I Don't Really Want To Talk About The Supernatural Too Much, Because I'm So Angry And Disappointed. All

Types of People as Piratecore Things!

Leviathan: an ancient curse, unnaturally clear water, it goes down and down and is so very dark and you still can't see the bottom, shadows beneath the waves that are more unsettling when you stop seeing them, a pistol at your side, constant vigilance, knowing so much and so little, salt-sores, whispering, always a second away from a mutiny

Whale Song: leaning out over the bow, held up by your faith in your ship and in your own body, wind tangling your hair, broken harmonies falling like meteors from the ratlines, rough hands, knowing how to wash blood out of your clothes, screaming and yelling out to the endless expanse of blue just for the sake of it, running barefoot over the deck and pulling the splinters out one by one, poke and stick tattoos, your crew is your family and you live and die like blood and saltwater

Torn Sails: storms, thunder, toothy smiles and missing teeth, sharks, trusting your blade and nothing else, knowing how to fix broken things, a half-full bottle of rum, always drinking straight from the bottle, intricate tattoos, a story only you can read, maps sprawled beneath your hands, tearing and taking from the world with hungry eyes and sharp teeth

Gold: rich wine, tired eyes, rare smiles, crooked teeth, expressions you've never learned to school into a mask, never being satisfied, the glutted feeling of success, bloody hands, thick soled boots, superstitions, refusing to learn how to swim, strange foods from strange ports, the skeleton of a mermaid hanging in your quarters, piles of coins and artifacts, you've long ago forgotten to fear death

Treasure Map: adventure, lusting for the unknown, another land, another port, another mile from anybody and anything that could stop you, long gulps of alcohol, sleeping rarely, open eyes, you will touch every corner of this earth or you will burn it down trying, knowing every star in the sky by name, never needing or wanting a map, trusting your crew with you life, unwavering faith that the horizon is just another rule to be broken, crooked fingers from being broken and never set properly, scars on your shoulders and left leg, the sound of striking matches one after another

Bloodied Lip: give em hell, bloody smiles like the end of the world, the sound of cannonfire ringing in your ears, sore muscles, pouring alcohol on the cuts that score your body, half because you know what happens if you don't, half to feel the burning one more time, a grave bookmarked at the bottom of the sea, dull knives and false hopes, a shipwreck and laughter as your last words

Let’s not forget to acknowledge Alexandre Dumas this Black History Month

The writer of two of the most well known stories worldwide, The Three Musketeers and The Count of Monte Cristo was a black man. 

That’s excellence.

the men in my life are all good men, or, at least, they are men who are not violent - and that is enough for a man to be considered good; that he could be violent but is not.

the men in my life are good men. recently at a hardware store one of the men in my life let me stand behind him, just a little, in that ghosting way that girls can learn. the disappearing technique we master of shadowing behind our Good Men. this was to protect me from a man who was not-being-good.

i fall down. one of the good men in my life offers me one arm like a knight, we are laughing while i clamber back onto my feet. i give the good men in my life piggy back rides because i like to show off how strong i am. i give the good men in my life run-at-them hugs. i let the good men in my life pick me up like i am a sack of grain; i get the good men in my life coffee, i make them sandwiches, i teach them dancing.

i am a man-hater, obviously. i am gay enough the insult is sort of funny. waiting for the bus, where there are men who are not-known-to-be-good, i google how to make a fist. i can never remember if the thumb goes on the outside or the inside, only that it is imperative that i do not fuck it up or i will break my thumb at the same time the man tries to break me. 

i walk my dog around the track only-at-dusk and-no-later. i made that mistake once, in august, hoping i could take a later run and maybe see the stars - i romanticized the idea of being able to skulk like a fox. the man that followed me across three lawns, two road-crossings, and back to my car - he spent the whole time whistling. the good men in my life say - oh, do you need me to come with you? and are actually asking - do you feel safe?

i fall down in a supermarket. a man i do not know grabs the inside of my knee. i do not know if the man is good, but i am supposed to give men the benefit of the doubt, so i laugh while standing. a man trying-to-be-in-my-life says what, no hug? and i have to decide if it worth it to just take off or put up with it. a man who-might-not-be-good stares at me while i walk by - i have to calculate if he’s just looking or if he’s watching. other men have badly hurt me, physically. the casual remark made is that those men are not real men. but they were real enough, to me.

there are many men who are mad at me. an entire reddit thread once was dedicated to how to dox me for feminist ranting - it was kind of funny, when it wasn’t downright scary. i have been stalked and harassed and treated horribly. they are all good men, in their own lives, you know. they are not violent, usually, unless provoked, and all it takes for a man to be good is for him to not be violent unless provoked, and i am, of course, always provoking.

a man in my life rolls his eyes. “i am sick of hearing this. we get it, all men are fucking evil. get over it.”

a man who-is-not-good shouts something unwritable at me. i have to tell the good man i am standing next to - it’s okay, this is nothing compared to what-could-be, this happens, it’s really not that big of a deal to me. 

“but it should be,” he says. “it should be.”

“You will not always be the smartest person in the room, and you will not always be the strongest or the funniest or the most talented. But you can always be brave and you can always be kind, and these are the things you should be every minute of every day for the rest of your life. Because yes, those other things, they’re great things. But these things are better.”

—

Believe? It's a fact.

experiment: reblog this if you believe dean winchester is bisexual

I believe

My Biggest and Most Annoying Fictional Horse Pet Peeve

Big Horses are a Very New Thing and they Likely Didn’t Exist in your Historical and/or Fantasy Settings.

You’ve all seen it in every historical piece of media ever produced. Contrary to popular belief, a big black horse with long legs and long flowing mane is not a widespread or even a particularly old type of horse.

THIS IS NOT A MEDIEVAL THING. THIS IS NOT EVEN A BAROQUE THING. THIS IS A NINETEENTH CENTURY CITY CARRIAGE HORSE.

All the love to fancy Friesian horses, but your Roman general or Medieval country heroine just really couldn’t, wouldn’t, and for the sake of my mental health shouldn’t have ridden one either.

Big warmblood horses are a Western European and British invention that started popping up somewhere around 1700s when agriculture and warfare changed, and when rich folks wanted Bigger Faster Stronger Thinner race horses. The modern warmblood and the big continental draught both had their first real rise to fame in the 1800s when people started driving Fancy Carriages everywhere, and having the Fanciest Carriage started to mean having the Tallest and Thinnest Horses in the town.

Before mechanised weaponry and heavy artillery all horses used to be small and hardy easy-feeders. Kinda like a donkey but easier to steer and with a back that’s not as nasty and straight to sit on.

SOME REAL MEDIEVAL, ROMAN, OTTOMAN, MONGOL, VIKING, GREEK and WHATEVER HISTORICALLY PLAUSIBLE HORSES FOR YOU:

“Primitive”, native breeds all over the globe tend to be only roughly 120-140 cm (12.0 - 13.3 hh) tall at the withers. They all also look a little something like this:

Mongolian native horse (Around 120-130 at the withers, and decendants of the first ever domesticated horses from central Asia. Still virtually unchanged from Chinggis Khan’s cavalry, ancestor to many Chinese, Japanese and Indian horses, and bred for speed racing and surviving outdoors without the help of humans.)

Carpathian native horse / Romanian and Polish Hucul Pony (Around 120-150 at the withers, first mentioned in writing during the 400s as wild mountain ponies, depicted before that in Trajanian Roman sculptures, used by the Austro-Hungarian cavalry in the 19th century)

Middle-Eastern native horse / Caspian Pony (Around 100-130 at the withers, ancestor of the Iranian Asil horse and its decendants, including the famous Arabian and Barb horses, likely been around since Darius I the Great, 5th century BC, and old Persian kings are often depicted riding these midgets)

Baltic Sea native horse / Icelandic, Finnish, Estonian, Gotland and Nordland horses (Around 120-150 at the withers, descendant of Mongolian horses, used by viking traders in 700-900 AD and taken to Iceland. Later used by the Swedish cavalry in the 30 years war and by the Finnish army in the Second World War, nowadays harness racing and draught horses)

Siberian native horse / Yakutian pony (Around 120-140 at the withers, related to Baltic and Mongolian horses and at least as old, as well-adapted to Siberian climate as woolly mammoths once were, the hairiest horse there is, used in draught work and herding)

Mediterranean native horse / Skyros pony, Sardinian Giara, Monterufolino (Around 100-140 at the Withers, used and bred by ancient Greeks for cavalry use, influenced by African and Eastern breeds, further had its own influence on Celtic breeds via Roman Empire, still used by park ranger officers in Italy)

British Isles’ native horse / various “Mountain & Moorland” pony breeds (Around 100-150 at the withers, brought over and mixed by Celts, Romans and Vikings, base for almost every modern sport pony and the deserving main pony of all your British Medieval settings. Some populations still live as feral herds in the British countryside, used as war mounts, draught horses, mine pit ponies, hunting help and race horses)

So hey, now you know!

I love this so much.

Also, I feel so bi right now 😅😅

who else is gay for hp gals? 🙋‍♀️

Just one thing 

— I’m happy for Jake no matter what he’s doing as long as he’s happy

south asian fitzwilliam darcy moodboard

"I cannot forget the follies and vices of others so soon as I ought, nor their offences against myself. My good opinion, once lost, is lost forever."

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