This Feels Like A Moment In History.

WAKE UP TUMBLR, MAG PROTOCOL EPISODE 11 JUST DROPPED!!!!!

BECAUSE CITING SOURCES KILLED MY GRANDMA, OKAY?

This is amazing.

Made a cake for Tumblr's favourite holiday ☺️

Happy Ides to those who celebrate 🗡️🗡️

Ford tries to do some electrical work around his lab. Bill pops in to help.

Awesome fic by @spammichsammich for the BillFord Valentine's Day Challenge 3K 2025!!

a dark academia reading list

If We Were Villains by M.L. Rio

The Secret History by Donna Tartt

The Plays of Oscar Wilde

Gentlemen & Players by Joanne Harris

The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

Tales of Mystery and Imagination by Edgar Allan Poe

The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt

The Enola Holmes Books by Nancy Springer

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte

Macbeth by William Shakespeare

Good Omens by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman

Circe by Madeline Miller

Mythology by Edith Hamilton

The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller

The Sherlock Holmes Mysteries by Arthur Conan Doyle

People Like Us by Dana Moyle

The Ivies by Alexa Donne

The Atlas Six by Olivie Blake

Truly Devious by Maureen Johnson

Yall, today we learned this is the color. And that’s its real name.

So, okay, fun fact. When I was a freshman in high school… let me preface by saying my dad sent me to a private school and, like a bad organ transplant, it didn’t take. I was miserable, the student body hated me, I hated them, it was awful.

Okay, so, freshman year, I’m deep in my “everything sucks and I’m stuck with these assholes” mentality. My English teacher was a notorious hard-ass, let’s call him Mr. Hargrove. He was the guy every student prayed they didn’t get. And, on top of ALL OF THE SHIT I WAS ALREADY DEALING WITH, I had him for English.

One of the laborious assignments he gave us was to keep a daily journal. Daily! Not monthly or weekly. Fucking daily. Handwritten. And we had to turn it in every quarter and he fucking graded us. He graded us on a fucking journal.

All of my classmates wrote shit like what they did that day or whatever. But, I did not. No, sir. I decided to give the ol’ middle finger to the assignment and do my own shit.

So, for my daily journal entries, over the course of an entire year, I wrote a serialized story about a horde of man-eating slugs that invaded a small mining town. It was graphic, it was ridiculous, it was an epic feat of rebellion.

And Mr. Hargrove loved it.

It wasn’t just the journal. Every assignment he gave us, I tried to shit all over it. Every reading assignment, everyone gushed about how good it was, but I always had a negative take. Every writing assignment, people wrote boring prose, but I wrote cheesy limericks or pulp horror stories.

Then, one day, he read one of my essays to the class as an example of good writing. When a fellow student asked who wrote it, he said, “Some pipsqueak.”

And that’s when I had a revelation. He wanted to fight. And since all the other students were trying to kiss his ass, I was his only challenger.

Mr. Hargrove and I went head-to-head on every assignment, every conversation, every fucking thing. And he ate it up. And so did I.

One day, he read us a column from the Washington Post and asked the class what was wrong with it. Everyone chimed in with their dumbass takes, but I was the one who landed on Mr. Hargrove’s complaint: The reporter had BRAZENLY added the suffix “ize” to a verb.

That night I wrote a jokey letter to the reporter calling him out on the offense in which I added “ize” to every single verb. I gave it to Mr. Hargrove, who by then had become a friendly adversary, for a chuckle and he SENT IT TO THE REPORTER.

And, people… The reporter wrote back. And he said I was an exceptional student. Mr. Hargrove and I had a giggle about that because we both knew I was just being an asshole, but he and the reporter acknowledged I had a point.

And that was it. That was the moment. Not THAT EXACT moment, but that year with Mr. Hargrove taught me I had a knack for writing. And that knack was based in saying “fuck you” to authority. (The irony that someone in a position of authority helped me realize that is not lost on me.)

So, I can say without qualification that Mr. Hargrove is the reason I am now a professional writer. Yes, I do it for a living. And most of my stuff takes authorities of one kind or another to task.

Mr. Hargrove showed me my dissent was valid, my rebellion was righteous, and that killer slugs could bring a city to its knees. Someone just needs to write it.

Bill as Gatsby and ford as daisy. Someone write the fic, I think bill already has in his head

calling Tabitha Lustheart

Reblogging because my name..isn’t Ashley.

reblog if your name isn't Ashley.

2,121,566 people are not Ashley and counting!

We’ll find you Ashley.

’mr spider wants more’ mr spider should shut the fuck up and mind his manners. heck, if someone gave me their literal SON i would sure as hell say think you. mr spider is an ungrateful bitch.