insidious*

insidiousmisandry asked:

alina/genya/zoya, first attempt at moving into their own apartment

It never should have worked.


“Zoya!” Alina pounded on the bathroom door, a growl of frustration building in her throat. “Zoya! I have to leave for work in fifteen!”

“Well, maybe you should have considered that and woken up accordingly.”

You’ve been in there for an hour.”

“Don’t push her, Alina.” Genya breezed passed, twisting her wet hair over one shoulder. She was wrapped in a towel and not much else, and for a second, Alina forgot all about work. “It’s not her fault she needs all the help she can get to tame that mop on her head.”

The thunk Alina’s head made on the door echoed down their tiny hallway, only to be drowned out by her squawk as the door was ripped open, a cloud of steam billowing out. 

“Excuse me? I’m not the one getting my beauty tips from a sci-fi’s nerd’s wet dream.”

“Please. As though I needed tips from anyone.”

Alina, who now only had twelve minutes before she had to leave for work, decided that ground zero of World War III was not where she wanted to be. Thankfully, the bathroom was free.


Their neighbour is sort of in love with Genya?

Being also in love with Genya, Alina couldn’t exactly blame the guy. She didanyway; her girlfriend had asked to borrow his shower, not for his hand in marriage. Unfortunately, her increasingly irritated scowls seemed to have little to no effect on his ardour, and their tiny kitchen bin really wan’t large enough to contain all of his shitty love poetry.

“I suppose I’ve had worse,” Genya mused, dubiously holding a sheet of scented pink paper at arms length. Between her thumb and forefinger. Really, if she was touching the thing any less, it would have been levitating.

“He compared your hair to ketchup?”

“Ugh. Good point.”

Zoya was less sympathetic, soundly mocking the other girl. Of course, both Alina and Genya were well aware that Zoya didn’t have a sympathetic bone in her body; Genya cheerful traded biting comments back and forth, while Alina idly kept score on the back of one of the poems. 

The smell of vanilla lingered in the apartment for a week as Genya bore the paper harassment with less and less good humour. Alina was considering setting a small, localised fire in their neighbour’s apartment when Zoya abruptly stood, swept out their front the door, and kicked his in.

Whatever she said was indistinct. The sobbing that followed her return to their cramped home was not.

“I love you,” Genya sighed happily, pulling the other woman in for a kiss. Zoya accepted it as her due, pausing only to look at Alina and raise an eyebrow.

“You’re not bad,” Alina agreed, motioning for them to continue.


She woke up night terrors, sometimes.

She didn’t mean to - which was, Zoya informed her, a stupid thought, as no one ever intended to wake up screaming. The point remained; she got tangled in the sheets and drenched them in sweat, jerked awake with death on her tongue and fear in her mind.

They complained. They were none of them selfless, but that was what made their love sacred. Muttered curses lulled her back to sleep some nights, a loose shove to the shoulder. She was inevitably met with yawns and demands for coffee in the morning. Occasionally, she even filled them.

They were, without fail, always there. And interspersed with all of that were there I’m here’s, the I’ll kill him’s. I love you. You’re lucky I love you, your pores are disgusting right now. I’m not doing laundry tomorrow. You never do laundry. Is she laughing or crying right now? Shut up and kiss me, one of you.


It never should have worked. They made it happen regardless, because god save anything that got in their way.

Idek why am i watching insidious 2 at this hour and im all alone. Tinatakot ko lang ng hard yung self ko gahhh 😭😭😭

“One of the most insidiously dehumanizing aspects of being exploited by capitalism is it’s totalizing influence in the world. Suffering, grief, pain is so normalized by the types of compulsory subjection, that it’s effect on us is intentionally made as invisible / inappropriate as possible. This is so much so that callousness and apathy become heralded as righteous virtues rather than crippling vices.

Really, we are coerced into foreclosing the possibility excercising enough empathy to acknowledge how unjust this order is by actually seeing the consequences of its existence. We are forced so much to commodify our selves at every spare moment to drive the machinations of capital rather than creatively build new ways of being communally that make it possible to live more and more removed from oppressive requirements for submission that are ubiquitous.

Being told these inner struggles don’t matter or that they dont exist can only more efficiently make us susceptible to exploitation.

The call to sell our labor may be common and sometimes hard to escape, but this does not make us more able to endure labor that is unsustainable and cyclically harmful.

Coming to find conditions of work that are transparent, attainable, and acceptable (for a time) is important and being told to blindly throw oneself into unsavory work conditions purely on the grounds that money is involved with disregard of the long term consequences is entirely negligible advice.

Incitement to apathy or disassociation is self-serving at worst, vicarious trauma at best.”

Bourbon Barrel Insidious Imperial Stout (Fegley’s Brew Works)

Brewery : Fegley’s Brew Works
Beer : Bourbon Barrel Insidious Imperial Stout
Style : Imperial Stout / Russian Imperial Stout
Variance : None

8.5 / 10

Now I’m going to start this review off by asking you to all enter the no judgement zone with me. Well now that we’re all there I can say that I almost never actually get scared at movies but besides The Strangers, the first Insidious scared the shit out of me. I don’t know what did it but I highly doubt it was that fucking Darth Maul looking demon even though he was pretty bad ass. Now luckily this beer does not follow suit with the movie because it is as far from scary as possible and completely delicious instead. It has a great bourbon taste to start with a little alcohol heat before the sweetness kicks in with a hint of chocolate creeping through like that demon creeped on the walls of that little kid’s dreams before mellowing out and mixing all those flavors towards the end. I’m becoming more and more of a fan of Fegley’s with every beer I try of theirs and luckily they aren’t too far away so I can plan some more visits ASAP. This is a great addition to any stout drinkers beer collection especially those who love them some barrel aged beverages but not a very good starting point for freshman due to it’s more prominent bourbon flavors and higher ABV of 9%. Now follow my voice Dalton!

Written by: Steve B.

He stopped

Well

It took a while.

But they finally reached the drop zone.

The objective.

The reason they had been flung across the universe for three months. The reason they were stuck in this Primus forsaken burned out wasteland.

Sunstreaker gently set his brother on the ground, propping him against a mound of old, decaying wreckage. And Sideswipe? Well he just lulled against it. He was awake, but…absent. Catatonic almost which almost more worrisome than his sporadic bouts of rage, and distress and irrationality.

Mouth set in a grim line, Sunstreaker left him there, only for a moment to go and collect what they had come all the way out here for. The fuzz in his vision was ignored. As was the hot prickling he felt across his face. Like an invisible rain, but far more insidious.

He had work to do still.

Their mission goal? Technically accomplished.

As long as they could get back out again.

A fanfic I really want to write

Or read if it exists

MCU/The Avengers crossover. No, not the Marvel Avengers. I’m talking about the 60′s British spy-fi show starring Patrick Macnee and, for a few lovely seasons, Diana Rigg

I want to write a fic in which seasoned middle-aged SHIELD agent Peggy Carter takes young, inexperienced operative Emma Knight under her wing, and the two of them battle enemy spies and other insidious nasties during the late mid-to-late fifties. 

Basically it’s a mentor-novice dynamic like MIB except it’s Margaret Goddamn Carter teaching Emma Knight-soon-to-be-Peel how to be a classy British lady superspy plus fifties aesthetic plus hands-on lessons on how to knock motherfuckers out with office supplies.

(It’s great because years later when Emma calls Peggy late at night holding back tears because her husband’s plane went down and he’s been taken for dead, Peggy knows exactly what she’s going through.)

seeing the dfw movie made me realize that I should be wearing running shoes every day because they are my most comfortable shoes, and it is not an insidious pleasure so there is no reason not to indulge.

Get to know me thing

I was tagged by: plahntgogh 
Rules: tag 10 followers you would like to get to know 

Name: Aurora Marie
Nickname: Trashcan
Birthday: November 10th
Star sign: Scorpio
Gender: Girl
Favourite colour(s): Purple, red, yellow and blue
Time right now: 21:39 (09:39 PM)
Average hours of sleep: 8-10
Lucky number: 28
Last thing I googled: Something on Google Translate
Number of blankets slept under: 2, because I’m always cold
Favorite book: I have way to many favorite books
Favorite band: I almost only listen to EDM so..
Last films that I saw at the cinema: Insidious 3
Dreamtrip: Hawaii or LA with my love 

I tag: fistinganuses cinderblocked-garden onnenpoika leafygogh fairybub gaspidy radikaali bunnyplants paintsthetic bootyobsessed

INSIDIOUS CHAPTER 3 [2015]
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bemundolack asked:

I work at a historical archive in a southern US state. Ultra conservative legislature. Director is being pressured to erase anything from black history that will "disturb the peace" so to speak. Revisionist white washing. Was wondering if you or followers had any sources on why that's awful? Have to make argument to director. Trying to get director to stop, but we might be de-funded if we do. Need help if you have time/ want to help.

Well, this is depressing and disheartening to read.

Especially since your request is for “sources” to explain to the director of a historical archive why history is important and valuable. How is it possible that the value of art and history, the value of humanity, must be “proven” in order to save it from being obliterated, or taken away from the people who need it the most? This is anti-Black racism in action; this is its function. This is racism at its most insidious, its most destructive, and its most harmful. Also notice that what has been specified for removal is Black history in particular. As if the history of Black people is somehow capable of “disturbing the peace” just by existing, and being accessible to people who are interested in it.

But I suppose it’s part of why I do this, because we’re at that point, and we’ve been at that point in the U.S. for a while now.

When I speak on how history is constantly being reshaped to serve the present, this is one of the uglier sides of that. Although I try to show how histories that have been marginalized or erased can be celebrated, it’s almost impossible to do so without also taking into account the pressure that is constantly happening to shove it back to the margins, or to push it out of the sphere of human knowledge entirely.

When it comes down to it, the visual nature of this blog undermines the constant devaluation our society and culture directs aggressively towards Black Americans. It creates a conflict by showing an art style and origin that we’ve been conditioned and trained to value above other styles, but with subjects we are conditioned to devalue. The way people react to this conflict says a lot about them, and their values. For many it is uplifting, enlightening, and illuminating. Other react as if they’re being attacked. I don’t think I really need to state explicitly what factors associate with which reactions.

But honestly, do I really need to argue, does anyone need to argue that THIS has VALUE?

[Alessandro Longhi; Portrait of a Young Black Man. Italy (c. 1760s)]

What about the fact that Millie and Christine McCoy existed, and spoke five languages, sang and danced, and traveled the world? Does celebrating their existence and their fascinating lives somehow “disturb the peace”?

Is it somehow disruptive to society to celebrate the life and achievements of Ayuba Suleiman Diallo, a learned West African cleric whose memoirs were read across Europe?

What’s being removed? The thesis of Jacobus Ioannes Eliza Capitein?

Or the works of Alexander Pushkin, the father of modern Russian Literature?

The works of of Alexandre Dumas, author of The Three Musketeers and The Count of Monte Cristo?

Are we somehow causing society to break down because we know Saint Maurice existed?

We’re expected to “prove” this history has value? That it is important?

[Allegory of Music; Italy c. 1670s]

Maybe we should ask: what happens when these histories are erased?

We are left in a world where we could possibly never know the name or the life of this woman, seen in a photograph that was found on Ebay:

I can give countless more individual examples, and in fact I do so every day. The MPoC Tumblr alone has more than 5,000 entries. In the end, I have no idea how to explain to someone (whose job is ostensibly to preserve and celebrate history) that priceless knowledge and objects should NOT be tossed away like trash or shoved under the rug because of racism.

History is important. Water is wet. Human lives have value.

We are enriched by learning from the past, and acknowledging its bearing on our present. Erasing information undermines our humanity. These aren’t just ideas, this affects people living right now. It affects you, me, and anyone reading this.

I refuse to stand by and let this happen. I will continue to write about, share images from, and discuss marginalized histories as long as I have breath.

3

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insidiousmisandry asked:

prompt: lily/james, fake dating au (preferably fake dating in order to piss lily's family off)

“This is not an actual date.” 

Lily is beginning to doubt her decision making abilities. James Potter, on the other hand, seems completely at ease with them. Even amused.

“Sorry Evans, did you want to repeat that? I don’t think I heard you the first five or six times.”

She shoves him in the shoulder; he takes the hit with a laugh, and her stomach definitely doesn’t turn over. Why would it? She’s spent over six years seeing this boy grin, usually for the stupidest of reasons. It’s nothing new.

“This was all a terrible mistake,” Lily mutters under her breath. “She’s going to take one look at you and know there’s no way in a million years I would ever–”

“Don’t hold back, now,” James replies. “Tell me how you really feel.”

“Trust me, Potter, if I decided to tell you how I really felt, we’d be here all afternoon and you would be crying.”

“Aren’t I doing you a favour? Because I’m really not feeling the gratitude here.”

The look she gives him could charitably be termed ‘pure poison’. The smile he shoots her in return could probably kill a third-year girl at ten paces, and Lily remembers why she departed with her sanity long enough to ask James Potter to pretend to be her boyfriend for a day. Petunia has an irrational hatred for handsome men, and even with the glasses, they don’t come much more handsome than this one.

Especially with the glasses, really. Lily cuts her own thoughts off, because that is a dangerous path to be treading, and she refuses to travel down it. At all. Not even a little bit.

“I am,” she manages after a moment, “very grateful for your assistance in this matter.”

“This matter being pissing off your sister.” He has a look of the utmost seriousness on his face, ruined utterly by a twitch of his mouth. Don’t think about his mouth.

“Can you think of a better candidate?”

“Well. Not to shoot myself in the foot, but you have met Sirius Black.”

Lily laughs, a little startled at how easy it is. “I want to annoy her, not give her an aneurysm.”

“Ah. So no turning inanimate objects into rats?”

“Oh, no. By all means. If she’s not used to that by now, I really don’t know why she still calls me sister.” Her tone is light - the sentence is supposed to be light, a bit of banter back and forth. But she hears the note of genuine confusion in her own voice, and the hint of concern behind James Potter’s glasses says he hears it too.

“Right.” He clears his throat, and then he’s running a hand back through his hair and smirking, looking for all the world like an older (and handsomer) version of his fifteen year old self. Lily’s hand automatically twitches for her wand. “One tea-pot rodent, coming right up. We’ll see what I can come up with from here.”

This might not have been such an awful idea after all. She still rolls her eyes, even as she links her arm through his offered one.

“My hero.”

“My dear Evans, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

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insidiousmisandry asked:

percabeth, for "um, i don’t know you, but you are headed right towards the grounds, and i don’t have time to explain that i accidentally let all the blast-ended skrewts out of their cages, stop asking questions, you need to RUN"


Technically speaking, no one is supposed to be near the Blast-Ended Skrewts without supervision.

Percy Jackson has never been all that technically minded. Not that he set them loose on purpose. These sort of things just kind of…happen around him. Which is probably why he shouldn’t have been near the Blast-Ended Skrewts to begin with, but what can you do? Sometimes a kelpie moves into the Lake and needs a translator and you take a wrong turn heading back to the castle even though you’ve lived there for five years now and it’s a giant freaking castle.

Can’t be helped.

“Run,” he gasps at Annabeth Chase - who also shouldn’t be out here after hours - as she comes into sight. “Runrunrun.”

“What–?” Her face twists in confusion. It’s kind of gratifying that she falls into step with him  anyway.

His breath is a knife in his chest, but he manages another word anyway. “Skrewts.”

It’s hard to tell in the dim evening light, but he’s pretty sure she blanches under her tan. “How did you manage to let those monsters out?” she demands, reaching into her hair. He’s about to ask if now is really the time, when she pulls her wand from it. Her hair, surprisingly, stays in place, and he should really not consider the mechanics of a pretty girl’s hair when he’s running for his life.

“I didn’t do it on purpose!”

“I didn’t say you did, I asked how you man - are you a wizard or not? Get your wand out!”

“I was kind of thinking that keeping on running might be a better idea?”

“Run and shoot.”

Percy has terrible aim, but the idea of telling this girl that makes something in his stomach twist awkwardly, so he tugs his wand from the much more sensible hiding place in the sleeve of his robes.

“If I get killed, I’m blaming you.”

She flashes him a grin, and he just about trips over his own feet. “Live a little, Jackson. Impedimenta!”

One of the Skrewts freezes abruptly in place, and Percy thinks that not getting to know Annabeth Chase over the past few years might have been a mistake.