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valtsv

#about me

susiephone

classic lit authors on ao3

lit-literature-memes

Jane Austen: The slowburn writer to end all slowburn writers. Has a mild case of purple prose syndrome. Sets you up to think she’s using a really lame trope or cliche, but then pulls the old BITCH U THOUGHT. Gets in fights with commenters who completely miss the point of her work.

William Shakespeare: Where dick jokes meet feels. Recycles old plots that have been in the fandom for years, but always manages to put a new spin on it. That said, he’s better known for good character writing than good plots. Kind of problematic, but people love him anyway. Laughs at and encourages commenters who completely miss the point of his work.

The Brontë Sisters: Their fics get lots of comments but they never reply. They never leave author notes, either. They share an account, and there are talks of a collab fic coming soon. Write fics for OTPs of questionable healthiness and consent. Only ever write darkfic. Like, REALLY dark. …People are getting kind of worried about them.

Edgar Allan Poe: Also only ever writes darkfic, but at this point, people have moved past being worried about him and have just accepted that he’s weird, he’s morbid, and we love him. Channels his feelings about his ex into his writing. It results in really good stories but everyone’s sort of like, “…Dude.”

Charles Dickens: Trying to set the record for highest wordcount on ao3, and it shows.

Victor Hugo: Currently holds the record for highest wordcount on ao3.

Oscar Wilde: Only ever writes M/M. Has a BAD case of purple prose, but it’s worth it if you manage to get through. His stories are either hilarious or soul-crushing. Or somehow both. People love him but know better than to disagree with him publicly, lest he destroy you with one of his infamous subtweets.

L. Frank Baum: Wrote one really well-loved story that’s among the most famous in the fandom, and it’s literally all he’s known for, and it pisses him off. His popular story became a multichap against his will because it’s the only one of his stories anyone actually reads. He keeps trying to end it so he can work on other things, but always ends up coming back.

Arthur Conan Doyle: Feels L. Frank Baum’s pain. SO much.

James Joyce: Has fascinating ideas, but takes forEVER to get to the point in his stories. Also a stoner, and it shows.

Lousia May Alcott: Writes stories for her unpopular OTP (that’s a NOTP for most of the fandom) and breaks up everyone’s favorite ships, mainly out of spite. Also kills everyone’s favorite characters, less so out of spite.

Mary Shelley: Writes incredible stories, but publishes under her boyfriend’s account because she’s banned from ao3. …Again.

petty-davis-eyes-deactivated202

For real though.

justiceleague

“In this scene, Catwoman wants to whip off the heads of four mannequins. And Michelle’s three months of training really paid off. She performed this difficult and potentially dangerous scene perfectly on the very first take.”

“The trick about it is, it is traveling faster than the speed of sound. So, there’s a certain hazard to it because it can cut skin, it can break bones. She is doing things with the whip that will make Indiana Jones green… that 90 percent of the people who do this for a profession can’t do.”

— The making of Batman Returns (1992)

caroldanversenthusiast

moderator: any last words brie?

brie: how do i top lesbians?

tessa: i’m sure the lesbians could show you right after this panel.

I CANNOTAGSJDKDKFKG

#i volunteer

oh-sewing-circle

“Katharine Hepburn liked to shock with her boyish looks, strident voice, breeding, and, when she met people for the first time, her affection for purposely creating a bad impression. Rigid and repressed, the twenty-four year old, freckled-faced Connecticut Yankee always lived with women, mingled with sewing-circle members, and made Garbo and Katharine Cornell her icons. She was swimming naked in director George Cukor’s pool when she first met Garbo and, in printed versions of the encounter, grabbed a towel, curtsied, and solemnly said, ‘Oh, Miss Garbo, how nice to meet you!’ Hepburn was seen about town with her agent the dashing, successful Leland Hayward, but Hayward’s third wife, Margaret Sullavan, called Kate ‘that dykey bitch.’”

-From The Sewing Circle: Female Stars Who Loved Other Women

#goodgoddamn #adding this book to my reading list

sweetener

excuse me officer i would like to report a murder

otteryuri

OHMYGOD

#i love her

glumshoe

I am truly enjoying looking at promotional shots from the upcoming Terminator movie. No reason. No reason at all. Just good wholesome anticipation of a movie I’m definitely going to see in theatres.

novastargirl

glumshoe

Yeah the uh... the writing, and the dialogue, and the soundtrack sound great.

supergoopllamaoaf

O apostrophe.

#feeeeeeeeels

whentherewerebicycles

do you want to know a cool story i learned today? in 1974, the nominees for the national book award for poetry were audre lorde, alice walker, adrienne rich, and allen ginsberg. when the women learned they had all been nominated, they reached out to each other and decided that if one of them won, she would accept the award on behalf of all three and read a speech that they had written together. rich and ginsberg ended up being named co-winners of the prize. when it was rich’s turn to speak, she invited lorde onto the stage with her (walker didn’t attend the ceremony), and read their jointly authored speech:

The statement I am going to read was prepared by three of the women nominated for the National Book Award for poetry, with the agreement that it would be read by whichever of us, if any, was chosen. We, Audre Lorde, Adrienne Rich, and Alice Walker, together accept this award in the name of all the women whose voices have gone and still go unheard in a patriarchal world, and in the name of those who, like us, have been tolerated as token women in this culture, often at great cost and in great pain.

We believe that we can enrich ourselves more in supporting and giving to each other than by competing against each other; and that poetry—if it is poetry—exists in a realm beyond ranking and comparison. We symbolically join together here in refusing the terms of patriarchal competition and declaring that we will share this prize among us, to be used as best we can for women. We appreciate the good faith of the judges for this award, but none of us could accept this money for herself, nor could she let go unquestioned the terms on which poets are given or denied honor and livelihood in this world, especially when they are women.

We dedicate this occasion to the struggle for self-determination of all women, of every color, identification, or derived class: the poet, the housewife, the lesbian, the mathematician, the mother, the dishwasher, the pregnant teenager, the teacher, the grandmother, the prostitute, the philosopher, the waitress, the women who will understand what we are doing here and those who will not understand yet; the silent women whose voices have been denied us, the articulate women who have given us strength to do our work.