what do you get when you mix alcohol and literature?
tequila mockingbird
F. scotch Fitzgerald
Ernest Hemingway
(via littlestartopaz)
“I’m a font of wisdom!”
–My mom when she’s had enough gin to be drunk (read: one shot in a mug of cranberry juice)
Commentary from the font includes:
- Capital-O Opinions on sex toy stores and the concept of the vibrating dildo
- Giddy comments on and absent-minded poking of my dimples
- Insistence that my high alcohol tolerance has something to do with my immune system
- Thrilled fascination with my hair
- Upon reading this post, the comment “I know stuff! I’m smart!”
i somehow found my way to the “what did the drunkest person at the party last night do?” thread
(via windbladess)
Rewatching Fury Road while tipsy because houseguest, and SOME THOUGHTS:
- The Doof Warrior is so fucking extra, I love him with my whole heart because. What.
- Furiosa straight up tries to kill Max in that first fight. Like, he KNOWS the shotgun isn’t loaded and furthermore he wastes THREE bullets on nonlethal warning shots. SHE, on the other hand, does NOT know that, and tries to blow his head off with the shotgun, bash his skull in with the boltcutters, and shoot him in the temple with the handgun.
- There is nothing I love more than that scene where Immortan Joe is coming up on them and they’re Definitely Screwed and then the door opens to reveal Angharad clinging to the outside of the rig to shield them with her body. So fucking good, God I love her so much.
- The Vuvalini make me so happy. “I’m eighty years old heRE COMES THE HURRICANE.”
- This movie is a really good exercise in one of my favorite lines: There’s nothing more dangerous than a true believer. And not just with the War Boys! Joe has totally bought into his own propaganda, that’s WHY he’s so dangerous.
- This movie is also ALL about Actions Speak Louder Than Words. It doesn’t matter what Nux or Max says, it matters that Max warns Furiosa about the oncoming war parties and is willing to drive the rig to save them all, it matters that Nux helps them escape the Bullet Farmer, it matters that Max lets Furiosa use him as a rifle rest.
- “Remember me?” FURIOSA. MY LOVE. FUCK ME UP. FUCKING ICONIC.
- The loop of “Witness me” from the kami-crazy War Boy death chant to Nux’s final whisper before he saves the Wives and Max and Furiosa always wrecks me, I almost bawled in the fucking theater the first time I saw this.
- Toast is a stone-cold Slytherin and I will not hear debate. “Don’t damage the goods.” Come on, y’all. Which is not to say I have strict headcanons for the others.
- HA I lied, I totally do. Furiosa is a Slytherin/Gryffindor split who by nature of her situation chose Slytherin and falls back on that Gryffindor self over the course of the movie, Max is a Hufflepuff (a deeply traumatized Hufflepuff, but still). Angharad is a Gryffindor to the core, using her own body to save the others because she believes in the cause. The Dag is a Ravenclaw, exactly the kind of lunatic brilliance that Ravenclaw adores, and Capable is a Hufflepuff who throws herself into the cause for love of Angharad and for love of her people and for love of herself. And here’s the controversial one: Cheedo is a Slytherin. Her ambition is to survive, and she does whatever she believes must be done for that–flee the Citadel, return to Joe, lie to Rictus, all of it to achieve her goal. Nux earns a Gryffindor for turning his back on Joe, but the War Boys are mostly not…person enough to be sorted, just puppets, an old man’s battle fodder. Incidentally the Vuvalini are a general mix, most of them with Slytherin as an option if not a primary house, much like Furiosa. Valkyrie is the only straight-up Gryffindor, and Keeper of the Seeds is a Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff split, a rarity in the Vuvalini.
- Immortan Joe is a Slytherin/Ravenclaw split, which makes him very dangerous.
Yeah, so, I’m on break and I have like All The Prompts to work on and I’m writing a Hanukkah fic for the Scarlet Witch and I have a chapter of a WIP to work on, but also my aunt outed me to my grandparents and I am so fucking tired of my family. So I’m a little drunk, I’m watching Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters, and I do what I want. Crossposted to AO3.
The witches were always so careful to tie Hansel up. Apparently, it was something about the height, and the leather, and possibly the attempting-to-murder them. Hell if Hansel cared what their logic was. It was uncomfortable—his wrists aching in their shackles, every muscle in his shoulders screaming at the constraint, the muscles in his legs spasming as he struggled to rest his weight on his toes—but he had been uncomfortable before. This didn’t even make the list of the most discomfort he’d ever been in. Ben was coming unglued beside him, locked tidily into a cell with his hands shackled as he shook and tried to bargain with the witch as she sharpened a knife. They’d barely been here an hour, for the love of God, and she’d only managed to snag half of them—Gretel and Edward were still out and about.
“You’re not going to get anywhere, kid,” Hansel sighed, and Ben whipped around to look at him.
“I’m not—aren’t you concerned about this?” Ben demanded, voice cracking.
