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From The Desk Of…

Go read this amazing, well written and beautifully executed story that will steal your heart from the get go.

The pictures above are my humble way of saying thank you to the wonderful writers @fictorium @bridgetteirish

we get it, you’re gay.
my sexuality is not a shirt that I take off at the end of each day, it is not dirty. I do not dress myself in lesbianism just for the fashion perks; homophobia is not in style. i am not a living light switch, I do not turn myself off to solve all your problems, my light will not go out because it’s too bright for you.
we get it, you’re gay.
if I stop talking about it, it will not go away. I would say I am sorry to disappoint but I am not sorry, I am gay, I am very gay and I am not sorry for who I am, I am only sorry that you have a problem with self-liberation and confidence.
we get it, you’re gay.
I can tell when someone is uncomfortable and my sexuality is making you uncomfortable, you are upset that I am comfortable in my own skin, you are upset that I am comfortable with the fact that I love girls and you are uncomfortable about the fact that I won’t shut up. you can’t silence my sexuality, actions speak louder than words.
we get it, you’re gay.
you don’t mind that I’m gay you just don’t want me to be too gay, because being too gay is distracting. you want me to be quiet gay, nice gay, understanding gay, your-gay-friend gay, let-you-get-away-with-everything gay. I can like girls but I’m supposed to whisper that kind of thing, not shout it. the neighbors aren’t supposed to hear.
we get it, you’re gay.
you say you understand, but you’d rather just push it under the rug. it’s okay if I’m gay, but I shouldn’t rub it in your face. you don’t mind, you say, but you can’t help but notice how many people are gay these days and you assume it must be some kind of practical joke. I am not a joke, my life is not some riddle, do you see me laughing? this is not funny.
we get it, you’re gay.
oh, I’m just rebellious, I’ve been told. a rebellious teen confused by the media, so tell me, where is my army? where are my hundreds of thousands of lgbt soldiers, ready to fight this war on love? we stand united but we are not armed, because if we bring the weapons we have guaranteed ourselves a two-minute five o'clock news slot, tragic tragedy, one-more-gay-gone, let’s save the world, let’s save the gays.
we get it, you’re gay.
“lesbians have ruined flannels for me” because the community was supposed to ask for a style after you denied us basic human rights? I’m sorry gay girls have ruined plaid for you, but it never looked too great on you anyway. maybe you should stick to solid colors; if you put too many shades on one shirt, it might look like a rainbow and someone might accidentally think you’re gay. can’t have that.
we get it, you’re gay.
don’t annoy the straights! eyes wide open, avoiding ticking bombs of discrimination, it happens all the time but there’s no way to prepare yourself for hate speech coming from the mouth of your mother or your teacher or your best friend. I bite my tongue to keep from coming out but you’re just so sure that you can trust me, I’ll get it, no offense, no hard feelings, I will understand.
we get it, you’re gay.
I am not going to hit on you, just because I like girls does not mean that I like you, I love myself and I love being gay. do not make my sexuality about you, my life does not revolve around you. I’ve undressed in front of you my entire life but now you insist on changing in the next room. you don’t say it, but I know. I’m not a friend, I’m a predator.
we get it, you’re gay.
you can ramble all day about how that kid in your physics class is just to die for, but the second I mention that a girl in my history class is cute then all eyes are burning holes into my skin. you don’t have to bring your gay with you everywhere, leave it at home most days, it’s too embarrassing to share.
we get it, you’re gay.
I don’t look gay enough, I’ve heard. do I need to carry a sign with me everywhere to broadcast that I Am Not Straight, I am g-a-y gay, rainbows all over my body and in my back pocket, just so you can see?
we get it, you’re gay.
oh, but you tell me that I am not gay I am not gay because I am a girl that likes girls, I can only use the word lesbian. I didn’t know that I erased my name tag and handed it to you, I didn’t know that you were in charge of what I called myself, I didn’t know you were allowed to police my labels; I never asked for your opinions but that never stopped you anyway, do you understand?
we get it, you’re gay.
so, by gay, do you mean really gay or just a little gay? lipstick lesbian, three-way fantasy, am I right? what stereotype would you like to claim, or would you prefer that I choose?
we get it, you’re gay.
truth or dare has always been a death sentence for me, and anyone that says that party games aren’t lethal doesn’t know pure poison, I grew up drinking venom from vodka bottles because alcohol was nothing to a child on the run. so explain to me why I would stop now.
we get it, you’re gay.
in every wedding aisle there’s a “mr.” and a “mrs.” who’s the man in the relationship, they’ll ask us, nothing about us is traditional but they’ll insist we wear white anyway. marriage equality, what else are you fighting for?
I get it, you’re straight.
you’re the cool straight friend. you’re the best straight friend any gay person could ever have, asking for fashion advice and introducing me as your “gay friend.” you say that you have a pretty great gaydar, and you knew all along. do you also know that I want you to shut the fuck up?
I get it, you’re straight.
capital s “Straight,” straight as a telephone pole, straighter than a ruler. so straight and everyone knows without you saying a word because you people are everywhere. you’re on cereal boxes and billboards and in every television show. you’re the main character but we’re just there for a little drama, an episode or two, and then we’re gone.
I get it, you’re straight.
you have never had to come out of the closet because you were never in one to begin with, you own the entire house and didn’t even give us enough room to be. has anyone ever told you how dark and crowded a closet is? it is so hard to breathe with so little space to exist, I’m surprised my thoughts didn’t suffocate me over the years, would you have even noticed?
I get it, you’re straight.
you’re a girl and you like boys, only boys. I mean, everyone experiments in college, right? everyone loves that song, I kissed a girl, because everyone loves just to give being gay a try without the weight of what it really means. it’s not cheating if it’s with a girl, right? right?
I get it, you’re straight.
no homo, bro! holding hands, sharing drinks, making eye contact, it’s not gay, no homo. just two pals being gals, no homo, don’t worry, we’re straight!
I get it, you’re straight.
you have learned how to hate since the moment you were born. no worries, I have been too, but I unlearned heteronormativity so I could fall in love with myself. you preach it every sunday in church and every weekday at work, you learn that serving me is optional, that you can turn me away because you don’t like who I love.
I get it, you’re straight.
lets talk about me as a topic of class discussion, I am the focus of today’s debate, go. argue your stance. do you think this girl at table three should have the right to get married, the right to adopt, the right to buy milk, the right to exist? do you think this girl at table three is just trying to fit in? do you think the girl at table three should be allowed to go to prom? tell me, let’s talk about the girl at table three, no harm done.
I get it, you’re straight.
you are in every book I’ve ever read. the love stories are always about you, how can you expect me to grow up and not feel flawed? these novels teach me to hate who I am, it’s a miracle in and of itself that I’m still here.
I get it, you’re straight.
“there’s a war on straight people,” excuse me? we are just beginning to come out of the shadows because the earth is only now a little less haunted and you have the audacity to say that you are the ones under attack?
I get it, you’re straight.
every step we take is monitored and broadcast for the world to see. you are just a person allowed to make your own decisions but everything I do respresents my entire community and there is no space for me to make mistakes. I am not perfect but I am trying.
I get it, you’re straight.
you say that me being gay is not a big deal to you, it could be anyone, no big deal, not at all. but it’s a big deal to me, this wasn’t an easy thing to say. why should I silence myself, am I overreacting?
I get it, you’re straight.
there’s no rule book for being an ally and sometimes the borders become a little blurred, it’s easy to cross a line. I will help guide you but I will not hold your hand. I cannot always be there to watch the words that trickle out of your mouth, you have to remember that I am a secret.
I get it, you’re straight.
please stop talking about me like I am the latest news story, I am not a headline in big bold font, sometimes I just need a moment to breathe. I have these words printed into my skin just like a newspaper and I’ve never been more black and white.
I get it, you’re straight.
what’s it like to be gay? oh, you know what I mean, so when did you know? which girl turned you gay? why did you lie to us, how many times have you done it with a girl, what about with a guy? how can you be gay if you’ve never done anything? can you ever really know? what if it’s all a phase?
I get it, you’re straight.
the words we identify ourselves by are your insults. they lock us up for holding hands, they criminalize and sexualize our daily activities because they don’t want us corrupting the children. I’ve spent my entire life in an invisible prison with see-through shackles, this is on my permanent record.
I get it, you’re straight.
have you ever considered that my backpack is heavy because I have to carry the weight of your judgment to and from school every day, I have to carry a fire extinguisher in my lunch box because these toxic words are flammable. I might break my back but at least you don’t know.
I get it, you’re straight.
what’s it like to be “normal”? to never have to deal with the undercover I’m-sorry-for-you stares from the kids in the hallway, the I’ll-pray-for you promises spoken by nice ladies in their sunday best?
we get it, you’re gay.
when I’m telling my love story I do not want to lie. I will not censor the pronouns to protect the innocent because my happiness is not guilt-ridden. I am leaving this book open.
—  we get it.
The Hills - Chapter One

Story Masterlist

This is the first part of my first multi-chaptered story, I’m already working on part two and there might be more. Please let me know what you guys think. I tagged my forevers plus the people who asked to be tagged in this story, but if you want to be on or off my tag list, just say the word!! xoxo

Synopsis: AU in which Negan is a celebrity living a life of scandals in a lavish mansion in California. A young reporter on a mission to dig up dirt on him realizes the man the tabloids like to portray as a self-centered asshole has a hidden softer side.

WC: 3265

Warnings: strong language, alcohol, mention of violence, mention of drug abuse, nsfw.

Chapter One: No Ordinary Life

I watched the sunrise through the window as I took a sip of green tea from my mug. Perched on a stool in the kitchen with my laptop on my legs, I was scrolling down the articles of The Celebrity Times when a title caught my attention.

The headline, in bold red font, said, “OOPS, NEGAN DID IT AGAIN!”

Keep reading

Dear, Supergirl writers.

I’m gonna put the following in the headline font so you have an easier time reading it.  I’ll even bold it for you, too.

Your show’s shots at Donald Trump would land with more impact if Supergirl weren’t pining for a guy who would have voted for him.

Thank you, and have a nice day.

On tonight’s edition of unrelenting insomniac thoughts: This one throw away line in this one scene that only serves to set up that something is rotten in the state of Riverdale that I’m pretty sure has haunted only me.

(Is Riverdale a state? is that established yet? or is it like Puerto Rico or Guam, a territory picked up from the Spanish years ago that isn’t a state and just hangs there in limbo and pays taxes without representation in direct conflict with the us constitution? or is it just a weird offshoot of Alaska or Vermont that the states refuse to talk to or about during family reunions?  They have maple trees and snow in Vermont, right?)

This scene gets so much more depressing and telling once you know F.P. has been coerced into playing the fall guy for Clifford Blossom and, unfortunately for my brain, raises a million more questions that I fear will never be answered.  (Literally, there’s like, at least thirty questions that i know will never be answered without at least a season dedicated solely to F.P. Jones II and the mystery of why he looks so much better scruffy and slightly manic.)

Like, how long has F.P. been ‘playing his part’ of the town drunk? Fred made a comment about F.P. stealing, but I don’t recall anything him commenting about being an alcoholic (then again, the whole story seems to be written from Jughead’s p.o.v. and what he knows.  This is also the show that refused to say abortion or concede there’s anything harder than weed despite showing a dead, o’ded body in the last episode and continuing graft of political figures.  Which raises another question: Is sheriff an elected position in Riverdale? Is that why Roscoe Keller (is that his name?  I feel like he’s a Roscoe despite the entire internet telling me his first name is Sheriff) was biting at the bit to arrest someone for a murder, regardless of how tenuous a motive it is?  He needed election money from the Blossoms, much like Mayor McCoy, to fund his election campaign?  Or did Clifford merely promise him a new Keurig and pinball machine for the station? Was he so jealous of Riveradle high’s ample supply of coffee and coffee related accessories that he accepted money from Clifford?  I’ll bet he decided on a KISS pinball game.  He looks like a closet KISS fan.).

(Even more ridiculous ramblings under the cut)

Keep reading


Starlights/Onion headlines!

(oh joyous day: all the rest have their own tag now!)

Notes for new format:
  • To bold, italicize, list, or do anything else to text, highlight it and click the corresponding symbol to get what you wish
  • To add a readmore, picture, line break, or video after writing some text in a post, press enter to start a new line, and it will show up. It only shows up if you have not typed anything on that new line.
  • You can now add line breaks to text, which is useful for long posts with many words.
  • You can now make font bigger / “headline” by highlighting it and clicking “H”.
  • You cannot make words a headline and make them into a list.
  • You cannot add words and pictures on the same line, no matter what size either are.
  • The “close” and “post” buttons are on the opposite side.
  • Text posts are smaller and more spaced out, and are a lighter hue/color.
  • There is no lines between the title and tags section.
  • The space where you can but tags automatically has the word “tags” in there, but no posts will be posted as “tags” if you don’t add anything.
  • Tags are a much light hue/color when you add them.

Did you know your nails grow even after you die?

I think I heard that somewhere

Isn’t that weird though?

I mean, why would they do that?

I have nothing to write here at 1 AM

//tumblr edit//

Hey guyssss, so this was a really difficult/tiring song riddled with strange progressions, no breaths, and awkward placing since it’s right at my break




Staring me down, news on the tv today
Making me feel small, 12 point font
Headlines with big words, big guns
Pointed at my small mind that can’t measure up, so I’m done

Listening, are you stupid or what?
Just using words no simpleminded person would know
Raining these phrases, my umbrella raises up
To block out the gazes this logic defeats
From when the sun said it’s goodbye to the day
To when it woke from napping, the night was awake
Father on mother thinks under the cover of darkness they’re lovers Makes no sense to me

He plays - asleep, a boy that wants just to escape
Can’t wait and flips his phone out again
Somehow, I know now this place that I had found
I need to get out

Who do I see? Stupid and small, look through the mirror
And back at the wall, who are you?
Shaking me down, my lonely logic finds
‘Nother thorn of this envy in my side called heartbreak
Yeah, I give my all, I’m on the ball afraid to fall, and soon to call
“Just shut up and go! You don’t know!”
But I’m on hold by people that sigh “Do as you’re told”

Closing my eyes, sleep but not getting a wink
I feel the glare and staring eyes that seemingly care
Not good enough yet, these enemies just let their words
Fire through me like “There’s nothing upstairs”

It has to be, are you stupid or what?
Just using words no smaller minded person would know
Rain in my mind, I just know that I can’t find
My way now, just tell me the way out
Where can I go?

“We only want those things that we never can gain”
“Made by man, ain’t it all the same?”
Laughing like I’m dumb, Realize I’m feeling numb
Life like a ghost as thin as air
It doesn’t matter if your gone, you’re here nor there
If I left today, would they even know my name?

Shaking me down, my lonely logic finds
‘Nother thorn of this envy in my side called heartbreak
My shakey memories and logic can’t deny
Maybe my past “wasn’t bad” a lovely lie
“ ’Cuz I know”
I’m the one thing that’s saving what’s beating in everyone
Well that’s not reality
But it’s alright, I can at least try in my dreams

Made with SoundCloud

Howies typography

Design studio Carter Wong Design created a headline font for their client Howies. Carved from a wind-fallen chestnut tree, their typeface was drawn, cut, chiselled, wire-brushed, burnt, inked and printed before being scanned and digitised for use on their website.

Will Butler Does Not Wake Up on a Tour Bus

Two weeks ago, Will Butler was onstage at the Ed Sullivan Theater in a black tuxedo, receiving an “Oh my! How ‘bout that!” and a hearty handshake from David Letterman. On Thursday morning at South by Southwest, he’s wearing a sweatshirt with his name on it, wandering the Austin Convention Center trying to get to the second floor mezzanine, lost. He snaps a photo from an industrial storage area with air ducts and stacks of 3M boxes. “I assume it’s not back here where I am currently,” he texts.

Four years ago, Butler’s band, Arcade Fire, played before 75,000 people across the river at the storied Austin City Limits festival. They were headliners, a large-font name on the bill next to Stevie Wonder, Kanye West, and Coldplay. That same year they headlined Coachella and walked away with Album of the Year at the Grammys for The Suburbs. Last year, Butler received an Oscar nomination for co-writing the score to Spike Jonze’s Her. And despite the fact that Butler is booked to perform at many high profile parties and showcases in Austin, here he is, wandering the carpeted convention center floor with his name on his chest in big block letters, unrecognized. When he gets to the escalator leading to the mezzanine, he breezes past the small group of festival volunteers in purple shirts.

“Sir, you need a badge to go up there.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes you do.”

He keeps going.

“Sir! Hey!”


Arcade Fire travels in a bus; Will Butler travels in a van. There’s four people in the band and a tour manager. Everybody takes turns driving (the driver gets to decide what they all listen to). Butler’s drummer favors Fela Kuti, Butler likes the Slate Political Gabfest podcast despite the fact that it can “get a little aggro.”

“So far it’s been very pleasant,” Butler said Thursday morning. “We had to drive across the whole South. So we picnicked in Georgia, then we swam in Biloxi, then we had a crawfish boil in Breaux Bridge, then we stayed in Beaumont. We didn’t do anything in Beaumont. There is not a lot to do in Beaumont.”

In lieu of staying in a hotel, Butler’s band rented an Airbnb outside of downtown Austin. They cooked dinner there Wednesday night—chicken tacos and a salad and a pint of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. Butler’s brother, Win, the lead singer and recognizable face of Arcade Fire, was also in town, performing a few DJ sets under the name “DJ Windows 98.” On Thursday, both brothers appeared on a panel with New York Times columnist (and noted indie rock fan) Paul Krugman called “The Celebrity Economy in Music.” The goal was to answer “the big question” in the failing music industry narrative: How will artists even make money in the next decade? Krugman described the “1 percent” phenomenon of big acts getting the largest share of the pie, leaving next to nothing for the up-and-comers. Before Arcade Fire’s debut album, Funeral, broke through 11 years ago and sent them on the path to headlining arenas and mega-festivals around the world, they were playing tiny rooms in Montreal. And while he is still very much an Arcade Fire band member, Butler is now out on the road with his own band, billed under his own name, mainly playing for crowds of a few hundred rather than tens of thousands. Butler’s Arcade Fire affiliation no doubt helps him sell a few tickets, but the minutiae of his solo operation resembles that of an unknown act, not a band that once played Barack Obama’s staff ball. Everything is a hustle.

“It’s a totally awesome job, don’t get me wrong,” he said. “But the physical constraint of it is crazy. It’s like being back in grade school. You have to ask to go to the bathroom, because you’re in a van. It drives you bonkers after a while that your basic bodily functions are under the control of other people.

"There’s no alone time,” he said. “But, to be honest, we’ve gotten into such a rhythm that it’s been totally fine. And in this world of headphones, you can always zone out if you need to. It’s a short tour. Everyone’s excited. Everyone’s still getting to know each other.”

He’ll be home soon, and he’s looking forward to catching up on Broad City. One of his bandmates just finished The Jinx. “You don’t get any time in the cities in the van. You drive in, you load in, you do the show, you load out and you go to sleep.”

After the Krugman event, he’ll be right back here 24 hours later to speak on another panel, this one alongside Spoon’s Britt Daniel and Superchunk’s Mac McCaughan. There’s also shows to play. Still, Butler seems more grateful than bitter or stressed. He chuckles and looks out through the big glass windows facing downtown.

“I thought it would be less fun than it is,” he says. “But still, you’re seeing America.”