enactments

true-reichenbach  asked:

Hello Duke! Something of a weird question but I'd really appreciate any thoughts you may have on this. I'm at summer camp and we have a talent show coming up soon. I'm thinking of dressing up as an author/poet/fictional character and enacting something. Do you have any suggestions for things that might be interesting to an audience of 16-17 year olds, not all of whom have exposure to typical classic literature? It could be funny/tragic/etc. Thank you so much!

Hi. So, I think with kids this age the best thing you can do is something they’re familiar with, even if they don’t have a lot of exposure to classic lit. Because if you try and give them something totally alien out of context a lot of them are going to be bored and frustrated. I’d look into something along the lines of the Reduced Shakespeare Company’s sketch comedy on Shakespeare–you can buy the script to The Complete Works of Shakespeare (Abridged) and learn a few of the skits pretty quickly. Even if the kids haven’t seen R & J they probably know the story, and making it funny never hurt. That’s just one suggestion of course, but you get the idea. You could build your own sketches around any famous work of literature–Pride and Prejudice, Les Mis, Sherlock Holmes, etc. That’s all going to be stuff they recognize, even if they haven’t read it before.

Some alternate chapter titles for upcoming SAD OATS chapters that I’ll let y’all sit on for a bit:

  • Chapter 8 - Lena Has A Stupid Smart Plan
  • Chapter 9 - Lazriel Enacts Stupid Smart Plan
  • Chapter 10 - COLD CABIN GETS REAL HOT WHEW 
  • Chapter 11 - Hey Hi Hello Wtf Did You Do To My Sister (also: SADNESS)

On May 24, 2017, Taiwan’s constitutional court has ruled in favor of same-sex marriage, striking down the Civil Code’s definition as being only between a man and a woman as unconstitutional. It is the first Asian country to do so. 

In the next two years, the Legislative Yuan will have to either amend the Civil Code or to enact laws addressing same-sex couples. If the legislative fails to pass an amendment or legislation in the next two years, same-sex couples “shall be allowed to have their marriage registration effectuated at the authorities in charge of household registration.” 

The fight isn’t over yet, but this is a victory for everyone to celebrate. I am so proud to be Taiwanese. Congratulations, Taiwan! 

In Tangled and Tangled: The Series, Rapunzel is the sole heir to the crown as the only child of her father, Kind Frederic. Rapunzel’s position as a future queen seems to have raised many questions in the fandom. Because I’m a history enthusiast, I wanted to make some points clear for all fans and fanfiction writers.

Originally posted by disneyfeverdaily

Rapunzel will become a queen of her own right, a queen regnant. This means she will inherit her power and become the sovereign ruler of Corona. This differs greatly from her own mother, Queen Ariana. As king, King Frederic is the sovereign ruler of Corona. As his wife, Ariana is actually a queen consort, being the wife of a king. This means that Queen Ariana shares her husband’s rank and title but not his sovereign power. The series actually confirms this, as about all decisions this far have been made by Frederic alone; King came down hard on crime, King enacts a martial law that forbids Rapunzel from leaving Corona, King will decide what happens to Eugene after his confession to the queen…

But the biggest question in fandom seems to concern Eugene and his status after Rapunzel becomes queen. And no, he will not become a king. This is both a historical fact according to European tradition (while Corona is a fantasy land, it is definitely in Europe) and something Eugene himself points out at the end of Tangled, where he says that Rapunzel ruled her kingdom with wisdom and grace. Not they and their kingdom, Rapunzel and her kingdom.

Eugene becomes prince consort. This means that he will not have sovereign power. Husband of a queen is not called a king unless he has inherited sovereign right to rule himself. Husband of the queen will not share her rank and title. This is because of male primogeniture; male heirs are given privileges before females. King means a male ruler who has inherited his right to rule and so ideally, queen would actually be queen consort. However, Rapunzel is an only child so she will definitely become queen regnant instead. Eugene will not hold any royal power. Instead, he will most likely act as counsel and guide for his wife, Rapunzel.

Originally posted by dj066rapunz3l

I know it may seem strange for many fans that Eugene will not become king or hold any actual power. This is because traditionally, Western stories have loved to glorify male heroes by giving them power and titles. I don’t see many people wondering what Cinderella or Tiana will do after their princes become kings and I think that is because it’s just so easy to imagine a heroine as simply a wife but it’s harder to imagine a hero as simply a husband, with position depending completely on his partner. I personally take Tangled as a great opportunity to get used to and celebrate a heroine finally having power in her own right and becoming a great female ruler.

This has been some interesting historical and not so historical trivia for today. Rapunzel will become an amazing queen and Eugene will be there to support her all the way through.

As a sidenote, Rapunzel will never become Rapunzel Fitzherbert. Royalty in Europe do not need last names even today. And even so, Rapunzel is clearly higher in rank. It would be unwise to give up her father’s name after marriage as she will inherit his title and power. Actually, historically in such cases husbands could take their wife’s name instead. I think Eugene was either using his commoner thinking or simply making cute rhymes in Tangled Before Ever After when he sang about her becoming “Mrs Eugene Fitzherbert”. Modern fics are a different matter, of course. But taking your husband’s name is not the only way to be cute and romantic so I’m sure their marriage is just as sweet anyway.

and then there was me, a queer girl in the catholic church with traditional parents. i grew up with a fingernail caught in my throat. i changed the words to songs so i’d be singing about boys. i was scared of “gay”. my mother told me it meant happy but i knew it meant being pushed to the floor of the bus. i remember my bible school teacher telling us that the greatest sin a woman can have is not giving a man her love. i remember realizing i liked girls and putting it in a box i labelled dirty and couldn’t bring myself to touch. when i came out i had to ask if my parents still loved me, like the idea of their acceptance ended where my sexuality began. they pull back when i accidentally slip and admit i like a girl. they promise the church doesn’t hate us, just doesn’t let us get married under god’s roof with god present. oh it’s a fine marriage, we accept it, but technically in the eyes of the church i’m living in sin. it would be better if i liked men. when i was 7 i was sure i was going to unhappily marry a man just to make my parents happy. at 23 i might marry a man just to make my parents happy.

god was this hard thing we couldn’t figure out how to handle. god came beyond the doors of the church. my god answered me at night but reminded me to cower. my god killed my brothers and sisters in the hands of others. how am i to reconcile that god that felt like love and belonging with the god called down in conversion camps. how am i to say i love the light of god when i have seen it burn the flesh of others.

i watch it still. for a while i was spitting and hissing and wouldn’t let god near me. i think it was better then, when i had shut my doors to the idea of it. once i tried to find god again i found myself desperately lost in the forest.

i was always so alone in church. always different. it wasn’t until i mentioned it once in an online chat that i found someone else who had gone through the same thing. how terrible, to form a community of people who have all been cast out. how powerful.

we, together, discussing at two a.m if god is real and if she is where she begins and ends. my brothers and sisters and family - we are all so strong for having survived this. for having been spat out by what should have accepted us. that first community. that first slap. the book that taught us not all books are homes. the book that i spent hours combing over looking for where my flaws were entombed. that curse that keeps following us, doggedly, just when we thought we shook it off - watching others take god as an excuse to punish us, to put into law our discrimination, to enact and enforce violence against us. “god loves you,” we were told. is this what god looks like? our first relationship with abuse?

i am stuck with an eternity of questions. can we find our own god? can we find her in each other? do we leave god entirely, and just find love in the stories of us lost lambs? is god worth it? was the word of god really to ruin us? is god even to blame for any of this, or is this how humans are when they find something to hit? 

all i know is this: i am not alone. and if you’re like me, come to me. talk. i’ll listen. god only knows nobody else did.

I die a little inside every time someone says history is boring. History is one long, epic adventure with battles to be fought, royal scandals to be gossiped about, human rights to be protected. It can be comic and tragic, and it exhibits both the very best and the very worst of human nature. History is all about seemingly ordinary people doing extraordinary things, and that is why we all want to be remembered by it.

abcnews.go.com
Hawaii becomes first state to enact law that aligns with Paris agreement
Honolulu Mayor Kirk Caldwell and representatives for other mayors in the state also signed a statement declaring continuing support for the Paris agreement.
By ABC News

Hawaii has become the first state to enact a law that aligns with the Paris agreement after its governor signed two bills into law Tuesday that “support the commitments and goals” of the accord, Gov. David Ige’s office announced Tuesday.

The governor, as well as the state’s county mayors and state representatives gathered in Honolulu to sign two bills and a mayor’s agreement in support of the Paris agreement, according to a press release.

Ige signed Senate Bill 559, which “expands strategies and mechanisms to reduce greenhouse gas emissions statewide,” the release states. Ige also signed House Bill 1578, which aims to “identify agricultural and aquacultural practices to improve soil health and promote carbon sequestration – the capture and long-term storage of atmospheric carbon dioxide to mitigate climate change.”

In a statement, Ige said the state of Hawaii is “committed to environmental stewardship” and is looking “forward to working with other states to fight global climate change.”

“Together, we can directly contribute to the global agenda of achieving a more resilient and sustainable island Earth,” Ige said. “The Hawaii State Legislature understands the importance of taking action, and I applaud its work this session to ensure that we continue to deliver the island Earth that we want to leave to our children.”

Continue Reading.

One feminist psychological definition of objectification is the combination of 1) extra scrutiny of women, leading to the 2) breaking down of visualizing women into discrete body parts, which 3) leads to mentally processing them more as a collection of organized objects than people.

I think it’s clear that trans women not only receive this sort of treatment from society (being explicitly broken down into body parts [‘sorry abt your dick’]), but also that people who pride themselves on subjecting trans women to extreme scrutiny in order to pick apart their individualized body parts to ascertain their assigned sex are enacting the exact definition of patriarchal and misogynist objectification

yknow that scene in madagascar where the zebra puts a thermometer in his mouth and they’re like that’s a rectal thermometer and he freaks out? i thought that was the funniest scene as a kid and my friends and i all used to enact it with a thermometer from my parents room and i later found out that that thermometer was, in fact, a rectal one

“no terfs allowed”

pretty quickly after i came out as a lesbian on this website, i added “no terfs allowed” to my bio. every lesbian i follow has it in their bios. i follow wlw who aren’t lesbians, and while some have it in their bios, it’s less common.

i’ve been thinking about the general sentiment of “fuck you, terfs,” and why it bothers me. it’s not the attitude against terfs (i don’t like them or want to associate with them either), but rather the performative nature of it. it allows us afab wlw to sit comfortably knowing we’re not one of Them. it allows us to get comfortable, to wrongly assume that our job as allies is done because we said we don’t affiliate with terfs.

first of all, while all terfs are transphobes, not all transphobes are terfs. all of us (afab wlw) have privilege over trans wlw, even if we are nonbinary (as i and many of my afab lesbian friends are). we all need to be aware of our own privilege and not distance ourselves from it by proudly displaying our anti-terf sentiment. sometimes i think by saying “i’m not a terf and i don’t affiliate with terfs” what comes out is “i’m not holding myself accountable for my own transphobia because it’s not me who’s the problem.” we’re turning terfs into scapegoats for transphobia (and especially transmisogyny) and that’s such a reductive view of the way that systematic oppression works.

second of all, afab wlw, to an extent, should want terfs to follow them because assuming we’re doing our jobs as allies, we’re potentially exposing people with toxic views to information and opinions that they might otherwise not hear. i would much rather a terf be following me than be following a trans woman. the violence a transmisogynist could enact on me is significantly less, so i should be putting myself between terfs and trans women, amplifying the voices of trans women in the hopes that terfs and transphobes will hear. cis/afab wlw telling terfs to go away is shutting a door. it’s one thing to not want them on your blog in order to protect yourself; that i understand. it’s a whole other thing to keep them from reading what you write and reblog because they have bad opinions (to put it lightly). how are their opinions ever going to change if they never leave their echo chamber?

third of all, i think the whole “no terfs allowed” thing swings back to the scapegoating of the lesbian community within the lgbt+ population. before, when i identified as bi/pansexual, i never felt like i needed to make excuses for the label i chose. sure, i spent some time defending my sexuality as i faced biphobia (and my own internalized homophobia), but i never found myself saying “i’m bi, but i’m not one of the Bad Ones” the way that i feel like i have to say all the time as an out lesbian. to the point where i have to essentially write, “i’m not one of the Bad Ones” in my own bio to justify my being a lesbian in an online public space. i know this is a much more complicated issue than i am making it out to be in this post, but it does really bother me that every afab lesbian i know also feels this need to clarify their position on this matter when it seems like no other subgroup of the lgbt acronym does. 

so putting in your description something like “no terfs allowed” is performative allyship, but it also feels like a necessary defense against lesbophobic assumptions. both things bother me, but i feel helplessly caught in the middle - it’s necessary for me to protect myself against lesbophobia by putting it in my description, but in doing so i feel like i am failing to do my full part as an ally to trans women 

this post is okay to reblog, and in fact i would love to hear other people’s (especially other lesbians’, and especially trans lesbians’) input on this

Lava

Based off this video because I cannot stop laughing


It had started out as a simple enough dare, Dean and Cas would each get a total of 3 tries per person to try and “kill” the other by telling the other that “the floor is lava.” They would then have five seconds before they had to find a way to get off the ground and scream that the floor was lava to any unsuspecting passerby if there were anyway. There was no prize, not really. Dean just really wanted to beat Cas at something, and Cas didn’t mind if he got bragging rights.

Cas had been first, during a walk in the park between their two college classes on campus. “The floor is lava,” he’d casually said. Dean had not understood until he did, and at which point he only had 3 seconds left and nothing that he could use to get off the ground. Nothing, except, for a trashcan just up the trail. He’d made it with one second to spare.

“The floor is lava!” Dean screamed triumphantly, balancing precariously on the poor trashcan below him. He had managed to get into a crouch before the inevitable happened––when Dean went to get down back onto the ground and rejoin Cas he slipped and wound up wedging his butt straight into the trashcan. Castiel wouldn’t let him forget it for a week.

The next turn had been Dean’s, choosing to wait until Cas and he were on a grocery run to enact his plan.

“Hey, Cas,” he called the other’s attention while they were in the toilet paper aisle. 

“Hm?”

“The floor is lava.” 

Keep reading

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Trump gets standing ovation for promising to pass a law already on the books

  • President Donald Trump promised supporters at a campaign rally in Iowa Wednesday night that he would “very shortly” pass a law that would ban immigrants from receiving welfare benefits for “at least five years.”
  • The problem? That’s already the law.
  • “Most qualified aliens entering the country on or after enactment are banned from receiving Federal means-tested public benefits for a period of five years beginning on the date of the alien’s entry with a qualified alien status,” according to rules for receiving benefits such as Medicaid, coverage under the Children’s Health Insurance Program and Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program benefits — better known as food stamps.
  • That law has been on the books for more than 20 years, applying to immigrants who entered the United States after Aug. 22, 1996. Read more. (6/22/17, 9:21 AM)
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So I love watching this Chilean show called ‘El Día Menos Pensado’ which tells the real life supernatural stories people have experienced through re enactments. Each episode is a different story. I just finished watching an episode called 'El Hombre de la Foto’ / 'The Man from the Photo’. Super Creepy this one!
*SPOILER*
About a uni student who while studying resides at a shared house for uni students run by a sweet older lady. The episode focuses on this particular student and the room she stays in. One day she photographs a project she needed to present for class and captures this man inside her closet. The episode shows her investigation about who the man is and the other creepy things she experiences along the way … I won’t spoil it - if you guys understand Spanish go watch it on YouTube!
If you’s would like to know the ending shoot me a message and I shall fill you in!

@sixpenceee check this out! ☺️

Touch Starved

Cas doesn’t know when he started to crave human contact.  He supposes it’s a side effect of inhabiting his vessel for so long, but it’s inconvenient to say the least.  

He remembers hugging Dean when he came back from the dead, wrapping himself around his warm body without a second thought. How easy things had been then, when all of his thoughts were occupied with Dean being alive and what a miracle that was.  He didn’t have to worry about overstepping his bounds, doing something he’d regret.

He remembers Dean cupping his face, stroking it even, holding his hand after a near-fatal (or fatal) injury as he looked into his eyes, making sure he was alright.  

Even then, in the context of whatever brush with death he was recovering from, Cas couldn’t think about anything but melting into Dean’s hands, staying that way forever and ever. But of course, he couldn’t.  That would be inappropriate, a man touching a male vessel for such a sustained period of time, and if Dean touched him for too long he might give into temptation. Overstep his bounds.  Do something he’d regret.

Cas lives a sleepless life, but as he wanders the bunker at night he can’t help but envision what it would be like to lay down in bed next to Dean, to hold him in his arms or have him hold Cas, to feel his warm breath and the thud of his heartbeat. 

 Dean had been so warm when he touched Cas.  So gentle, and so very human.

He tells himself it’s only fantasy, so it doesn’t count.  Just as long as he never let’s it show, what he truly wants, and how badly he wants it:  he craves contact, Dean’s contact, his affection, his warmth.  He wants to know Dean loves him back, for him to show it with his actions if not with his words.  

But he doesn’t dare say it.  He just dreams.

Over a year ticks by like this, when Dean comes home from a hunt, badly injured.  He has a blood-red welt on his forehead, and a deep scratch through the fabric of his shirt. 

 Cas, ever concerned, steps forward.  “Here,” he offers, holding out his hand.  “Let me.”

Dean gives the obligatory, feeble protest, but doesn’t move away as Cas presses his hand to his shoulder, where his handprint had been all those years ago.  

The injuries slowly fade from Dean’s body, and Cas, satisfied that his patient is now well, begins to retract his hand.

It’s barely perceptible, the way Dean leans towards the contact, following it.  Chasing it.  

Cas notices anyway, and his brow furrows.  He’s been told he lacks empathy, but Cas recognizes the gesture, the longing that was behind it.  It just doesn’t seem possible that Dean could crave what Cas does.

Still, tentatively, experimentally, places his hand back on Dean’s shoulder.  

“What’re you doin’?”  Dean inquires, voice a tired grumble.  “I’m all healed up.  I’m fine now.”

Still, he doesn’t move away.

“I am…checking for further injuries,” he informs him, and immediately feels guilty for lying.  Still, he needs to know if Dean wants this too, whether even some small part of him might crave this.  He allows his hands to move gently over Dean’s shoulders, tentatively as though he might break.

Dean makes a soft grunt that tells Cas he doesn’t quite believe his alibi, but still, he doesn’t move away. He leans closer, into Castiel’s touch.

Cas continues, in somewhat awed silence, his hands stroking down Dean’s broad shoulders, down his muscular back, radiating warmth beneath his thick flannel shirt.  Cas wishes he wasn’t wearing it, and not even for sexual reasons:  he just wants to feel Dean’s skin beneath his own, wants the intimacy of being together without the restrictions of clothes.

He allows his fingertips to brush, feather-light, over the bare skin of Dean’s neck, still damp with sweat from the exertion of their hunt.  Dean doesn’t tense, or do anything, really:  he just sits there, perfectly still.  Cas can’t read his facial expression, but he somehow feels he’s doing something forbidden.  

At that moment, Sam walks in, saying something innocuous about the hunt and not noticing whatever it is they’re doing.  

Dean stands up abruptly, practically knocking over a chair as he does so.  Cas watches him curiously as he awkwardly greets him, clearly somewhat embarrassed, despite the fact Sam wasn’t aware of the exchange that had just transpired.  

Sam looks suspiciously from Dean, then to Cas, then goes about his business like he doesn’t want to know.

It isn’t until months later that Cas finally gets what he wants, though he’s not coherent enough to fully appreciate it.  

He’s been stabbed through the gut with an angel blade, grace seriously depleted and nearly delirious.  

It’s an unfortunately close re-enactment of the last time Cas was taken from them, and Dean knows it as he lugs Cas into bunker, draped over his shoulder like a rag doll.  

He’s barely conscious as Dean lays him on the sofa, pealing back his blood-soaked shirt to reveal the wound, the blue light of his Grace illuminating from within.  

He yells something at Sam, who minutely brings them a bowl of hot water and a cloth, which Dean then uses to clean it.  If Cas were more coherent, he’d tell Dean that was useless, that he would be healed by his grace or not at all;  mending a vessel when his true form was damaged was like trying to repair a flesh wound by patching up clothing.

But Dean is touching him gently, cleaning his wound and muttering to him soft, soothing nothings that he can’t quite make out.

He’s looking at him with an emotion somewhere between desperation and…Cas refuses to let himself think ‘love’, not wanting to feed into his own false hope, but it’s something very close to it.

In spite of himself, he smiles, allowing Dean to take care of him as his eyes flutter shut one last time.

…  

When Cas comes to, he’s shirtless and carefully bandaged, though he doesn’t need it anymore;  his Grace heeled the wound over night.  Now, not even a scar remains.

He doesn’t have much time to pontificate on this, however, because Dean is beside him, asleep on the sofa, one arm draped over Castiel’s bare midsection and the other wrapped around a pillow, snoring softly.  

Cas watches him, too awed to say anything, for the better part of a half hour.  Not even Dean drooling on his pillow is enough to detract from the wonder of him being here.  The fact that he has, apparently, stayed with him throughout the night, his body pressed against his own.

And here Cas had been losing faith in miracles.  

After a while, Dean’s eyes flitter open, and he awakens with a startled snort as he realizes Cas is staring at him.  

Cas is about to apologize for staring, again, when Dean has expressed his desire for him not to, but Dean is only sitting up on his elbow, grinning stupidly at him and rubbing the drool off his chin.  

“Cas,” he half-chuckles, voice breathy and slightly awed.  “You’re alive.”

Cas nods sagely, grunting as he sits back on his pillow.  “I believe so, yes.”

“That’s…”  Dean trails off, laughing breathlessly.  “That’s awesome, man.  We didn’t think you were gonna make it for a while.  If you were human, that blow would’ve been-”  He trails off.  “I’m glad you’re here, man.”

Cas is barely listening at this point, still staring at Dean in quiet awe.

“You…stayed with me,”  he murmurs, Dean blinks, looking slightly taken aback by the statement:  it’s almost a question, the way Cas phrases it; the inquiry of why is evident in his voice.

“Of course I did, man.  We care about you,” he says, hand rubbing at the back of his neck.  “I care about you.”

Cas stares at him, expression unreadable.  Slowly, he nods.

They’re still lying there, on the sofa, bodies pressed close.  Dean is so warm, so soft and pliable against him, radiating the heat Castiel has craved for so long.

Cas wets his lips.  “Can we stay like this, just a little while?”  he asks, voice barely a whisper.  He doesn’t want to make Dean feel uncomfortable, but he wants this closeness so badly.  He never wants it to stop.

There’s a brief pause.  Dean swallows before he answers, “Sure, Cas.  Whatever you need, buddy.”

Cas smiles, tentatively resting his head against Dean’s shoulder.  He closes his eyes, not missing the way Dean leans into his touch, the contented sigh he breathes through his nose.  

And Cas knows, in that moment, that Dean’s wanted this too.  Maybe as much as Cas has, if that’s possible.

It only feels natural when Dean leans in for a kiss.  

anonymous asked:

Is there any way that I, a closeted pansexual, can celebrate pride month if I am unable to go to a pride event???

Absolutely! Although some members of the Pansexual Pantheon are closeted and thus unavailable to physically participate in Pride Month, there are still many ways for these pansexuals to celebrate. The advent of an online community is particularly important. Something as simple as a pansexual flag for a phone background or a chatroom or Discord server for pansexuals is a simple, but helpful, way to celebrate one’s pansexuality in private. There is also, of course, the option to enact a demonic ritual by drawing a pentacle on one’s floor and chanting the tale of the ancient pansexual runes to summon an ancient spirit of the Pansexual Pantheon. One important thing to consider with all these options is that your safety should come first, and it is unwise to do anything that may put yourself in danger.