There are n*zis on campus rn and a student brought out like a 1997 boombox and started blasting Taking The Hobbits to Isengard every time they tried to say something.
“Those who do not share our genes -THE HOBBITS THE HOBBITS THE HOBBITS THE HOBBITS - THE MASTER RACE - TO ISENGARD TO ISENGARD - AND I BELIEVE -
THE HOBBITS THE HOBBITS THE-”
canada is currently considering banning imidacloprid, which is apparently “one of the most widely used bee-killing pesticides in the world”. this seems pretty huge, so if you’ve got two seconds, add your name to the list! as of posting this link, they need just over 8,000 more signatures by february 21!
tune in to CSPAN elizabeth warren just unhinged her jaw and is devouring jeff sessions whole... the legislature is in chaos everyone is screaming and crying
fantasy book with witches and wizards and magical people but all magic has a price, like
main character, in awe and slightly terrified: what did you have to give up to be able to control storms with your mind?
powerful enchanter, fighting back tears as they pull down the hood of their cloak to reveal a knotted oily mess: my beautiful luscious hair….no matter how many times i wash or brush it, it always looks like this
main character: [horrified gasp]
fortune teller: and speak up when asking your question, these are my cards so they share my partially-deafness
other character, sympathetically: oh, had to trade good hearing for seeing the future?
fortune teller: no, asshole, i was born with it. i got seeing the future for trading in my ability to wink
there’s a legend in this fantasy land about a powerful enchanter who traded their ovaries for the power to create earthquakes. the grumpy semi-sentient force of nature who negotiates these magic deals had thought it was pretty great one, sure to make the recipient of the deal regret making it soon enough (after all, the point is having to suffer a bit in exchange for magic, because life sucks even in magical fantasy kingdoms)
however, soon afterwards, the Grumpy Semi-Sentient Force of Nature realized the enchanter had been ecstatic to be rid of periods and didn’t care about not having biological children. the GSSFN felt somewhat cheated by this and ever since has had a strict no-trading-internal-organs policy
“fucking humans messing with the system,” it was quoted as saying
actually, cheating the Grumpy Semi-Sentient Force of Nature out of the suffering it hopes to inflict with the magic deals is a time honored tradition in Magical Fantasy Kingdom, which is primarily made up of sassy little shits. most of the kingdom’s mythology is made up of trickster figures
there’s the legend of the smooth-talking thief who managed, by describing a certain talent of hers as “the ability to form small growths out of her skin and then reabsorb them” with enough quick confusing descriptions to trade the ability to get pimples for the power to become invisible
there’s the boy who brought the GSSFN a bucketful of cold, liquid silver in exchange for the power to cure a certain sickness, only for the GSSFN to realize once the sun had come up that the bucket contained only water reflecting moonlight
there’s the monarch who offered to trade in their power to destroy people with only their words for the seemingly much less valuable power to turn one grain of rice into two grains — only for the GSSFN to realize later it had gotten the ruler’s cutting sarcasm in payment for a power that could end a famine
every year the Grumpy Semi-Sentient Force of Nature gets visits from tens of jewish witches and wizards solemnly offering to give up eating all foods that come from pigs or eating meat at the same time as dairy in exchange for the powers they want
“DO YOU THINK YOU’RE FUCKING CLEVER” says the GSSFN, who has frankly had enough of this shit
the best story i think i’ve ever heard at a party was from this ex-Lutheran who was absolutely shitfaced and told us all about the origins of Lutherism bc it’s so??? incredible??? apparently martin luther was this like twenty-one year old college student and atheist (of course) and he’s walking home during this thunderstorm, just soaking wet, miserable, probably cussing out the god he supposedly doesn’t believe in, and he gets struck by lightning, which, obviously, sucks. he’s probably pissed as hell because he’s miraculously alive but also probably in a lot of pain, probably cursing god’s name yet again, and he gets struck by lightning a second time like??? What the fuck!!! how unlucky is that!! and so now he’s running for a forest to hide underneath the trees, once again furious at god, and he gets struck by lightning for the third time!!! so he finally makes it to the trees, probably crispy as hell, exhausted and in pain and he drops to his knees and says basically “god, please, for fucks sake, stop hitting me with lightning. I swear if you leave me alone i’ll go to a monastery and become a monk and re-invent this religion i guess but please just leave me alone” and he’s not struck by lightning again so he becomes a monk like??? i’m not Lutheran so i don’t know how accurate this drunk re-telling is but i believe it whole-heartedly and have gained a healthy respect for the wrath of god
THIS IS WHY EVERYBODY NEEDS TO STOP TALKING ABOUT THE BOWL GREEN THING! It doesn’t MATTER that you’re talking about it to mock it, every time those three words appear together it becomes a little more true.
STOP REPEATING THE LIES. Just state the true facts, over and over
This is tricky on tumblr and facebook, because when you add a reply with the truth, your followers end up seeing the wrong stuff first, and what’s at the start of a post is going to stick in the brain more than what’s at the end. Every time you’re commenting to correct your idiot uncle on facebook, all your friends are seeing the garbage articles he shared.
Consider carefully if giving something more exposure is really worth correcting it (especially if you have a lot of followers). Maybe it would be better to make a new post with only the truth, perhaps tagging the people who (re)posted the original thing
So my mom hated all Bobby Darin/Sandra Dee films on like a bedrock second-wave feminism principle. She hated the color pink, she hated barbies, she hated anything that was too “girly.” But she ESPECIALLY hated Sandra Dee movies based, I think, on the abundance of frills and pink.
So NO ONE believed her about this “imaginary” movie she was SO SURE existed where Sandra Dee uses a dog training manual to make Bobby Darin into the best husband. She could never remember much about the film beyond that and a vivid description of the final scene in which Sandra Dee comes home and finds Bobby Darrin literally down on all fours with his leash in his mouth, coming out of the doghouse he has built in their apartment.
WE LAUGHED AT HER EVERY TIME IT CAME UP. WE. LAUGHED.
But then my sister went through this old films phase where she, like, learned all these ways of hunting down copies of films no one else could get. (I have never questioned this power and y’all don’t really get how magical it was back in the day before youtube and streaming and itunes and whatnot, but she had CONNECTIONS. I think she had an In at TCM?)
But yeah so for a birthday present, my sister tries to hunt down this film based only on the dog training thing.
BOOM. IT EXISTS.
This is the movie.
It turns out the dog training manual is only one of the plotlines? If I remember correctly, there’s also a question of whether Sandra Dee’s Italian or Boston ancestry is dominant and that they switch? And there’s like a music cue and she goes, “BOSTON COLD” and then like cold shoulders Bobby Darin until he pleases her in some way? And she does indeed get a dog training manual and she does indeed use it on him? And he is unaware and I think it turns out that it makes their marriage, like, the envy of all around them. Only then he finds the manual and is butthurt that she would use a dog training manual on him and they almost split, but then he realizes he is the subbiest sub ever that he really loves her or whatever and does the final scene where she comes back to apologize but he has the dog leash and is willing to be her pet forever and ever amen.
a new law is about to be passed in Saudi Arabia that will allow the government to execute people for coming out or being openly gay online.
ignoring the fact that this is literally something out of some kind of dystopian novel, in the interests of safety i’ve emptied out my face tag and may temporarily deactivate or password protect this blog.
please reblog this and get the word out, and if you pray, please pray for me and my fellow Saudi LGBTQ+/MOGAI family.
ALSO, for those who need it [x]. its a post on erasing all traces of yourself from the interwebs.
this is not something to read and keep to yourself. please spread this around. may Allah keep everyone safe.
What the hell
People, this stuff is serious and seriously wrong. I do hope that you are able to survive this send it to a safe space.
For a growing number of American kids, porn is their sex ed.
Now Pornhub is hoping to offer their audience some more formal lessons
in how to be a healthy and happy sexual being.
On Wednesday, the massive adult entertainment destination took the
somewhat surprising step of launching the “Pornhub Sexual Health
Center.” They’re hoping the free sub-site
will become a go-to resource for some of their 70 million daily users
on all manner of topics, including STIs, sexual safety and how to manage
relationships.
They’ve chosen Dr. Laurie Betito, a renowned sex therapist, to direct
the site and they’ll also be working with a number of doctors,
therapists and other experts to offer advice and answer questions. Corey
Price, Pornhub’s Vice President, told Mashable, “Our goal is
to provide our visitors with a site that has credible and insightful
information, rather than have them scouring the internet.”
While it’s a database they’ll build up over time, a first look
reveals they’ve started with the fundamentals — with answers to things
like “Babies. Where do they come from?” and “Are there really three
holes?” These might seems almost laughably basic to adult consumers of
hardcore porn, but there are a lot of young people for whom these are
very real questions.
Price told Mashable they weren’t aiming the content
specifically at beginners. He said they simply want to appeal to “those
who are looking for trustworthy sex tips and health advice provided by
experts.” But it seems like they realize this could prove to be an
especially valuable resource for their younger audience, who most likely
isn’t getting comprehensive (much less sex-positive) sex ed in schools.
There are, of course, plenty of online sexual health and education
resources, but for many kids, landing on sites like Pornhub is already
their way into learning about sex. Porn can obviously teach you plenty
about the basics and mechanics of intercourse, but there’s a whole range
of other things — biology, health, consent, relating to intimate
partners, just to name a few — that you won’t pick up from watching
videos like “Big tits round asses” or “Sloppy throat games.”
So if they can slide their curious audience over to the PSHC while
they’re already on the site, it could function as pretty useful one-stop
shop for filling in the blanks left by spotty sex ed classes and the
birds and bees talks given by often bewildered parents.
Neat!
Holy shit their section on trans people was actually really good and not what I expected from something hosted by a porn site! If they had a containing various sexualities and whatnot as well, they’ll definitely have a good resource on their hands!
All the gods of myth and legend are real, but having your prayers answered depends on discovering which god can hear you. You figured out which god is listening to your prayers, but they’re not what you expected.
Suzy
was dissapointed. Most people her age had discovered their deity so
far, and she was starting to think she was godless. She turned the
next page of McBayers’ Little Book of Deities,
and tried reading their names aloud to see if she’d get a reaction.
It had taken her weeks just to get through Chinese spirits and
deities, and had finally reached the first page of Egyptian
Gods and you.
“Ammit?
Amun? Anhur?” Nothing. Her heart slowly sank again.Three
more tries, and she’d stop for now.
“Anubis?”
The
ground shook. The lights in Suzy’s room flickered and went out. A
single flame hovered in the middle of the room, and as it grew to a
blaze it changed form. Within the blink of an eye, there was a tall
figure standing in Suzy’s room. The body of a man, and the head of a
jackal. His eyes shone bright as he peered at her.
WHAT
IS IT, SUZY OF THE HOUSE MILLER?
“You’re
the deity that answers my prayers?”
INDEED.
I, ANUBIS, WHO RULES OVER THE LAND OF THE DEAD, IS HERE TO ANSWER
YOUR REQUESTS.
Suzy
thought for a moment. “O great and mighty Anubis who rules over the
afterlife, can I please have a puppy?”
Anubis
seemed taken aback.
IN
THE CENTURIES THAT I HAVE BEEN PRAYED TO, THIS IS THE FIRST TIME I
HAVE BEEN REQUESTED SOMETHING LIKE THIS. CHILD, HOW OLD ARE YOU?
“I’m
eight and a half. My mommy says that if I can take care of a puppy, I
can keep it.”
ARE
YOU CERTAIN YOU DO NOT WISH FOR ME TO BRING PLAGUES UPON YOUR ENEMIES
OR WEIGH A SOUL FOR YOU?
Suzy
shook her head. “I want a puppy.”
CHILD,
IN TRUTH THIS WISH I CANNOT GRANT. MY JOB HAS BEEN TO BRING PEACE AND
LEAD SOULS INTO THE AFTERLIFE, NOTHING MORE. IF I WERE TO CREATE A
HOUND FOR YOU, IT WOULD BE FORMED OF BONE AND SOUL ALONE.
Suzy
thought for a second. She would have liked to have a nice fluffy
puppy, but then she remembered how Aunt Marge’s Sphinx cat was still
nice, even without fur.
“No
fur is fine, as long as they don’t bite and make a mess.”
Anubis
nodded, and raised a hand. Underneath his palm an intricate symbol
appeared on the floor. It glowed bright, and the floorboards burst
apart. Up sprang a massive skeletal dog, bigger than suzy herself.
Its eye sockets held blue flame, and its jaw hang partly open in a
perpetual grin. It slowly walked over to Suzy and nuzzled her.
“What
does it eat?”
IT
WILL NOT NEED SUSTENANCE, AND WANTS NOTHING MORE THAN TO SERVE ITS
NEW MASTER. I HOPE THIS WILL SUFFICE.”
“I
love it. Thank you, Anubis.”
Anubis
looked slightly taken aback, but nodded peacefully.
FAREWELL
FOR NOW, SUZY OF THE MILLERS. IF YOU EVER NEED ANYTHING ELSE YOU HAVE
BUT TO ASK ME.
Suzy
nodded, and ran over to her parents’ room to show them her new dog.
She was pretty sure they couldn’t object to this pet.
It is our duty as feminists to protect and respect women in Hijabs
Now. More. Than. Ever.
Question: if I see someone pull off a Hijab, what should I do? I know there are reasons they are worn so I want to if i should stand in between them and who did this, should i protect them from view somehow, or something else? This has been happening a lot so I feel it’s something everyone needs to know.
Good question! I cannot correctly and effectively answer, as I am a white, non-Muslim person; however, I will reblog in case any of my followers can answer.
I asked my Hijabi friend, so here’s one Hijabi’s answer:
“my opinion is, definitely try cover them or give them something to cover themselves with. And perhaps shoo off the person, without putting oneself in danger! God forbid, if that happened to me, I would like someone to come and comfort me and give me something to cover my hair with and then help me report it to the cops
“
(Followers, if any of you are hijabi and would like to expand on this answer or offer alternatives, please do.)
If u see it happen to 1 of us, pls cover our head + hair with a coat or shawl or any piece of cloth, while hugging us in comfort. Please don’t get hurt by lashing out @ the perpetrators in any way, coz if they dare to do that, they’re probably too far gone in their own hatred to listen to any reason. Much love + Thank You to anyone who supports us.
yes !! everything said here is important af. if you see someone pull off a girl’s hijab immediately cover her hair and provide comfort. don’t talk to the perpetrator but try to get the woman out of there if you can. maybe if you have a scarf on you at the time give it to her so she can wear it until she’s alone and can replace her hijab. please please protect muslim girls because we already had it hard before donald trump became president and now its gonna be worse with people going around thinking their violence and cruelty is justified
for my other white ppl who might have a hard time, it’s my understanding that a hijab is like a major item of clothing, not an accessory like a hat or a scarf. so think abt it more like if someone just ripped someone’s shirt or skirt off. u don’t want to be left there exposed or have to walk home without it.
everyone, even outside America needs to protect our Muslim sisters in these times.
as a man, what would be the best thing to do? should i turn my head and avoid looking at their hair? can i still offer a jacket or something similar?
^I’m hoping someone has an answer islamaphpbia is on the rise in my town and I want to be a good male non Muslim ally
For men, yes please, we would prefer it if you avoided looking at our hair, and if we don’t have something to substitute as a hijab at that moment, anything you could lend us, a jacket, etc, would be very appreciated.
Also, since most girls avoid physical contact with men they’re not related to, please do not hug them, but rather shoo the offender away if you can, or at least escort the girl to a safe place. You can still offer words of encouragement and support. Furthermore, understand that the victim may not be very welcoming towards you because she’ll obviously be shaken, and won’t know where you are coming from. If that’s the case, please still give her something to cover herself (hijab is very important, think of it as someone ripping your shirt off) and stand some distance away until you are sure she’s in safe hands.
Thank you so much for your support, we really appreciate it, god bless all of you.
In the horrible climate we’re currently in, please take note of this.
…I SAID I was going to work my way through that whole prompt list, didn’t I? Probably should have done homework but instead here, have 2k of my feelings about Elfangor-Sirinial-Shamtul and his family.
but mom, i don’t wanna be an adult anymore. i wanna be the goblin king. the glitter?? the drama?? that collar?? those eyebrows?? making it impossible for guests to get to my house by putting it in the middle of an actual labyrinth?? i’m perfect for the job
I’m such a laid back person you can tell me “goodnight” and I can see you posting and I understand sometimes you just need time to yaself to enjoy ur dash without talking to anybody, i get ya shorty do ya thing
This is so important
If only everyone understood this
Same goes for me. I know communicating (for me) requires spoons and sometimes I only have the energy to mindlessly scroll and reblog - so if you roll like this sometimes, it’s 100 percent cool w me, no pressure.
…I SAID I was going to work my way through that whole prompt list, didn’t I? Probably should have done homework but instead here, have 2k of my feelings about Elfangor-Sirinial-Shamtul and his family.
I think it’s really insulting that westerners talk about communism. y'all had it too good and now y'all are being spoiled little brats. let me talk to you about the women and men executed and how their bodies were thrown out of trains and the basic food being rationed so harshly that we actually started black markets for fucking sugar and oil and let me talk to you about how they used to spy on everyone, we had mikes in our homes, how they made kids rat on each other and how controlled the education was. lights went out at 7. my parents used to study by a candle. everything. was. controlled. everyone. was. oppressed.
You are an anonymous professional assassin with a perfect reputation. You lead an ordinary life outside of your work. You’ve just been hired to kill yourself.
My first thought is that the middle man I use–calls himself ‘Leader’, real name Brett Thompson, 46, balding, lives in PA–has uncovered my identity. Why else would I be staring down at a picture of my own face? I think it’s a warning, that he knows about the Sanchez job, and I nearly reach for my go bag.
Then I see the client’s name.
Vi Larson, the file tells me, male, 32, computer analyst.
I close the manila folder, tossing it away from me. The whiskey sour’s gone warm in my hand, but I drink it down anyway, eyes distant. I don’t need to read any more of the file. I can fill in the gaps well enough.
Funnily enough, this betrayal is just as sharp and unpleasant as the first one, the one that got me into this business in the first place.
“You at least owe me a crime of passion, you bastard,” I mutter into my drink. I close my eyes and sigh, willing away the stinging in my heart. I knew that my relationship was in trouble, but this is just cold.
In a way, I can’t believe it. Is a divorce really that hard? But, no, I know Vi. He’s methodical, analytical, and competent. If anything, hiring an assassin with a reputation like mine is right in line with his personality. Nothing but the best, even in the murder game.
I should be flattered, really. My rates aren’t cheap. Whatever I did to make him send this in–and he did, there’s his social security, his fingerprint, everything–it must have been killer.
I set my glass down on the counter and tuck the folder under my arm. I need to think and I do my best thinking in the tub. Vi won’t be back from his “business” trip for another three days, during which I’m supposed to kill myself.
As I head up the stairs, I can’t help but laugh. Finally, after three years of marriage, my husband does something interesting. And it breaks my fucking heart.
——————————————
He wants me to make it painless but horrific. There’s a script in the document, something that’s more common than people think, and it’s hard to read it, even surrounded by bubbles and soothing music.
“Your husband sent me. Said he needed to shed some dead weight.” I snort at the pun and close my eyes, resting the file against my face so it doesn’t get wet. Unfortunately, the tears do that anyway.
You live in a world where magic exists, however, you must sacrifice a memory in order to cast a spell. The more memories, or the more precious a memory, the more powerful the magic. You just woke up with no memory save a name.
i love prince eric. from the little mermaid. he’s hilarious. because he seems like one of the most mild-mannered and unassuming princes in the disney canon, but he is also one of the few to actively kill the bad guy. most disney villains die by consequence of the final battle but are not directly killed by the hero/heroine. most of them fall to their deaths or cause their own demise, and sometimes the hero is indirectly responsible because they’ll launch them into that direction or something, but they still don’t bring knife to heart directly.
but then a couple do. and prince eric is my fave out of those few because up until the final act, he is the most chill motherfucker u ever seen. like he is quick to spring to action during the storm scene n stuff, but otherwise? he’s really quiet n sensitive and runs along the beach playing the flute for his big shaggy dog n he smiles like a lil nerd and gets all cute around ariel and he’s so sweet n everything.
AND THEN IN THE FINAL BATTLE THAT MOTHERFUCKER STRAIGHT UP DRIVES A SHIP THROUGH URSULA LIKE WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT!!!! NO WONDER NO ONE IS TRYIN TO LAY SIEGE TO HIS KINGDOM!! ALL THE NEIGHBOURS ARE LIKE “HOLY SHIT DON’T GO THERE! PRINCE ERIC IS A BEAST! HE’LL STRAIGHT UP DRIVE A BOAT THROUGH YOUR BITCH!”
i love him
At the beginning of the movie Prince Eric, without hesitation, jumps into the ocean, in the middle of a storm, and climbs onto a ship that’s on fire, all to rescue his dog.
Then when he’s convinced some mystery woman saved him, he starts looking for her just to thank her. On his way, he meets some mute naked teenage girl who can’t even walk or dress herself, confirms that she’s not the girl he’s looking for, then brings her to stay at his castle anyway, for no particular reason.
No one questions this, just like they don’t question when he shows up three days later with a mysterious woman one morning and says he’s getting married that same day. At said wedding, several witnesses see his fiance turn into a sea monster, which he then murders by piloting a submerged ship pulled up from the bottom of the ocean straight into her.
A week later, he marries the mute girl and the god of the sea himself rises from the ocean to give his blessings. Again, no one questions this.
I’m convinced that Eric had to have done some crazy insane stunts on a regular basis, cause despite him being so chill and relaxed normally, no one bats an eyelash at any of his ridiculous decisions or incredible feats during the course of the film. Clearly they’re all used to it, and rumours of him marrying an ocean princess would only dissuade potential enemies of his country even further.
i don't even go here, but your fave borgias pairing (something with lucrezia maybe?) and 16. 'Do you trust me?'
It is past midnight in her brother’s rooms, and said brother is naked beneath her, his hands gripping her waist like she is the only thing tethering him to the universe, when the door bursts open.
Cesare jerks up, and she dives for a blanket–but it is only Micheletto. “His Holiness is on his way,” Micheletto says urgently, looking straight at Cesare. “He will not be stopped.”
Cesare swears, and Lucrezia looks frantically about the room–there are too many pieces of her toilette to possibly gather up in time–her chemise, her gold slippers, the purple gown and the sleeves she so recklessly tore off–there is no chance she can gather it up before her father gets here. She cannot leave her brother’s rooms half-dressed, either.
“Hide in the wardrobe,” Cesare orders, coming to the same conclusion. “I shall say I had a woman, that she has left, but will–return.”
Lucrezia shakes her head frantically–there is too much risk that her father will recognize the gown, which he gave her, the ruby-edged pearls she stupidly plucked from her hair and left in a careless pile on the floor, the net Giulia complimented her on only that morning.
“Do you trust me,” Micheletto says suddenly. He must be addressing Cesare, but he is looking at her, familiar, loyal Micheletto, his face white with some unknown emotion.
“We do,” Lucrezia answers him in a frightened whisper, and Micheletto gives her a jerky nod.
“Into the wardrobe, my lord,” he says, and then Lucrezia understands. Cesare rocks back like Micheletto has struck him–like a loyal dog has bit him–but there is no time.
“Go,” she begs, and Cesare goes, his jaw clenched tight.
Micheletto kicks off his boots and joins her in the bed. She tugs him down over her, so his weight covers her like a shield. She runs her fingers through his hair, tugs at his clothing so he will appear a little more debauched. Micheletto’s hands settle awkwardly on her forearms, and his eyes are grave and open only a few inches from hers.
She kisses him harshly, biting his lip so he will appear as kissed as she is, and worries. She will tell her father this is none of his affair. She will tell him Cesare has no idea, that Cesare spends the night with a mistress of his own. She will be outraged, then humiliated, then penitent. Her father will forgive her this, as he could never forgive her true sin.
She can hear footsteps in the corridor now, and it occurs to her all at once that Micheletto will not be forgiven. Her father will insist that Cesare dispose of him, one way or another. His hands tighten on her bare forearms.
“Trust us,” she whispers against Micheletto’s mouth just as the door bursts open, and what she means is we will protect you.
I don’t even go here, but I want the 10k comedy of errors that leads to and from this point.
LOL
I realize that you probably meant this rhetorically, BUT I’m gonna tell myself a story about how this would go anyway:
So the Pope would throw an absolute fit at the idea of Cesare’s assassin having congress with his precious daughter (who was just about to receive an offer of marriage from the Duke of Ferrara! The timing could not be worse!), and so he’d demand that Cesare either fire Micheletto or kill Micheletto.
What Cesare actually does is get Micheletto out of Rome by promoting him. No longer an assassin-manservant, Micheletto is now a reluctant general of the papal armies. Cesare and Micheletto go tramping gleefully around the Romagna carving out new territory, and instead of demanding new states for himself, Cesare cooly demands a barony for his loyal general.
Baron Corella can have an affair with the Lady Lucrezia Borgia, even if His Holiness still doesn’t approve.
AT THIS POINT Cesare and Micheletto return to Rome, where under the Pope’s disapproving eye Cesare and Lucrezia have to turn an illiterate murderer into a grudging, bitter courtier, at which point they UNDOUBTEDLY engage in more and more complex not-quite threesomes:
-Cesare and Lucrezia hide their affair by pretending that Lucrezia and Micheletto are continuing their affair, which means that the entire Vatican wanders around like “what does the Lady Lucrezia–who famously chose her last husband because he was ‘sweet as apples’–see in this dead-eyed torturer with his peasant accent and his utter lack of graces?” -Lucrezia starts publicly showering Micheletto with affection, partially to keep up the facade and partially to goad Cesare, who is super jealous -Cesare and Micheletto have super passionate sparring sessions that end with Cesare’s blade at Micheletto’s throat and intense prolongued eye contact and heavy panting and Micheletto arching ever so slightly into the metal -Micheletto very carefully reminds Cesare that he is into dudes, only dudes, just dudes -Cesare somehow ends up sucking Micheletto off in a confessional as a way to restore his wounded masculinity??? by proving that Micheletto IS more into him than he is into Lucrezia -Lucrezia poisons a man with Micheletto’s help, which makes Cesare even more jealous -threesomes with Extremely Complicated Rules emerge
eventually the pope decides Lucrezia has to marry Micheletto, which SHOULD solve all of their problems but winds up causing fifty more.
NO BUT LIKE FOR REAL PAUL REVERE HAD SOME OF THE SHITTIEST HANDWRITING I HAVE EVER HAD TO READ. I KNOW HE PROBABLY DIDN’T EXPECT PEOPLE TO BE JUDGING HIM ON THAT DAMN NEAR 250 YEARS LATER BUT HE PROBABLY SHOULD HAVE BECAUSE IT IS SOME CHICKENSCRATCH
LIKE THE ONLY REASON “PAUL REVERE BECAUSE OF HIS SHITTY HANDWRITING” ISN’T MY ANSWER TO “WHICH FOUNDING FATHER WOULD YOU USE A TIME MACHINE TO SMACK UPSIDE THE MOUTH” IS BECAUSE THOMAS JEFFERSON IS A PERSON WHO EXISTS
SOME OF YOU MIGHT BE ASKING YOURSELF, “WHAT ABOUT GEORGE WASHINGTON? WHY NOT SMACK HIM IN THE MOUTH?” AND I WILL TELL YOU WHY. I DO NOT HAVE A DEATH WISH AND THAT FUCKER WOULD KILL ME. I CAN TAKE NERDY WIMP T.J. IN A FIGHT BUT I AM NOT PUTTING MY HAND ANYWHERE NEAR THE MOUTH OF SOMEONE WHO WORE DENTURES MADE OF IVORY FROM A HIPPOPOTAMUS, THE WORLD’S DEADLIEST PREDATOR. ALSO MY MAN WAS LIKE SIX-FOOT-TWENTY AND I AM NOT VERY TALL SO I PROBABLY COULDN’T REACH HIS MOUTH ANYWAY.
WHY WOULD YOU NOT SLAP ANDREW JACKSON I KNOW HE ISNT A FOUNDING FATHER BUT SOME PEOPLE CONSIDER HIM TO BE
LOOK IF YOU WANT TO BE BLUDGEONED TO DEATH BY AN OLD MAN’S CANE, BE MY GUEST, BUT I DON’T WANT MY LAST MOMENTS TO BE TERRIFYING SO I’M GONNA AVOID A PHYSICAL CONFRONTATION WITH A GUY WHO, BLEEDING FROM A BULLET TO THE HEART, LITERALLY SHOT A MAN DEAD JUST BECAUSE THE DUDE CALLED HIM CHICKEN
ALSO HE IS NOT A FOUNDING FATHER SO HE IS NOT INCLUDED IN THIS
<p>
me, looking at the current state of the world, crying: I wish none of this had happened...
Gandalf, materialising in my conscience, smiling kindly:
So do all who live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us. There are other forces at work in this world, besides the will of evil.</p>
Robes are stupid. My sorcerer dresses like Petyr Baelish.
To expand: if you are a mage, dress like a noble. Do not dress like a wizard. Pointy conical hat and sky-blue robes is medieval semaphore for “kill first and with extreme prejudice.” Tailored black silk over cloth-of-gold and studded with rubies says “Harmless, but valuable; ransom if possible or kill last.”
If you dress like a noble, they’re not going to pay attention as you take a turn or two to back away from the melee and prepare yourself. The ruse is only broken when you reveal yourself, at which point 8d6 fire damage is screaming toward them at Mach Fuck anyway, so no big.
“Excuse me,” says the battle droid. R2 cannot roll his eyes, but he twitters in binary, something hard to translate but best summarized as:
you heard me arsehole [the literal translation here would be: human excrement funnel]
“I will shoot you,” says the other battle droid. B-1 models, flimsy in the face of a lightsabre – or a blaster, or a well-aimed stick – but more than a match for R2.
“No you won’t,” says the first one, “the General needs him.”
“Well at least let me threaten him a little,” pouts the second droid.
“Why?”
“It’s so –”
boring chips in R2 right, it’s boring?
“Yes!” says the first droid. And then he adds, more out of a sense of duty than any real conviction: “Republic scum.”
“It isn’t boring,” says the second droid. “Last week, Grevious killed my best friend. At least. I think he was my best friend. I can’t tell us apart, really.”
you have no names
“I’m B-1,” says the first droid.
“And I’m B-1,” says the second.
“Mass-produced,” says the first.
“Could be worse,” says the second.
I was mass produced, R2 says hurriedly. but Anakin takes care of me.
“What do you mean?”
I’ve never been shot for target practice, says R2, and I’m allowed a name and –
“It isn’t that bad,” says the first. Maybe the second. Hard to tell. “Anyway, you’re Republic scum and – “
The smack-shriek of a blaster. The first/second droid collapses, minus head. His companion says, “Never shot for target practice?” in a tone of voice that is, somehow, different.
never ever, says R2. my friends wouldn’t let it happen.
“Friends,” says the droid. “He wasn’t really my best friend. He just went on patrol with me more than the others and I got used to him. Familiar face, you know. When the General killed him – uh – I kind of felt….bad.”
wanna get out of here?
“Roger roger,” says the droid, with feeling. Then: “Roger. That’s a name, right?”
yup, says R2.
“Great. Great,” says Roger. Then he hesitates. “What’re your orders?”
I don’t order you – oh, fine, babysteps, look just get me out of here.
“And make sure that your Jedi doesn’t lightsabre me.”
Roger, roger, trills R2.
“Fuck you,” says Roger who, it seems, is a very fast learner.
forgive me if this has been done but please accept the following theory: anakin knows that women outside of tattooine do not die in childbed.
He’s travelled the length and breadth of the galaxy. He’s seen stars sing into being and empires topple to ash at his feet. He’s seen horrors and wonders and he’s a legend in at least fifteen different systems, and he’s seen medical droids work miracles, and he knows – he knows – that Padme is highly unlikely to hemorrhage, or succumb to eclampsia, or die of a slow mouldering infection.
(look, if you think Anakin ‘this woman is my entire life’ Skywalker didn’t research the fuck out of every possible way a woman can die in childbirth you are wrong. He’s a walking talking Web MD of the Worst Possible Result by the time she’s in her fifth month, and he shepherds her to every appointment, and arranges strange and obscure tests which he keeps concealed partly by subterfuge and mainly by Force-choking and mind-control. His eyes are turning a little yellow at the edges. He blames it on exhaustion.)
(since when did tiredness make you go – Padme will say )
(maybe it’s jaundice that’s something you could get, or the baby, or – )
Anakin’s every stereotype of ‘insanely overprotective father-to-be’ and it’s adorable except it really, really isn’t. Because there’s something he learned on Tatooine that he hasn’t shared with his wife: slave-children are property of the master, and are often sold young, and the mothers would protest. Of course they would.
And when they protested too hard, they were punished, and when the punishment went too far and the woman remained in the dust where they’d pushed her (red red red) they would, euphemistically,say that she had died in childbed. Because, technically, it was true. Her children had caused her death. A few years down the line, maybe, but all the same: if she hadn’t borne the child, if she hadn’t become a mother, then she would have lived.
Anakin’s seen the aftermath of such a conflict. More than once. When they come for your children, you’re meant to say yes, a friend of Shmi’s had said to her. Watoo had been a good master. A kind master. He had never flogged Shmi’s back red because she would not surrender her son.
(it hadn’t saved her, in the end. but that’s another story.)
Anakin knows that prophecy can come in strange and circuitous language, and dreams of Padme – his Padme! – dying in childbed, well. When they come for your children you’re meant to say yes, thinks Anakin. Be obedient, the council tells him.
They will not have his Padme. He will save her. He will save his child.
Cesare/Micheletto, "Do you trust me?" or "Either you know or you don't" 👍👍
It is a stupid risk, but Micheletto takes it anyway, follows a boy out from under his lord’s nose to an abandoned palace. What is he alive for, except for stupid risks like these. If he had wanted a safe life, he could have stayed in Forlí, and married Violetta the miller’s daughter.
It is a very pleasant interlude. The boy is a sweet, fine thing–finer than anything made for gutter trash like him, and almost unsettlingly tender.
He returns seamlessly to his lord’s side when the pleasure is done, and that evening reports some of the curiosities of da Vinci’s workshop, only himself left in Cesare Borgia’s war tent. Cesare listens to him for a while, sipping at Ludovico Sforza’s wine, and then abruptly he turns to Micheletto and says: “You fucked that boy.” It isn’t a question.
Micheletto freezes, utter dread and a strange, savage relief flooding him in dual measure. He has feared exactly this for so many years, and now it has happened. His lord knows the truth of him. There is nothing left to fear. He unbuckles his dagger and drops to his knees before his lord, pressing the point to his heart. “Kill me quickly,” he manages, offering Cesare the hilt. “Please.”
A hand joins his on the dagger’s hilt, Cesare’s fingers brushing his, and then Cesare is drawing it away from him, setting the blade aside. “There will be no killing,” his lord says quietly. “God’s wounds, Micheletto. Did you think I did not know?”
Micheletto raises his head sharply, and finds Cesare looking at him with the concentration he usually reserves for matters of state. His voice, when he can bring himself to speak, is hoarse. “You knew. How long have you known?”
Cesare shrugs, but doesn’t break their eye contact. “How long have you been in my service?”
Micheletto has trained himself too well to move, but he feels that like a blow. All these years. All the care, all the terror, and for nothing. “My lord wanted to know about the boy,” he says stupidly.
“Mm,” Cesare agrees. “I marked him. Machiavelli did, too. You must take greater care, my sweet assassin.”
The only answer Micheletto can make to that is a nod, stiff and humiliated.
Cesare tilts his head to the side, curiosity filling his face. “You will not see him again.” It isn’t a command, but it also is not a question. Micheletto shakes his head anyway. “And you have no lover in Rome.”
“Love is not–for men like me,” Micheletto says haltingly.
“Oh?” Cesare raises his eyebrows. “So you do not love me?”
He can make no answer to that, his tongue gone dry in his mouth. He is suddenly very conscious that he is still on his knees.
Cesare smiles at him. He sounds amused, but his eyes are sharp. “Either you know or you don’t.”
Micheletto finds his voice at last, swallowing hard. “I would need a heart for that, my lord.”
“Ah,” his lord says, drawing the word out. “Of course. I had forgotten.”
you are holding a thing. its in your hands. you look away for five seconds. you are no longer holding the thing and you cannot find it anywhere. you did not move from your spot. you do not know how this happened
you are scrolling down a website. you see something nice and you decide to read more about it. you scroll up to look into it. you see something nice. you decide you want to read more about it. you forgot the first thing you were going to search. you scroll down in hope to remember. you see something nice. you decide you want to read more about it.
there is a tear in one of your favourite outfits. you decide you can fix it. you grab the sewing supplies and put them down while you research how to do it. an hour passes. you wonder why there are sewing supplies by your bed.
where are your glasses?
there are three cups on your bedside table. you venture into the kitchen. you decide you want some water. you bring it back to your room. there are four cups on your bedside table.
youve had a towel around your shoulders for the past three hours. you are going to shower.
you’re watching a movie. you pick up your phone to have something to do while you watch the movie. you pause the movie. two days pass. you still havent finished the movie.
repeat to yourself so you wont forget, you think. repeat repeat repeat repeat. you no longer remember anything else but it. you look to the side. blue is a nice colour. what were you thinking about?
your leg wont stop shaking. it has a life of its own. you are not in control.
tiny american civics lesson for those here and abroad who woke up going “uh, so the travel ban is lifted because one judge in seattle said so? I mean, cool, but really?”
that’s how the whole fucking system is supposed to work.
we’ve got 3 parts to how laws are made and enforced in America: Executive (the president), Judicial (the court system), and Legislative (Congress).
I know we’ve not done a good job in the past few weeks showing this, but it is a system of checks and balances. we were very much explicitly not supposed to ever have a king or a king-like executive. that’s why it took them so fucking long to write the founding documents, because there weren’t many good examples of that method, at the time.
anyway, the president can do stuff with executive orders (though tr**p has very much overreached, surprising nobody), and then the other two parts of the wobbly-ass tri-corner hat holding up the rule of American law get to exact checks and balances against it.
right now? It’s the judiciary branch going “hey there slow your roll you unmitigated disaster of an executive branch.”
sometimes, if Congress can get 2/3 of them to agree, they can do much the same thing, but I currently heavily identify with:
Anyway if the three don’t agree (for example, this morning), we end up with a situation called a “constitutional crisis,” which, despite sounding like a lost Hamilton song, is actually a large problem that’s gonna be a shitshow to sort out (andhopefullyendsupwithSOMEONEgettingimpeached).
but we can have this shitshow, because we don’t have a king. we never have, we never were supposed to, and yeah it’s been an awful two weeks of us remembering that we don’t, but hey! the american rule of law! it was vaguely well put together!
(another side of this philosophy is that, you know, we get to hit the voting booths EVERY YEAR, GO VOTE EVERY TIME, MY GOD, and also, impeachment doesn’t involve beheading someone)
Look, there are still lines. No one’s talking about shooting nazis or violating nazis or torturing nazis. No one’s passing a law to get anyone who calls themself “alt-right” on Twitter thrown in prison. It’s not about “kill everyone who doesn’t agree with you.”
It’s about making the social consequences for advocating genocide excruciatingly fucking clear, for the benefit of the potential victims of that genocide.
What do you do if you see someone attacking a vulnerable person in public? Don’t answer right away, picture it: a grown adult hitting or screaming at a child, or an elderly person, or someone with a cane or a guide dog. What do you do? You leap to the victim’s defense. Even if the cane-user has a mean swing or the child knows kung fu, you fucking step in, because that person should not have to fight alone. (or, y’know, you start screaming for help, or something. Each according to ability.)
Because hey, guess what, we’re social primates with a community structure. We teach each other how to behave via how we react to infractions. More than that, when we react - either way - to one member of the community attacking another, we make it clear who is part of our community and who is not.
That is super fucking important, y’all. Most important thing in the world.
And so we come back to the Nazi Next Door. Nice guy. Clean-cut. Picks up after his dog. And he stands in front of national television and explains, in a reasonable tone of voice, that Nazi-ism is Right and Good and The Future. Guys, let’s not pretend this is not an attack, okay? Let’s not be disingenuous. We all know what Nazis stand for.
When this happens… the community has a choice to make. Which monkey gets protected and which one gets ostracized? Who do we welcome and who do we sucker-punch into next week? It’s not morality - it’s community dynamics. It’s also very much a binary choice. If we ignore the Nazi, if we allow the Nazi, then every single member of that community who isn’t Christian, white, straight or able-bodied has cause to believe that they’re the ostracized monkey.
I’ll say it loud for the people in the back: THERE IS MORE WORTH IN ONE NON-CHRISTIAN/NON-WHITE/NON-STRAIGHT/NON-ABLE-BODIED/ETC PERSON’S LITTLE FINGER THAN THERE IS IN A BARGEFUL OF NAZIS. Choose fucking wisely.
Punch the Nazi. Yell at the Nazi. Mock the Nazi. Pie the Nazi in the face. Turn off the Nazi’s microphone. Do whatever you have to do to communicate you are not welcome here, you are not one of us. Because even if the Nazi doesn’t listen…
