#degrees are overrated anyway

[frenchiepal]

hello my name is jay, also called frenchie, and i am currently gnawing on the wall bc i have an important exam tomorrow and if i fail again, i will engage in illegal and possibly dangerous activities

[austiebug]

Oh you just know they stink so good

[madlittlecriminal]

Hi! Can I please request being in the snow for the first time with Rudy Parra?

Snow ⤍ Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra × GN!Reader [headcanons]

Warnings: winter, snow, mention of sex but no anatomy was mentioned, i don't think it snowed in the place i chose, but i know they have cabins

i wanted to release this on christmas, but i failed. anyway, i hope you like it anon!

It was Soap's idea.

Rudy and Alejandro still kept in touch with Task Force 141, so when Rudy said he wanted to celebrate your anniversary differently, he suggested taking a place with snow.

Rudy thought about it and since he's been in Las Almas most of his life, he thought it would be great to experience snow for the first time with you.

When he told you it was Soap's idea, you were more curious.

"What do you mean it was Soap's idea?"

He chuckled.

"I wanted to do something different and he didn't disappoint."

You snickered with a nod.

"Yeah, he definitely didn't."

So, you both went to a cabin in Pennsylvania.

Apparently, while popular and maybe overrated, he took you to the Poconos.

You both were happy and took a nap in the cabin since you two woke up pretty early to catch the flight.

After the nap, you two looked around the cabin and he chuckled when he saw the fireplace.

You glared at him and he shrugged.

"I've seen in it movies and read it in books. Can you blame me?"

"No- wait, you read it?!"

He bit his bottom lip with a smile before kissing your cheek.

"Te amo, cariño."

He did turn on the fireplace though since it was cold.

I mean, it was 26 degrees (-3 degrees in Celsius) so it was necessary in his eyes

You two did end up having sex by the fireplace that night, but that's not the point.

The next day, he woke up and gasped.

"¡Mi amor, mira!"

You woke up with a groan before rubbing your eyes and looking out the window.

The windows were coated with white and fog, causing you to smile.

"Well, it's snowing."

He rushed out of bed like a kid on Christmas, making you laugh softly as he reached the window.

"Wanna go out?"

He nodded before taking you to the bathroom so you both could brush your teeth.

When that was done, he told you even if it was gross, a shower would have to wait since you two were going to be out in the cold.

You reluctantly agreed and got dressed before going out in the snow.

When you two were outside, you grabbed some snow before tossing some at Rudy.

He laughed before making a snowball and throwing at you.

You both continued your small snowball fight before he cupped your face gently and kissing you gently.

You two spent pretty much the remainder of the morning and a bit of the afternoon in the snow before heading back inside the cabin.

"I'm glad I got to experience this with you. I wouldn't have it any other way."

His soft voice made you smile.

"I wouldn't have it any other way either, Rudy."

You then made hot chocolate for both of you after a warm shower, making him smile.

He ended up making a quick dinner for you two as well since he felt lazy and didn't want to make you two wait any longer for food.

You two wanted to spend more than a week at the cabin after only spending a day there.

Rudy kept it in the back of his mind though.

Maybe next year.

[olderthannetfic]

I have a very contentious opinion: it is not possible for media to be overrated. Even as someone with chronic "I hate popular stuff" disease, I will always defend popular stuff, even if I think it's shit. Why? Because media that entertains has succeeded at what media is supposed to do. It doesn't matter whether the media is good quality or technically competent or not - by "overrated" people usually mean "popular but shit quality." But like, I love a lot of "bad" movies that are by no means technically competent. And...I think they're good, because I like them. I can acknowledge their flaws, but to me there's more to media that makes it "good" than its competency. I don't like the Kardashians, I don't like the MCU, but the fact that they have such massive audiences means that they entertain people, and again, that's what media is supposed to do. You can call them shit quality, I agree, but "overrated" implies that like...people are incorrect to like them? And I guarantee you everyone likes at least one piece of shit quality media. It's not incorrect to like shit quality media. Quality is also usually debatable to some degree. And "everyone who likes them is dumber than I am" is just a lazy argument, sorry. I have a friend who adores Disney and thought the live-action Belle was a feminist manifesto and like, I don't agree, I don't think it said much you can't find on your average "Feminism 101" post, but I'm not gonna resort to character attacks, and she's also not as already immersed in leftism as I am, so she just has different insight from me. Anyway. "This is overrated" is a lazy argument. If people like it, it can't be overrated. Because...people like what they like. I don't care about whether media "deserves" to be liked or not. I don't think that's important. Argue your actual opinions about the media to me or don't. Argue it's shit quality. Just don't tell me it's "overrated."

--

[softquietsteadylove]

HI!!!

it’s been a long time since the last doctor au. Can we get something new, please?

Thena eyes the woman chatting up her Gilgamesh. He's making friendly conversation, she knows. But the woman is obviously aiming for more than just friendly, the way she keeps laughing and smiling and putting her hand on his arm.

She has no one to blame but herself, Thena knows. The hospital fundraiser has been scheduled for months, and she's the one insisting their relationship remain secret from their coworkers. And of course Gil agreed, because it's Gil.

But watching women be all over him all night has been one hell of a just desserts. She takes a sip of her drink. Gil catches her eye and makes a bit of a face. He shrugs, which fits into the woman's story enough that she doesn't notice. But he's apologising to her - Thena - for it.

But she has no one to blame but herself.

Maybe the secrecy is overrated. She looks over to the dance floor, where Sersi is happily tucked into her husband's embrace as they sway to the music. They seem to make it work. Thena doesn't know how someone as sweet as Sersi is with someone as bullheaded as the orthopaedic specialist himself. But maybe the same could be said of her and Gil.

Thena tosses back the last of her champagne and walks straight towards Gil's table. This is why people don't like her socially--she's overly direct, chilly, has no bedside manner when it comes to her colleagues. She stares at them, "mind if I cut in?"

"Uh, yeah?"

"Not at all," Gil smiles though, and it's all the assurance she needs. He even pulls out the chair next to him for her.

His visitor visibly and audibly scoffs and rolls her eyes. Thena thinks she recognises her from HR or accounting or some other level of administration. She gets up in a huff anyway. Thena seats herself, tugging her dress around without a thought to the delicacy of the material.

But Gil sorts out the skirt of it more nicely. He even lets his hand brush the side of her leg where the slit allows him to. He sneaks his eyes up to hers, "you look beautiful."

She's glad that woman got up in a huff as she feels her face warm up several degrees. "Nothing you haven't seen before."

Because he helped her get ready, after they'd had a few good rounds in her bed, and before arriving in separate cars. Still, he compliments her, because of course he does. He swirls his own champagne, looking quite smart in his dark green suit.

All the doctors are in tuxes, but she likes how this colour brings out his eyes.

"Are you making any good connections?" he asks, like any of their colleagues would. It's as much a night for them to have off as it is for them to schmooze wealthy benefactors into donating to the hospital.

"None," she deadpans, and he laughs from his belly in response. She loves his laugh. "You?"

He snorts and throws back the last of his flute. "No one even knows us."

"That's not true," she nudges his arm as she leans back in her chair in a very unladylike way. She gestures, "Kingo knows how to work a crowd."

True, the man of the hour is in the centre of a circle of people listening to his stories. She's quite sure he's trying to convince someone to write a medical drama about his stories as an EMT.

"Well, I'm no Kingo," Gil shakes his head at his partner, not that they would have him any other way.

Thena spares a furtive glance around them, although most have moved on from the tables to search for more finger food or hit the dance floor. She risks brushing her hand over his casually, "you're better."

Gil matches her energy, though, letting his hand cup hers for just as brief a moment, "you're in a good mood tonight."

She can say it's the booze, but she's only had the one glass. It's not to her taste, but it's part of the atmosphere. "When was the last time we got a night off to do this?"

He gives her a grin that's a little mischievous on the tail end. "Our first date?"

She looks away again, because sometimes these little moments still make her feel like she's liking him from afar again. "That was a good night."

"Our only date, in some ways," he corrects, although there's no malice or ill will behind it. Even though he would love to have more proper dates to their name as a couple.

Thena sighs, though, because he deserves that. He deserves to go wild to his romantic heart's desire, no matter how overwhelmed it makes her feel. She leans forward against the table, "Gil-"

"Oh, Gil!" a shrill voice singsongs over the music.

Thena scowls as her whole body knots up. His friend is back, and she's brought company. "Eros."

"Thena, darling, looking ravishing as always," the self-proclaimed 'god of love' himself grins at her. He is one of the doctors in a full blown tuxedo. "Gotten any donations?"

"No, no one donates to an emergency room unless it guarantees benefits to them personally." The two newcomers look at her uncomfortably but it's true; no one ever donates to the emergency room because it's for the public, not for the highest insured patients.

"Well, what if I make a donation?" Eros grandstands, putting on his most winsome smile and even reaching into his suit jacket pocket. Does he really have his checkbook just...in there?

Thena points, "admin will take it."

The woman gets tired of playing this game. She sidesteps Eros to put her hands on Gil's shoulders. "Oh, enough business! It's time for you two to take to the floor."

Gil just stares. Just because he's big doesn't mean he likes getting climbed on like a children's jungle gym. He shakes his head faintly at her; he's asking what to do.

Thena sighs. That's why she brought Eros with her; he's a distraction to keep her from stealing Gil's attention again. Stealing attention from her own partner is an amusing thought. But she hasn't had enough to drink for it to be thoroughly entertaining.

The woman backs up as she stands. She and Eros watch as Thena grasps Gil's tie, pulling it out from his suit jacket and using it to turn his head and drag his lips to hers. She even makes a dramatic little moan just for them.

Gil is happy to oblige. He responds, sliding his hands up her body in the way that's familiar to them. They were doing exactly this a few short hours ago. When they part he doesn't even look to see if their audience has stuck around. "Thought you'd never ask, honey."

Thena keeps her hold on Gil's tie as she moves towards the dance floor, abandoning her clutch on the table. There's nothing in it but her phone and, well, a few contraceptives (in case Gil got ahead of himself on the way home).

"Y'know, sweetie, I have no complaints," Gil voices as he closes the distance and fixes his tie again. "But you could just ask."

She sighs as they turn towards each other to dance properly. He pulls her against him as her temper simmers itself dry. "I got the feeling she wasn't going to take no for an answer."

"Well, she would have had to," he assures her, even as they begin swaying to the music. She doesn't really know how to dance, but he takes the lead, holding her hip and her hand out in his. "Although watching my girlfriend grab me like that will probably haunt her for a while."

"Good," Thena mutters darkly, still off-put by the memory of her latching onto Gil's shoulders (like she has any right).

"Are you sure?" he whispers, still holding his head up if she wants more discretion. "If she doesn't have everyone knowing before we leave for the night then Eros certainly will. I wouldn't be surprised if he's crying to HR right now."

She does laugh faintly at the mental image of Eros snotting and whining like the little boy he is. "We're technically in different departments."

Gil chuckles, "guess you're right. But I'm asking you."

He's asking if she really wants to go public, or if she wants to deny their claims to the very end. Because he'll be with her, if she does, because of course he will.

Gil is receptive as she leans up to kiss him again. Maybe she can - somewhat! - understand what people see in the romance of it all. Swaying to music, Gil's arms around her, kissing him without a care in the world. There is something that makes the pleasure centres in her brain explode with euphoria.

"I'll take that as a yes," he smiles at her, even swaying a little more in his elation.

She tries to keep her head held high instead of shrinking away from the people observing them during their own dances. She clears her throat, pretending she can't feel how hot the tips of her ears are. "If it keeps her off of you, then yes."

He bends his head down, kissing the side of her neck. But it's not any invitation to mischief or show of dominance. He emerges again and kisses her on the forehead. "Can I tell those orderlies that check you out all the time that you're my girlfriend, now?"

She smiles, because it's Gil, and their relationship is no different now than it's been for the past several months. "You don't tell them I'm your wife?"

"Oh, I do," he answers instantly, and now she laughs. And sometimes when she laughs, she catches him looking at her in a way that makes all of her insides feel like jello. "But everyone knows you're my wife. Not everyone knows you're my girlfriend."

That is true. They were long ago anointed work husband and work wife. People are used to it, and it somewhat muddies the waters on what their relationship to each other actually is. And Thena will not be un-muddying them any time soon.

She moves Gil's arm more around her for herself, tucking herself into his chest in a way that makes moving more awkward instead of easier. But he folds around her comfortingly, happy to shift from foot to foot rather than really dance. "Then all the world can know I'm your partner."

She sighs as he presses a kiss to the top of her head, "I like the sound of that."

There's no going back from this. She always says that their personal lives have no place in the hospital. But she can't think about any of that, drowning in the endorphins this one man overtakes her brain with every time he smiles. And she has no one to blame but herself.

[finalshaper]

On one hand I get the hate levelled towards Cayde as a character cos he was flanderized into the Marvel Quips Guy (which is character assassination to the highest degree but I can get into that later) and some of his fans can be like, the kind of person who is aggressively defensive over the character to the point of toxicity.

But like. Nothing makes me more sick to the stomach than terms like “caydewife,” because of Various Reasons. Mostly because like, people who just like the character and aren’t dicks about it are getting caught in the crossfire, it’s got roots in the whole “snapewife” thing, and like. I notice the fucking. Cringe culture shit coming into play but people act like it’s okay cos he’s an overrated character and some of his fans are genuinely toxic.

Like IDK maybe you shouldn’t be posting about how you’re cringe but free and then turning around and calling anyone who has a character you don’t personally like a “(character)wife.” But that could just me me bitching and whining what are my words worth anyways lmao

[theowlgoesmoo]

CHOOSE YOUR FIGHTER

Anyway, I really, really like my humam Dot design. She is smol and cute. I also like drawing outfits that are smol and cute. So let's combine these two things. We got her casual look: some skirtalls or overalls depending on how she feels (and if she took her laundry basket down or not), big ol' purple sweater with polka-dots, as she is wont to wear, a towel cape to show everyone how super she is, and of course, her absolute favorite thing ever - her antennae headband. You know she's been wearing that for like the past three years every chance she gets. She even sleeps in it. It doesn't always stay on, but she tries.

And speaking of sleep, what better to sleep in than an old, oversized shirt borrowed from your honorary brotherdaduncle? She's had that shirt now longer than Flik has. It's a long-term loan. Also yes that headband stays.

The one time she won't wear it is while swimming, and that's only because it was pointed out to her that it would be really hard to find if it fell off in the water.

And finally, the thing all little kids just LOOOOVE. Dressing up! And being a princess, Dot's got to do it more than is at all reasonable. Does she like dresses? Yes. Does she like being girly? Also yes, to a degree. Does she like wearing stuffy, dumb, frilly dresses you have to watch how you sit in and can barely do a cartwheel in while feeling your entire lower half being squeezed by these horrible itchy tights and stupid little shoes? No. No she does not. At least she's able to wear her headband. At least there's that. Being a princess is seriously overrated.

if anyone's got more outfit suggestions, I would love to hear them. Like I said, they are a ton of fun to draw.

[natty-light-of-my-life]

the most famous restaurant supply store in manhattan

restaurant supply store au. natasha romanoff* x reader meet-cute. featuring clint, kate, and steve.

i love each and every coffee shop/florist/bookstore au on this website, but why does no one ever write a reader au set in that little restaurant supply store you walk past but never enter???

*nat doesnt come in until the end of the fic but it still counts.

Writing a resume is hard, you admit to yourself, when your current employer could only name his restaurant supply store, located on Canal Street, “Canal Street Restaurant Supply”. Not even a “the” for even an ounce of distinction. Take, for example, “The Ohio State”, “The Metropolitan Museum of Art”, or “The Way You Will Never Pay Off Your Student Loans”. Something with a bit of je ne sais quoi. 

Anyways, the dingy pseudo-warehouse you work in has little to offer beyond minimum wage. You can’t even use your very generous five-percent employee discount because, well, if you owned your own restaurant, why would you be working here? On the bright side, though, the shop rarely gets customers. At least, not during the afternoon shift. Most customers pick up their goods in the morning before their restaurants open. The shelves of pots, pans, and teapots collect dust as you surreptitiously mark up your latest resume draft with a red pen. 

“Oi, shouldn’t you be dusting the shelves, English?” calls out a voice from the basement. The basement is where they store the big crates of pots of pans that aren’t in the big crates on the shop floor. The basement also houses your boss’s office. 

Jimmy, your boss, calls you English because 1) you severely overpaid for a bachelor’s degree in English at NYU and 2) unlike your Chinese-American coworkers, you can only speak your native English.

“I just dusted yesterday!” you shout back. Capping your pen, you slide your redlined resume under a stack of handwritten invoices next to the cash register.

“You should dust every day,” he responds. His neatly brushed black-grey hair pokes its way out of the stacks of bowls lining the shelves. “This place attracts dust like my son attracts unsuitable boyfriends.”

“I think Kevin’s suitors are quite nice,” you say, in defense of your friend.

“Tsk,” Jimmy replies, “Nice to look at maybe. Why can’t he choose someone with a job? Or a nice family?”

You grab the Swiffer from under the desk and get to dusting the teapots, “I don’t know, Mr. Jimmy. Jobs are overrated, I think. Look, I’m dusting a teapot.”

He pauses and straightens the collar of his shirt. “And you dust the teapot very well.”

You nod.

Jimmy clears his throat, “I have to go deliver this shipment of dining plates to a customer this afternoon. Will you be okay here for a few hours while I’m gone?”

You make a point of turning your head and surveying the empty store. You nod.

“Good. Good,” Jimmy says. “Kevin will be by after his shift at the office.”

“Sounds good, Mr. Jimmy.”

“Call me if you need anything!”

You shake your head gently as Jimmy leaves with a heaving crate of plates in his arms. Ever since the Battle of New York, Jimmy has had an irrational fear of the Hulk tearing up his humble restaurant supply store. But things have been calm in this part of the city for years. You think your boss is a bit silly.

You yelp as a spatula nearly misses your head by a few inches. Eyes wide, you look behind you at the metal spatula, vibrating with the impact of impaling your favorite lucky cat statue. Its waving arm had dislocated from its cat-body.

Well, at least it isn’t the Hulk?

Let’s rewind a bit. Not even five minutes after Jimmy left with his delivery, the front door slammed open again. Thinking it was your boss, you poked your head out to look and immediately regretted it. A group of guys, wearing peculiar red tracksuits sped towards you, yelling indecipherable commands. You didn’t even have time to scream before they grabbed you and snarled in your face.

“Where are they?!” one demanded.

“Yeah, bro,” another echoed, “We know that brat is here somewhere.”

“Who the fuck are you talking about?” you yelped, kicking your legs futilely at them.

“The Bishop bitch!” one unhelpfully clarified.

 You continued to wriggle helplessly in their grip.

"Wait, bro," one grunted, "Are we on Catherine Street right now?"

You stopped struggling. 

The other tracksuit let you go.

"No, bro. The sign says Canal Street," said the first guy.

"Yeah. How do you not know what street you're on, bro? Not very New York of you…"

"Lay off, bro!" exclaimed the confused one, "...I'm from Michigan, bro."

What the fu-

"Hands in air, tracksuits!" yelled a different, younger voice. A girl?

All three bad guys turned towards the new faces. It was a young woman, wearing a lot of purple, and holding… a bow? Next to her, an older blonde man sighed deeply and reached for his utility belt. 

From the purple tights and do-gooder attitude of the girl, you clocked the duo as good guys. Avengers? Whatever, you took the moment of distraction to run out of the grasp of the tracksuits. 

Luckily for you, they didn't pay you any attention. You managed to escape behind the counter and cower in the space under the register. Unluckily for Jimmy and Canal Street Restaurant Supply, you could hear all of the inventory crashing to the ground and shattering into tiny pieces. You heard the sound of the bad guys grunting in pain and the thwp thwp of arrows finding their marks. 

Now, there's a spatula embedded in a poor plastic cat statue. You feel yourself shaking. You duck your head down again and dissociate, probably, while the fighting continues. 

Eventually though, sirens come blaring towards you. The only other sound you hear is whispering between the heroes and the pained groans of the, presumably, incapacitated bad guys.

"Hey…" comes the voice of the purple girl, "are you okay? You can come out now."

You warily grab the edge of the counter and pull yourself up. The shop is completely fucked. Porcelain shattered into glitter on the ground. Pans pelleted with arrows. A guy holding his thigh, a puddle of red… Fuck-

The last thing you hear before you black out is a gruff, "Aw no!"

You come to with a jerk. The first thing you hear is your pounding heartbeat echoing in your head. Wait. No, it's coming from around you. A heartbeat monitor. You snap your eyes open and a blinding light glares at you. Your eyes snap shut. You're in a hospital?

"Hey, hey," soothes a raspy voice. It's familiar. "You're okay." 

You open your eyes, slowly this time. The light above your bed has been dimmed. You hear your heartbeat slow down. 

You turn your head towards the voice, ignoring the throbbing in your skull. A pretty redhead smiles at you. 

What the hell is Natasha Romanoff doing in your room?

"Oh, so you do recognize the Avengers," the spy muses, "Clint will be livid. I love it."

Whoops, were you talking out loud??

Natasha Romanoff - The Black Widow - grins at you.

Your hands fly to cover your traitorous mouth. You shut your eyes again in embarrassment. The heartbeat monitor audibly speeds up. You groan loudly, in pain. And in mortification.

"Kill me now," you mutter into your palms.

Warm hands take your hands in hers. You freeze, but Natasha gently peels your palms from your mouth.

"Can't do that, darling. Steve would not approve." 

She's teasing you. You nearly pass out, again, at the thought of Steve Rogers knowing who you are anyways.

You slowly sit up, and the other woman helpfully places a pillow behind your back. You thank her and ask, "Is Captain America here?" 

"Oh, she knows about Captain America, too."

Despite your hospitalized, traumatized, and increasingly flustered state, you manage to roll your eyes, "Of course I know about Captain America. You can tell Clint Barton he just needs a better marketer, if he wants more attention."

Natasha laughs, looking at you with a fond smile. "I can't say we go looking for attention in this line of work."

You shake your head dumbly. She laughs again and you feel your breath catch. Actually wait-

The infamous Black Widow barely has time to shove a pan under your chin before you lose the contents of your stomach. And the last of your dignity.

At that moment, Steve Rogers sticks his head into the room, but immediately backs away at the scene. "I'll, uh, give you two ladies another few minutes then…"

You groan. What a terrible day. 

Natasha Romanoff pats your back and hands you a tissue. 

Well, you suppose, it could be worse.

Your phone lights up with a call. It's Jimmy. 

Fu-

[itsahotminuteinbetween]

Dentist Au Designs

not colored cuz i wanna make it through today without sobbing also no mouths because hush they're overrated but

*dramatic gasp* minute posting TWO art bits in one day? and actually DRAWING THE DESIGNS SHE WAS SUPPOSED TO COMPLETE 4 MONTHS AGO???

anyways yea remember that lil au about eclipse's dentistry where eclipse doesn't die the second time and instead of sun blasting him with the star they just tell him to get out of their sight

yea so basically to recap he's living on his own and owns a lil dentistry because ya gotta pay the bills somehow (no he actually doesn't have a medical degree or the credentials but you can't prove that) except he's still wrapped up in the celestial family's shenanigans because of course he is

anyways yea here's the designs i'll color them at some point (never)

oh yea here's a side by side:

no there's not too big of a height difference cuz i like a tall-ish lunar okay

[dykeishheart]

Intellectualism is such a fraught subject because we live in a zeitgeist of anti-intellectualism being pushed from major political bodies onto constituencies via religious and economic propaganda (defunding schools, creationist leaders defrauding sciences, anti-medical conspiracy riddled through middle class and even some legislators, etc), while at the same time certain vectors of social power and legitimacy are undeniably rooted in at least the appearance of intellect. See Musk, Zuckerberg, and Gates fanboys praising their genius, the entire social movement that I like to call 'r/atheism debate me era' being beholden to talking heads they idolize like Richard Dawkins and Sam Harris, and just the general millieu of Smart Man captivating the social media feed every few minutes with Smart quotes. Society loves an Einstein, to the point that that is a recognizable name every person on earth knows how to correlate to a specific kind of person: a smart person idolized for intelligence.

Actual education is the least accessible it's ever been in terms of the kinds that offer prestige (university) while raw knowledge and data is the most accessible it's ever been for people willing to comb through digital archives. Being too smart is to invite insult and dismissal if it's coupled with any personality flaws but it's almost universally stated that people want intelligence in a partner. The smartest people aren't given acclaim or status for being smart, but the highest wages are by and large earned by people with the most education. Legislators want less actual education happening but more educating happening, because they want more people in schools to generate revenue and fill the school-to-industry training pipeline, but they don't want those people learning the kinds of things that would teach them that pipeline exists.

There's also an incredibly annoying phenomenon where every two or three years a new pseudoscience pops up trying to explain what intelligence is and what personalities are and why we need to have more societal divisions over it, and it's been like this since The Bell Curve came out in 1994, and it's basically been eugenics every time with the license plates changed. The political benefit of being able to categorize people for division and domination dovetails perfectly with the bizarre hook that factoids have on the collective brainspace; everyone loves feeling like they know a special secret about the world, and a good many people like the feeling of that secret so much that they turn off their critical thinking for just long enough to accept any old bullshit or bigotry or conspiracy or ancient form of racism if it's packaged to look like the underside of a Snapple cap. Needless to say, you can find the absolute most esoteric, bizarre, niche, and useless info only two digital footprints away from the most baseline of common knowledge, and both will be wrong in different but equal measure, each spawned by a different abberant strain of social psychosis with a different degree of popularity determined by god drawing sticks blind out of a cup. The layers of disinformation, misinformation, lies, half remembered factoids, hallucinations, misconceptions, willful obtusenesses, deliberate obfuscations, and general fuckeries that exist within the All Encompassing Brain Soup that is the digital age could make one decide epistemology is overrated if the day of encounter was sufficiently exhausting.

And at the end of the day it largely doesn't matter. Intelligence is fake anyway. Truth is authored and knowledge unwrites it each and every minute to rewrite to the shape of power. What does it mean to be smart? God help you I don't fucking know. Will I be able to afford rent six months from now? That's a real question. Tell me when you figure that one out.

[ashdreams2023]

Me: I wanna be an independent woman and doesn’t need anybody

Loki: wouldn’t you rather be my queen and be treated like royalty instead

Me: ….now wait-

Loki: you won’t have to lift a finger to work and I’ll give you everything you need, no exceptions

Me: you know getting a degree is overrated anyways!

[autistic-katara]

ALL RIGHT! ANON FANDOM HOT TAKES!

eddie munson sucks

this one is utterly incoherent but bear with me - IF byler hadn't been planned from the start, el and mike's relationship would've worked IF hopper hadn't taken el in. hopper majorly fucked up a lot of her personal growth and her ability to function around people.

hopper should've died

the bungou stray dogs fandom is great actually

the kpop fandom is disturbing but fascinating and i want to study it

i have this insane respect for the marauders fandom cause like they built it from the ground up and if they changed the names and a little bit of the magic system it could be it's own series

yeah idk what this is sorry

THANKS FOR THE LONG ASK AAAHHH (accidentally made the reply super long srry lmao)

honestly i just dont give a shit abt him. like in a vacuum i like his character, yk he was kinda a pretty big asshole to my boy lucas and he sells drugs (idrc abt that one tho) but at the same time idk i do enjoy the idea of eddie being queer nd clocking will and/or mike nd trying to make them feel comfortable talking to him (even if that could be done just as well if not better with robin who is yk canonically queer and a way better character but idk) but all that is ignoring how fucking annoying his fans are like jesus christ why is he this fucking popular like half the fics in this godforsaken fandom r st€ddie (and look i am a shameless will-ship-smthn-based-off-of-one-small-momenter of the highest degree but i genuinely do not understand the hype for them like they literally looked at eachother twice and had eddie tell steve to get back with his ex how in the fuck is that romantic???) and yeah just he is insanely overrated in the worst possible way and the fact that this isnt even the worst case of this in this fandom just proves how much b*lly and his fans suck and yeah i did not expect to go on a huge rant abt this srry TwT

kinda agree kinda disagree. i do think it wouldve been possible for mlvn to work but i wouldnt say hopper taking el in is the problem i think ud kinda just have to rewrite alotta their interactions with some small things in the beginning but with a completely different dynamic in the later seasons (sidenote: honest to god if theyd just written hopper a bit better i would fucking love him as el’s dad like i love the found family trope and i do think they go well together but with the way he acts in s3 + the way their fight that culminates in el’s meltdown and him breaking the tv in s2 just yeah they rlly could’ve been done better)

no comment i dont rlly care (i dont hate that he survived but if he stayed dead i also wouldnt hate it)

yeah honestly while it has its problems ive been in waaaayyyyy worse fandoms and i do actually kinda like the vibe here (even if it has some of the dumbest shipping discourse i’ve seen. not the worst but the dumbest. usually surrounding my boy dazai which just bro that man is a whore ship him with whoever and no its not a proship to ship him with an 18yo bcz they have a kinda mentor/student relationship and no shipping him at 18 with a 24yo also isnt a proship bcz someone decided he was 16 or smthn which if u actually do the maths he was very much 18 and look i’m not a dazatsu shipper and odazai isnt my favourite dazai ship nor am i saying both ships r entirely unproblematic but dude this is why i dont wanna label myself an anti bcz u guys say shit like this anyways sorry that was a super long side tangent it will probably happen again)

again no comment, i know jack shit abt kpop

uhhh i hate everything related to hp so again no comment

again srry this turned out so long 😭

[lcndonboysstuff]

“FFS - she didn’t give up her fucking voice. She releases new shit every single year!”

FR like she released lover in august 2019 and then in july 2020(!!!) folklore was out. she didn’t even have her regular 2-year break, it didn’t even take her 1 whole year!!! WTF

and then the same year (2020), 5 months after folklore, came evermore

and he helped her write it

and she was taken more seriously than EVER

and one of the reasons for that was the fact that she could create music through fiction and it answered a long posed question of what she would write about once she had found love and stayed with it

and she won her 3rd aoty with it (the last one she actually deserved)

and for the first time in her life, even though joe also won a grammy for it, her writing was the star of her own art. for the first time, it was just taylor, it was just about her.

so how possibly could joe have been such a fairytale villain to her?

it was during THAT time (in which she used her voice extensively and more frequently than ever) that she was seen for her “genius”

I think she has talent but I also think she is overrated. I think she’s far from being a poetry or music genius, she might be it in marketing though. anyway, people starting seeing her that way then. I wonder how that would have played out had she had been with a himbo jock who doesn’t shy away from the cameras during that “silent” time and not with an “art bro” with an english literature/drama degree

yeah it was during folklore/evermore that i think her voice was strongest and her artistry was being celebrated over Taylor Swift ™️. not sure what happen to make her see it as she lost her voice but it’ll be interesting to find out

[more-than-a-princess]

"Love the enthusiasm, like I do most everything else about you." Wylan comments, allowing the birthday girl to do as she wishes now that the room (private) (nice) is set for the start of the quality film. "But were you planning on watching me, or watching the movie, Bluebird?"

Sonia's Birthday Asks 2023 - No Longer Accepting!

It wasn't as if they did not have room for two cursed replica armchairs. However, it was Sonia's birthday and she would be dictating the night's events as she wished. And right now, she wished for both her and Wylan to fit on one cursed replica armchair (or to be more accurate, a killer sofa). It had been achieved to some degree, Sonia having climbed into his lap, legs dangling off over one of the chair's arms as she snuggled up against his chest. 

Birthdays with balls, elaborate gifts, and large attendances were vastly overrated in comparison. Besides, his birthday had only been a few days before and this way they could both celebrate. With terrible excellent horror films, and excellent terrible Halloween treats she'd arranged to have shipped over from America. She'd taken precisely two bites of candy corn, declared it inedible, and favored curling up in Wylan's lap with a small bowl of caramel popcorn instead, complete with semisweet chocolate chunks mixed in. 

"Am I not able to do both?" She asked, setting the popcorn aside on a nearby table. The movie had barely begun and he'd decided to tease her. Just as well: it wasn't as if they'd be able to celebrate their birthdays any other way. There was a time and place for serious conversations, but watching possessed furniture films was not one of them. "You know, part of being a princess is mastering the art of multitasking. How would I effectively be able to go from meeting to party to ceremony, and still have time to complete my other work assignments and day-to-day tasks?"

Grinning, she leaned closer to press a kiss to his cheek as the main character on-screen engaged in some terrible dialogue pre-sofa bloodbath. In short, a perfect opportunity to tease him right back. "Rather, I think the question is were you planning on watching me, or the movie. I shall not apologize for being a distraction."

Another kiss, this time on his lips before nestling her head against his shoulder. "If you have difficulty following along, I will fill you in on the nuances of the plot of Killer Sofa." Disregarding the fact that they'd already seen this film at least once together, and the first time had been a memorable, if not awkward and emotionally confusing, experience. 

At least this time, there was no Swiss Miss. That she knew of, anyway.

[cainightfics]

hello! i think i remember you saying you have a degree in english (if i hallucinated this, please feel free to disregard this ask). this is probably a very silly question, but do you find what you learned from your degree to be helpful when writing fics? or is it mostly not applicable to what you write? anyway, i hope you're doing well! i really like your mr robot works! :)

yeah i do have an english degree!! wow i cant believe u remember that lol. to be honest im lazy as hell and really slacked off throughout my degree... like i read maybe half of the stuff i was assigned lmfao 💀 despite this i managed to get really good grades, graduate with honours, get into a top grad school etc. i was always wayyyy more interested in theory than in literature itself. honestly i think a lot of the "greatest books of all time" people usually mention are either straight up trash or at least overrated as hell. i didnt really learn much from them writing-wise.

the big thing that got me into writing was roleplaying, actually. i used to be in the homestuck fandom (lol) and i was on either msparp or cherubplay every fucking day from ages 13-16. i was addicted to roleplaying lol, i probably wrote like 3-5k words everyday back then. i started writing fanfic but not publishing it around that time as well, and then wrote my first berserk fics around 16-17, which is how i got started on ao3.

in middle school/most of high school, me and my best friend were NOTORIOUSLY the most lazy people in our grade. like she literally pretended to have a learning disability throughout all of elementary school because she didnt want to do any work lol. anyways, in high school, i would literally arrive at school, sleep through my first class, skip the rest of my classes until lunch by either hiding in the library reading fanfic/manga or (if it was warm enough) SLEEPING OUTSIDE ON THE FIELD LMFAOOO, go to lunch, go to my english class in the afternoon (only class i liked), and then spend the rest of the afternoon at starbucks on my laptop roleplaying. i think i had like 90 absences in my first semester of grade 9 lol. i really didnt take school seriously because i knew i could just study for 30 mins before a test and get an A, so my grades were always high anyway-- and then i let my friend (the aforementioned extremely lazy one) copy off me so she didnt flunk out of school.

anyway, in grade 10 the teachers started to get sick of my shit. by this point i was pretty brazen about how much i didnt give a shit about school-- i would bring a blanket to school to nap with, showed up to class drunk, sold cigarettes to people in the parking lot, all sorts of shit. one day i was sleeping in the library and i woke up to the principal standing over me telling me he needed to see me in his office. they basically gave me an ultimatum: either i got my shit together and started putting in effort, or they'd have to start giving me suspensions until i was eventually expelled. i really considered dropping out of highschool at this point. instead, i did all my remaining classes needed to graduate through this online course site-- i did about 2 years of school in 2 months lol. i applied to university on a whim and got in. i was 16 when i started university.

in uni, my schedule changed drastically, and i had less time to roleplay. this is when i started writing fanfics. im not sure if i have a "style" or anything really (maybe you could tell me if i do), but any skill i have with writing comes from those years of roleplaying + lots of fanfic reading. id say the only thing (writing-wise) i really learned from my degree is how to proofread for grammatical errors and what i DONT like/find to be lazy writing.

sorry lol i feel like i always do some bigass story about my life whenever i answer these lol. but thanks for the ask!

[mtreebeardiles]

Stories from Haven

Just gonna collect Quintas's stories in a collection subdivided by location/game beats. I think I posted this first one here before, but here it is officially (and over on AO3)

Considering the reputation Haven had, Dorian was expecting something a bit more…reverent. 

A storied past -- or was it checkered? -- and its proximity to the Temple of Sacred Ashes should have, at the very least, lent the place a certain character, an atmosphere of mystique, of hushed whispers and wild tales of things seen in the dark of night. 

Mostly it featured the same sort of rough-hewn, slapdash architecture he was beginning to fear was the norm for Ferelden, with an overwhelming stench of wet and dog. Any atmosphere it may have had was overcome with the clash of swords and pitched shouts as the Commander-who-was-definitely-a-Templar tackled the thankless job of turning volunteers into soldiers capable of putting up some degree of a fight.

Probably lost all that mystery once the cult was driven out anyway.

He supposed it could have been worse. Redcliffe had been more robust, better fortified, and the village had offered its fair share of distractions, but it was hard to look at the place and not see all the horrors that had unfolded there -- horrors that very well may still happen, if they didn't put a stop to it. 

And that's why Dorian was here: to help stop it. He'd suffer far worse than suspicious glares and vicious rumors against the bleak backdrop of the rustic south if it meant he could do something, anything, that mattered. 

"You look awfully lost in thought."

His lips were curling up into a grin even before he turned to spot his guest. A responding smile flashed back at him, and maybe it was a touch tired but if Dorian was half as good at reading people as he thought he was, then he could rest assured that it was sincere. Probably one of the only sincere smiles he'd received in this place. 

Not that he needed to be liked; he'd practically cultivated a reputation for being very disliked, and saw no reason for that to change any time soon. Respectability was overrated, anyway.

"I was thinking about cults, actually."

An eyebrow quirked up, one side of the Herald's mouth inching higher in a crooked smile Dorian couldn't help but find charming. 

All of Quintas Lavellan was surprisingly charming, he was discovering -- had been discovering, really, ever since their wild adventure through time. Gossip had reached him before meeting the elf in person, but those whispers hadn't done him justice. He was quiet, but it was the sort of quiet that hid a sharp wit and a dry sense of humor. He was dashing, but in a skills-honed-over-time sort of way. He was decidedly not haughty, and was, quite possibly, one of the most down-to-earth people Dorian had ever met. But then, the rumors had been fueled by humans, and humans didn’t exactly have the best gauge on things elf -- particularly when it came to the Dalish. He imagined a fair amount of them had probably never even met a Dalish elf before in their lives.

"Any specific cult?"

"You're aware of the history of this place, no?"

Quintas shook his head, settling on the bench beside him. "More familiar with Free Marcher history, if I'm honest."

"Oh, right, you're from…"

"Near Ostwick," the elf supplied. "Much farther north." He cocked his head, pursing his lips in thought. Dorian took the opportunity to glance at him sidelong, admire his strong profile. A straight nose defined it, cheekbones a touch on the high side, his gently rounded chin helping to soften it all somewhat. Eyes a pale blue under thick, expressive eyebrows, all capped by auburn hair that perpetually looked like he kept running his fingers through it. 

Dorian bit back another smile as he watched the Herald do exactly that, long, slender fingers winding through his dark locks before he turned toward him again. 

"Was it some Andrastian off-shoot, this cult?" he asked. "I gathered this place was rather important to the Chantry."

"You gathered correctly," Dorian replied with a smile. With Quintas facing him it was easier to see the vallaslin that curled about his left eye, inked in delicate green. "Though they believed they were Andraste's true followers, of course."

"Of course."

"'The Disciples of Andraste,' revering their beloved prophet more than even the Maker, believed she had been reborn to them in the form of a dragon."

Quintas's eyebrows shot up again, a grin teasing at the corners of his lips. 

"You're full of it."

"No, they really did! Word has it the Hero of Ferelden was responsible for…well. I imagine they didn't exactly survive their encounter with him."

"I think I did hear something about the Urn," Quintas mused. "When we were in Redcliffe, Connor mentioned something about it curing his father?"

"The Ashes were said to have healing and restorative properties," Dorian agreed. "Fascinating. Would've loved to have seen that myself."

"And the cult?"

"Maybe not up close and personal," Dorian admitted with a laugh. "But to read Brother Genitivi's writings firsthand would have been worth the risk of coming South, although maybe not during the Blight..."

"Hmm, that's another name I've heard mentioned."

"Genitivi? Very prominent scholar and writer." Dorian glanced over at him again, cocking his head. "How much do you know of the Chantry?"

At that Quintas shrugged. "A few things, I suppose. Enough to know not all of the Chantry's followers are in agreement, but then that whole civil war and Conclave thing kind of tipped me off." He slid his gaze to Dorian, a sly smile tugging at his lips. "Why?" he went on, dropping his voice to a low rumble of a whisper. "Do you think it unbecoming of her Herald to know so little about Andraste?"

Dorian couldn't help it --  the shift in pitch, the glint in his eyes and the way he widened them culminating in the desired effect of making the mage laugh. An honest, unabashed sort of laughter Dorian hadn't thought he'd had in him after all these years. But that was just another facet of Quintas, he was discovering: he caught people off-guard.

"It may land you in some hot water," he replied, shaking his head. "Well, hotter water."

"Positively boiling," Quintas agreed sagely, leaning back against the rough wooden wall of the truly humble abode that served Dorian as shelter in this place. "If I'm not careful I might inspire some cults of my own."

"Is that not sacrilegious amongst the Dalish, then?"

He'd meant it as a joke, but Quintas merely shrugged, giving it actual thought. 

"I'm sure they wouldn't like it."

"…'they?'"

"Well, we. The Dalish as a collective group. I wouldn't like it, personally, but not in terms of blasphemy."

"Oh?"

"Not wild about the attention."

Dorian snorted at that, leaning back himself. "I have some very bad news for you, then."

Another slow, small smile, and he wondered what was on the elf's mind, where his thoughts drifted when he gazed up at the sky like he was now. He followed his line of sight, picking out the constellations in the cloudless heavens. What did the stars say to him? Mean to him? What stories did they hold, and how different were they from his own?

"Definitely not great for avoiding attention, is it?" he whispered after a moment, drawing Dorian back down to earth. The mage hummed, turning, and saw the elf had drawn a leg up, foot braced on the bench, arm resting on his knee so he could better see his hand and the mark it bore. It crackled slightly and Quintas shook his hand out, as if discharging some of that built-up energy. 

"I'm afraid not." His eyes were drawn to it, squinting a little past the glow and just making out the delicate runes engraved in the elf's hand. "But at least it's useful in some capacity."

"Some," Quintas agreed, gently curling his fingers into a fist. He tilted his head back, but his gaze was drawn to Dorian this time. "I wish I could remember how I got it." And maybe it was the moonlight and the way it fell all around him, maybe it was the pleasant deepness of his voice, but Dorian was struck, suddenly, with how beautiful he was. He'd thought it before, had noticed his finer qualities back at Redcliffe and on the trek here, but he hadn't known him as well then. An acknowledgement of attraction with no substance, but now…

Dorian cleared his throat, pulling his gaze away from that blue intensity. "Well, if that's a thinly veiled request to go gallivanting through time again, I'm afraid it's out of the question."

Quintas chuckled, and Dorian glanced over in time to see the elf get to his feet. He stretched, and Dorian did his best not to follow the lines of his body, lithe and more muscled than one would have expected, shoulders broadened from years of archery, but it was a futile effort. He was reasonably sure Quintas didn't notice. 

The Herald turned, flashing him another crooked smile.

Reasonably.

"Well you're no fun," he teased, eyes glinting, mischievous, and Dorian scoffed. 

"I am plenty fun, I assure you," he retorted, and that smirk widened. 

"Guess you'll just have to prove that to me one of these days, hm?" and Dorian felt himself grow flustered, like some delicate flower, and Quintas had no business lowering the pitch of his voice so effectively. Dorian was no wilting wallflower; he wasn't one to blush, to get hot and bothered, especially since the bulk of their conversation this evening had been about cults. 

Get a grip, man. 

Quintas, the shameless rogue, merely winked before slipping away as quietly as he'd come.