i am proud to be dutch

Comment on the dutch exit polls

Is this the ideal perfect situation? no obviously. There are a lot of problems with the VVD. they’re tories after all.


this shows 2 things:

1. The Dutch people will not tolerate nationalism. They will not follow inn the footsteps of america and the UK. They are here for Europe.

2. The young generations CAME OUT TO VOTE IN THEIR MASSES. IN. THEIR. MASSES. they absolutely SKYROCKETED groenlinks. SKYROCKETED. they literally quadrupled their number of seats.

Also every single party speech was just “ahahahahahahaha fuck PVV noice im proud of the Dutch people” and honestly what a fucking vibe.

So yeah. I’m proud. I am proud to be Dutch right now. Dank je wel Nederland. 

ClexaCon 2017

My personal experience of ClexaCon started on the very first day it was announced on 13th May 2016. That same day Sofia sent me a DM that was basically ‘Soooo see you in Vegas in a year?’ 

We had no idea what it would be, but the mere thought that there would be an event to celebrate Lexa and what she represents along with other fans was exciting as fuck, especially after all the sadness. I’m pretty sure we then talked to Elke about how she has to go as well and this was the entire point of her turning 21 – so she could be of age in Vegas.

We were then so so so fortunate to be asked pretty early on to come on as panelists, which cemented the fact that yes, we would indeed be going to ClexaCon.

There were months of nothing, months of drama, and months of squealing excitement. And with every new announcement, every new detail no matter how small, we talked about it. ClexaCon was the constant thread running through our conversations. Excited to meet each other, to meet other fans, to hear the important discussions that will be going on – so even though there were some hesitations and bumps in the road, it never took away from knowing that this would be an important event we had to attend.

Finally after 10 months of hype, we found ourselves meeting up at the airport ready to go to Bally’s. I met Rachel first, who is tiny but mighty and incredibly easy to talk with. Sofia then sent a message that her plane had landed and before I knew it I heard a ‘Rin?’ and she popped up behind me. I remember thinking that she was shorter than I thought she would be. There was a longer wait for Elke and Liv, so we sat around and snacked for a bit until they said they were collecting their baggage. We went to meet them and it was the funniest thing because we kidded that we should just look for someone tall and then we saw this really tall girl about 80m away so Sofia and I just waited as she walked towards us wondering if she would notice. Elke did a double take and that was it, we were united.

I can’t believe how quickly the weirdness of actually being face to face with you guys seemed to fade away, replaced with a feeling of familiarity as if we had known each other for years.

The Badge Party will be something I’ll never forget, especially the moment we walked in. That was my first moment of ‘oh shit what have we gotten ourselves into, what is happening right now?!’ but it was okay because I knew I wasn’t alone in feeling like a fish out of water. The party ended up being such an amazing introduction to the kind of vibe ClexaCon would be – an environment where everyone could truly be themselves without fear of judgement or discrimination.

Personally the biggest challenge I faced during the con was the hours before the Lexa’s Legacy panel. I felt sick with nerves, and I could only eat a few pieces of fruit that I stole from your breakfasts. The nerves only increased as we walked towards the hall and saw the number of people lining up. And when I was allowed in to see how big the room was, it was…intimidating to say the least.

I took this photo of the audience when the panel was just starting and when I looked closer I saw these two goofy proud parents towards the back.


I don’t think I could have gotten through the nerves and anxiety of such a huge event as a whole without you guys. So whenever I think of ClexaCon, I’ll think of you two before I think of Sarah Shahi and Amy Acker. For me the event would have been nothing without the both of you there, you are my weird Canadian/Dutch family and I will always be grateful that we got to share (sometimes overshare) the experience together.

I am so lucky that so many friends I’ve met over the years through fandom were able to fly out to Vegas to attend as well, some of whom I’ve known for 8 years. It honestly felt like a big coming home party. And to all the new amazing people I met, thank you for being so kind, caring, and supportive. You truly made this a bizarre, yet very very special week. Also thank you to everyone who I shared a panel with, Alexia, April, Linnea, Tara, Jess, Adrienne, and Meg. Special shoutouts to my room buddies Rachel (GET OUT!) and the chair thieving Liv. Without you both, who would hold our bags????

Finally, as someone who spent most of their younger years being incredibly shy, up until the point where I never spoke until I was spoken to – ClexaCon felt like the way the world should feel. Inviting and freeing. I spent the whole event feeling like I could talk to anyone about anything and I would genuinely be accepted for who I am. So thank you ClexaCon for creating that space for me, and for everyone else who went. I could never repay the favour, but you’ve inspired me to damn well try.

ClexaCon 2018. See you there.

@damnlexa @shes-special

Top picture credit: Evan

I work in a Dutch supermarket, and one of my favourite costumers, a Turkish woman, invited me for tea and cake, because she thinks I am very nice to her and stuff. She barely speaks Dutch, but she tries so hard, I am so proud of her. And I had a lovely time at her house with her beautiful family. I just wish all costumers were like this.


20 years ago today, the Bosnian people faced the greatest genocide in Europe since the Holocaust in World War II. Over a period of 11 days, more than 8,000 of the men and boys were massacred while the women faced unspeakable torture. All this while the UN “peacekeepers” watched from the safety of the surrounding hills. According to some eyewitness testimonies Dutch peacekeepers were among the refugees watching as the Serbs raped and murdered them. Those same “peacekeepers” had declared Srebrenica a “UN Safe Zone” before the Serbs came and killed everyone.

Why did the Serbs kill the Bosnians? Because the Bosnians are a proud European Muslim people. The Bosnians were killed for their Islam.

I will never forget when I met a Bosnian girl and her mother, both refugees, from that time.

“So where are you from?”
“I am from Srebrenica.”
“Where is the rest of your family?”

She gave me a slightly annoyed look as if to tell me I should know better, and repeated:

“I am from Srebrenica.”

~ Shibli Zaman

Illya Kuryakin Request

hey, first of all, I really like your writing, go you. And second, if you are taking requests, I’d like to request one Illya Kuryakin one, where you are the daughter of a lord and they (u.n.c.l.e) have to protect you from something and in the middle you and Illya ‘seal the deal’.

AN: thanks for liking me writing!! And the Russian words are swears

“What’s going on,” you asked your fathers security guards as they rushed you down the hall to your father’s office, but they said nothing. You were put into your father’s office and the large doors were shut behind you. “Father, what is going on?” When you looked to the other side of his office you saw him sitting against his desk with four people around him.

A woman and older man sat in the chairs near his desk while two men stood on each side of the desk. “You’re leaving the palace for a short time, my dear.”

“May I ask why?”

You father hesitated and looked down at his feet. “Your father, Lord Y/L/N, has received a threat against his highness and yourself, Lady Y/N,” the older man said.

“A threat? From who? Threatening what exactly, Mr.-?”

“-Waverly. From who is unclear but we do have a strong suspect. My Lady, this threat says that should your Father continue his works towards his trading project and should he deliver his final speech solidifying the matter in three months time he will be target and his empire will be torn brick by brick.”

“You are my only true prised possession, Y/N. If this person is serious about me getting to stop my trading project then they will know the only true way to do so is by getting to you. For your safety I’m sending you away with these agents. They are the best of the best and will keep you safe.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“We didn’t know until a couple days ago that it was a serious threat,” Waverly spoke up again. “Lady Y/N, this is Napoleon Solo and Gaby. These two and I will be watching over you father as he finishes his trade work. Agent Kuryakin will be accompanying you to a secure area, an extreme safehouse if you will. Lady Y/N, please go pack warm clothes and all your necessities. You and Kuryakin will be leaving in half an hour.”

“Half an hour. Why so soon?”

“We can waste no time my dear,” you father walked to you and hugged you. “I love you, you know that. I need you to go back your bags and I’ll see you in 3 months time when you return,” he kissed your forehead and sent you on your way.


“Do you talk? Or is this brute silence some sort of Russian thing?” You cracked a small smile and the smug large man that sat across from you in the car.

“I talk,” he tried hiding a smirk. “Russians are those of few words, Lady Y/N.”

“Please, just Y/N. I save my title name for political and social situations. So,” you looked at the country roads as the rushed passed by your window, “where are we going?”

“Secret place. No one will find you, don’t worry.”

Hours and hours later after lots of driving and a couple flights you felt the large car slow down and saw you were approaching a small cabin in the middle of the snow covered woods.

“We will be safe here,” Ilya said and parked the car. “Hours from civilization, a perimeter set up 30 miles around to let us know if someone’s near, and with all the snow it’s virtually undetectable by helicopter.” He helped you out of the car and carried your bags in the small cabin with his. “This is your bedroom, Y/N. The bath is right across from this room. You saw the small kitchen and living room as you walked in.”

“Where’s your room?”

He chuckled a bit, “Cabin is small. I will take couch.”

“You on that small couch? A rat couldn’t lay on that. Please, have the bed.”

“You are a Lady. I cannot make you sleep on the couch.”

“Fine then we can alternate who sleeps on the couch.” He went to argue but you stopped him. “You have to listen to me; I am a Lady after all,” and with that you walked out into the living room.

*1 month in*

“How is it that you’ve manage to beat me in all but one game,” Illya said angrily and threw his cards onto the table. “Where did you learn to play poker like this?”

“Oh, you know, in between riding lessons and piano and french,” you smiled as Illya laughed. Although you’d never admit it you’d gone extremely found of the man the past month you’d been together.

“You speak French. Why am I not surprised?”

“I speak many languages,” you pretended to be offended. “French, Dutch, Spanish, Manderin, and Latin. And, after our three months together I’ll be proud to tell my father about the Russian I’ve learned.”

Illya’s eyebrows shot up. “And what Russian have you learned?”

“Дерьмо, черт, Бл-”

“Ok, ok, I get it. Let’s not tell your father, or Waverly, that I taught you any Russian. Especially those words,” he cheerfully laughed. “I thought lady of your status could not say words like those.”

“I am not a lady here. I am a woman in a cabin with a man who is not a secret agent. I believe that’s how I’m suppose to answer, correct?”

“Correct. Tell your Father I taught you that,” he pointed a joking finger at you.

“Well, Kuryakin, I will be sure to tell him. But first, I think I’ll go to bed.” You got up and started towards the bedroom.

“Where are you going?”

“To bed. I told you.”

“No no no. It is your turn for couch!”

“Oh, no it is not. You slept in the bed an extra night last week because you said you hurt your leg tracking that deer. Therefore, I get an extra night in the bed. Goodnight, sir,” you did your finest and most sarcastic curtsy you could and shut the bedroom door.

*2 months in*

“Are you always such a skilled shot,” you made light of the bleeding wound coming from Illya’s arm.

“It’s been nearly two months since I fired my gun and years since I’ve used an arrow. Give me a break,” he cracked back. “At least I caught us dinner,” he threw the bloodied bow and arrow on the kitchen table. He disappeared into the bathroom, “I need you to do me a favor.”

“Need me to teach you how to use a bow?”

“Ha ha, very funny. I need you to stitch me up,” he threw the kit on the couch next to you.

“You need me to what? Illya I’ve never done anything medical a day in my life!”

“Don’t worry I will walk you threw it. You’ll do fine,” he reassured you when he saw the worry on your face.”

“Ok, I think that does it,” you bit your lip as you finished stitching.

“Great confidence. I feel very safe with that response.”

“I still have a needle and I will stab you,” you muttered and looked up, your eyes locking directly with Illya’s. You hadn’t realised how close you had been to his face as you stitched him up.

“Wouldn’t be the worse thing that’s been done to me,” he spoke hushed and looked between your eyes and your lips.

“And what’s the worse thing that’s happened to you,” you whispered.

“Looking at you everyday for the past two months and not being able to kiss you.” Then his lips were on yours and you were laying under him on the couch.

You woke up the next morning lying with only the bed’s blankets on you. You smiled as you took in Illya looking at you. “How long have you been awake?”

“An hour. You were to peaceful, I didn’t want to wake you,” he grinned.

“Ill, what are we going to do when we get out of here,” you asked with a pinch of sadness.

“Hey,” he lifted your head from his chest, “we have a month together left here, we’ll make it count. And, when you return home we’ll figure it all out. You are mine to protect; now and even after I’ve brought you home.”


Almost 22 years ago, the Bosnian people faced the greatest genocide in Europe since the Holocaust in World War II. Over a period of 11 days, more than 8,000 of the men and boys were massacred while the women faced unspeakable torture. All this while the UN “peacekeepers” watched from the safety of the surrounding hills.

According to some eyewitness testimonies Dutch peacekeepers were among the refugees watching as the Serbs raped and murdered them. Those same “peacekeepers” had declared Srebrenica a “UN Safe Zone” before the Serbs came and killed everyone.

Why did the Serbs kill the Bosnians? Because the Bosnians are a proud European Muslim people. The Bosnians were killed for their Islam.

I will never forget when I met a Bosnian girl and her mother, both refugees, from that time.

“So where are you from?”
“I am from Srebrenica.”
“Where is the rest of your family?”

She gave me a slightly annoyed look as if to tell me I should know better, and repeated:

“I am from Srebrenica.”

- Shibli Zaman


*whispers burner-swapssssss* (I still have 0 ideas what I think Red looks like so I took some of my fav. headcanons that I’ve seen around and made something up. TuT) (Jacob stays on their side to balance numbers and because I wanted his dynamic with Abraham!)

Where Deluxe is a peaceful and orderly (but not too orderly) city in the sunshine and Motorcity is all but owned by a Ms. Kane whose belief in complete personal freedom extends to crushing any attempts at establishing a police force or any form of enforced order.  If anybody signs on with Kane Co., protecting them becomes her personal interest and any slight or injury toward them will be severely punished—in extreme cases, by Kane Co.’s continuously-smiling right hand man or the highly experimental bots turned out by her one-man R&D department.

Actually I have so many thoughts and a lot more drawings so I’m gonna do a readmore, hold up.

Keep reading


Override 0 - Registration Inquiry // Initiate Repair Cycle

“Override 0, stand by for orders.”
“What?” Mike was about to pull his staff–he stops instead, confused, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Behind him, Chuck goes perfectly still, frozen in mid-step, and then slowly eases back to a stand-still, waiting. “What the heck are you talking about?”
“Acknowledged,” Chuck says, quiet and flat and empty. “Standing by.”

OH LOOK IT’S A FIC!  The fluff/hurt/comfort/drama/angst/fluff I’ve been promising is finally cleaned up and good to post.  (I actually finished it a few days ago, but I was trying a new style so the art took a while! UwU)  Please enjoy!

Fun facts about my manic night at the museum:

  • I burnt myself on my arm on my heat gun. Because stopping for a band-aid sounded too hard, I slapped some packing tape on it that wasn’t removed until about 5:30PM on Saturday.
  • I spent the better part of the overnight building a blue dress out of automotive paper towels that I had to soak so they would expand, hang dry, press, and reinforce. The bodice and skirt were draped using period references and research of Dutch dress in the 1650s. It was all actually stitched using a sewing machine including top stitching, smocking, and pressed seams. I am very proud of that dress, but it could not be painted or dyed after it was built because when wet, the paper towels expand and when they dry, they do not reform the same way they were before being wet. For reasons beyond mine or my team’s control, we had to change the color, so that dress never made it to the final work.
  • The red dress of the final artwork was made in under an hour.
  • I engineered armature wires within the costume in a few places to allow it to have a windswept look for the motion of the piece.
  • The skirt was dyed with fountain pen inks that my brother gave me.
  • I showed up with twice the luggage of the rest of the students, but had more shit that we needed than anyone else.
  • Myself and one other member of my team are the only ones to not sleep during the entirety of the 16 hour challenge.

Though we didn’t win, I’m very proud of what we accomplished as a team. I’m very proud of what we as a group of students through all three groups created. I love how our final work turned out. I leaned into my experience of all-nighter cosplay binge builds and years of working with non-traditional materials. I’m grateful to have stayed overnight at the Getty and I’m extremely excited to see our work on display INSIDE THE GETTY tomorrow night.

My contribution to the Tumblr Meme thing for RvB

I am so happy by the fact that my boyfriend supports me in every language in want to learn like “you started italian ? I can help you !” or “you started japanese ? Good thing ! I want to go to Japan with you one day”

I hope that you (yes you) have someone you support you in everything you want to learn. If not, well, you have this community here that loves you and supports you no matter what. And I am also proud of you.


The Roost WIP

I’ve got another Animal Crossing related project going on in my free time, I’m making a miniature version of The Roost! Or at least a part of it. I will be making a Brewster to stand behind the bar and I will be trying to make all the decorations and the rest of the furniture seen in this part of the cafe as well. This bit of text became a bit long so I have put the rest behind the read more.

Keep reading

A Strong Heart, A Willing Heart

It is fall. I wanted to make something comforting. Food should not be a comfort but sometimes, often, it is. I settled on pot roast and worked from a Martha Stewart recipe. I would have used Ina’s recipe but hers was so elaborate and I did not have that kind of time. I enjoy cooking but it is so time-intensive and I hate grocery shopping. I cannot wait to live in a city where I can have excellent grocery delivery and that will make all this domesticity easier. 

I bought a rump roast and rubbed it down with herbs and garlic and let it marinate for about a day. I also giggled because, RUMP ROAST. Food is funny.

When it was time to get down to cooking, I browned the RUMP ROAST on all sides, with some olive oil, in my dutch oven. 

Note to self: Next time, I will use a better cut of meat, but it is hard to find nice cuts of meat around here. It’s kind of weird. This is the Midwest, right?

I won an award, the PEN USA Freedom to Write Award. It feels pretty fancy. I am proud and honored. It feels particularly exciting to win this award as a woman, as a black woman, as a feminist writer, as a queer writer, as someone who writes about pop culture and social justice in equal measure. I don’t know that I am worthy but I do know I am not unworthy. There are other professional things, exciting things, that are brewing. I can’t wait to tell you about them. 

When the roast was nicely browned, I added three onions, cut into wedges, two cups of beef stock, a cup of wine (yeah, I went rebel on the recipe and used a bit more wine than Martha suggested), some garlic and thyme, and tomato paste. Then I stuck the RUMP ROAST in the oven at 350 degrees for about three hours. 

Uncertainty is not my favorite thing. I have been on a precipice for so long. When I think of my future, I have this vision, extravagantly hopeful, but that’s my right. What I don’t know is if the vision is shared. There are no clues. Or there are clues that suggest, it is not. That’s an uncomfortable thing. What do I do? There is no easy answer. 

The Freedom to Write award lauds exceptional courage. I rarely feel brave. In the LIt Hub write up, the writer said I have a heroic heart. All too often, I feel like I have a foolish heart. I do know I have a strong heart, a willing heart, a patient heart. So I write and I write and I write. 

The original recipe called for carrots and potatoes but I didn’t feel like peeling all those carrots and also the carrots looked fairly gross so I used mushrooms and red potatoes, instead. I let them roast, with the RUMP ROAST ha ha, for another hour.

Winter is coming. Darkness arrives earlier. I love fall. I love a chill, briskness in the air. I do not love winter. May this coming winter be mild. 

I have about 25 days to finish Hunger: A Memoir of (My) Body. The book will be out on June 7. It is definitely the hardest thing I’ve ever written–to take such a hard look at myself, my body, how difficult it is to change, to be myself, to love myself, to make my body smaller and more comfortable, to allow myself to be loved. 

I am writing about these things and living these things at the same time. I am planning a surprise for someone, that is also for me, that is going to surprise a lot of people. If I pull it off I will be very proud of myself.

[Here is all the emotional, intimate stuff I cannot write about on Tumblr.]

When all was said and done, the roast turned out pretty well and looked pretty good. I shared a picture of my roast on Twitter and a NYC chef mansplained the dish in the most hilarious way. He acted like cooking mushrooms with beef was an entirely unknown culinary choice. And then the situation snowballed. It’s strange–that my Twitter exchanges now become “news” stories. Strange isn’t quite the word. Disconcerting, perhaps. 

Next time I attempt a pot roast, I will add carrots, use better cut of meat, cook in a bigger pot, and brown the meat with far less olive oil because there was an uncomfortable amount of grease in the dish. But, I am encouraged by this foray into long roasting meats. 

Speaking of roasted meats–those Arby’s commercials are stressful and out of control. Why is Ving Rhames yelling at me about processed, fast food meats like they are delicacies? Why is he being so aggressive? Every time one of those commercials come on, I get kind of angry. I want to fight someone. 

互爱, English: mutual love

A long overdue fan art for one of my favorite shows. I will be selling it as a print at next years DCC (Dutch comic con)! It has been five hundreth years since the Legend of Korra finale I am still not over this show (I rewatched the first two seasons while drawing this). I can’t wait for the comics to come out in october

: D