Spring

"My soul"

A normal yoga session 🧘🏻‍♀️🐍

Hannibal

basically the insistience that a work of media has to be “sensitive” or “good” in order to be about something traumatic or bad presumes that the nature of art is to be consumed instead of created and it gestures, shittily, toward the complete professionalization/commercialization of all art. 

please do not send me asks about whether you think a founding member of AO3 is a “proshipper”

I’ve gone on at length before about how AO3′s refusal to punish honest labeling with deletion makes them the safest fanfic site for me. Consider the following scenario:

There are two brown paper bags in the company fridge. One of them contains a sandwich, and the other contains a dead dove. I am looking for a sandwich, and opening a bag with a dead dove in it will ruin my lunch hour.

In the AO3 fridge, it’s allowed to store dead birds as long as it’s a species that doesn’t violate the Migratory Bird Treaty Act. Unless it violates the MBTA, the managers will not throw it out. The paper bag with the sandwich is labeled “sandwich” because it contains a sandwich. The paper bag with the dead dove is labeled “dead dove” because it contains a dead dove.

In the [insert any other large fanfic site] fridge, the managers will throw out any bag they find to contain a dead bird. The paper bag with the sandwich is labeled “sandwich” because it contains a sandwich. The paper bag with the dead dove is also labeled “sandwich” because there are tens of thousands of bags and the managers can’t look inside all of them. The managers also regularly throw out perfectly good chicken sandwiches, just in case.

a rainy day

“Keep up, sweetheart. At the rate you fly on that old thing you’ll never catch the snitch.”

@hdcandyheartsfest Day 1: “sweetheart”

Broke my own heart writing this unrequited Jegulus drabble based on Radiohead's Creep this morning, so the day's off to a great start! 🖤

My eyes are glued to you. Gryffindor’s golden boy, your reckless hair and persistent smirk. You never catch mine, always peacocking for someone else's attention. But it's mine you have.

Maybe if I was shinier, like my brother or Evans, you'd notice. If I controlled a broom like you did, or if Dumbledore hadn't already given up on me by the time I sorted along party lines at eleven.

I wish I was special.

You're so fucking special.

I knew taking the Mark was wrong, but I didn't fight my parents when they told me what was expected of me. I thought maybe you'd notice then, your sneer and derision better than nothing. But it wasn't enough to turn your head.

And now I'm in too deep. I don't belong here, among our peers. I don't belong with him either, though the way his dead eyes bore into me tell me he feels differently.

I have one final act, one way to go out in a blaze of glory. I'm not naive enough to think I'll survive. You all underestimate him. He's intoxicating. He'll control more of you than your side is willing to let on. You won't know until it's too late, until you're looking the knife in your back in the eye.

But maybe this weirdo can slow him down a notch. I'll do it for you. I'd do anything for you.

Protect Sirius for me. Save yourself, you reckless angel. Maybe someday you'll know what I've done.

I'll creep, this one last night in the shadows. I'll watch you hold court, feel your ignorance pierce my heart one last time.

I don't care if it hurts. I want to have control.

what forms of art, activism, and literature can speak authentically today?