob was about his existence, though does not sound at all displeased at this fact. Hob, blushing and stuttering, admits that he is very curious about his friend and would learn all that his friend would tell him. Dream replies saying that Hob need not rely on looking for clues in plays written over 400 years prior. Hob is thrilled and the two of them go on a walk to Hob’s flat together.
Eventually they get their shit together and confess to each other, through Shakespearian sonnets of course.
#as someone who loves shakespeare all the 'hob hates shakespeare' sentiment hurts me#so i wrote this#this is a lot longer than i expected it to be#but that's fine#hob gadling#dream of the endless#the sandman#the sandman netflix#the sandman comics#dreamling#dream/hob gadling#morpheus#is this any good?#i hope it is
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So, me being the dork that I am, I have started a fanfic for Will Trent. And because I’m a glutton for I don’t even know what, here is a little bit of it. Tell me what you think:
“Why can’t you just admit that you don’t love me?” Will cried out with frustration and anger in his voice, but something else entirely in his eyes.
“What do you want me to say, Will? That I think you’re broken, that you’re a useless human being, and that Paul was right to pick on you?!” Angie yelled back, equally able to match his anger. At this point she couldn’t even remember what had started their fight. Probably something stupid that they were using to air their own insecurities. You know, business as usual for them.
“It would hurt a hell of a lot less than your continuing refusal to let me in after over twenty-five years!”
Angie was left speechless, unable to continue their fight. She knew what his dyslexia had done to him over the years, so she understood all too well just how much she was continuing to hurt him by not letting him in. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she quickly blinked them away, refusing to show them to Will.
Across from her, Will let out a heavy breath. She couldn’t tell if he was trying to hide the shudder she heard in it, and she honestly wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer. Either he was and he was feeling too much and he couldn’t, or he wasn’t and he was doing the one thing he had been practically begging for her to do for years - he was letting his guard down. No matter which way she sliced it, Angie didn’t want any part of that cake.
“Screw this,” she said aloud, not even really sure what she meant by that but knowing that she wanted out of this house, and headed for the front door.
She had almost made it when she heard Will say, “Angie, wait,” then felt his hand grab her arm. Even now she didn’t know if it had been instinct, anger, momentum, or a little bit of each that had sent her fist flying towards his face, but in the end the result was the same. Will’s head snapped to his right as her fist connected with his cheek. He recovered quickly, his left hand going to the spot where she’d hit him as he straightened and looked at her in surprise. Knowing what hell he was going through or had gone through growing up, she had never once hit him.
A huge part of her wanted to apologize for the line she’d just crossed, to try and erase the hurt she’d just caused, but she couldn’t. Not knowing what else to do, she ran to her car. She made it to her apartment before she finally let herself cry. She hated that she knew this, but she knew that eventually Will would forgive her for this transgression. What she didn’t know was if she could forgive herself.
TBC
#will trent#angie polaski#fanfic#opinions needed#is this any good?#apologies for bad writing#and/or bad characterization#still working out kinks#whump
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dykey way
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Thank you @bdoubleowo
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His old man pussy has me seeing hallucinations of him after his death
#from the terrarium#wolf 359#alexander hilbert#dmitri volodin#elias selberg#i mean its#i dont wanna tag it as her#but its her experience#renée minkowski#renee minkowski#is this any good?
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And for the reylo’s also spotted this at my local dollar tree 🌲 lol
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hey. don’t cry. crush four cloves of garlic into a pot with a dollop of olive oil and stir until golden then add one can of crushed tomatoes a bit of balsamic vinegar half a tablespoon of brown sugar and stir for a few minutes adding a handful of fresh spinach until wilted and mix in half a cup of grated parmesan cheese and pasta of your choice ok?
#ITS MY FAVOURITE PASTA RECIPE#tastes so so good and delicious and hearty and warm#doesn’t require many ingredients or effort and is so yummy#I have sensory issues and digestive disorders and this recipe brings me so much joy#barely anything to remember!!! rich while still easy on the stomach!!!!#listen to my gibberish boy#you can add any amount of sugar and vinegar and cheese it works regardless#I UPPED THE GARLIC BECAUSE OF FEEDBACK BTW#AND PUT THE CHEESE AT THE END TO AVOID IT STICKING TO THE POT
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the men and boys are innocent too.
we cry "the innocent women and children" to appeal to the masses, to try and force their sympathy, but the men and boys are innocent too.
I have seen sons crying out for their mothers, their fathers, their siblings. I have seen them break down at the loss of their families. I have seen them cling to their dead and grieve.
I have seen fathers cradle their dead children, seen them kiss their faces and hold their little hands. I have seen them faint with grief when asked to identify the dead. I have seen them carry their sons and daughters. I have seen them fasting to provide what little they can for their families.
I have seen men and boys digging through the rubble with just their bare hands, I have seen them comforting strangers, playing with children, rocking them, hushing them, even if the face of such imminent danger. I have seen them cry, seen them grieve, seen them break down into each other's arms, seen them be selfless, beyond selfless, becoming something I don't have a word for.
I have seen the men who are doctors refuse to leave their patients, even when they have no medicine or supplies to give them, even when they're threatened with bombings. I have seen fathers who have lost all their children pick orphans up into their arms and proclaim them their child so they are not alone. I have seen men and boys digging pets out of the rubble.
the men are innocent too. the men and boys are being hurt and killed too. the men and boys are grieving too. the men and boys are scared too. the men and boys are fighting to save their people too. the men and boys deserve to be fought for too.
#I don't have words to describe how I feel for the men of Palestine#the things I have seen them do after everything they have been through goes so far beyond selfless#what do you call this? this prevailing goodness and willingness to give everything they have and more? what word even touches it?#I don't think there is one#islamophobia has conditioned us to see these men and boys as evil and dangerous#we see this in how we speak about Palestine#and we need to uncondition ourselves#they're just as innocent and of value and good as the women and children#so fight for them#they don't deserve this any more than the women and children#free palestine#palestine
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meditations on first philosophy (1641) - rene descartes
"who give a shit"
#rene descartes#ok#so this is a reference to that post#bc i cant stop saying it#sorry i havent been active#ive been working on an opera#and have been having like p bad health issues#but its ok#learning to crochet a minecraft frog#idk if itll be like any good#whatever life is love anyway#blackout poem#blackout poetry#author#book#poetry
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As a reminder that good exists out there, a coworker recently confessed to me that he found out his child is questioning their identity (kid's gender redacted for this post). The kid is keeping it from him, so he can't say anything to them or show that he knows, but he's doing his best to get mentally prepared and educated so that he'll be ready whenever his kid does feel comfortable enough come to him.
For context, this guy is a big, bulky middle aged dude who loves sports and typical outdoor "manly" activities. As his coworker and friend, I know he's a kind and sweet teddy bear of a person, but his kid probably views him as a stern, authoritarian figure, the way most teenagers view their parents. His family lives in a conservative area, so I'm sure between that, their dad's looks and interests, and the fact that their dad is a Figure of Authority, the kid is worried that they won't be accepted.
But you know what? When he found out about his kid, the first thing he did was reach out to his closest queer friend and ask for resources for parents of questioning children. His biggest fears are that his kid will be bullied or discriminated against and won't feel comfortable enough to be themself. His second action was to find himself a mentor in another parent who went the same situation (kid coming out in a conservative town). The other person is preparing him for some of the struggles his kid may face and the fights he may need to take on as a parent to make sure his kid is safe and treated well.
Something I want to emphasize for people focused on language as the primary method of allyship is that when we spoke, he used some outdated terms and thoughts about gender and sexuality. That does not make him bad. These were the terms and thinking used about questioning teenagers when he was growing up and he never needed to learn more current ones. But now that he does have that need, he's throwing himself in head first because that's his kid and he's darn well going to make sure that his kid feels welcomed and has a safe place to be themselves even if they never come out to him.
#I'm so proud and happy for my coworker and I've been trying to figure out how to let him know how amazing I think he is#what gets me the most is that he's keeping this super down low to avoid giving any hints to his kid#he has a lot of queer friends so he already is known as an ally but there's always a chance it will be different if it's family#and he took that chance and crumpled it up into a ball and slam dunked it into the garbage for three points#and decided that even if his kid wants to hide it from him for the rest of his life he will still do what he can to make their life better#pflag#parents doing their best#parenting win#good news#allyship
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the fact that shakespeare was a playwright is sometimes so funny to me. just the concept of the "greatest writer of the English language" being a random 450-year-old entertainer, a 16th cent pop cultural sensation (thanks in large part to puns & dirty jokes & verbiage & a long-running appeal to commoners). and his work was made to be watched not read, but in the classroom teachers just hand us his scripts and say "that's literature"
just...imagine it's 2450 A.D. and English Lit students are regularly going into 100k debt writing postdoc theses on The Simpsons screenplays. the original animation hasn't even been preserved, it's literally just scripts and the occasional SDH subtitles.txt. they've been republished more times than the Bible
#due to the Great Data Decay academics write viciously argumentative articles on which episodes aired in what order#at conferences professors have known to engage in physically violent altercations whilst debating the air date number of household viewers#90% of the couch gags have been lost and there is a billion dollar trade in counterfeit “lost copies”#serious note: i'll be honest i always assumed it was english imperialism that made shakespeare so inescapable in the 19th/20th cent#like his writing should have become obscure at the same level of his contemporaries#but british imperialists needed an ENGLISH LANGUAGE (and BRITISH) writer to venerate#and shakespeare wrote so many damn things that there was a humongous body of work just sitting there waiting to be culturally exploited...#i know it didn't happen like this but i imagine a English Parliament House Committee Member For The Education Of The Masses or something#cartoonishly stumbling over a dusty cobwebbed crate labelled the Complete Works of Shakespeare#and going 'Eureka! this shall make excellent propoganda for fabricating a national identity in a time of great social unrest.#it will be a cornerstone of our elitist educational institutions for centuries to come! long live our decaying empire!'#'what good fortune that this used to be accessible and entertaining to mainstream illiterate audience members...#..but now we can strip that away and make it a difficult & alienating foundation of a Classical Education! just like the latin language :)'#anyway maybe there's no such thing as the 'greatest writer of x language' in ANY language?#maybe there are just different styles and yes levels of expertise and skill but also a high degree of subjectivity#and variance in the way that we as individuals and members of different cultures/time periods experience any work of media#and that's okay! and should be acknowledged!!! and allow us to give ourselves permission to broaden our horizons#and explore the stories of marginalized/underappreciated creators#instead of worshiping the List of Top 10 Best (aka Most Famous) Whatevers Of All Time/A Certain Time Period#anyways things are famous for a reason and that reason has little to do with innate “value”#and much more to do with how it plays into the interests of powerful institutions motivated to influence our shared cultural narratives#so i'm not saying 'stop teaching shakespeare'. but like...maybe classrooms should stop using it as busy work that (by accident or designs)#happens to alienate a large number of students who could otherwise be engaging critically with works that feel more relevant to their world#(by merit of not being 4 centuries old or lacking necessary historical context or requiring untaught translation skills)#and yeah...MAYBE our educational institutions could spend less time/money on shakespeare critical analysis and more on...#...any of thousands of underfunded areas of literary research i literally (pun!) don't know where to begin#oh and p.s. the modern publishing world is in shambles and it would be neat if schoolwork could include modern works?#beautiful complicated socially relevant works of literature are published every year. it's not just the 'classics' that have value#and actually modern publications are probably an easier way for students to learn the basics. since lesson plans don't have to include the#important historical/cultural context many teens need for 20+ year old media (which is older than their entire lived experience fyi)
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so that family photo, eh
#my art#fnaf#william afton#springtrap#spring bonnie#michael afton#fnaf william afton#five nights at freddy's#fnaf movie#sorta#not gonna post any actual movie art for a while this is a spoiler free blog. but it was good !!!!!!!!!!!#i draw william in 9384394 different rabbit suits but this one i drew specifically to be the unspringtrapped version of my springtrap:)#yellow rabbit
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girls who say tch and boys who say uwaaah
#huirier#fourui#from the terrarium#wolf 359#w359#victoire fourier#kuan hui#is this any good?#did i do it?
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