@immoraltality - Tumblr Blog

I think one of the reasons Harry Potter has such a strong, loyal following, is that it really does make people feel like they belong to a community. I bet you think that I’m stating the obvious—you wouldn’t be wrong—but I think that what the Harry Potter series does to create that feeling is so much more effective than just the immense solidarity we all generally feel as the result of being apart of such a large fandom. I believe the reason the fandom is so large and passionate—aside from the amazing story progression and compelling characters—is the plethora of specific categories the book provides that allows specific people to express themselves with. The most obvious examples of this are the Hogwarts Houses; I mean, who doesn’t get a kick out of taking sorting hat quizzes? The houses not only give you an even stronger sense of community within an already strong community, but they also make you feel like you’re a part of the wizarding world by giving you something to be proud of and to further express yourself with, while also adding a slight feeling of exclusivity through each house. It’s similar to the love many people have for buzzfeed quizzes, the mbti test, alignment charts, and even astrological signs. Sometimes I wonder what the fandom would be like if Hogwarts didn’t have any houses; would be as potent?

#harry potter #j k rowling #books #hogwarts #hogwarts houses #gryffindor #ravenclaw #slytherin #hufflepuff #draco malfoy #the mauraders

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me

immoraltality

Did Holden Caulfield do this?

#holden caulfield #the catcher in the rye #j. d. salinger #literature #books

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I adore this picture of him, not a zombie boy just a boy catching on the news…

soracat

i was genuinely horrified by USS Callister. it’s the ultimate hell, just this place in which if you breathe wrongly, or, if someone is simply in a bad mood, your whole existence can be changed. you have no respite, no power over your mind or body or even when you can die. It’s such an interesting concept. And narrative wise, such a good luck into how you feel sorry for someone, but then you can’t know what they’re like, in their mind, behind closed doors. it’s about what people do when given absolute power. it’s about people with mental illness and if his ending was appropriate. it’s literally a fight to be able to die. It makes us look at how we treat code and what counts as life. it’s beautiful and terrifying.

and then i come on tumblr, and it’s just OMG WHITE MEN ARE THE WORST OMG FUCKING ENTITLED WHITE MEN IT WAS ALL ABOUT WHITE MEN

and I’m just… sigh.

immoraltality

Okay, I completely agree that it would be absolutely fucking terrifying to be trapped in a simulation/game, as depicted in the episode. However, I think that the reason a lot of people are stressing the “white men are the worst“ aspect of it is because the episode is literally one big critique on toxic, white male, nerd culture—I mean, why do you think the aesthetic of the game so closely emulates Star Trek? Sure, Black Mirror uses scary, futuristic technology to do this, but the technology that it depicts in “USS Callister” is almost—if not completely—identical to the technology shown in various episodes prior. In fact, I think that the episode “White Christmas,” which is episode 4 of season 2, focuses most on the exact human rights concerns you voiced about this episode. Thus, that leaves no real reason for the writers of the show to revisit that critique/warning; so the fact that they portrayed that technology again leads to the assumption that they must be trying to highlight the toxicity of something other than the actual technology in this episode, and to do this they use the already-addressed implications of that exact technology.

Rey’s training with Luke, in a nutshell:

#the last jedi #tlj #star wars #rey #Luke Skywalker #jedi #the force #light #darkside #mine #immoraltality #has this been done yet #?

magazine covers: [4/?]

↳ dan wilds, offensive dealer and captain of the palmetto state foxes

MORTAL GODS: HADES (v.ii)

Smoke billowing from red brick chimneys on a winter day and deep gray skies highlighting the green pigment of pine trees. Hands tucked into oversized hoodies and hands folded into black suit pockets. Emotionless boys with calculating tilts to their heads, disdainful boys with deceitful charm masked behind narrowed eyes. Fingers fit with thick silver rings that delicately pluck dandelions from concrete cracks, and fingers fit with thick silver rings that unapologetically split skin and break bone. Smooth beds with dark sheets, embroidered books in organized shelves, lonely shadows watching from wood floored mansions. Lavish guest rooms devoid of guests and a rare smile for a coveted lover.

MORTAL GODS: HADES (v.i)

The image that I see of him when I close my eyes is always one of him looking out, head tilted slightly to the side, allowing shadows to rest where only they would be comfortable in the sharp edges of his form. He was always a passive being, but I could tell that he hid intangible desires underneath the book pages he folded at the corners and in the reflections that the movies cast on the pupils of his eyes, stowed away as a reminder of what he thought he would never have. It’s an easy feat to contemplate his essence as one of sadness when looking back, but darkness is a wonderful instigator of the imagination. In reality he was regal, and he let me stay in the protective ease of his presence when I needed something solid to convince me that I too was a corporeal thing. Sometimes we would fade with the sky as it melted into dusk and twilight and nothing. Some would say that that was just another trick of his business, of the cold manipulation he wrapped around people so tight they could rarely get out without leaving a part of themselves behind with him, if they ever succeeded at all. I think that these people misunderstand, that they’re blinded by the material things he takes, so they can’t see what he can’t have but desperately wants. He takes so much from the world, because the world has already taken so much from him. But I don’t remember him for the things that he took. I remember him for the way he sometimes forgot that he was holding a cigarette between his fingers, and the way that he would look down at it, surprised, when a layer of ash dropped from its end. I remember him for the way he would absentmindedly twirl the thick silver ring around his index finger with his thumb and pinky, and the way that he sometimes lingered in the doorways of his lavish guest rooms—perpetually devoid of guests. I remember him for the way that he tried to suppress rare smiles for a coveted lover, even when we were drenched in solitude. The image that I see of him when I close my eyes is bittersweet in retrospect, but perhaps that is because all of his sharp edges really can only sustain shadows.

MORTAL GODS: ARES

Bruises blooming across cheekbones and flowering along jaw edges. Lips stained red with raspberries and lips stained red with blood. Broken noses, white collared shirts flecked with drops of red. Boarding school boys in crested uniforms. Boarding school boys smoking behind ivy eaten buildings. Bared grins with split lips. Stone monuments vandalized with red spray paint. Crowds roaring at football games, empty fastfood chains at 3 a.m. afterwards. Rapid heartbeats, deep breathing, scarred knuckles flexing. Stacks of red-smeared money and bloody fingerprints on clear shot glasses. Trophies shattered against oaken bookshelves, Hennessy stolen from crystal liquor cabinets, and sports cars parked in empty parking lots until dawn. Tears of triumph. Tears of anguish. Tears of rage.