Everyday I’m reminded of the beauty in the LGBTQ community.
I see it in the tear streaked faces of two young girls in the audience. Their hair is wild and their eyes electric and they kiss. They kiss with the unbridled syrup sweet passion you can only taste when you are young and in love.
I see it in the wrinkled hands of a man fastening a jacket he designed himself. He laughs and tells me if I care to hear it, he’ll tell me about the years he spent in the Lower East Side designing clothes for drag queens. The hours he’d lay on the floor and laugh while they sang and sauntered and how they looked 20 feet tall like gods among men towering in their heels through the wooden apartment floors. How they’d tackle every stair of a 6 floor walk up apartment in their stilettos and strip off the jackets he’d make them; leaving them safe on an arm chair.
I hear it on the dance floor, and the radio. Beats and movements curated and designed and popularized by gay clubs across the world, many like Pulse, in Florida. When the DJs knew they’d struck a hit once the bodies gyrated, and sweat, and interlocked across the floor.
I feel it in the swing of the songs that dominate my favorite playlists, all of them in some way spun from the spider web of the Blues; the music genre that laid the foundation for modern rock, hip hop, and pop. Lady lovin’ Ma Rainey sang the sorrows of her heart with such soul that moved across sound waves for generations since.
I see it in the smile of a young trans woman in the mirror of a department store on Melrose Ave. She runs her hands along the fabric of her dress and gives a half hearted twirl. Her friends cheer and whistle and laugh and she picks up speed. Her skirt goes round and round and she spins with vigor and with intention. She lands dizzy and stumbling in the lap of her friend and tells the salesperson with a grin “I’ll take it!”
I read it in the lines of my favorite authors. Men and women who knew pain unlike any other. Who felt the lightning strike through their bodies every night they slept away from their lovers. How it infiltrated to their fingertips and formed words and poems no one could birth without knowing the pain of being split in two. Ripped apart like thick alabaster pages and bleeding like ink from a quill.
I feel it to my core in memories of the first time I kissed a girl. It trembles in my nervous lips. I see it in her shiny red hair and it burst forth from every freckle across her nose. I smell it in the humid air fogging up the windows of a cabin in the woods. And it rustles through our soft breath shimmering through the kind of quiet you can only catch in the forest.
And so I shout it. As loud as I can. In my lyrics. In my art. In a rainbow flag waving across thousands of pixels across my stage. I shout it in the faces of the oppressors and I shout it hand in hand with both my beautiful young fans, and the queer folk that I look up to everyday.
Our beauty is in every corner of the world. In the fabric of our past. In the glimmer of our vibrant future. We are beautiful. And I am so in love with everything you are and everything you have ever been. This is my love letter to you.
talking from experience, when all you wanna do is finish your damn project the person trying to pull you away from it (for whatever reason) may seem like a monster or a villain but in this case lance was only looking after shiro.
Frankly, Tim was having a terrible day. He’d broken his wrist a week ago, which meant no patrol, and he’d finished all the work he could do from home. He was going stir-crazy— wandering aimlessly around his apartment, checking and rechecking his equipment. In the end he’d driven to the manor, hoping for something to do, but the house had been empty all night. He’d clicked through Netflix episodes until the early hours of the morning, fallen asleep on the couch, and woken up exhausted.
At least Dick wasn’t doing any better. He called to check in while Tim was headed downstairs, complaining about a streak of murders in his neighborhood that he hadn’t been able to solve. Tim put him on speaker when he hit the kitchen, set his phone on the counter, and nodded to Damian, who was already at the table. Damian didn’t look up from his newspaper.
“Drake. You look half-dead.”
“You’ve looked worse.” Tim pulled the pancake mix from the shelf and turned around in time to see Damian slowly lower his paper, clearly scandalized. Tim decided he was too tired to care.
“We need to work on your sense of self preservation,” sighed Dick. “Hey, Damian. Try not to stab anyone.”
“No promises.” Damian glared pointedly in Tim’s direction and went back to his paper.
“Anyway, Tim, listen— I have to go. I’ve been awake for forty hours, and this isn’t getting any easier.”
“Have you considered taking a break?”
“This was my break.” Dick stifled a yawn. “I’ll be fine.”
Tim figured he probably would be, until he saw Damian’s eyes narrow. Uh oh. As Dick clicked off the line, Damian folded up his newspaper and made for the door. Tim followed him into the hallway, grinning. He was pretty sure he knew what was about to happen.
“So what are you going to do to him?”
“Go away, Drake.”
“Slip him sleep meds? Break into his apartment and badger him into submission?”
“You’re not going to physically fight him, are you?”
“No.” Damian swept inside his bedroom, slamming the door in Tim’s face. “Mind your own business.”
“Damian, c’mon, I just want to know if I have enough time to make popcorn.” No answer. Tim leaned against the doorframe, listening to Damian clatter around inside. “If this is about what I said in the kitchen, I’m sorry about the dead joke.”
Damian’s voice came out muffled behind the wood. “No you’re not.”
Okay, fine. He wasn’t. “Seriously, tell me what you’re planning to do.”
“I’m going to ask him politely to go to sleep.”
“That’s it?” Tim pulled away from the wall, disappointed— and maybe a little irritated. He knew from personal experience that if he went that long without sleeping, Damian started pulling out sedatives. As tired as he was of Damian’s over the top interventions, Tim had always assumed they were over the top because that’s how Damian did things. From the right angle, he was almost being nice. But if he wasn’t going to do it to Dick…
“How come you don’t—” Tim cut himself off as Damian’s door swung open.
“Because Grayson values my opinion and me as a person, so if I ask him to take care of himself, he will. Because Grayson listens to to me.” Damian swung his laptop bag over his shoulder, shot Tim a look that said (very clearly) unlike some people, and marched back up the hall.
“That’s not…” Tim stood for a few seconds, arms crossed, then hurried after Damian. “Okay, that’s not fair. I listen to you. Or at least I would if you ever asked me for anything.”
“I do,” said Damian. “You don’t.”
“Since when?” Tim couldn’t remember ignoring any requests— Damian didn’t talk to him that often, and most of what he did say was insulting. Tim could remember a few comments about his life habits, sure, but no questions. Damian never asked.
Alright, maybe that was Damian’s version of asking.
“Fine.” Tim caught up with Damian at the front door, while he was fishing for his keys. “I’ll pay more attention next time.”
Damian rolled his eyes. “I’m thrilled. Can you drive me to Grayson’s apartment?”
“Yeah. Sure.” Finally, something to do. He’d been lying around for days, and he was starting to feel like dead weight. Useless. Anyway, Tim wanted to see how this played out— Dick was stubborn, and Tim wasn’t sure that he would cooperate as easily as Damian predicted. He was as much of a workaholic as any of them.
So I wanna talk about Tony, because I always want to talk about Tony, but specifically I wanna talk about why Tony Cares. Well not why, so much as how we the audience see it in Civil War.
Now sometimes (re. all the time), Tony isn’t great about explaining his thought process. The danger of being knowledgeable in a subject, or smart enough to figure it out, is that things that are obvious to you are often not obvious to other people. A great example of a situation where this causes problems is the compound.
Tony wanted Wanda to stay in the compound where it was safe, and where she was out of the public eye while he did damage control after Lagos. He however left it to Vision to explain this, and most likely didn’t thoroughly explain to Vision because he felt the situation was obvious.
Tony also cares in more obvious ways though.
When Ross threatens to send a squad after the Avengers to kill them Tony begs for more time to bring them in. He’s given 36 hours and he does everything in his power to achieve that task, because even if they wind up in prison (and he didn’t know that prison would be the raft) It would be better than them being killed.
Furthermore there is his constant aim to compromise.
Tony offers up multiple compromises to Steve throughout the course of the movie, one of which Steve very nearly accepts. He offers to work with Steve to edit the Accords, he offers to get Bucky help, and he says he’ll keep Wanda safe from the public. He doesn’t have to offer any of this, he could just arrest Steve, but he’s worked his ass off to put this deal on the table for Steve to just turn it down flat.
When he realized that Steve was in danger what did he do?
He flew out to help him, despite the current animosity between them, Because Tony Stark cares about the Avengers, and anyone he deems his friend. He cares so much.
Tl;dr Don’t tell me Tony doesn’t care about the others in Civil War, literally all he did was care about them through the whole movie.
Robert looked up from his book, raising an eyebrow at Aaron’s request. He was curled up in their armchair, new novel in hand and his pyjamas on, ever the picture of relaxation, Aaron’s slouchy outfit mirroring his own. “There’s a whole couch over there that’s empty,” he pointed out, gesturing at the other side of the room.
They were having a quiet evening. Work had been hectic, that week, and it was only Wednesday, and the weather was terrible, so it had felt like as good an excuse as any to settle in for the night and do nothing much at all, the two of them throwing together an altogether student-y dinner of cheesy pasta before they’d gotten into their comfy clothes, the heating on full blast, teas in hand.
It was the picture of domesticity, really, the kind of old married couple shenanigans that made Robert laugh, as he realised they’d gone from a steamy, illicit affair, to watching reruns of Grand Designs in their pyjamas.
He wouldn’t change it for the world, really.
Everything about them, their life now, it was more than Robert ever imagined he’d get out of life. The comfort, the feeling of belonging - it had been missing from his life for so long, he’d forgotten how it felt to truly feel at home.
And he did, feel at home, with Aaron, in the Mill, surrounded by their things, the life they were building together.
“I don’t want to sit on the couch,” Aaron shrugged, easing himself into the space between Robert, and the side of the armchair. His body was completely pressed against Robert’s, socked feet in Robert’s lap as he made himself comfortable, the familiar warmth of his body making Robert relax more than he already was.
“This chair isn’t mean for two people,” Robert said, shifting his weight slightly so he was giving Aaron a bit more room, wondering why on earth his husband had decided to half sit on top of him, at the wrong angle for the television, the couch better suited to whatever program Aaron was about to switch to, control in hand.
Aaron shrugged, flicking onto a program about a vet, barely hiding a grin as he watched a dog bounce on screen, craning his neck slightly to see a bit better. “I don’t care,” he said, shaking his head. “Go back to your book.”
Robert tried, he did.
He balanced his book on Aaron’s shins, eyes wandering over the page to find the place where he’d left off. It was decent, so far, a sci-fi novel the overly helpful sales assistant in Waterstones had recommended when he’d been in the week previous, but his focus was gone.
Marking his place, Robert set his book down on the coffee table, careful not to jostle Aaron and his cup of tea as he did so. Slinging an arm over Aaron’s legs, his husband sitting at an angle that made it easy for Robert to press his head to Aaron’s chest, cheek nestled against Aaron’s pyjama shirt, Robert spoke.
“What are we watching then?”
Aaron smiled, running an aimless hand through Robert’s hair, keeping him close. “Supervet,” he gestured at the screen. “Rebuilt a dog’s jaw, last week.”
“That’s cool,” Robert nodded, not bothering to say anything else. Just being near Aaron, being close to him like this, however awkward the position was for a bit of a Wednesday evening cuddle in front of the telly, it was good.
Like it was all he’d ever really need to feel safe, and loved, and wanted.
And if Liv called them disgusting for sitting on top of each other in the armchair when she got in from Gabby’s, well, Robert couldn’t bring himself to care all that much, not when he had Aaron’s hand in his hair and his husband murmuring softly about how they should get a dog, really, make their family a bit bigger, now things had calmed down.
Summary: After a month of being broke at college, you finally find a place to stay, but the only con is that there is nine other people you have to share a house with - one in particular who makes it his mission to irritate you at every turn - but they’re hiding something from you. Something big. (1/ 2/ 3/ 4/ 5/ 6/ 7) Scenario: Werewolf!AU, college!AU, series Word Count: 3,887
Dr. Strange is here and he's insanely evil!
Nygma's falling apart!
Butch is King of Gotham!
Tabitha's doing something!
Mr. Freeze is here and he's tragic!
ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED!? ARE YOU READY FOR THE MOST TWISTED HALF-SEASON YET!?!
But, like... Is Bruce getting to bed on time? Eating his vegetables? What about Selina? Is she okay? She's got a place to sleep tonight, right? A warm blanket? Enough food? Are her and Bruce talking? Are they friends again? Are they happy right now?
... but the darkness? the violence? the drama?
Ugh :( Just saw someone under a post you reblogged and one of their hashtags was something like "people who sympathize with theo are truly disgusting and tiring" like come on it's just a show... why be so upset about people liking a character you might not like?
Yeah, people can be rude. I mean, why would you feel like send hate under a post dedicated to a character? You don’t like him? Ignore the post. There’s not need to express your hateful opinion when no one asked.
Also, I noticed the comment: “probably gives a fuck now that he has nothing left and needs scott’s pack to survive”.
Let’s focus on this for a moment.
Theo could’ve run away and hide, try to save himself, but he didn’t. It would’ve been easier to do it if he hadn’t nothing left. Truth is, he does have something. And that’d be scott’s pack. He wants to be a part of the pack. He choose to stay. He choose to help, even if he could die trying. He knows it’s worth it. He knows what he has done, and wants redemption. He really does.
Please, tell me why do you think he doesn’t care. No, seriously, tell me. Because only thing I can see is a boy who really wants to help and care, he just doesn’t know how to do it. Theo has never been taught how to love or care. He was manipulated since he was little. And now he wants to feel something. He wants to help people, he knows that it’s the right thing to do. He’s learning.