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[harrowharkboygf]

The year is 2030.

At the Cincinnati stop of her "world tour", Taylor Swift ends her set. As she walks off the stage, she leans into a nearby mic and says "oh by the way, I'm lesbian".

She's still milking a public relationship with a man named Chett Whitesman, so this is met with a combination of cheers and confusion. Immediately, the media mobilizes. They have to intercept her before she gets onto her private jet, and ambush her for an interview. Luckily, this has become much easier these days. Since the release of her 2027 album, "The Carbon Emissions of my Heart", T Swizzle has performed a ritual sacrifice of an endangered species on live camera every time she boards her jet, a #girlboss way of saying that her emotional pain can only be healed by the tortured screams of drowning polar bears.

(Since this practice started, a devoted faction of Swifties have started a carbon negative algae farming commune, with the express intent of negating taytay sweezie's contributions to climate change. Apparently "her tortured soul deserves to pollute without guilt". They haven't even come close to their goals.)

Taytor Twift is intercepted after this ritual, as she's walking up the steps of her plane. When asked what the lesbian statement was about, she nonchalantly says "oh, I thought it was clear that was a joke. Anyways, G T G!" , before biting into the still beating heart of an emperor penguin.

During her flight, discourse on the newly renamed twitter-X-ElonIsExtremelyVirile Corp goes nuclear like it never has been before.

There's a camp of swifties thoroughly convinced that her relationship with Chett is all a beard so that she can still keep touring in the New Christian Republic of Florida, and the interview at the plane was deepfaked.

A different camp of Swifties feels insulted and betrayed that she would be anything less than a paragon of allyship. To them, this is the worst slight the queer community has ever experienced.

A third camp of Swifties insists that she *is* dating Chett, and is also a lesbian. They get insulted that anyone would police Taylor's labels. Comparisons to the Boulder, Colorado shooter are made.

A group of non Swifties tries to point out that everyone is fucking insane and that 'ole taytay regularly tear gases pride rallies to make way for her promenade to stadium venues, and who the fuck cares about this shit and point out that what a billionaire celebrity does for five minutes of PR is not worth your attention or discourse, nor does it warrant harassing other people for the labels *they* use, and isn't it really fucked up that Taylor is making a joke of how people describe their identities? They are promptly doxxed, harassed, and banned.

Bi lesbian discourse is off the charts. Nothing Taylor said has anything to do with it, but it happens anyways.

A lone transsexual who actually goes outside once in a while tweets "hey guys isn't it kinda fucked up that 2.4 billion people have been displaced by mega storms this year that her jet contributes to and is also specifically designed to fly over" and is promptly doxxed and harassed off the platform.

After an exhausting 9 minute plane ride, Tailing Swiffer lands in Columbus for the next performance of her world tour. She unveils a new single that contains the line "ride my horse after dumping him, stepping up onto my SAD dle".

All is forgotten. All is quiet. The Swifties continue as usual, moving on to the next discourse about these lyrics.

[harrowharkboygf]

[harrowharkboygf]

god grant me the serenity to eroticize what i cannot change

[harrowharkboygf]

btw. your search for the most morally upright and ethical piece of media that has the most correct “representation” will destroy your ability to find the most profound and beautiful and human of stories. and may even destroy the stories themselves before they are created. if you even care.

[harrowharkboygf]

I do wholeheartedly believe Wes Anderson is a sick sick freak. I like his movies but I definitely think this guy has like a hidden room in his spacious french apartment that he slips into quietly each night and it is just filled with tiny little doll replicas of all the actors he's ever used in any of his movies and he puppets them around and mimicks their voices and shit. and sometimes he'll text Owen Wilson pictures of his little doll with a comb or something from an untraceable number and pair it with like "see how I take care of you Owen?" and then the following day Owen Wilson will find him at the service table and go, "Geez Wes look at this," and Wes will pretend to be all concerned and horrified but there is this calculating almost eager look in his eyes that unsettles Owen Wilson. and the next time Wes is having a little soiree with all his actors, his beloved beloved actors, maybe Owen Wilson will accidentally get lost on his way to the beautiful bathroom and find that little room and see all those dolls and his throat will hitch with horror. And before he can call Bill Murray or Adrian Brody to look a dark silhouette will appear in the doorway and Wes looks sort of resigned when he says, "I see you finally found my secret, Owen," and Owen Wilson will try and pretend that he's fine with it but they both know better. and Wes will go (the look in his eyes back again) "We both know this can't get out, right?" and he'll grin very suddenly and Owen Wilson will laugh along very nervously and leave the room and eat some brioche and when the evening is over he will rush over to his Prius and frantically click his keys but over the cobbles on the beautiful beautiful street there is the sound of footsteps. and tears are running down Owen Wilson's cheeks but he can't say a word and Wes, emerging from the shadows, will gently touch him on the shoulder and say, "look, I'll drive you to the airport, huh?" and Owen Wilson will try to refuse but they both know it's futile. and, halfway through the drive, Wes Anderson will smile and say, "I'll miss working with you" and then perfectly jump and roll out of the car, wiping off his corduroy pants, while Owen Wilson's Prius swerves into a local patisserie, bursting into flames

[harrowharkboygf]

Yellowjackets (2021-).

@lgbtqcreators creator bingo: blending; event: love & hate

[harrowharkboygf]

was told I should post this on tumblr

[harrowharkboygf]

Poor things (2023) + trivia

[harrowharkboygf]

i love tlt because i get to be like yes i am aware this character has died not once but twice. now pray tell me what page of alecto is she gonna show up

[harrowharkboygf]

it’s because you’re always in that damn narrative

[harrowharkboygf]

crucial elements of my vision for a locked tomb animated series:

First season starts with Gideon falling to her death—freeze frame, Gideon voiceover: “Yep, that’s me. You’re probably wondering how I got into this fucking mess.”

We rewind all the way to Gideon choking Harrow out as children. Gideon says “Well, now that’s just too far.” The running joke of the season is that this memory REALLY wants to play out, but Gideon refuses to get into it. That way, we get a lot of tension building up to the full scene and, more importantly, the imagery of the blood in Harrow’s nails really sticks with the audience.

Regular jumps between the present day and flashbacks so that they’re baked into the format and the river scenes in HtN don’t feel out of place.

Gideon pauses scenes literally all the time for asides and narration, a la The Emperor’s New Groove. (I feel her voice is crucial to the story and must be preserved as much as possible in a visual adaptation. The goofiness inherent to this device is also, in my opinion, completely necessary.)

When we finally get to the season finale, and Gideon dies, she KEEPS cutting in for asides, except now she’s talking directly to Harrow, who is responding, and it’s not really funny anymore.

[harrowharkboygf]

It's because you're always locking that damn tomb

[harrowharkboygf]

birth of a saint

[harrowharkboygf]

Always thinking about how TLT is in so many ways about cycles of abuse.... Mercymorn has spent 10,000 years being too emotional and too sensitive and wearing her grief on her sleeve (the feminine expression of grief versus Augustine's masculine repression of it) and she spends those 10,000 years being ridiculed for it. "Unlovable Mercymorn, critical Mercymorn" -- John denigrates her in front of her inferiors on the Erebos, Augustine has a constant, painted on expression of dismissal, etc until the point where Mercymorn herself just accepts it.

And then here comes Harrow, 17 years old and grieving just like her, and Mercymorn has a chance to help. She has spent 10,000 years as a live wire of grief, and she's given this broken baby who has torn apart her own brain, in many ways a mirror of Mercymorn's own grief, and she has the chance to help. But what does Mercymorn do?

She ridicules Harrow. She dismisses her. She perpetuates the violence that she herself has faced, and the cycle continues

[harrowharkboygf]

hi. go buy esims for gaza. go preorder a kufiya from hirbawi. buy insulin for palestinian diabetics who need that help. if you live in the states use this to email your reps (this takes maybe 5 seconds to do). check out this massive list of resources where you can educate yourself in a meaningful and actionable way even if you don't have the financial means right now. from the river to the sea palestine will be free. 🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸

[harrowharkboygf]

Cytherea makes me so !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! like. listen. she is perfect: on a thematic, doyalist level, lyctorhood could never have erased the impact of her cancer because there is no cure that is independent of permanent disability. the silver bullet does not exist. that mythical, able bodied, "cured" version of the self not exist. your body has been irrevocably altered by disease & the devil deals you made to survive & that is your LIFE. the only way to wipe that slate clean is to die, and Cytherea wanted so badly to live. anyway.

[harrowharkboygf]