this is what my childhood looks like

anonymous asked:

Why are you so anti La La Land?

I’m not anti-La La Land at all. I have nothing against it, it’s a cute movie and all. I just feel like movies like Moonlight are more deserving of all of the awards that La La Land has been sweeping up this awards season.

The reason why I want Moonlight to win so bad is because of its story. To have a movie about an African-American boy struggling with his sexuality while growing up is something I thought would never happen. It’s touching and relatable because it’s something that I went through growing up and to see someone that looks like me going through what I went through during my whole childhood really strikes a chord with me. Growing up African-American and gay is difficult because the stigma of showing yourself as weak or feminine is something still looked down upon in the African-American community if you’re a boy. You have to act as masculine as you can to prove yourselves to others or else you would get teased or picked on. Barry Jenkins telling of Chiron’s story through Moonlight paints a story of millions of African American males childhoods. Not only African American males but also other males of color as well.

When you compare that to a musical about a white woman wanting to be an actress and a white man wanting to save jazz, a genre deeply rooted in African-American culture and from slavery…she just doesn’t have the range compared to Moonlight, I’m sorry.

But none of this really matters anyway because we all know that La La Land is going to sweep at the Oscars just like it did with all the other major award shows this season so

10

to this day, he’s still dreaming

i had wondered what hanzo and genji’s childhood was like, and how sad it must be for both of them if their childhood was a great one with both getting along perfectly and being each other’s best friends, so naturally i had to draw hanzo looking through the family photo album of holographic videos and pictures and making himself feel awful. (click at the beginning of each sequence for their ages!)

Robbie Rotten is Literally a Troll

With the huge increase in popularity in the Icelandic Children’s TV show Lazytown, I quickly noticed that the original drafts had some root into icelandic folklore, for instance, Sportacus was originally an elf. In the kid’s tv show, it seemed to have discarded those cultural roots in place of something more Americanized- making a trickster elf into a superhero. It seems that all trace of Iceland has been erased (except for Magnus Scheving’s accent), but there may be more down the rabbit hole. 

I’m studying Anthropology, and have been a Storyteller for many years, with an emphasis in folklore from different parts of the world. When I noticed that the original Sportacus was an elf, I was quite intrigued. How much matched up with traditional Icelandic folklore? So, I looked it up. 

The most common nordic/ Icelandic folk tale is about beings called huldufolk (hidden folk) which can be recognized as being fairies, elves, and trolls. 

Sportacus matches up closely with the stories of the elves. In fact, he was one in the drafts that didn’t quite make it too far out of Iceland. However, Sportacus still has a lot of traits that match up with the elves from Icelandic folklore. One prominent story that comes to mind is a story about a town that loved to dance, and when the sheriff of the town banned dancing, the elves sided with the townsfolk who loved dancing to run the sheriff out of town. Does that sound familiar? An elf siding with someone who loves to dance to keep dancing and other activities alive in the town while stopping the person who gets in the way is essentially the plot of every single episode of Lazytown. While the original Sportacus was a lot more cruel in his tricks, the current Sportacus certainly bears resemblance to the original when it comes to motivation. 

Now on to Robbie Rotten. Who is he? In the show he is a lazy, rude, disguise wearing, and antisocial man who looks very different from the majority of the citizens in Lazytown. He is also the tallest character, and has purposefully distorted features. Given these traits, we can compare them. 

Trolls are creatures that are dim witted and easily outsmarted. They dislike most people and prefer to live in caves underground to avoid interaction. They are humanoid in nature, though often are shown as being larger than the average human. Their features are also distorted from humans, like having exceptionally long noses or chins. They are also considered to be clumsy, lazy, and poor mannered. 

The hobbies of trolls are also quite telling- they enjoy kidnapping people (even if they do not know what to do with them afterwards) and disguising themselves to trick humans

Robbie Rotten spends all of his time making poor schemes to trick the humans of Lazytown. Many of his plans involves kidnapping one of the citizens of Lazytown, though after they’re captured he often doesn’t know what to do next. He ultimately wants to be left alone in peace and quiet in his underground cavern. Most notably, he uses disguises to try and accomplish his goals, just like many trolls do in traditional Nordic tales. 

The only Troll characteristic that Robbie does not possess is the aversion to sunlight, but hey, no theory is perfect.

I’m a historian.  Don’t know how many of you know that.  I’m getting a PhD in history, with a specialty in dictatorship, trauma, and childhood.  It’s a field I’ve never wanted to actually be this useful in real life…

I’ve been dreading a Trump presidency from the outset of his candidacy because I’ve studied dictatorial regimes and the fragile lines between democratic and authoritarian rule for the entirety of my adult life.  I know what the collapse of democratic rule looks like. 

This is it people.  We’re at that point.  It’s not a joke, it’s not hyperbole, it’s not conjecture.  We’re about to live in a xenophobic police state.  That’s about to become our reality.

Now, more than ever before, it is essential for us to stick together.  Love one another, support one another, stand with one another.  All forms of oppression are linked.  People like Trump will want to divide us.  They’ll want to break us down from the inside and outside.  They’ll want to fracture our spirit and our sense of worth.  Don’t let them. Know that you matter, know that you are not alone, know that small acts of kindness and solidarity can mean the difference between life and death. 

I can use history to make predictions based on past knowledge, but the present and the future are constantly being rewritten.  We are the agents of change in this world.  We can make a difference. 

I just cant help myself. I’m sorry! (not rly) but terumob is so cuuute xD

Have you ever think about what if teru is mob’s childhood friend instead of tsubomi? Have you ever wonder how adorable it is? Gaaaah I got more cavities than I should but I have no regrets. I will spread the cavities to everyone muahahah!

I used some scene from ep 2 for reference and tbh, I’m very bad with angles and poses lel
Also, idk what teru looks like when he was a kid so…. i just use his first hairstyle before the top of his head shaved clean hahah.

He rips back the shower curtain and Sam jumps under the spray of water, turns to look at him with wide, red eyes, whimpers, “My hair, Dean, my hair,” and holds out a weak hand, wet brown strands all tangled up with his fingers, a hunk that’s too large to ignore.

Dean knows with a sudden, distinct clarity what it feels like to have his heart break.

He reaches into the shower, through the spray to shut off the water. He pulls a towel off the rack, bundles his baby brother up and over the lip of the tub, dries him off slowly, carefully. The towel gets tucked around Sam’s waist, and he wraps Sam’s honeycomb wrists in one hand, draws Sam’s arms up and around his neck, turns around and tugs until Sam gets the message, presses one skinny leg up onto Dean’s flank so Dean can hook a hand underneath. The arms around Dean’s neck tighten enough that he can let go, secure Sam’s other leg up against his side, and he piggybacks his brother across the hall with Sam’s face buried against the back of his neck, water dripping from Sam’s hair under the collar of his shirt.

He leaves his brother on the mattress to wait while he digs out sweatpants, a long-sleeved shirt, and a sweater to go on top of it, bundles Sam up in layers because there’s snow on the ground outside. His own shirt is wet from the shower, but he doesn’t notice until they’re already outside and the cold spreads down his skin like the creeping touch of despair.

Dean only has his learner’s permit, but he’s a good driver, especially with his brother tucked pale and shivering into the passenger seat. Dad’s taken the truck to the shop because even with the extra help he hired on he still has to put in some face time, Mom too taking advantage of Dean’s being out of school to make up for some of the time she’s had to take off work lately, so neither of them are around to hear the distinctive rumble of the Impala’s engine turning over.

He drives them to a strip mall, parks in front of Great Clips, kills the engine. “Come on,” he says to Sam’s careful look, pats his brother on the knee to encourage him.

The shop is empty, mid-afternoon on a weekday, and a woman with a pile of curls on her head is spinning listlessly back and forth in the chair at the front counter, popping her gum. “Hi!” she says brightly. “What can I do for you boys today?”

“How much is it to get your head shaved?”

“Ten bucks.” She pops her gum again. “Which one of you?”

“Both,” Dean answers, and Sam makes a noise that’s basically a squeak (which Dean is totally gonna make fun of him for later), stares wide-eyed with shock.

Read Engraftment on AO3

Art commissioned from the unfathomably talented @hellhoundsprey.

girls like us, 
blue gatorade girls in nikes, running
miles and miles but unsure what we’re
trying to get away from [it’s the extra curves
and bumps and inches in our genes, I mean
jeans, I mean
girls like kohl-jacket-girls in black doc martens 
that squeak just a little too loud, not metaphorically,
just a little too loud on tile, though the statement sure is a
statement; girls whose mommas work extra hard around
christmas to buy their daughters the name-brand combat boots
that squeak just a little too loud. girls who make statements
without thinking about making statements. girls like us, with
unruly hair since infancy, brown and coarse
and trailing down our spines like slithering snakes,
girls who were taught - through harsh words or
subliminal messages or subtle teen magazine advertising - to
hate the wild parts of them, before they could even begin
to understand what a beautiful thing it is to be uncontrollable,
unconquered.
they look at girls like us, with skin browner than theirs,
hair thicker than theirs, eyes darker than theirs, trauma
louder
than theirs, because we’re different,
because we radiate a foresty-golden glow in the sun
instead of pale against it, because we
had our bumpy middle eastern childhoods
with nothing to relate to and no one to understand,
and they
had their proud, sometimes by-the-book [and when it’s not, oh, the praise they get] american ones. girls like us, they
look at us different, smile at us different, eyes linger
just a second too long. i see the way
they look at me and they look at my momma, and wonder
about us. what makes us stand out around the people
who surround us, the men and women with criticism and
cynicism on their faces as they look
down on us, like they want to drain the life, the soul, the
different, 
out of us. girls like us, who grew up
admiring the lightness around us, the whiteness
around us, wanting it,
craving it like the rose water syrup and cardamom in
the pretty pastries my daddy and his family love that
no one that’s
not like us can pronounce. [we say “baklava” like
“buck-low-wuh” and i know the sound so good because
i used to hate it so much when my
mommy and daddy would speak their language
around other people and they would look at us funny,
look at us angrily, look at us nervously, i used to be
one of those girls that hated our language so much i could
never forget a single sound from it, a single
syllable] girls like us, who grew up envying the silky
flatness falling on the heads of the girls at school, girls like
us, who sent the moisture in our scalps to hell with
flat irons and
blow dryers, and “relaxing” treatments, but
I don’t want to relax, we don’t
WANT TO RELAX, momma, i wish they wouldn’t tell us
to relax momma, like me and you aren’t entitled to some
compassion just because we’re different, momma. i wish
i didn’t want to change my nose so bad, momma, daddy
probably feels really sad when i say that, since it’s just like his,
momma. girls like us who get to college and work full-time
at our dad’s stores to help them 
make it on their own in a country, in a land that
fought against them since they stepped foot on the 
pride-soaked soil; girls like us who count each penny in 
each pay check with a guilt like maybe, just maybe, we should
do it for free, since momma and daddy did everything to make
sure that, when we knew this world and how to be, that we
were
free. girls like us that collect the coins to pay for our own expenses,
college loans, car payment, the inevitable rhinoplasty we wanted since childhood, braces our families couldn’t afford, for us or our brothers and sisters, clothes, make-up.
because diversity isn’t enough sometimes to get a
broke colored girl into college for less - straight As or not, because
our fathers and mothers were not raised with handouts, and they’ll
be damned if we don’t break a sweat for our wheels, too, because our noses are too long, just a little off the top…because metal on our teeth
and bronzer on our cheeks and black on our arms to thin out our
silhouettes, but it's 
never been enough for
girls like us.
momma,
what did they do to
girls like us
who sprouted differently than the rest
to make us think that
just because our petals didn’t look like theirs,
that they were thorns and weeds
instead?
—  © Kayla Kathawa / THEY LOOK AT US FUNNY
3

Hey guys, been a while since my last post here. I finally got round to doing another Ghibli fan art, this one’s Howl’s Moving Castle. 

I’ve read the book by Diana Wynne Jones more than a few times during my childhood, and reread it again a few months ago, just as awesome. I watched the movie this year too, a fairly different vibe, but still entertaining.

Wanted to portray Howl as the main driving force of his moving castle, thus the composition. Someone told me it looks like he’s protecting it, and hey, that works too~ 

Enjoy~ 

Colors. 

When Jace was young he longed to see colors. To know what everything looked like. To not just see constant blacks and whites and grays. 

His father had told him it was a silly dream, that seeing the world in black and white, that was what was right. Colors can blind you, make you weak and vulnerable. Just like love. (Love is weakness. Jace refused to be weak.)

Jace believed him. 

He didn’t think about colors anymore. (Not even when he was covered in blood and bruises, no, he didn’t wonder how they looked with color. He didn’t. Not once.)

x

The first color Jace saw was brown. 

It was after he got back from Valentine, after he got kicked out of the institute. He was staying at Magnus’ apartment, Magnus and Alec had left, mentioning something about ‘alone time in Italy.’ Jace wasn’t really paying attention.  

Jace had crashed on the couch, staring at the tv without really taking anything in when Simon entered the apartment. 

Magnus was mentoring him and must’ve forgotten to mention to Simon that he wasn’t home that day. 

“Oh,” Simon said, after Jace told him Magnus was off with Alec somewhere in Italy. “Well, in that case, I guess I should, um, be going.” 

“Stay?” Jace wasn’t sure why he suggested it. But being alone didn’t sound too great. “I mean, if you want… We could watch one of those star movies you’re always rambling on about?”

“Really?” Simon looked shocked. 

Jace shrugged. “Yeah,”

Simon grinned. “Alright,”

So Simon joined him on the couch after setting up the first Star Wars movie.

Jace didn’t really pay much attention to the movie, instead he watched Simon, as the vampire rambled excitedly about different things that were happening in the movie. 

It was about an hour into the movie that when Jace glanced at Simon, he noticed his eyes. They weren’t black, or gray, but a softer color. Something warmer. Gentle. Like melted chocolate. Jace couldn’t help but stare. (Don’t fall in love. Don’t fall in love.)

He didn’t say anything about it to anyone. 

x

Keep reading

Little things that I love in Sense8

  • how Kala goes from “I don’t know how to kick people to mush like Sun” to “so I guess I’ll just make a FUCKING BOMB” in 0.2 seconds
  • How Lito appoaches Wolfgangs situation like a movie director or an actor by analysing the environment, the “scene”; He’s like: “Ah, so this is where you planned to fall, and there is the gun, very good…” I bet he had a billion conversations like this with directors, discussing fighting choreography to solve framing and pacing problems.
  • the fact that Aminata thinks the man who tried to lobotomise her girlfriend couldn’t be entirely evil because he had a copy of a Nancy Drew book in his bookshelf (Can somebody explain the phenomenon of Nancy Drew to me? Being german, this wasn’t part of my childhood. I looked it up on Wikipedia, but I still don’t quite get it)
  • while we’re at it: the fact that Dr Metzger (seriously that’s what you’re calling him? Dr Butcher? okay….) called Nomi by her name. It would have been easy to make him some transphobic arsehole, but the few bits that we saw of him made him look like he would be a neat dude if he wasn’t running around lobotomising people. And he seemed really scared of Mr Whispers, so I kinda feel sorry for him.
  • When Lito says “We had sex”, you can basically see Wills brain freeze like “..but…no…homo? yes homo? me homo? whaaaaaa” dude, your straight days are over, get over it, welcome to the pan
  • Silas’ daughter picking Wonder Woman’s civilian name as a decoy name.
  • How Wolfgang takes it as a personal insult when Will doesn’t recognise a line from Conan. And what this movie means to him and how it connects him to Felix and how Felix as a child descided to take on a grown man to protect him and basically I need to watch Conan again some time.
  • the entire scene between Lito and Nomi. I was in tears after that. 
  • I’M CHANGING MY FUCKING TAMPON! YOU WANT THIS?

So I’m on netflix and it recommends me Balto 2: Wolf Quest. Sequel of my Childhood. And im like. Mildly insulted but also like “I could TOTALLY go for some balto wolf quest rn”

Look at this nice, warm, tender, reveal shot of Jenna and her puppies. 

They put so much attention into crafting a loving and safe atmosph-


Bonus Giant Balto™ bc what the fuck is perspective

3

ok so say what you want, but this was almost exactly how my thought process of getting a first ‘crush’ looked like before i realized i was gay

like, “dating seems fun? people seem to like being in relationships with the opposite gender, don’t they? so, i should get a crush!” *points at a childhood friend who i want to impress in some way*

tbh. mob is the kind of person who likes having some kind of goal to work towards… and this is the first thing that came to mind bc he’s a sweet thing who craves love

anonymous asked:

do u ever look back on ur childhood and get blown away by how gay u were before u even knew what gay was?

Literally, all the time. I distinctly remember having a favorite color scheme back in kindergarten. Like, not just one color but, a scheme of colors. I would religiously choose blue, purple, and that hot ass neon pink crayon, y'all know what I’m talking about? Every time. That pink had to be in my picture otherwise, it wasn’t gonna happen.

Also, you know those scholastic book fairs that came to school way back when? Well, in the 2nd grade, I made my mom buy me this furry, purple, leopard-print journal. I didn’t want anything else but that. I still have it somewhere, actually.

Also, also. Sailor Moon and Princess Gwenevere and The Jewel Riders were THE shows. Sleeping Beauty and Spice World were THE movies. Britney Spears’ “Lucky” was THE song. And I always, always felt this weird knot in my stomach anytime Darian, Prince Philip, or Chris O'Donnell (Robin) was on the screen. I was so gay for them, even at 5 years old. I just didn’t know why I felt that way. And somehow, my mom had no idea.

I’m so glad I’ve learned of compulsory heterosexuality as a concept, because I’ll tell ya…I literally used to assign myself crushes on boys, it would be like, girls would talk about having a crush on a certain boy and then I’d be like ‘alright I too will have a crush on this boy now’ like all the way back in elementary school. like grade 3. I didn’t even know what a lesbian was until 5th grade

I was gonna stop this post there but listen. by the time I was in 7th grade I thought I was bisexual but still felt very bad about it, very bad about being attracted to girls. I distinctly remember thinking ‘I’m like 90% gay and 10% straight, I’d feel bad if I left boys out’ like I literally thought like that. I wasn’t legitimately attracted to boys, I just didn’t want to ‘leave them out’, like that 10% would make me feel a little more normal and accepted 

It wasn’t until high school when it took me having to make out with a guy to realize Hey Wait A Minute

and that’s fucked up

archiveofourown.org
For King and Country by TheQueen
By Organization for Transformative Works

Summary: In which Lance is raised by Sendak and is a fully functioning member of the Galran Empire only to meet a group of rebels who insist his destiny is to destroy everything his father and people have every worked for.
Pairing: Shklance
Excerpt:

There are moments of his early childhood he doesn’t remember. Moments of another world. Of another mother. And another father. Back when he was too small. He knows what he looks like. Knows his almost Altean-features with his tan skin, fluffy hair, and pointed nose is a matter of tension amongst some elite circles. That such features have become rare since the Alteans became extinct after the unexpected and unfortunate death of their solar system to their exploding star. Has only seen one other to share the same features as himself in a Galran Arena before they left the life of luxury promised to the champion gladiator to become a fugitive of the Empire. Knows that his father is not his father by birth. That Commander Sendak stole him away from a crumbling battlefield in a fit of mercy not uncommon to the gentle giant. That his father raised him as his own with the best care and best schooling the Galran Empire could offer despite protests of uncleanliness and impurity.

Sometime he wonders what his home world was like. Wonders what his race looks like. If he is considered beautiful by their standards. Or if he is average. Wonders what their customs are, their culture. He has only a few memories. A never ending body of water. A few phrases of a mother tongue he has never heard spoken. And one in particular that repeats in his dreams

Why Beyoncé is important to African-Americans

   Beyoncé Knowles is an African-American singer of Creole origins, and she never let’s you forget. Ever since she debuted in Destiny’s Child with the other women, Beyoncé was something special to me. Maybe it was part of my internalized racism that the brown-skinned girl with the blonde hair stood out, but I knew  Beyoncé was talented. She had the looks, talent, and personality to breakout. When I heard “Crazy In Love” premier on my purple, boombox in the fourth grade as I was lying in bed daydreaming about my childhood crush, Daniel Radcliffe as Harry Potter, I was ecstatic. I thought, “This beat is scary.” It was ominous and hearing Beyoncé’s coloratura vocals utter “Uh oh” in that staccato got me hyped as a 9 year old. I thought pretty maturely for a grade-schooler, and I understood what sexuality was with artists like Beyoncé and Christina Aguilera. I guess that is why they have a special place in my heart in spite of being an evangelical Mariah stan.

  As an African-American, Beyoncé is imperative for my identity. I am a brown-skinned black woman who never felt good about my physical appearance. I don’t fish for compliments when I call myself ugly; I mean it. Beyoncé is slightly lighter than me but she embodies the beauty of black women black girls of all shades need to feel. No amount of colorist projection and misogynoir with  Beyoncé as the proxy shall prosper. I admit, when I was younger, I didn’t trust  Beyoncé. I thought she was entitled and full of so much privilege that I couldn’t fathom as a middle-class, visibly black girl with Autism. I admired her, but I projected what a lot of fans felt about her unto her own personhood. Every time I would hear  Beyoncé brought up, it was to say no black girl could ever be like her. People would say Kelly Rowland, Michelle Williams, Keyshia Cole, and Fantasia weren’t as important as  Beyoncé. So when I was younger, I sometimes looked at  Beyoncé with resentment. It wasn’t that I had anything against her, it was that I didn’t know what was going on in her mind. She is a mystery, and that is a good thing for a Virgo like her. As a Capricorn, I get why she feels compelled to not say everything. Beyoncé and I actually have a lot in common. She is a black woman with Southern roots. I am a young black woman with a dad from North Carolina. Her speech is halted and AAVE; so is mine. She doesn’t talk a lot, but when she writes on rare occasions, you can get a sense of what is inside her mind. That is the same with me. 

 I don’t believe Beyoncé is the exceptional black woman; she is a black woman. She works harder than most of us, and I am proud to share the same gender and race as her. She is determined and knows what she wants. She always have. I also don’t believe black girls can’t get on her level if they so please. Black women and girls have so much potential, it is unrealistic to pretend they can’t be inspired by Queen Bey. 

 What brought this essay on was the fact some native Nigerians are accusing  Beyoncé of appropriating from the Yoruba ethnic group because she paid homage to Oshun. I have to admit, I had no idea who Oshun was, so I looked her up. I was once again excited to learn Oshun was a West African Goddess and she indeed is a Yoruba Goddess. The reason for that is because I’m tired of African-Americans pretending we’re North or East African. Those cultures are cool and just as African as any other region in Africa, but we’re not from Egypt or Ethiopia; we’re most likely from Nigeria or Ghana. If we’re going to pay homage to any country in Africa, it should be Nigeria. The fact  Beyoncé only pays homage to West African aesthetics is why she is important to African-Americans. She is important because she subtly teaches us that we’re West African whether we like it or not. There is no need to be self-hating of our roots just because it doesn’t fit a “white colonizer” idea of “African royalty” and beauty. No part of Africa is “white,” by the way. But everyone knows why so many of us are enthralled by North African countries like Egypt and Algeria. I’m not erasing the blackness of those parts, but I want African-Americans to be honest on who and what I am. I am West/Central African, and I want to learn more about it.

 Because Beyoncé dressed up as Oshun, which is a part of worshiping the Goddess, I decided to look more into it. It was native Nigerians and African-Americans alike who asked for us to look more into Yoruba religions, and I have been researching ever since.  Beyoncé is probably the only African-American who doesn’t go on a Hotep-spiel on how we’re “East African and from Cairo.” Sorry Alicia Keys. That was shade, but I still love you sis. Beyoncé knows where she comes from, and she knows where we come from. She may have light-skinned privilege. She may have been problematic in the past with her darkface African shoot, but Beyoncé is still evolving and learning. I am not saying Beyoncé Knowles is the quintessential African-American woman, but her existence and art is imperative to African-American women.