Clarice Lispector ― The Hour Of The Star

writer problems: trying to figure out how many chapters you’re going to stall until An Event™

Give a man a plane ticket and he’ll fly for a day

Push a man out of a plane and he’ll fly for the rest of his life.

Y'all what fresh hell is this. This is actively horrifying. I'm not on Twitter, thank god, so I haven't seen the hate on Nora to this extent. These are her characters????

In conclusion, I have nothing productive to say I just wanted to say I am so sorry to Nora (@korakos) if she ever sees this and jesus fucking christ, what.

Also, @lyndiscealin, that's a really valid point and fear. All I can really say is that I hope assholes dont stymie you at all in your works and mental health and best of luck

I really hate the twitter aftg fandom. People were hating on Nora and saying all this shit about her and were like "I'd be scared of the fandom and leave social media too if I wrote such shitty takes" and hating on her for the EC???? And calling her a bigot and all of these really rude things even though she was always so nice and interactive with her fans. like what the fuck y'all, why are you even in the fandom if you hate her so much? "They're OUR characters now" ok bitch??? Then go write your own fanfics and shit, no one cares what you do with them because they're fictional characters anyways. Just like how Nora can say what she thinks would happen with the characters after the books were completed. It's not like the EC is set in stone anyways, she CHOSE not to write those things into the story for a reason and said multiple times that we can choose what we think happens.

And people were calling HER misogynist and a "woman hater" for no fuckin reason too smfh, because she said Andrew is misogynistic. Which he kinda IS, and tbh he has valid reasons for being like that. He doesn't hate ALL women and Nora never said he does, but of course he has some feelings of resentment towards a lot of women because how he felt betrayed by his own mother.

But like look at this shit smh. If any of these people are you then LOL block me IDC, I don't want your negative attitude on my dash anyways

a_street_cat_named_benson on ig

God yes, please, let's fucking talk about my greatest source of social isolation and ridicule.

thank GOD we are talking about racism towards asians now because as a dark skinned south asian woman my only representation in western media is 1) the smart brown girl studying to become a doctor or 2) the brown girl with overbearing parents who want her to get an arranged marriage. and don’t you dare tell me that this only happens in movies or shows because i cannot count the number of times that white people have come up to me and asked me what medical schools i want to apply to since i was literally 12 years old.

my culture has been stolen by white people trying to be woke while i was shamed for being south asian as a child. the golden milk you find on every white girl’s youtube channel now is haldi doodh, and my ancestors have been drinking it for thousands of years. the bindis on white girls’ foreheads as they go to coachella have served as a target for racists to attack south asian women. but when i drink haldi doodh or wear a bindi, i get stares from white people trying to dehumanize me by calling me barbaric or “backwards.”

racism towards south asians is still around and something that we NEED to keep talking about if we want to see change happen.

“You read something which you thought only happened to you, and you discover that it happened 100 years ago to Dostoyevsky. This is a very great liberation for the suffering, struggling person, who always thinks that he is alone. This is why art is important. Art would not be important if life were not important, and life is important.”

— James Baldwin, Conversations with James Baldwin (via 5139321966)

Thanks everyone for the prompts! I decided to try and knock these all out in one go:

@thegirlwhotrashcans: remember, you asked for it. au, nobody dies, wwx and yanli bodyswap. they’re married to lwj and jzx. 100% crack. bonus points if jin zixuan completely loses his shit and lwj looks very calm but loses his sh*t after everything is back to normal

@alightbuthappypen: Competency kink! One or both of them (when I say ‘them’ I mean wangxian obvs, I know what I’m about) getting hot and bothered about the other being amazing. On a nighthunt maybe? Or anywhere else that strikes your fancy!

@hearteyeswangji: WRITE MORE P*RN

I think I can manage that. With a few tweaks, accidental seriousness, and broad, ridiculous fix-its tacked on. I have no idea how long this might be. Let’s try it in installments? I’ll reblog and add on as I go. Maybe it’ll be fun. We’ll find out.

Disclaimer that this is just gonna go for it with no revising and no beta readers, so pls do not hold me to any conceivable standard of coherency thx

–

WILL INCLUDE: wangxian, xuanli, let jyl and lwj be friends agenda, canon divergence, fix-it, everybody lives, arranged marriage, bodyswap, light angst, getting together, Attempts at Comedy, eventual (light?) wangxian smut

The Sunshot Campaign has just been won. Everyone goes over to Jin Guangshan’s house after the Nightless City banquet, to Negotiate Stuff, and some hasty political marriages happen resulting in Xuanli Wedded Bliss and Wangxian Un-confessed Wedded Tension. Then, suddenly…a curse befalls our brave heroes.

–

Wei Wuxian wakes suddenly, feeling odd. He’s sleeping on his stomach for one thing, which is not his usual, but he feels warm and comfortable enough that he doesn’t think it strange. But then there is the scent of peonies and gardenias, which is both familiar and alien, somehow. It makes him open his eyes. 

Which is when he sees the hand before him on the bolster. It is slender and elegant. Small. Pale. Familiar? Wearing a jade bangle. He pushes himself up a bit, startled, only to see the hand move when he does. 

The hand. Is his hand. He stares at it. The shock of it, coupled with the early hour, leave his mind working very slowly.

Keep reading

i don't wanna love myself like "buy this feel good". i wanna love myself like i made a sandwich for later because i knew i'd be too busy. i wanna love myself like hang on take a breath do you actually like this. i wanna love myself like okay we're gonna set a reminder to get up and brush our teeth. i wanna love myself like - it's okay to say no, it's okay to take that nap, it's okay to go home.

i don't wanna feel sexy like tv. i don't wanna feel sexy like little black dress. i wanna feel sexy like high note during karaoke. like just got done writing 14 pages of poetry. like let me show you this scarf i've been knitting. i wanna feel sexy like hand on the back of the headrest while you parallel park. like did i tell you about that time i saved a baby bird. like don't tell her but i've been sneaking money into her purse.

i don't wanna feel pretty like expensive. like high fashion. like paid to be here. i wanna feel pretty like a bird in a puddle. i wanna feel pretty like streak of dyed hair. i wanna feel pretty like calligraphy, like new leaves, like a skinned knee bleed, like a dog running at full speed. i wanna feel pretty like lying next to you. i wanna feel pretty like the new album just dropped, i wanna feel pretty like a shower, i wanna feel pretty like a stone wall all covered in moss.

i keep saying body neutrality. that feels negative - no bad things, no good things, just body. but i mean - my body is neutral like a flower is neutral like an oil slick is neutral like a day is neutral, too. my body is neutral so a kiss can feel like lightning so a dance can feel like a hula hoop so a walk to get coffee can feel like - god, i'm so happy to just be around you.

my body is a site. not the source of the joy, just where i can find it. i don't wanna love like - finally got my body tight/forced myself through a diet/whatever trend is the current hype. i wanna love myself like - i go to this river and i find gold every time i shift around inside it. i wanna love myself like - i feel sexy because it's sexy to be alive, and laughing. i wanna love myself like - bitch, i could have died, and i didn't, and if that isn't the prettiest almost in the whole world, than i don't know what is.

Prologue

I’m writing a novel and it’s the primary basis of my description.

The new slave girl darted her eyes around constantly and, when she thought no one was looking, furrowed her dark brow in thought. It intrigued Priscilla Elizabeth Hamilton as she observed people often herself. She noted that the girl was younger than she was, maybe fourteen or fifteen while she herself was already seventeen. Priscilla watched her continue to take in her surroundings rapidly and consistently while she knelt on the floor, hands and ankles bound in iron. There was something clever behind her dark eyes despite the anxiety radiating off of her. The two other new slaves beside her were much older and seemed resigned to their fate; their eyes trained on the floor and shoulders weighed down. Priscilla was used to slaves like that - subdued and docile. The little girl who twitched and fidgeted in her shackles, as if she could wriggle her way to freedom, was certainly interesting. Priscilla was apparently not the only one to notice.

“Little slave. What are you doing, writhing in your chains like that? Are they too loose for you?” Her father’s voice drawled out, lazy and condescending; his power made apparent by his effortless arrogance.

The girl’s head snapped to Edward Hamilton. The air around her turned prickly. Her face debated a snarl. The other slaves stared, somehow feeling the terror that escaped her. There were two very clear choices the girl had. Priscilla oddly hoped that she would be wise and not get herself killed; she was too interesting to die so soon.

In hardly a fraction of a second, the slave lowered her eyes in submission, shaking her head repeatedly and cowering. Edward settled back in his chair, satisfied with the alarm he instilled in the room. Priscilla’s father had always been a simple man - in both mind and wishes. “Good. Now, what is your name? Or can you even understand me? A savage like you would find our civilized speech complicated, after all.” Priscilla fought the urge to roll her eyes at the irony.

“My name is Halima.” The soft voice that floated from the girl’s mouth was accented like all the slaves; the vowels stretched out and the words almost musical. The lilt in their voices was always something Priscilla secretly enjoyed.

“Halima,” her father pronounced it with a lazy sneer as he strutted over to the trembling girl. “Perhaps you are unfamiliar with the role you have now.” He kicked her onto her stomach and sunk a foot into her back. “The only movement I should see from you should be done in accordance to what you are ordered to do. I have no need to see you squirming like a pig and making a racket.” He dug his foot in harder and sneered, “But don’t you worry my dear, you won’t need those chains for that much longer - I’ll have you branded soon enough.”

With a final harsh kick, Edward finally relented off the girl and dragged her back into a kneel by the shackles around her wrists. Priscilla was unsurprised that the blood Halima coughed up and dripped down her chin was red as her own. Halima’s eyes brimmed with unshed tears; her thin frame wracked with silent sobs.

Her father, who had seated himself once again, watched with something akin to satisfaction. “Don’t dribble on the carpet, Halima.” He didn’t bother looking at the other slaves when he said, “Get out; I expect not to be able to distinguish them from the rest come morning.”

“Yes master,” came three soft, musical voices, followed by a flurry of movement. The new slaves were heaved up, albeit in a kind, supporting manner, and lead away.

Priscilla’s sisters and mother were too bored and distracted; her father too pleased and self-absorbed; her brother too starstruck by their father’s showcase of power to notice what happened as the slaves fled the room. But she saw it clearly. Halima’s shoulders were stiff and tense; there was a flash of blood-stained teeth as her lips pulled back in a quiet snarl. She was small and young but had all the presence of a caged beast, one too strong to stay confined. A threat of a reckoning shimmered behind her dark eyes.

There was a distinctive lack of alarm and an abundance of excitement when Priscilla thought, Oh, this is fascinating.