amuseoffyre

[amuseoffyre]

I must not mock Gen Alpha. Mocking Gen Alpha is the mind killer. Mocking Gen Alpha is the little-death that brings total generational solidarity obliteration. I will engage with Gen Alpha lovingly. I will permit them to be cringe. And when they grow up I will turn my eye to their accomplishments. Where mocking has gone there will be nothing. Only generational solidarity remains

[amuseoffyre]

I fucking hate this "capitalism is when you make money, the more money you make, the more capitalism it is" mindset people have gotten. No, an artist selling their own work is not them engaging in capitalism, it's literally a worker owning their own means of production.

Remember capitalism is someone profiting off of someone else's labor though owning capital. It is not simply the act of profiting at all.

#fun historical fact time #the luddites were accused of being anti-technology #what they were actually against was cheap imported foreign child labour to work the machines #labour exploitation is a key part of capitalism

[amuseoffyre]

“I can’t be a trans man on the internet” go the fuck outside then dude. Signed a trans woman who has had enough of your bullshit posts

I’m gonna use this ask to make a point.

Trans guys if you get an anon claiming to be a trans women that says rude/bigoted shit, don’t believe them. Transphobes have admitted to pretending to be trans women and sending bigoted asks to trans men.

If you get an anon ask saying weird shit claiming to be from a trans women - always remember anons can lie about who they are! 9 times out of 10 it’s just some cis person lying to paint trans women as evil bigots.

And everytime I see a trans man fall for the bait and start saying transmisogynistic shit I just sigh.

[amuseoffyre]

favorite character from any media BUT it has to be a woman. in the tags now go (pls talk to me about your favorite fictional women pls pls pls pls)

#princess leia #Integra Wingates Hellsing #Izumi Curtis #Sansa Stark #Brienne of Tarth #Max (Black Sails) #Toph Beifong #Entrapta #Scorpia #Agent Peggy Carter #I love 'em smart and strong in all the different ways

[amuseoffyre]

Okay, buckle up buckaroos, because today I met an honest-to-goodness cryptid.

I was out running errands and I made a stop at Intimate Books (…for a friend), and on my way out I realized that the bookshop next door was open.

This bookshop has existed for more than a hundred years, and in all my life it has NEVER BEEN OPEN. I mean, I assume it has to be open sometimes, but never at any normal, reasonable hour. Everyone says it’s a front for the mob or something.

So what do you do when the weird mafia bookshop is open? You go the fuck inside.

The first thing I noticed was the smell. You know that smell when you accidentally leave your towel on the bathroom floor all day and you come back to that mildew funk? The shop smelled like that times a thousand. I expected to see stuff growing on the walls, but the books were pristine. We’re talking first editions, rare editions, weird Bibles and books inscribed to really famous dead people. Librarians would weep for the chance to accession this place. In the first two minutes I found a signed copy of The Crucible and what I think was a first edition of Blake’s Book of Thel.

Then a clerk showed up out of nowhere—honestly nowhere. He looked EXACTLY like a bookseller should look, kind of fluffy and bewildered and really, really gay.

“Are you lost?” was the first thing he said to me.

“Nope. Just browsing, thanks.”

“Browsing, I see. Erm. How do you feel about snakes?” he asked. And without waiting for me to answer, he just walked away and vanished around a shelf.

I figured it was a metaphor, or a code phrase for the mafia. Until I turned a corner like ten minutes later and found a little reading nook. It was really pretty, although I feel like that particular window should have been on an interior wall? Anyway, curled up in an armchair in a patch of sunlight was the biggest fuck-off black snake I have ever seen.

Like, I don’t mind snakes in general. But in their normal context, right? Outside. On the ground. Not six feet long and sitting on a threadbare velvet armchair like it owns the place.

I was about to turn around and leave, but I saw a gorgeous first-edition copy of Leaves of Grass on a shelf, a little too close to the snake for comfort. But I had never needed anything so badly in my life.

So I went back to the counter to buy it, but the clerk was nowhere to be found.

While I was waiting, I noticed a collection of pictures hanging on the wall behind the counter, dating back to the very dawn of photography. A couple were of this rock-star looking guy from the 70s that I should probably have recognized, but there were authors and landscapes and stuff, too. There was even an old tintype portrait of Oscar freaking Wilde, sitting in this very shop with a guy that I would ACTUALLY SWEAR was the clerk from before. Like, I know my family all has the same nose, but this guy had the same everything.

After approximately one year of waiting, the clerk came back out to the desk. By now I’ve realized that he’s too bad at his job to be anything but the owner of the shop.

“I saw your snake,” I told him.

“Did you? Was he behaving himself?”

“He was sleeping.”

“Yes, he enjoys that.”

“Does he just stay out in the open like that? What if he gets out?”

He shrugged and smiled. “He always comes home again, the dear boy.”

Right, a homing snake. That’s totally normal.

Then he cleared his throat and asked, in a weirdly reluctant voice, if I was going to buy the Whitman.

“Yes, please,” I told him. “I saw it on a shelf by the snake, and it was just too tempting.”

He sighed. “Oh, yes, I expect it was.”

When I started to hand him my card, he went all fluttery and said that they didn’t take cards.

All right, fine. I had some cash on me, but I told him that he’d sell a lot more books if he got a Square or something.

He got this scandalized look on his face and went, “Why would I want to do that?”

Oookay. I handed over the cash and he popped open the ancient till and started making change.

In shillings. Shillings! I swear to god I saw Queen Anne’s face on one of them. The silver value of the coins was probably as much as I paid for the book.

But I had to have proof that this happened—at that point, all I had was a book in a plain brown wrapper, not appreciably different from what I bought next door. So I asked him for a receipt.

He looked delighted and wrote one up for me.

By hand.

With a fountain pen.

And that’s the story of how I met a bookseller cryptid and his pet snake.

[amuseoffyre]

I cannot express how jarring it was after being raised by a "Porn Addiction Coach" to get into a relationship with a woman and come face to face with the fact that she did actually want me to sexually desire her.

Like, in Evangelical Purity Culture, male desire was basically poison. It was a threat. It was this constant temptation that would destroy everything. And even after leaving, in the sort of queer, feminist spaces i spend most of my time in that wasn't something that pretty much anyone was spending time actively dissuading me from feeling.

But my desire is good. It's not something that I'm being accepted in spite of. It's a positive thing. It's a bonus. Not even just vanilla stuff, all the stuff I'd convinced myself were these weird terrible desires that were shameful to have.

It honestly took me over a decade to fully accept that. To stop dissociating during sex and confront that I was, in fact, being a massive perv and that was fantastic and preferable and that I could accept that into my self-image without shame or self hatred.

But it's important to do. It's important to leave relationships that don't welcome that part of you. To know that your sexuality is valuable and valid and worth owning and celebrating. Because the alternative is just...not being. Either existing as yourself and repressing the part of your identity that is sexual or allowing that sexuality to exist but turning off your self while it does.

#christianity #sexuality #feminism #yup this is ringing many bells

[amuseoffyre]

After shoving Hansel in the oven, the witch turns to Gretel - who is currently fending the witch off with a gingerbread chair - and says:

“I can’t believe you thought a trail of breadcrumbs would save you. I mean, honestly, this is a forest! It’s full of animals. Honestly, the very idea that a dumb shit like you thought you could get the better of me is absurd.”

Gretel hits her in the face with said chair. To be fair to the witch, she takes the chairshot like a champ.

“Ow!”

“Did you know,” says Gretel, “that crows are capable of facial recognition?”

“Eh?” Says the witch, clambering to her feet and pulling a candy cane sledgehammer off the wall. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Not only that,” Gretel continues, “but they can remember both friends and enemies. And they’ll often follow people they remember as friends.”

The two fence with their sugared weapons for a moment, before the witch knocks the chair out of Gretel’s hands.

“Enough with the bird facts! Honestly, this whole attempted escape has been utter clownshoes. Get in the fucking oven!”

She seizes Gretel by the collar. Gretel immediately sandbags, letting her whole body go limp. This eminently practical defense forces the witch to try and deadlift her. Which is hard, as the witch often skips leg day.

“For example,” Gretel says, as the witch struggles and grunts, “if you feed crows a lot of breadcrumbs, they’ll probably start to see you as a friend and follow you in the hope of more food.”

The witch stops. Outside, she hears the thunder of wings.

“They’ll even bring you shiny things they find as presents!” Says Gretel, as a corner of the gingerbread ceiling is suddenly cut away by a large crow with a knife in its mouth.

“Oh shitballs.” Says the witch, as the crows descend. “I hope you know this is a great unkindness.”

“Technically,” Says Gretel, “It’s a murder.”

[amuseoffyre]

one of my favorite (read: least favorite) things about how people treat cleopatra is she’s so often called a slut or is only ever portrayed as being this incredibly sexy, often scantily-clad seductress, when in actuality 1. while some ancient sources describe her as somewhat pretty, it generally seems that what was attractive about her was her intellect, charm, and voice, and the sources that refer to her as extremely sexy/slutty are specifically out to condem her, 2. she was a brilliant politician who chose her affairs as a way of securing power for her country and not just so she could have a bunch of sex (which shouldn’t be an issue anyway), and 3. one of the men she had an affair with was mark antony, ancient roman super slut supreme, a man known for his love of sex and tendency to wear extremely short tunics for the sake of showing off his sexy legs/probably also his dick

i’m not saying there’s anything wrong with portraying cleopatra as beautiful or even sexy, because she clearly had allure. all i’m saying is that, if your cleopatra is wearing less clothing than your mark antony, there’s probably a problem in your depiction of them

#still remembering TV interviewers getting flustered by the Mark Antony fully nude scene in Rome #James Purefoy went full frontal for Antony for fun and profit

[amuseoffyre]

its rude to reblog things from people you arent mutuals with fyi. :/

💀 my brother in christopher

[amuseoffyre]

[amuseoffyre]

when I see something dated 2019 I think “oh that’s not too long ago” and then I remember that 2019 was not only five years ago but those five years have somehow contained several lifetimes

[amuseoffyre]

Once more and again: props to Stede Bonnet. He spent literal months longing for Ed, writing him letters, working through his own fears, trying to figure out where he was. Then he finds out that that his crew killed this man with whom he’s deeply in love, and his response is to think of them first. He takes the blame on himself. He defends them, he tries to talk Zheng out of executing them, and he saves their lives - including the life of a man who tried to kill him many times.

And only after they’re all safe does he take the space to mourn.

What a fucking hero.

#ofmd #stede bonnet #my favourite bean

[amuseoffyre]

DAILYFLICKS 30K EVENT: FAVORITE 90s FILM PER MEMBER ↳ MUPPET TREASURE ISLAND (1996)— Kraina (@sonyarebecchi​)

He died? And this is supposed to be a kids’ movie.

[amuseoffyre]

Also props to Ed Teach for spending his time in purgatory relentlessly psychoanalyzing himself in the form of arguments with Monstrous Father 2.0, who at one point tells him that he has daddy issues.

Edward Teach inventing Freudianism as he hovers between life and death.

#ofmd #giving himself the face of the monster #that he genuinely believes he is #because he killed his father as a child #making himself the same as them because that's what he fears he is

[amuseoffyre]

The morning after the night before :D

#ofmd fic: a little restraint #ofmd #our flag means death

[amuseoffyre]

I'm confused about the GO timeline. When Crowley and Aziraphale first meet, we learn that They will be "shutting all this down again in about 6,000 years.". But Crowley tells Nina and Maggie that he and Aziraphale have been talking for millions of years. How is that possible?

Because there was lots of Good Omens angel time before Earth Time started.

[amuseoffyre]

"if you ship this thing it's because you're too naïve to understand that it's toxic and that you wouldn't like a relationship like this" actually it's because I see one of them as a mentos drop and the other as a bottle of coke zero and I want to watch the mess they'll be together