which one is better (no nuance)
Pride and Prejudice (1995)
Pride and Prejudice (2005)

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which one is better (no nuance)
Pride and Prejudice (1995)
Pride and Prejudice (2005)

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which one is better (no nuance)
Pride and Prejudice (1995)
Pride and Prejudice (2005)
Pain'n'pleasure(but mostly pain)
There's no such thing as too much pink.
HOW ABOUT WE MAKE A LITTLE DEAL?
free-to-use āthe only ship that is bad is censorshipā badge
ā> āproship & proudā badge
ā> āno censorship allowedā badge

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I was watching Starships, as you do, and had the thought that surely someone must have made a similar style fanvid for horses.
Many fruitless searches later, I found myself here.
(Also on AO3)
"Stop saying 15 year olds with weird interests are cringe, they're 15" this is true however you should also stop saying adults with weird interests are cringe because who gives a shit
To wit:
I want to share some wisdom from my high school art teacher.
In my AP Art class, there was a girl who was just starting to experiment with mixed media. At this point she was still playing around, trying to decide what direction she wanted to go with her portfolio. So one critique day, she brought in an abstract canvas with some rhinestone highlights and painted and real peacock feathers. She loved sparkles and peacock feathers so she thought sheād try introducing them a *little*. And after everyone had given some input, the teacher gave her his advice, VERY roughly paraphrased here:
āSo hereās the thing⦠I do not like this style. These are just elements that do not speak to me personally, but I see that you like them, and youāre doing interesting things with them.
āMy biggest critique is, I only merely *dislike* this piece. I want you to make me HATE it. Go crazy with the things that you like. Donāt hold back trying to make it palatable to people like me. Because I am NEVER going to like it. And if the audience does not like it, it should drive them crazy seeing how much YOU love it.ā
Her portfolio was chock full of neon colors and glitter and rhinestones and splashes of peacock feathers and it was a delight. Our teacher despised every piece lol, but she got great marks and I think even won some awards. And more importantly, she was happy and proud of the results. Because she didnāt limit herself by trying to appeal to people who were never going to enjoy what she enjoyed.
Takeaway here: be as cringe as you want. Donāt limit yourself based on other pplās tastes. Theyāre not you, and you are incredible š
This is the most inspirational thing I've read all week. Possibly all year
itās ninety-nine degrees outside, four fuck-thousand percent humidity, and my husband was like,Ā āiām gonna go for a bike ride.ā and i was likeĀ āwhy. no. why. donāt put us on the news like that. local fool collapses on unnecessary journey. donāt do it.ā so he says he doesnāt want toĀ āhide in the houseā because the sun is shining. bruh. honeybruh. āthe sun is shiningā does not cover it. its hot outside. its motherfucking hot as fuck outside. our outdoor plants have been crying into their hands all week. whole cars are melting into the sewer. our fucking patio umbrella developed sentience to ask me for lemonade this morning
@robotmango, you need to work for the weather forecast - this was both hilarious and so vivid it made me stand up and get some iced tea.
this is a great idea, thank you. here goes. my audition tape for the weather channel. dearly beloved. we are gathered here today to have a fucking funeral for the outdoors. it had a good run, with all its creeks and clouds and shit. pretty great. now itās ten-thirty at night but still ninety-two asshole-sweating degrees and humid as fuck. everything is hot and slimy, like being a āborrowerā that got trapped inside a bottle of shampoo and then accidentally microwaved. you can see on my doppler radar that nothing is moving around out there because everything is probably dead. the only alive thing is the mosquito currently trying to drill a hole in my leg. no surprise that all the shitbag mosquitos are fine, since the thermostat of hell is always at the devilās preferred temperature. this forecast has gotten away from me a little, but in conclusion fuck the sun
I think Iāve reblogged this before, but āthe thermostat of hell is always at the devilās preferred temperatureā is fucking poetry
ninety nine???? thats IT????????? buddy here in the 7th circle of h*ck, California, we get up to at LEAST 110 degrees every single gosh darned summer.Ā the bugs seek revenge.Ā the sun wreaks havoc on the mere mortals it surveys.Ā Ā every plant has turned brown in its thirst for water.Ā the very air itself has been sucked dry of every drip of moisture it ever had.Ā Ā
ninety nine degrees.Ā you weak fool.
well since you asked so politely, letās talk about something very important vis a vis weather-hotness that you clearly aināt ever heard of, called
humidity
oh alas, you say. oh papa, whatever shall i do, it is ever so hotte and drye in california. the very air hath been sucked of all its moisturey droplets and whatnot.* one hundredy and tennith desiccated degrees!
*(yo, drought is serious. i am pretty obviously not making fun of that.)
alright. letās check it out. hereās a random california city, right about now:
thirty-two percent. and hereās a random mid-atlantic city located somewhere in the wet fleshy crease behind a demonās knee*:
*(confession: i do not live in dc, but several years ago i spent three weeks steaming like a tinned ham in arlington in august. none of the pants i took with me could ever keep a crease again.)
huh! funny thing! āsee, dcās actually seven degrees COOLER,ā you say, because youāve obviously never gone outside and taken a deep lungful of wet sock trash air in your life. and now for added bliss, hereās what early wednesday morningās gonna be like for these poor clowns:
thatās right! eighty-two percent humidity! the point at which showers no longer matter, because youāre all caught in Godās grease trap! just stressed human eels miserably slip slidinā their way through a damp melty bathwater-flavored hellscape that feels like itās actively sous viding their top layer of skin! a hundred thousand people packed into public transit breathing air that feels like deepthroating swamp thing! and you wanna talk to me about fuckin california!
[cue science voice]: human bodies cool through evaporation, a process by which the body sweats and sweet invisible angels towel us off, whisking away our unwanted moisture into the air and literally chilling us out. (itās also why air conditioned air feels so fucking deliciously refreshing: itās not just being cooled, itās being conditioned, aka, dehumidified. itās cool dry air.) but. if the air is already made out of fucking chowder and canāt absorb shit then guess what the fuck our bodies canāt do.
so is this weak fool gonna remain indoors and hydrated through this only medium-hot but fuckoff-humid season? you bet your dried out ass.
This is poetry.
I fucking laughed till I cried so hard I had to take my glasses off. Jesus Christ thatās one of the funniest things Iāve seen all week.
As someone who lives in a high desert and has had a few Ohioan summers inflicted on me-
I will GLADLY take 105 and the 5% or less humidity I had in Durango, wherein the outer layer of my entire epidermis dried and split like the scorched earth out in the parking lot, leaving me looking like Iād been assaulted by an SFX artist high on 5 hour energy-blasted Monster whilst napping but it was REEEEEEAAL and every movement caused me to split like a tectonic plate and Ooze some unmentionable substance, than EVER be subjected to humidity over 80% again.
Does anyone know what to do about the temperature and also the prices
nothig has hit like this since leith ross' we'll never have sex
The Hand ā Annabelle Dinda
Every time a guy writes a song, he's a cowboy, a sailor Playing with the world in his palm like the first pioneer. Every time he opens his mouth, it's a loud movie trailer Clipping every image and sound he thinks proves he was here. A hand, a spike, a physical fight, A flash of light, a curtain, A toll, a tithe, the passage of time, A height, a dive, a burden, A girl, a night, a typical type, A siren in the water, A scroll, a nod, a message from God, A son, a Holy Father. Every time a guy writes a song, he's a sailor, a cowboy Holding out the world in his palm like he made it himself. Every time I open my mouth, I think, "Wow, what a loud noise!" Still on the soapbox, just hoping I seem underwhelmed. The hand, the pen, the writing again, The Wind around the Willow, The felt, the ice, the passage of time, The melting down the window, The ānowā, the āthenā, the thinking of "when", The bottle in the ocean, The strike, the pause, the message from - God forbid she shows emotion. This isn't rage, it's worth a mention. This is a fake internal tension. Sometimes, I spread out one opinion And stand on its back to gauge attention. This isn't rage, it's too specific. I like to hate symbolic limits. This is no statement, I'm complicit. This is a dream, GOD put me in it. A hand, a spike, a physical fight, The Wind around the Willow, A toll, a tithe, the passage of time, The melting down the window, The now, the then, the thinking of "when", The siren in the water, The strike, the pause, a message from God. Does that make me His daughter? A hand, a shove, a valley, a jump, A score under the wire, Just sweep me up, just sweep me up And take me somewhere higher, Just sweep me up, just sweep me up And take me somewhere higher, Just sweep me up, just sweep me up And take me somewhere higher.
Holy shit this song hits like a fucking truck
I feel like I just had a religious experience

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Thoughts on a new brother
sheep detectives is finally out on digital which means i can show you guys one of the funniest movie scenes of the year so far
God is a big, invisible, lamb-beaver made of bread. This is my new religion.
Day 4: Midnight Music
For @thepromptfoundry's Jazzy July
364 word Hazbin Hotel ficlet set soon after Alastor's death
~
It was never quiet here, even in the middle of the night. Most times, the screams were music to Alastorās newly fluffy and nimble ears, but sometimes they made him want to rip those ears right off his head for a little goddamn peace and quiet. He was leaning that way tonight, ears flat to his skull and smile sharp as he walked back to the part of town that would, hopefully, begin sometime soon to feel like home.Ā
He caught a snatch of music on the hot, stagnant air and thatāthat was more like home. He followed the sound to a dancehall spilling noise and yellow gaslight out into the night.Ā
There was a part of himāa very sensible part, perhapsāthat told him he was already in a bad mood and getting touchy about the exact timbr of sounds, exact flicker of lights, going dancing was probably a bad idea.Ā
He summarily ignored that part and went in.Ā
There is no actual, tangible reason why we allow people to starve, to be homeless, to suffer and die needlessly. Food is plentiful. Empty homes are plentiful. Medicine is plentiful. Itās hidden away behind constructs and we pretend those constructs mean something. There is an empty home and a homeless family, give them it. There is a sick child and common medicine to treat it, give it to them. There is a starving person and so much food wasted by corporations or hidden behind a dollar sign, feed them.

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this poem is about being nonbinary.
Serious matters