• <p> <b>What she says:</b> i'm fine<p/><b>What she means:</b> in the first season of Skam, Isak is told by his best friend that "he only knows gay songs", and then when we get to know him again in season 3 we find out he nowadays listens to music that makes him feel tough. That that's the specific reason for it. We get a deep insight into this image of heterosexuality he's trying to project, and that dissonance in characterization makes it clear that it's something he's forcefully constructed in the last year. There are many more explicit examples of his internalized homophobia, but this one strikes me as especially heartbreaking because it's a direct response to something that was meant to be a casual remark, but had a deep impact on shaping his self image.<p/></p>

Been wanting to say this for a long time so here we go:

Can we please collectively stop making fun of the “meth fandom” or w/e the fuck nomenclature we’re using to describe real people who finally have a space and community to talk about their substance use? Like I’ve seen posts lump this part of tumblr in with literal fucking neo-nazis and if that doesn’t strike you as fucked up i don’t know what else i can fucking say to you.

I’ve even seen this shit from leftists. Like how can we recognize that capitalism is built on the exploitation of labor and mass disenfranchisement of working class people - and then turn around and mock people who use stimulants to cope with the godawful hardships of that life? If you can’t recognize meth users humanity, then what the fuck are you even fighting for?

I have adhd, but I still abuse my stimulants because my body literally cannot produce the amount of labor necessary for my survival. Thousands of others do the same. We’re not that different from the people on here using meth. Everywhere ~drug users~ turn, we’re denied the chance to talk about our own experiences in our own fucking language. We’re denied the chance to find our own community and engage with it on our own terms. Especially us women who use. Why propagate that shit here? What do you gain by mocking us and people like those in the ~meth fandom~? Who are you helping?

And i know this probably describes only a sliver of my followers, but I hope it’ll reach further. Because honestly? Some people on here need to step the fuck off. 

I’ve never seen a post on my dash condemning this phenomenon (which is often treated like a joke, like it’s not about you know, real fucking people), and that’s fucking bullshit. I’m not saying no one’s said this before, but I sure as fuck haven’t seen it. We can do better. We must do better.

anonymous asked:

Why do you think Batman and Cassandra Cain have such a... different relationship compared to the other kids?

because she was the only character capable of communicating with him amongst a sea of batman writing that had bruce be emotionally closed off as a golden rule. and i’m using past tense not because batman is suddenly the most open person the dcu has had, but because in the last five years he’s had enough character development that having a more than three-word conversation with the people he loves is more and more frequent

bruce’s thing ever since his parents died was that the pain he felt was so unique to him, so much and so different than what he knew up until then, that there were no words for him to express his grief. it’s why we never see him have heart-to-heart’s with alfred years following the waynes’ funeral, take for comfort words from alfred’s part. it’s not necessarily because that’s how he was always built. it wasn’t his default character. we know young bruce had friends and a running mouth like no other, so it’s highly likely he tried to verbalize the shattering pain of losing his parents when it happened but couldn’t. so he chose not to try again. throughout the comics, even in the eras where batman is at his darkest, there are plenty of scenes that expressing his feelings is seen through acts lacking speech bubbles. it’s only logical that when the girl that doesn’t speak but can read body language comes along, she gets under his skin quicker than any other member of the family

cass has had a far more difficult origin than bruce. she was emotionally and physically abused for many years, treated as an experiment by the person who was supposed to love and protect her unconditionally. and even though plenty of characters in the dcu have had a lot more going on with them than just losing their parents, bruce actually acknowledges her higher-tier pain. even in the likelihood he was planning on keeping her at arm’s length (which he attempted at first), it’d be a losing battle before it started. he could stand still with his best neutral face and cass would still be able to sense any agitation because to her no words equaled communication

and maybe he was comfortable with that? maybe part of him wished he had this kind of exchange as a kid when he needed it the most, somebody who just by walking in the room knew he was in pain, and the kind of pain at that too? their relationship was healing for both parties because one was finally understood for the first time in his life and the other was thrust into a family that’d die for her in an instant. every member was there for her, from barbara teaching her how to read and speak, to stephanie being her friend and giving her some sense of normality her life lacked, to tim being square with her and trusting her to take the lead when necessary, to dick being the designated big brother and finally finding someone not likely to get tired by his constant rambling. to bruce, who was the safe father figure she never had, which not only did he sense, he also actively chased at first by sidelineing her so she wouldn’t get hurt in the line of duty

i’ve seen so many people trying to interpret why bruce has so willingly and openly time and time again said cassandra is better than him, but it’s not really that complicating when you think about how if he didn’t say it, she’d still know anyway. that “anyway” was everything to him and the game changer in this

(Carcino Giovanna)

It was inevitable and I warned you that I was going to write a SnowBaz song in Baz’s point of view

Let me unveil a story that I will never tell
Let me send myself into flames again
Let him get some sleep
Some peace from prophecies that fill his mind
Like lies fill mine
Free his mind
Like he frees mine

It’s hopeless, that I know
In fact, that’s the operative word,
He brings me to the constellations,
Constantly better than expectations
If I’m built for hate, he’s built for love,
And if he is so much, I’m not enough,

Sing me a swan’s song,
Wrap me up in gold,
For the monster’s in love with Simon Snow
We might just be the heirs of war,
But while your heart is warm, mine is oh so cold
As cold as snow

And as the temperatures run higher,
We’ll find what we desire
My heart built like catacombs,
How to get out no one knows,
As we stay alive,
Do you see everyday I’m dying over you?


Sing me a swan’s song,
Wrap me up in gold,
For the monster’s in love with Simon Snow
We might just be the heirs of war,
But while your heart is warm, mine is oh so cold
As cold as snow

I’m drawn to fire and the things that burn me most,
I’m drawn to you like a shadow to a ghost,
And life goes on,
We carry on
Life goes on
We carry on.


Sing me a swan’s song,
Wrap me up in gold,
For the monster’s in love with Simon Snow
We might just be the heirs of war,
But while your heart is warm, mine is oh so cold
As cold as snow

Made with SoundCloud

I don’t care how many people trash this song, it’s still one of my favorites and always puts me in a happy mood :)

I love theatre because

Contemporary musicals are meant to follow the viewer home. Theatre isn’t an “escape” anymore. This isn’t South Pacific or Showboat. This is Rent. The Color Purple. Funhome. Next to Normal. It’s not just “entertainment”. Theatre is becoming a medium for so many different voices to be heard and LISTENED to. This theatre is supposed to be watched critically and force you to think about your actions. Hamilton is a show about American politics and how we are built by immigrants. If you go see Hamilton because it’s “nice” or “entertaining”, you’re insulting Lin-Manuel. The cast wanted to make sure that Pence was thinking about the show deeply and not just seeing pretty lights and costumes. I support that. I support theatre that challenges us.

Producer Ludwig Goransson Explains How Funkadelic Helped Shape Childish Gambino’s ‘Awaken, My Love!’

“We actually built a drum room in Donald’s house just to get the exact drum sound we wanted; it took a couple weeks to build,” says producer, songwriter and multi-instrumentalist Ludwig Goransson, who co-wrote and and co-produced the entirety of Awaken, My Love! and has worked with Glover for nearly a decade. “There are small little ingredients and notes [on the album] that are very well-thought-out, arrangement-wise, and there’s a lot of ear candy in there happening… I feel like it’s kind of the natural evolution of [his] sound.”

Click here to read more.

So in my mind this is the CS moment that parallels to this moment from Snowing:

“the first spark of a true love.” That is exactly what this moment was. I’m not saying they became TL from that moment on, we all know the story and how it was built. But Snowing also continued in a bickering status, until it was transformed to something deeper. 

On that moment on the beanstalk (which was the first time they ever really touched each other, just like snowing did), it was when they felt each other for the first time, you can see that in their look. That touch wasn’t “just a touch” they both felt it.

And in my mind right after this moment there was a little sapling created right there where they were standing, evidence of their soon to be true love.

And no one can convince me otherwise!

When I was ten,

I built a box

Inside my mind.

Cherry wood, red as bloodstains

Polished with the finality of life.

As I grew, it grew

To fit me.

Always big enough,

Just big enough,

To hold me in the ground.

When I was grown,

I buried my box

In the darkest corner of my mind.

Shrouded and forgotten, like death

As I came alive

And shone fierce and proud

In the light of a golden star.

When my time ran out,

I burned my box

To make room in my mind

For everything that you were.

With blood on my lips

And stardust in my lungs

I spoke your name

And they laid you beside me

In a coffin built for two.

—  This is how we were always meant to end, you and I. Together, or not at all.
They tell us stories of how Rome was built on ruins but we still sit under the moon and chain smoke because what they don’t know is we’ve got royalty in our blood.

They say Paris is for lovers so I put bows in my hair and drink too much wine and later that night I’ll threaten to climb the Eiffel tower and you’ll tell me about what the sky tastes like.

In Cairo you were the beloved pharaoh and I was just the girl you bumped into at the street market and we made eyes for two seconds and it was the closest to heaven we ever got but to everyone else it looked like treason.

I tell you that if you ever take me to Venice, I’ll drown myself in the water because I’ll never feel that pure again. You remind me that I can make every place I venture to my home and that I’m holier than the sky.

In Tokyo I stretch myself wide and try to make myself taller than the buildings, become more than the skyline. You tell me you can see the sun rising over the horizon in my eyes.

In Berlin we adopt new personas and I speak German brokenly, and you speak it like it’s your split tongue. We hide out in sketchy bars and you watch me spin under red lights and you pull me close and whisper, all das, könnte uns gehören, this can all be ours.

In London I shake under the weight of the rain and I avoid puddles because of superstition and on our last day you open the umbrella indoors and I tell you that you’ve done it now, jinxed us all the way back home.

Back home we count tumbleweeds instead of dandelions and I tell you that the strawberry plants won’t ever make it through the summer. You tell me about the bottle of rainwater you saved from London. About the broken lightbulb from Berlin. The cat-eye marble from Tokyo. The snapshot of Venice. The sand from Cairo. The mini Eiffel tower keychain. The postcard from Rome.

You remind me that we can make every place we venture to our home.
—  Roman Holiday, angelea l.
The Aftershocks

While we were in Rhode Island, we stopped in at my ex-wife’s house. She recently remodeled the kitchen in the house we bought together twenty years ago. It looked great, like something from a magazine or one of those home improvement shows. She has put a lot of work into updating a house that was built in 1848. We joked about how it took her twenty years to finally get to the kitchen.

We’ve had our differences, but now that our son is adult, things are easier. There is a civility that hasn’t been present in our relationship for decades. And while things weren’t always civil between us, she has stayed close to my family, particularly my parents and my sister.

My divorce was the lowest point in my life. Our son, Holden, was in kindergarten at the time. I did everything in my power to make sure very little changed in his life. I got an apartment a few blocks from the house. I changed my work schedule so I could pick him up from school every day and have him to myself in the afternoon. I had him every weekend.

These arrangements worked out well, but nights were hard. Going to bed alone. The quiet. The sense that someone had pulled you out of your warm bed and dragged you out into the cold night and left you at the curb. What now?

There was one incident during that time that stays with me. It was one small, morose moment that refuses to be forgotten.

It was five o’clock on a week night in early 2000. Holden and our dog, Lady, were sitting in the living room waiting for his mom to pick him up. The car that pulled up outside didn’t belong to her. There was a man behind the wheel and my ex-wife in the passenger seat. Holden kissed me and ran out the door with his backpack swinging around his shoulder and the clicking and thumping of Lady running to catch up.

The driver side door opened and a man stepped out of the car, gave my son a high five, nuzzled Lady’s head, got back in and off they went. I watched from the window as they drove off like a family. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t take my eyes off the car as it disappeared down the street. I felt left behind. Forgotten.

I slid down onto the floor and just stared at the ceiling. I didn’t cry. For some reason, I couldn’t. I just stared, feeling like I witnessed someone kidnap my child while I stood helpless. I thought about going into the bathroom and downing every pill in the medicine cabinet before lying down and just letting myself slip away.

But I didn’t. I got through it. I don’t really remember what snapped me out of it. Maybe I never really have. Maybe there is still a piece of me there, standing by the window, watching that car get smaller.

This city reminds me of us. It reminds me of how we built our dreams like sky scrapers and gigantic towers. It reminds me of people- busy people who never knew how perfect we are when we’re together. It reminds me of coffee shops and caffeinated drinks. It reminds me of pennies left on the pavements of the streets. This city was us but we burnt it down. From concrete walls to steel bars, everything was falling apart. This city was us. Now, we’re nothing but empty air and poisonous gas.
—  12:57 // the city in us 
I started discovering Audre Lorde and Angela Davis and all of these intricacies of feminism that were not being presented to me by these white feminist ‘icons.’ It was only then that I realized…how it’s more about undoing these walls that we have built around marginalized people.
—  You’ve got to read Rowan Blanchard explain intersectional feminism.