Cory and Topanga
"You can’t tell Cory and Topanga what to do. I’ve been trying to do that since the first grade. I remember when I tried to separate their desks. She kicked me. He bit me. And some little punk kept saying ‘Leave ‘em alone. They should get married’."
Are you fucking kidding me? Like, no, Shakespeare wouldn’t tweet a sonnet cause 140 characters is a bit short for that. Wrong medium. But you know what he would have? A very active twitter FULL OF DICK PUNS AND YOUR MOM JOKES okay. (And probably also a blog for the sonnets and longer works, that cross-posts links to twitter anyway.)
Get out of here with that pretentious anti-technology bullshit.
He’d rock the fuck out of memes. Don’t deny it.
Exit, pursued by a doge.
much run wow
I don’t understand people who try to make Shakespeare into a pretentious thing cause he was basically an uneducated dick-joke making dude for the common masses. His historical plays are straight up fanfiction. There’s a scene in Macbeth where two guards are having a conversation as a dude pees on a wall. Get out of here with your Shakespeare snobbery.
people say people are bragging about their mental illnesses
and what they mean is people are talking about their mental illnesses
I threw in some Modern!AU too, because, why not? Also because I’ve done this one before, so it’s a nice contrast.
This paper was going to be the end of her, Lily decided, glaring mutinously at her laptop screen and willing the word document to somehow double in length in the next six hours. What had she been thinking, taking a bloody literature class? She was a maths person. She had always been a maths person. Complex calculus? Simple. Non-Euclidean geometry? She was your girl. Metaphors? Yeah, not so much. And yet she’d somehow stumbled her way into a Romantics seminar. What utter rot.
"Ah. A Keats fan, then?"
Lily glanced up, eyes bleary, to find one of the coffee shop’s baristas standing beside her table. He was tall and lanky, with the shop’s standard dark green apron hanging off his limbs like it didn’t quite know how to fit among all the sharp edges. His hair was dark and loafed about like it had a mind of its own, while a pair of wire specs perched neatly upon his long nose. In one hand, he held a skinny paper coffee cup. The other tapped gently at her poetry book.
"Actually, right now I reckon I’m inching toward TB’s side of things," Lily answered, sighing lightly. "Keats may have deserved it."
The barista’s lips quirked. "Ah, well. Two sides to every story and all." He placed the foam cup atop the poetry book. "Coffee."
"Er, no. I haven’t ordered anything."
"No, you haven’t. Ordered for you, actually." He twisted the cup, and there on the stark white curve, a name and number was written in thick, black ink.
JAMES 07914 483 219