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The Greens send their regards 🤭💚

Based on this lovely pic:

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Virginia Woolf, describing Katherine Mansfield, in a diary entry wr. c. May 1920, from The Diary of Virginia Woolf, Vol. II: 1920-1924

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Anaïs Nin, from a diary entry featured in Trapeze: The Unexpurgated Diary of Anais Nin, 1947-1955

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The wheel of the year continues on.

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Summer feeling babe

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Finding a fresh new daydreaming plot is honestly the best feeling.

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I love how humans have literally not changed throughout history like the graffiti from Pompeii has people from hundreds of years ago writing stuff like “Marcus is gay” “I fucked a girl here” “Julius your mum wishes she was with me” and leonardo da vinci’s assistants drew dicks in their notebooks just for the banter and mozart created a piece called “kiss my ass” so when people wish for ‘today’s generation’ to be like ‘how people used to’ then we’re already there buddy we’ve always been

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“being a royal bitch”

I love him @troublesomesnitch

james norrington + being a royal bitch (inspiration)

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I think every lesbian who says she wouldn't date a bi woman is functionally on the same wavelength as men who say they would only marry a virgin

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Sorry for yearning for the ocean on main. It will happen again.

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I love explicit fanfic. I love smutty shipping. I love horny one shots. I love filthy erotic nasty longfics.

I love character or plot driven fic that uses sex as a tool for characterization, conflict and catharsis, and I love fic that exists solely to be hot and sexy.

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Norrie friends!!

Please read this story, it’s INCREDIBLE! @troublesomesnitch @elizarbell

Can I make you interested in my James Norrington x OC fanfiction with one scene?

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When I Let The Water Take Me on Ao3

“In a hurry, Captain?” she asked, fingers curling around the bottle again. “You could sit for a while. I promise I won't bite.”

Norrington crossed his arms, and something that almost looked like a smile touched his lips. He repressed it immediately, like the good soldier he was.

“I try not to make a habit of spending time with criminals,” he said.

“Then arrest me.”

That caught him off guard. A subtle startle he failed to fully mask. Instead, he raised an eyebrow, all command again.

“And on what charges, Miss Crane? Is there something you wish to confess?”

“You tell me. Don’t you have a detailed record of evidence?” Norrington didn’t answer—he only shot her a disapproving look. Francesca smiled and took another sip of wine, as if to give herself courage, then drew in a breath. “You know what I think, Captain?”

“I wouldn’t dare guess, even if I tried.”

“That you like me too much to throw me in jail.”

He let out a short, dry laugh. The kind that didn’t quite land because, even if it was meant as a joke, there was a bit too much truth in it.

“That’s absurd.”

Francesca leaned forward, resting her elbows on the small table. Her chin came to rest in the palm of her hand, and she tilted her head with playful intent.

“Is it? And yet… here you are. Still not gone.”

He tensed. Just slightly. But she lived for those kinds of tells in people.

The captain cleared his throat.

“You’re right. I should go.” He stepped back.

“Of course. Wouldn’t want you to be compromised.” She leaned in further, her voice syrupy sweet. “I imagine you have a reputation to uphold, after all. Just one pair of curious eyes and the whispers begin— ‘There goes the future Commodore, seduced by a thief in a petticoat.’ ”

Norrington spun around, eyes blazing.

“That’s enough, Miss Crane.”

“Yes…” she sighed, “it usually is.”

She didn’t want to laugh. Didn’t want to offend him more than she already had, but God , it was so easy to tease him. She couldn’t tell whether it was for her own twisted amusement or some desperate impulse to crack that perfect, polished mask he wore like armor. She set her hands on her knees and leaned back, propping herself against a stack of crates.

“Believe it or not, Captain, I don’t make my living by stealing.” She popped a small piece of cheese into her mouth. “I do pay for things.”

“Sometimes,” he replied.

“Most of the time,” she shot back. It wasn’t even a lie. “I don’t steal from people who don’t deserve it.”

That seemed to amuse and annoy him in equal measure.

“Oh, I see— you think you’re Robin Hood now, doing wrong for all the right reasons?”

Francesca smiled to herself more than to him.

“I never said that.” She stood, wine bottle in hand. “I just don’t think life is as simple as good and evil, Captain.”

“No, how could anything be that simple with you?”

“I simply don’t like being controlled.”

Norrington crossed his arms.

“That explains your aversion to marriage.”

“Ah! So you do admit that’s what it is: a trap to control women.” She grinned, and before she could think better of it, took a few steps toward him. Just close enough to make out the cut of his jaw more clearly, the furrow in his brow.

But when the captain spoke again, it was with the tone of someone repeating a line they’d been force-fed since childhood.

“Marriage is for legacy, for family. And both parties should be committed to that.”

God , he sounded so sure of himself. As if this were the one truth worth preserving. She couldn’t bear to let him believe it without question.

“Of course. The only way to fornicate with God’s blessing.”

The captain’s face twisted into a scandalized grimace. God help her, it was too easy to embarrass him—, and a part of her felt slightly guilty for enjoying it.

“Miss Crane—!” Norrington looked away, the blush rising all the way to his ears despite the low light of the workshop. “That— That’s not what I said.”

“No? Then what did you mean by legacy , if not children?” she asked. And then, just because she could: “You do know how babies are made, don’t you?”

She heard him inhale sharply, like he was trying to hold himself together. He nearly failed. But instead of answering, he just stared at her, eyes lit with silent fury, as if he could burn her to ash for her insolence.

“If you think so highly of marriage, why not find yourself some highborn young lady, have a few legacies, and be done with it?”

“For the love of—!”

She watched him press a hand to the bridge of his nose, as if the conversation physically pained him. He inhaled deeply, exhaled harder, then looked at her directly—brow furrowed, gaze fixed on hers. Francesca suddenly felt her throat go dry.

“You are the most exasperating woman I have ever met,” he said, voice firm and cutting, like an arrow straight to the chest. “Good night, Miss Crane.”

And with that, he turned and left the way he came, without another word.

--

Title based on this song:

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god said let’s make a girl who will be heart achingly lonely in her bones and always feel like a stranger in this world who doesn’t belong in any room she’s in and always has one foot out the door

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“Boromir apologist” he doesn’t have anything to apologize for????? He fell victim to evil ringTM like once. and then immediately redeemed himself. Guys come on.

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Alicent Hightower shitposting.

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Reblog to give prev the power to write their fanfiction