“you’re a writer, right?”
me, staring at the one sentence i’ve managed to add in the last hour and the 12 open tabs on the specifics of shoes in 1845 Ireland: In theory.
imagine being a little kid at chb and seeing percy jackson this handsome warrior with an entire mythology to his name who bargained with the gods and nico di angelo this terrifying legend displaced in time who can summon the dead and thinking they’re both terrifying and untouchable. and then one day you see nico stick his leg out while percy’s walking past and he totally faceplants and then gets back up, steals nico’s mythomagic deck out of his jacket pocket and bolts across the dining pavilion only to be tackled onto the grass by a shadow travelling nico. also they’re sixteen and twenty years old
RIP to everyone killed by the gods for their hubris but im different. and better. maybe even better than the gods
Zuko, hungover: please tell me I’m imagining that I claimed I was the king of all the turtleducks
Sokka: I would, but then I’d be lying to the King of All Turtleducks
Reboot Psych but make it Gay
writing: hard, overdone
closing the doc and lying prone on the floor for an hour: easy, fresh, 100% free
so women are supposed to grin and bear the books, the comics, the movies, the plays, the tv shows, the stories, the sci-fi, the translated ancient poems, the fucking millennia of men writing about their self inserts torturing women and it being declared as High Art by other men, we’re supposed to read it in our free time, study it in classrooms, include their styles in our own writing, accept their cultural influence as natural, watch it in the cinema, write about it, talk about it, accept it, aspire it, but men can’t tolerate three seconds of female wish fulfilment of a woman snapping the wrist of a creep without feeling personally kicked in the balls.
you know you've hit a new low when you become sad and jealous reading about a pair being close and loving together because you would never have something like that