Oh, okay. I see. You think this has nothing to do with you. You go to your closet and you select out, oh I don’t know, that gaslight gatekeep girlboss meme, for instance, because you’re trying to tell the world that you think modern feminism has been co-opted by corporations. But what you don’t know is that that meme is not from Instagram, it's not from Twitter, it's not from Tiktok, it’s actually from Tumblr. You’re also blithely unaware of the fact that in January 2021, Tumblr user missnumber1111 posted, "today's agenda: gaslight gatekeep and most importantly girlboss." And then I think it was a-m-e-t-h-y-s-t-r-o-s-e, wasn’t it, who reblogged it with an image of the phrase edited over a piece of "Live, Laugh, Love" wall art? And then gaslight gatekeep girlboss showed up in the feeds of eight different Twitter repost accounts. Then it filtered down through Instagram and then trickled on down into some tragic “alt side of Tiktok” where you, no doubt, fished it out of some clearance bin. However, that meme represents millions of notes and countless Tumblr users and so it’s sort of comical how you think that you’ve made a choice that exempts you from Tumblr when, in fact, you’re wearing the meme that was selected for you by the people in this room. From a pile of “stuff.”
So how is it that second-hand embarrassment is the single most powerful and weakening emotion one can feel from media?
Tragedy? Delicious.
A hard-earned happy ending? Wonderful.
A convoluted narrative? Keeps you glued.
Simple slice of life? It’s entertaining.
Second-hand embarrassment? Hang on, g, I gotta pause this for fifteen minutes, no, I cannot continue watching this right now, I am just not strong enough.
George x reader who likes to play ukulele? Like maybe they’re hanging out and George is so surprised in the best way when the reader just picks up his ukulele and starts playing.
a/n: thank you for much for the req! this was so cute hehe
george was in the kitchen when he hears it.
the gentle strum, muffled by the wall. for a second he wonders if you'd put a vinyl on, or perhaps the tv, but when he realises how solitary the sound is, he knows the only culprit can be you.
he's taken aback, trying to remember any point in the past where you'd played an instrument before or even expressed an interest in it at all. he thinks maybe you just started learning, but the relaxed, almost lazy, strum makes it painfully clear that this is not a new thing, but something you had quietly mastered in the background whilst he occupied himself with touring or his own music.
he comes back into the living room, mugs of tea in hand, with an almost accusatory look on his face. noticing his presence, you look up, lips quirking up and eyebrows furrowing at the look on his face. "what is it?"
your voice is genuinely oblivious, and that causes his exasperation to grow. "what d'you mean, 'what is it'?" he sets the teas down, steam spiralling up and curling in the air, taking a seat next to you on the sofa. "since when could you play the ukulele?"
you lay the instrument on your lap, grinning at his grumpy confusion. "my parents taught me as a child."
his eyebrows knit together further, his mouth opening just so, his bewilderment so endearingly hilarious. you have to stop yourself from laughing.
"and you just...failed to mention that?" he looks so genuinely offended at the idea, so boyish and sweet, that the dam finally breaks and you are overcome with giggles.
that only makes his frown deeper. "I'm being serious!" your laugh only grows.
seeing you, bent over with laughter, even at his own expense, forces a smile to grow on his face. your cheeks pink, lips quirked up in an uncontrollable grin. it's so human and beautiful, that any betrayal (as ridiculous as it was) seems insignificant and is quickly forgotten.
he joins in with your laughter, a small chuckle forced from his lips, face losing all of its tension.
the two of you stay that way for what feels simultaneously like hours and seconds, gripping your sides as you let out wheezes and giggles. and every time you think it's over, you meet each others eyes again and start all over again.
ones your laughter finally slows down, and the pair of you wipe the tears from your eyes, he finally asks. "will you play for me?"
and you do, playing a little tune as he relaxes into the couch, a fond smile on his face as he watches you immerse yourself in the music.