i’m going to college soon and i wanted to start going by my given name
omg bless you i might do a comprehensive reign thoughts post soon
i didn’t say it wasn’t real poetry, i said i thought it was lazy poetry. imo anyone can write something and call it poetry and there’s no rubric for whether or not something is “real poetry”
i’ve often seen people call writing the “most personal thing” in the world etc but like, the nature of writing and being a writer is to share one’s work and to open oneself to criticism. the most productive thing i have ever done as a writer was to submit my work to be workshopped by my peers in a class because we’re too close to our own work to critique it properly
as a consumer of literature i’m allowed to say i think someone’s writing is lazy. a teacher would say that about a creative writing piece; a peer editing it would say that about a creative writing piece. i would say that about the writing of an author i love and whose work i greatly admire. not being an elitist does not equate to placing every work above criticism.
but i was there for about 75% of this summer
don’t hint even a little bit, not even with a glint in your eye
let that shock wash over him
just go ahead and let him see it unfold with absolutely no idea it’s coming
i just cannot
I don’t ever see people calling Gale’s actions 100% justified or excusing them completely. Do I consider him morally perfect? Do I think that the people who died because of his weapons don’t matter? Absolutely not. But what I consistently hated about THG is the way violent resistance is treated—as automatically evil. Is it automatically righteous? No, it’s not that either—war is terror, and horror, and within its confines the right thing to do is seldom clear.
I do not blame Gale for what he did. Starving the Districts was violence. Putting their children in the Games was violence. The Capitol was mercilessly violent to the citizens of Panem for years. Gale fought back with violence. What choice was left to him, or any of the other revolutionaries? Peaceful protest and strongly worded pamphlets was never going to take down the Capitol.
What makes war stories so compelling is how morally impossible they are—it is wrong to kill, yes, but is it still wrong if someone else is rushing at you with a gun? At what point is one working for the “greater good”, and does such a thing exist? That’s what I often disliked about the series, or rather its fandom, for acting as if there was a “right” choice at all.
So yes, I guess, I hold Gale responsible for the war crimes the OP listed. But that doesn’t make him evil. And it is so exhausting and unfair and frankly, boring, to say that it does.
plus omfg that post ending with “mAY GOD HAVE MERCY ON YOUR SOUL” lmaO
i don’t mind it! i think kristen’s a pretty good choice—just not mine personally. i think she’s somehow too serene for me to see her as a perfect arya.
it’s the same blog i just switched back to my old url about a week or two ago now
IDK comme ce comme ca i’m so incredibly excited for paris & amsterdam over new year’s and i’m lovin my host fam at the moment and my french is A++++ but me and the boy who is now just “one of my best friends” because i’m trying to forget it have been quarreling a lot this week kinda more than usual and i’m stressed about it :(((((
Winter is always very, very cold, even in the once-white overlarge foxfur coat that had been her mother’s. They sleep on street corners, when there are no favors left to be had, without even a styrofoam coffee cup set out before them to beg the generosity of strangers. Her brother is too proud for that, even already curled under a thin blankets on a sidewalk somewhere, purple eyes staring forward at nothing.
There are shelters, Viserys, Dany always ventures, hoping that perhaps for once he will listen. We could go to eat, to sleep—
He always refuses; he sometimes hits her for suggesting something so stupid, something so utterly below them, two people who should be, as he always says, sleeping in a penthouse apartment on the most expensive and fashionable street in town.
And always, periodically, certain busy-looking men in expensive dark suits will pass by without glancing even slightly towards them, as busy-looking men in expensive dark suits are always passing by in cities. But for this one or that one Viserys’s eyes grow hard and wary. When this happens, they take another pair of their mother’s earrings to a poorly-lit pawn shop. They sell them for a price too low. They buy tickets; board a train. They keep running, keep sleeping in the street, keep losing everything but the whispered and worthless fact of being a Targaryen.