with a man who does not know i exist

SOME IMPORTANT QUOTES FROM THE ONES WHO WALK AWAY FROM OMELAS
  • “Only pain is intellectual, only evil interesting.”
  •  "But to praise despair is to condemn delight, to embrace violence is to lose hold of everything else.“ 
  •  "Happiness is based on a just discrimination of what is necessary, what is neither necessary nor destructive, and what is destructive." 
  •  ”…but they all understand that their happiness, the beauty of their city…depend wholly on this child’s abominable misery.“ 
  •  ”…to throw away the happiness of thousands for the chance of happiness of one: that would be to let guilt inside the walls indeed.“
  •  "They…walk away from Omelas, through the beautiful gates… Each one goes alone, youth or girl man or woman." 
  •  "It is possible it does not exist. But they seem to know where they are going, the ones who walk away from Omelas.”

BONUS: NOT PHILOSOPHICAL BUT I CANT HELP BUT READ IN-BETWEEN THE LINES HERE IN REGARDS TO BTS 
 "Sober-faced, the young riders stroke the horses’ necks and soothe them, whispering ‘Quiet, quiet, there my beauty, my hope…’ “ 

 So from what I’ve read, I’m going to explain my theory kind of. HYYH was a representation of the "good side” youth. Childhood kind of. The most beautiful moment in life. Happiness. WINGS was the “growing up” part of youth. The facing your demons. Finding your way and discovering yourself. Boy meets evil. YNWA is about the false sense of security “childhood” brings, but, once you’ve face your demons and made it through the pain and “grown up”, you’ll never walk alone. It’s the warm spring day after winter. Whether it be family or friends or BTS through their music, you made it through the hard part of life and regardless of how you feel BTS wants to let you know you never walk alone. Ever.

 Please message me if you wanna talk some more or have something add I would love it!

  • what she says: i'm fine
  • what she means: it's been almost 2 years and i still think about how much better the doctor who 50th would have been with paul mcgann in the role of the war doctor. i just don't understand why a new incarnation played by an entirely random actor was necessary. especially when paul mcgann was so willing to return to the role of 8th doctor. are you really telling me he was only willing to do the 7 minute prequel? i don't believe it. he would have totally done the 90 minute episode. he's been playing the role for years off screen, longer than any other actor to boot, he would have totally taken up the offer to return to the screen. it would have been such a great book end to his movie as well; 7's regeneration into 8 and his regeneration into 9 both on screen. amazing. and do you know how much cooler it would have been to see the 8th doctor? To see him betray the name of the doctor, to see him become so desperate to stop the madness he throws himself into the war he tried so hard to avoid? do you know how much more heart wrenching that would have been since he's a character we actually know? why did they force a random regeneration on him when they could have actually used HIM for the episode? i just don't get it. it would have made so much more sense too. especially since in a way the 8th doctor really is the bridge between classic and new who and isn't that what the 50th was all about? celebrating the two and bridging them together? he was the first doctor to try to bring doctor who back - the bridge already existed. how does it honestly make sense to throw a man who never had anything to do with doctor who in as the bridge? that's just silly, isn't it? john hurt is a great actor and all but he's not the doctor, you feel? like we all assumed 8 was the one who fought in the war anyway, why change that? and wouldn't it just have been amazing to see paul, david and matt on screen together? like c'mon, they would have been fantastic. why didn't this happen? WHY DIDN'T WE GET PAUL MCGANN??? I DON'T UNDERSTAND.

I’m flipping through this mega man robot guide and the Plug Man Lore has instantly made me love him almost as much as Napalm Man. This chunky robo nugget literally just works at a TV factory and chats about nerd shit with his pals at akihabara on his days off.

Like he was always sorta goofy looking and nonthreatening but now that I know he’s just a big dweeb working an extremely mundane factory job a human could probably do just as well (he literally just inspects tvs as they come off the line) he’s almost unbearably lovable. Does he just live a normal life? Does plug man just come home to a normal apartment after a long day of TV inspection and chat with his friends online? I want to know more about Plug Man’s relaxed and ordinary life. I would literally watch a slice of life show about a robot capable of producing tons of electricity who just leads an ordinary and pleasant existence.

A Letter to Nintendo (I Met My Love on Mario Kart)

Dear Nintendo,



If you didn’t exist I would not have met the love of my life. You’re probably thinking, “So you bumped into someone and realised you both liked Nintendo, who doesn’t? Cool story…” Not even close. 

The year was 2008, a year I’m sure many hold dear in their hearts. The year Mario Kart Wii was released. I don’t know about yours, but my days were filled with holding that wheel (of the plastic kind). MKWii was basically the air I breathed, I still remember my very first online race as crisp as a freshly cut lawn (Grumble Volcano before people realised that glitch existed). After playing the other Mario Kart games over the years against item-lucky computers (and the rare actual person), this blew my mind. However this is barely relevant to the story. The point is, people. There were people out there, just like you and me, casually sitting on the couch with a wheel imprint (perhaps 3.5% of the racing population) left in our hands and soul. Many hours (days, weeks, months), races (thousands, easily), blood sweat and tears went into this game and we all got something out of it I’m sure; fun, frustration, and friends.

Living in that piece of country people may often forget even exists (if it weren’t for the fact we use kangaroos as transport, especially after we realised emus don’t fly nor reverse), the option to play continental was such a blessing as we would often bump into the same people and you’d have that unspoken connection. No words, no contact, you just recognised each other by your Mii and/or name (for those who didn’t change it from John to W4FFLEZ, to SwagMeister89 every day). There was this one player that just stuck out to me, perhaps it was her luscious brown pixilated hair. Or it could have been because we seemed to be completely evenly matched, the only thing that separated us were those items. She’d win one race, I’d win the next. We had formed some unspoken bond, completely without contact, as we wouldn’t hit each other with items but were happy to do so to others. Side by side we’d race until some item-happy player would come along and separate us. So I’d stop at the finish line for her, even if that meant getting last place, just to let her know I saw what happened and she doesn’t deserve to come last because of some item spammer (you know, usually the 3 red shells one at a time). This became a trend and went both ways, I’d see her waiting there at the finish line for me. Then we’d both stop, together, and neither of us would cross. We just sat there at the line, revving our engines, moving backwards and forwards, wanting the other to cross. I still remember so clearly at 1am in the morning we ended up in a race together with just one other person, so the 3 of us. The race started but, simultaneously, we turned around and went backwards, did loops around each other, did the stop start (like when cloud man picks you up and you need a boost) into each other’s vehicles, grabbed items just to hit each other with, not having a single care about the race itself. This lasted for a good while, many laughs were had, and it seemed a true bond was formed - without a single word to each other. At this point, Mario Kart Wii didn’t have the option to add a friend just by clicking on them, or contacting them for that matter. You had to actually converse with them to get their friend code to then become friends, so all this time we were ‘scouring the country side’ to find each other (or more so because Australia is about as big as a 250kb USB, it was easy to bump into each other). Race after race, hour after hour, day after day, week after week we would race.


I didn’t know who this girl was (or even if she was a girl on the other side, let’s be honest) but we were Mario Kart soul mates. It wasn’t just Mario Kart that I loved, it was racing her, through our unspoken bond and silly rituals, that was fun in the purest form. It sounds like a Mario Kart love story… Until that dreaded time came where eventually we went our separate ways. It was time to say that unspoken goodbye, time to let go of that unspoken bond, time to move on. That was it…



So that’s the story, I met the pixilated love of my life and we raced until we could race no more.



…Ah but that’s only the beginning.

 6 years later Mario Kart 8 was released and I wiped the dust off the wheel, reflecting on the past. That wheel was my partner in crime, Epona to Link. It had scratches, bits missing out of it, even bite marks (ahem, sometimes races don’t exactly go your ways…). Those were the times! I jumped online only to find I had people from France, UK and Italy roam my races. Where were my fellow Australians? I played a few races and that was it, holding too strongly onto the past. Down went my trusty wheel and off went the game.

Until one afternoon my brother was bored (or procrastinating) and wanted to know what Mario Kart 8 was like, as we didn’t spend that much time together it was a prime opportunity to chill. So I popped it on, jumped online and went through the motions. A few races with people so far away, whilst fun, I got bored too fast. Almost switching the console off, something stopped me. Those brown eyes, luscious brown hair, big smile, black outfit. Could it be? It was. It was her. In a packed race filled with people from France, UK and Italy there were two Australians. Myself and the girl I raced almost 7 years ago. The girl who stopped at the line for me, the girl who didn’t hit me with items, the girl who who was my racing equal, the girl who I never spoke a word with but shared an unspoken bond. She had the same Mii, same name, there was no doubt it was her. Unlike me I had a different Mii (puberty does things to you) and a different name (I felt now that I was 23 I could level up from nickname to actual name). I knew who she was but she would never know who I am! I was on the tracks riding next to her, beeping at her, bumping into her, all the while knowing she would just think I’m some weirdo who doesn’t know how to handle a bike. It was all so ironic, as well as the fact unlike MK Wii we both didn’t race as our Miis but as Mario and Peach (the helmets covered up our luscious brown hair, y’see). Mario chasing his princess whilst the princess was basically in another castle/didn’t know who he was. I wanted to reach out and tell her who I was; I was that guy she raced almost 7 years ago, that guy who stopped at the line for her, protected her from items, the guy who she stayed up with into the early hours of the morning, that guy she never spoke a single word to. I savoured every race not knowing if I’d ever be able to see her again. I raced by her side race after race, even though I was hit with her items (“And if you hurt me, that’s okay baby” - Ed Sheeran, ‘Photograph’), I even stopped at the line for her. Did she know who I was? Probably not. Next race she was gone. 



And that is how I met the love of my life on Mario Kart, twice. Does that count as a real love story? We basically raced into the sunset to live happily ever after, right?



So there may be more to it. Being in a state of excitement, nostalgia, and who knows what, I was a man on a mission. When I’m a man on a mission I usually forget the simple things, like clicking on her Mii to add her as a friend. I didn’t even know such a thing existed. So I literally was a man on a mission. My first resort, google. Obviously no luck. Miiverse! Excitedly I reached ‘Search Users’ and typed in her name, only to realise that it was one of the most common names to exist. After about an hour of searching my hope was wearing thin, my face resembled a Mii who came in at least 10th, head down, lost, reflecting, pondering. Hang on, she had stars in her name! Apparently everyone with the name Lisa has stars in them. No luck. Utterly defeated, I held the power button down for two seconds and just before the third I realised something. Something didn’t look right… That’s right, she had spaces between the stars! I’ve never been more determined to hit that space bar. There she was. I had found her.

“Hey Lisa! I’m not sure if you’d remember me but I used to race as Ed back in the MKWii days! Was good to see you, can see you haven’t lost your touch!” Not even sure if she’d see the message or even reply, it was all in the hands of fate now. Fate it certainly was. She remembered me. We conversed through Miiverse, learning little basic bits about each other. The most important being that The Legend of Zelda was our favourite gaming series (and basically favourite thing to exist). To the point I have a Zelda tattoo and her dog’s name is Link. Destiny? From there, she asked for my email address so she could send me a photo of Link (let’s just say I am very thankful for Miiverse’s lack of characters/ability to send photos). 


One message turned into many, across days, weeks and months. A one sentence message grew into paragraphs, pages, novels, photos and videos. One single message evolved into over 25 000 words combined. Who knew what one message could lead to. I had found someone who I connected with on every level, whom I shared endless things in common with, big to small (to the point of both of us being left-handed and our birthdays being 2 days apart). However she lived a whole state away. This was nothing but a mere friendship over the internet.



I came across the amazing fan book “Legend of the Hero” by Kari Fry and bought one, along with a few other Zelda bits and pieces. A thought crossed my mind, perhaps I could send this to her? I mean it’s just as easy for her to go buy it herself, but it would be nice, right? So she ended up giving me her address and I excitedly made her a Zelda package. 


Off it went, along with my number on the back of the package (as required by the, ultimate wingman, post office). I soon received a very excited text message and from there we conversed through text - although we couldn’t let go of our novel emails straight away, as our recent messages were “Hey, just letting you know the Postman has left something in your inbox (Da na na naaaa)!” Soon after she sent me my very own Zelda package, which was easily the best package I have ever received in my life.








From there I knew I wanted to meet her. I wanted to drop everything, catch a plane, and meet this girl who I shared this abnormally special connection with. Meet this girl who I had raced for many hours, days, weeks and months on Mario Kart(s) (“Oh I lost you once but I found you twice, and my search is over” - ‘Deeper Love’, Mike Mago). Meet this girl who I waited for; not only at the line but, unknowingly, for many years. Meet this girl who I had spent hours upon hours writing to, words upon words, photos upon photos. Meet this girl who seemed to be a destined part of my life. That I did. 



One single flight and a solid friendship turned into thirteen flights (within a month) and a beautiful relationship, with the final flight being a permanent one. I’ve now moved states, transferred jobs, and am living with my best friend, my soulmate, my love. Best decision I’ve ever made was to catch that flight. No, the best decision I’ve ever made was to play Mario Kart. 











Who knew that Mario Kart could forever change your life?



Thank you, Nintendo.



- Elijah 



P.S. We are now very happily engaged - Zelda rings* for the both of us!


*Austin Moore from Earth Art Gem and Jewelry (https://www.etsy.com/shop/mooredesign13) made both our rings, with Lisa’s being a custom made design. Absolutely recommend!


P.P.S. Here is a link to the video (also included within post) of me proposing to my now fiancee (with Mario Kart included - as well as a Zelda cake): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ukkw6XI4jTo 

Thank you, Nintendo.

anonymous asked:

I was born in the early 2000's (2002) (it must terrify you that I am old enough to use tumblr) and it's so surreal because depending on who you ask, i am a millenial, iGeneration, both, or neither, what the frick man, does anybody know?

Technically generations don’t exist and are a social construct designed to create meaningless trends and pit certain age groups against each other

anonymous asked:

Could you not say qu**r so often, please? Or at least tag it? Alternatives could be SGA or trans (depending on which part you're referring to) or LGBT? It's uncomfortable to quite a lot of people if it's used as an umbrella term too. Thank you

While I’m not interested in delving into that discourse on this blog…well, I guess it was gonna happen sooner or later. 

So just to be clear, before I say anything else, let me preface this post by saying that I’m going to state my position on this, but I will not admit any further discussion on the subject on this blog. You’re free to talk to me @talysalankil​ if you feel like having further discussion, but this blog isn’t the right place to do so. Also I’m going to use links from my personal blog because it’s just easier. But frankly if you want better sources on the subject, they’re out there.

Warning for massive wall of text. I tried to structure it, but there you go.

“Queer” has been reclaimed for decades. Many people who are much more knowledgeable than myself have pointed out that it’s been used at least as long as LGBT as an umbrella term (and that it was reclaimed before SGA was even invented), and it has the benefit of being inclusionary. The fact that is a historical slur cannot and should not be ignored, but the thing is, there is literally not a single word in use to refer to people who aren’t cis and straight that hasn’t been used as a slur at one point or another. Fuck’s sake, people still use “gay” today as a derogatory term, even when discussing things that have nothing to do with sexuality.

Meanwhile, SGA is an acronym that takes its root from conversion therapy (yes, really; SGA discoursers have claimed otherwise but survivors of conversion therapy attest to it), so I’m pretty sure it is equally trigger or even more triggering that queer to people.

SGL (same-gender loving) is a less historically charged acronym that I feel less strongly about for that reason, but it also comes from AAVE and I feel like there’s an element of cultural appropriation for me to use it as a white person, just like I wouldn’t use two-spirits because it’s a native american term. 

But that’s not my only issue with either acronym. See, the issue I have with SGA/SGL are multiple, and I’m going to put a cut here because this is getting out of hand:

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Why I'm still afraid to hold my girlfriend's hand.

In 2017, we still can’t just be us. And things are only getting worse.

By Kirsten King

Mar 28, 2017


I sat in a small photo booth watching a smile spread across my face as my girlfriend, Jane, pressed her lips firmly onto my cheek. It was one month after the election and we were at Dave & Busters, distracting ourselves with arcade games and oversize beers. The countdown for the last photo came onto the screen in front of us, “5 … 4 … 3…”

Suddenly, a man stumbled into the booth and purposefully jumped in between us.

I tensed immediately. On the “fight or flight” scale of dealing with crisis, I usually fall somewhere in between “flight” and “melt into the ground and hide.” Jane usually chooses to fight. She pushed the stranger out, looked back at me, and then back at the screen. We both smiled in a way that didn’t reach our eyes as the camera flashed.

“What a fucking jerk,” Jane spat as she walked out, grabbing our photo absentmindedly. “If we were a man and a woman — he never would have walked in,” she said.

“I know,” I said, the depth of her anger just dawning on me.

“We should say something,” she said. “We should tell him he can’t just do that.”

I wanted to advise against it but it was too late. She spotted him.

“Hey. You’re a real piece of shit, you know that?” she said, pressing her index finger into his chest. My stomach flipped — I knew how these confrontations usually ended for LGBTQ people. He flashed an unaffected grin and laughed.

“Relax,” he said and walked away.

His response, though brief, turned inside me. “Relax.” I realized now why she was so mad. She was mad because we couldn’t relax. We couldn’t kiss and touch and be us, and not be watched by other people. That was a privilege that we had not yet been afforded as a same-sex couple. Not even in a photo booth. Not even behind a curtain. Especially not in 2017.

Maybe in the past, we would have brushed it off. We would have taken the photo and hung it up on the fridge, ignoring the context which it was taken in. But we were exhausted. We were tired of small moments being taken away from us; we wanted things to be easier. But under an administration with a hugely questionable LGBTQ track record, that end didn’t feel like it was in sight.

I remember the first time a man made me and another woman feel unsafe. It was at the Baseball Tavern in Boston, a bar known for heavy pours when the Red Sox lost. Her name was Angela, and she would end up with a good Boston boy a few years down the road, but not that night.

She touched my wrist softly, pulling at a bracelet an ex-boyfriend had given me. Electricity pulsed through me.

“Kiss her, already!” 

We turned to see a group of guys ogling us. Angela dropped her hand.

“Maybe buy us a drink first,” she said, smiling at them.

She wasn’t sick of it yet — the attention we got while out. She didn’t realize that accepting a Whiskey Sour from a guy hoping for some sort of group sex scenario meant that guys would keep asking. She didn’t realize the more we played into a game with rules we didn’t make, the more we’d never be allowed to make our own.

The guys smiled. Angela turned back to me.

“Don’t worry. I’m just kidding,” she said. “But hey, if the drinks are free,” she laughed.

Her words cut through me, despite the protective layer of cheap tequila. I was upset because their ogling and her acceptance made me feel like there wasn’t an “us.” It made me feel like our relationship, as minor as it may have been, only existed to the outside world as a performance, even if it was the most real thing to me.

Being a feminine bisexual woman, I have the privilege of passing as straight. I can walk down the street and any Tom, Sue, or Larry will assume I’m your average hetero gal. I’ll be read as “normal.”

But when I’m dating a woman or a person of color, that story changes. That makes Tom, Sue, and Larry all stop. 

During Barack Obama’s presidency, various legislation protecting the LGBTQ community was passed, including the legalization of same-sex marriage in all 50 states. Stationary goosebumps sat on my arms as our former president stood at a podium and declared the Supreme Court ruling a victory not just for the community, but for the country.

I felt like maybe people were starting to get it, like maybe the days of leering at two women in a bar or giggling as two men held hands were over.

The night it passed, I went to a bar with two male friends who were dating. I remember how they looked at each other like the whole world was laid out in front of them. As they exchanged whiskey-soaked kisses, I couldn’t help but feel like we were finally getting somewhere, like the community had been handed a little Monopoly card that said we could all pass Go.

Then Donald Trump came into office and things got even harder. Because even if we had the card to pass, it didn’t mean it would be easy.

What was scarier than any of his potential legislation were the people who marched proudly for him. Suddenly, people felt safe in theirhate again. Suddenly, holding my girlfriend’s hand brought first glances that led to second glances, and second glances that led to stares. Even in Los Angeles, a city bursting with people from all walks of life, people were watching us again. My relationship wasn’t just my relationship anymore; it was a political statement.

At least it sure as hell felt like it.

The news cycle brought rumors of anti-adoption LGBTQ bills, but outside, the news was scarier. A friend was spit on walking down the street with her girlfriend. Hateful graffiti was painted on the Los Angeles LGBTQ center. Trolls starting finding me on YouTube and Twitter.

“Two girls kissing? Nice.” one comment read. “Why is everyone turning gay?” said another. “You’re going to hell,” said another. “Die,” said countless others.

It was clear the floodgates that had been struggling to hold back hate for so long had been perforated in a big way. Jane and I were whistled at walking down the street more and jeers flew more easily from car windows. And it wasn’t just happening to LGBTQ people. A Muslim friend rode the train five stops past her apartment to avoid a group of leering white men. A Mexican-American friend pretended not to see graffiti that read, “Go back home,” as we walked to our favorite lunch spot.

And none of us feel home, not really. Because people who maybe hated us all along aren’t just silently steaming anymore: They’re knocking at our doors.

I realize that the love that exists between me and the person I’m with won’t be understood by everyone; not completely, and not right now. Men will continue to leer and mothers will continue to avert their children’s gazes. The highest form of government may even say someday that I don’t deserve the same inalienable rights unless the future I choose is with a man.

And knowing that does make it hard to “relax.”

But I must remind myself to enjoy the small moments that are just for us; the moments that no other person, group, or legal system could ever call into question.

I’ll enjoy the way the nerves in my stomach bubble over with a mixture of excitement and terror every time I realize how much I care for the person I’m with. I’ll enjoy the way electricity moves through me when we touch and the way our laughs sound when we know we’re laughing for no other reason than feeling completely understood.

And most of all, I’ll enjoy the way my girlfriend’s hand is the only thing that can make me feel safe, even when I know I am not.

Source: http://www.cosmopolitan.com/sex-love/a9195838/afraid-to-hold-hands-lgbtq-couples-essay/

Possible references to ‘The Ones Who Walk away From the Omelas’ in the BTS ‘Spring Day’ teaser

Since I know a big part of you have never read ‘The Ones Who Walk away From the Omelas’ (by Ursula K. Le Guin), I wrote a small summary of things I noticed were quite directly referencing the book. All quotations are from TOWWAFTO (that’s a mouthful).

With a clamor of bells that set the swallows soaring, the Festival of Summer came to the city Omelas, bright-towered by the sea. The ringing of the boats in harbor sparkled with flags. […] I incline to think that people from towns up and down the coast have been coming to to Omelas during the last days before the Festival on very fast little trains and double-decked trams, and that the trains station of Omelas is actually the handsomest building in town, though plainer than the magnificent Farmers’ Market.”

Setting: a beautiful town by the sea. A summer festival that people come to attend from other towns. 

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6

Dear Journal,

My name is Zelda. My father has been the mayor of New York City ever since I was a little girl. He is kind and generous, if a little foolish. He knows that without the help of his advisers and cabinet he wouldn’t be the man he is today. I wouldn’t be surprised if he becomes president soon, with the way everyone’s always talking. He’s a wonderful person you must believe me in this, even as a father. He let’s me sing, dress, and learn whatever I please.

Recently, however, he’s been asking for me to get married. Can you believe that? I know he means well, but all I want to do is sing and explore, I’m barely out of my teenage years!

Ah, but enough about that. I didn’t buy this journal to start talking about my problems. I wanted to keep a record- of what, I’m not entirely sure. Something in me is compelling me to start a dairy of sorts.

You see, there’s a new man that’s in town. He calls himself Ganondorf. He doesn’t look like the loose-belted politicians I’ve seen. He smiles too much, and his laugh is always too deep, as if there’s a bigger joke going on that my father doesn’t see. My father might like him for all the money he’s donated and his pretty words, but I don’t trust him, and neither does Link; the boy my father found him in the slums of town. He took Link in as a handy man; He’s really good with cars and machines. When he worked as a child in factories; I assume.

To be honest I didn’t even know he existed until recently. But he came to my show, bought me flowers, doesn’t pursue me relentlessly like other boys…he doesn’t talk much at all really.

The only thing I know for certain is that I can trust him, and together…maybe we can expose Ganondorf for who he really is.

I’ve just got the most terrible feeling about all of this….


(More zelda from me)

project freelancer may have been intended to create a super-competent group of lone wolf soldiers, but the narrative wants you to know that no man is an island. it does this by only permitting the people who choose to co-exist with a group for a Just Cause to live, and killing people who act alone, whether for selfish reasons, just following orders, or pure misfortune.

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tvline.com
Grey's Anatomy's Sarah Drew Talks [Spoiler] as Jackson's Father and That Big, Non-'Super-Romanticized' Twist | TVLine
By Charlie Mason

It turned out that Grey’s Anatomy didn’t just reunite Jackson with his long-lost father in “Who Is He (And What Is He to You)?” While in Montana with April to perform a throat transplant on a young patient, he not only confronted his dad (Eric Roberts — surprise!), he also hit the sheets with his former wife. Here, Sarah Drew, who plays Kepner, reflects on the ABC drama’s atypical handling of the hookup — and what it could mean going forward — and marvels at Roberts’ ability to play “kind of a jerk but not a jerk at the same time.”

TVLINE | Were you surprised that Jackson and April slept together?
[Laughs] Yes! But not totally surprised. They’re still so connected to one another, especially now that they have a child together and are roommates. And she really showed up for him in this episode in a way that I don’t thinks she has in their entire relationship so far. I really love that their dynamic in this episode is that she sort of walks beside him and gives him space while he’s wrestling with all of this. She doesn’t need anything from him, she’s not asking anything of him, she’s literally just being present, listening to him, letting him hash this thing out in a way that he needs to.

TVLINE | Which says a lot about how well she knows him.
Right. That can only be earned through people who are each other’s person. That’s really satisfying. You get to see how much love there still is there, you get to see how deep their friendship is and honestly, how much they need each other. And I like that it’s done in a way that isn’t typical. It isn’t super-romanticized. It’s just her really showing up for him, and that closeness, him being supported in such a profound way in such a profound moment, walks them straight into the bedroom together! There are still issues, of course, but in this moment away from their normal lives, she shows up for him, they want to connect, and they let themselves do that.

TVLINE | What does it mean for them going forward? Are Japril Japril again?
There are so many different ways that it could go — confusion and anxiety about what it means for them… or just a deepening of the friendship and a return to best-friendship. It could lead to a rekindling of the marriage. There are so many different places for it to go that would make sense.

TVLINE | Was it hard to keep the secret that Eric Roberts was playing Jackson’s father?
[Laughs] Yes! And he was so phenomenal! Both he and Jesse [Williams] did really, really exceptional work in this episode.

TVLINE | Was he what you imagined when you pictured Jackson’s dad?
I guess I didn’t know what to expect, but once I saw him in action, I was like, “This guy is so perfect!” There’s a charm to him, and you understand why he wound up where he wound up — in this bar having abandoned his family. But you don’t detest him. Eric Roberts did a really great job of sort of walking that fine line. You basically witness a man who is super-likable but didn’t have the balls to own up to his responsibility. And you know, those people exist in this world.

TVLINE | How does it affect Jackson, having finally gotten to speak his piece with him?
I think it’s like an opening of a door and then a closing of it. It seemed to me that he’d had this curiosity his whole life. He thought he needed his father, and then he realized that he doesn’t. There’s something deeply empowering about that that I think is pretty beautiful. There’s a strength that is kind of unleashed as a result of this journey for him.

Okay but everyone is focusing on the city of Omelas and the child and the festival but that’s not the point of the story. It’s called The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas. Within the text, the happy people of Omelas go and visit the suffering child, and it is by accepting the the compromise that they are able to live so happily, and without guilt:

“Yet it is their tears and anger, the trying of their generosity and the  acceptance  of  their  helplessness,  which  are  perhaps  the  true  source  of  the  splendor  of  their lives.  Theirs  is  no  vapid,  irresponsible  happiness.  They  know  that  they,  like  the  child,  are  not free.”

But there are some which witness the suffering of the child and can’t bear to experience happiness at its expense. Those people turn and leave, going places completely unimaginable, and they always go alone:

“These people go out into the street, and walk down the  street  alone.  They  keep  walking,  and  walk  straight  out  of  the  city  of  Omelas… Each one goes alone, youth or  girl  man  or  woman… They leave Omelas, they walk ahead into the darkness, and they do not come back.  The place they go towards is a place even less imaginable to most of us than the city of happiness. I cannot describe it at all. It is possible that it does not exist. But they seem to know where they are going, the ones who walk away from Omelas.”

The story of compromise, of accepting the suffering of some for the pleasure of others, ends on the concept of rejection. The true contrast of the story is not between joy and pain. It’s between following societal expectations and being complacent in the face of oppression, and being guaranteed perfect happiness for it, or rejecting the idea and walking away from it, alone.

So what does BTS say? You Never Walk Alone.  When you turn your back on utopia, on the “good” life you were told to live, you don’t have to do it alone. When you deny societal expectations and live freely, you don’t have to do it alone.  When you reject complacency and instead walk into the unimaginable, you don’t do it alone. When you leave Omelas, walk ahead into the darkness, and do not come back, you don’t have to walk alone.

Part Three, Chapter One: Wandering in the Wood

The Premise:
Jamie sends a dying Julia (aka Faith) and distraught Claire back thru the stones before he returns to the battlefield at Culloden, but there’s a catch.

Mother and daughter are separated on the journey.

Claire believes Julia to have remained with her father, and when she finds a small grave at Lallybroch bearing Julia’s name, it further solidifies this belief. Jamie, on the other hand, was left alone atop Craigh na Dun and believes his precious daughter to be in the future with his wife.

Julia was, instead, transported sixty years into the future ahead of Claire and grows up there. She is welcomed into a warm and loving family, but tragedy strikes as her adoptive mother is killed in a car accident. Three years later she is kidnapped by a band of buffoons looking for her birth parents.

This, my friends, is where we pick up in Part Three.  You can find links to read Parts One and Two here.


October 30th, 2017; Somewhere in the middle of the woods.
Julia.

The sun had set long before we got to where we were going, which was apparently somewhere in the middle of nowhere in North Carolina. It was pouring down rain and the windshield wipers could barely keep up. If I hadn’t been tied to it, I think I would have bounced out of my seat with the amount of potholes we hit. I swear Cruella was purposely hitting them all.

Our progress came to a stop quite suddenly and I wondered if we had hit something. Jasper unbuckled himself and moved to untie me. “Now, no–” he began.

Rolling my eyes as far as they’d go, I interrupted him, “No funny business, I know.”

The circulation to my hands returned in a rush and I rubbed them on the skirt of my school uniform to try to stop the unpleasant sensation. It didn’t really help. I peered out the front window, wondering where we were. A dim glow shone thru the downpour, but aside from that I had no idea what lay outside.

Horace slid open the door of the van and yanked me out into the freezing rain. He pulled me along beside him, straight thru the giant puddles that filled the front walk. A door opened ahead of us, illuminating our muddy path in a strange fluorescent light.

There was a man standing in the doorway, a silhouetted figure menacingly blocking our way.

“Here she is, boss,” Horace shouted to be heard above a roll of thunder and shoved me forward. I tripped and all but fell at his feet, whoever he was.

He steadied me with a firm grip on my shoulder as he held me out at an arm’s length for inspection. The light was still coming from behind him, shining right in my eyes and making it impossible for me to see. “Damn, you look just like him,” the figure commented.

Like who, my elusive birth father? This guy knew him too?

I felt like a guest on one of those prank shows. Surprise! This has all an elaborate hoax with hidden cameras! You’ve now completed level five and won a lifetime supply of Fruit Loops! In addition to these wonderful prizes, you get to confront the people who abandoned you as a child! All without parental supervision!

His hand lay heavy on my shoulder and made it clear that he was in charge.

Was this Crawford?

I looked up at him to see what he looked like as he ushered me inside, but found a rather ordinary looking guy. He wasn’t overly tall, maybe a little above average height, and didn’t have any remarkable facial features. His nose was straight, his teeth even.

Whatever I had been expecting to see as I walked thru the door, it wasn’t this. There were bulletin boards everywhere, each one carefully organized and labeled. A small table was shoved into the corner with two rickety chairs sitting next to it. Every surface was piled high with books and stacks of papers.

“How was your trip?” the man I assumed to be Crawford asked nonchalantly, letting go of me as the door closed behind us.

“Unexpected,” I quipped, growing colder and more annoyed by the second.

“I see you’ve your mother’s tongue too.” He turned to me as he picked up an apple out of a bowl of fruit and tossed it to me, “Hungry?”

I caught it easily and studied it for a moment.

This man believed a fairy-tale to be scientific fact.

I’ve seen Snow White. I know how this goes down.

I was not about to eat an apple offered to me by the bad guy and I tossed it back. “You take a bite first.”

He cocked an eyebrow as he did so, “It’s not poisoned.”

“Please excuse me if I don’t believe you,” I muttered and took it from his outstretched hand. Crawford shrugged indifferently as I took a bite. The tart, crisp apple made my mouth water and I devoured more than half of it before speaking again. “I take it you knew my birth parents, then?”

His eyes were guarded and his jaw clenched as he answered, “In a way.”

He knew them all right.

Something had happened between them and Crawford had been on the losing side, “They left me in the rain to die, what’d they do to you?”

One corner of his mouth tugged upwards at my sarcasm, “No love lost there, hmm?”

“You didn’t answer my question,” I lowered the apple and spoke distinctly. “What did my parents do to you that you think kidnapping me will solve?”

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turnabout4what  asked:

Why do you like Klavier Gavin?

BUDDY,,,,,,,,,

1. He is just. The sweetest dude. And it goes against what you would stereotype super rock stars as?? Like fame has definitely gotten to his head in that he’s pretty eccentric, but he has never not been a nice person (unless you fuck up his concert, I guess). Even though he’s the prosecutor, he helps trucy and apollo get into crime scenes, and he’s not afraid to help their case in court if he sees that their client is innocent. Like holy crap!! The most refreshing prosecutor ever!!
2. He’s so dorky oh my gosh. Like, first play through of ajaa, I thought he was the cool guy. Second play through, I started noticing the air guitar. the German phrases that not even his own brother says. Wearing sunglasses in court as a teenager. The coolness was so cranked up on this dude that it just went to The Ridiculous Zone. I love him.
3. Every time I see him I have to whisper, “how does such a beautiful man exist.” My sister hears me and knows exactly who I’m talking about. He is just so radiant. The kindest smile ever.
4. He loves apollo, just like me.

and i know that we’re heavenly

Summary: This is a four horsemen of the apocalypse au, it’s set during ww1 so there are some slight history references! Here are the guys’ roles: 

Evan-Pestilence

Delirious-Famine

Toonz-War

Ohm-Death

Please enjoy :)


It’s a strange feeling, to be walking the streets of Earth again, to have his lungs breathe in her steadily damaged air, and have her skies kiss his skin with sunlight he ached to feel all those years he slept. The world hasn’t seen his face in centuries, forgetting all the pain that comes when he looms near, and that’s okay, because it’s about time they remembered.

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So I’ve decided to read the New 52′s Zero Year: Secret City. At some point, Bruce Wayne disguises himself as the Penguin and tries to confront the Red Hood Gang, which eventually results in the Red Hood leader recognizing him. He then tells him that he finds him interesting and offers to join his gang.

Interestingly enough, this timeline promotes the idea that the man who later becomes the Joker was kinda sorta not really right in the head to begin with, and him meeting Batman didn’t change much in that department. It did give him a sense of purpose, though, and obsession he would turn into the sole reason for his existence. Because, frankly, as the Red Hood, the guy does not seem to know what he’s doing. No pattern, no goal, no philosophy behind his crimes other than to strike fear. I think, as far as the New 52 goes, this moment right here is the real birth of the Joker because it gives us the first glimpse into his future fixation on the Dark Knight, which essentially defines the Joker as the Joker.

Oh, yeah, and, when Bruce is unmasked, the Red Hood quite nonchalantly says that he can show him his face as well. The face that none of his own damned gang members saw. Just… casually show it to a dangerously hostile vigilante who will not hesitate to take your grinning ass downtown. Talk about love at first sight.

I think that heteronormativity and gender roles and representation are a really important discussion to be had, especially in regards to gay childhood and pediatric transition. (This is going to be a long and meandering personal post, I’m kind of working out some thoughts.)

One of my friends is a gay man in his late thirties, and when I started talking to him about childhood transition he got really upset. Not with me–he was upset because as a child he went through a period where he insisted that he was a girl. He liked girl toys, he idolized women in movies, he wanted to be a witch. His family just let him do what he wanted and eventually he realized that what he was seeking was a way to express that he wanted to be able to openly express his interest in the same sex. This surprised me, because now he is actually not GNC in appearance at all, though he was in his younger days prior to coming out. But he still had this experience of childhood disidentification. He was so thankful that his parents had not made a big deal out of it, and had just let him be himself.

When I think back on being a child, I find it interesting that so much of womanhood was easier because of the role models that I found. All of the women that I wanted to be in books were warrior women, and I was lucky to have all the access that I wanted to books about kickass women. And I don’t know if I have spoken about this before, but in my family I had a different experience of gendered socialization–there was less emphasis on being lesser as a woman, and a huge emphasis on the idea that as a women I needed to work ten times harder and be ten times better. I was supposed to be smart and fast, and pretty was last. I was raised on the idea that I needed to be a credit to my sex, in other words. My dad was devastated that I’m not a scientist–my sisters are a biologist and a lawyer. When I lost a job with a homophobic boss, my parents were worried that gay would mean unsuccessful. I’ve worried about that too, since I was a kid making up crushes to fit in, very sure that I was broken and unable to measure up. 

I know those stories seem really disconnected from each other, but they really aren’t. They’re both based in the gendered idea that there is a “right” way to be a man or woman, and that based on your performance, interests, and orientation you can fail at that.

So what does that mean for kids like us? For a gay man whose only language for gay was “girl”? For me who thought that being gay would make me a failed woman? For kids who grow up with an increasingly rigid divide between girlhood and boyhood that feeds capitalism? When man and woman are considered complimentary opposites that are necessary for the other to exist, what does that mean for those of us who feel we don’t measure up to manhood or womanhood, or that there are elements of the other that are intrinsic to us?

And what happens if our parents could have told us we were right, and that we were broken, and that it could be fixed with an injection? Would we both be functional gay adults like we are today? 

The fact is, I don’t know.

anonymous asked:

soo you do realize hunk does not exist right?

I can’t believe Tsuyoshi Hunk Garrett, Yellow Paladin of Voltron, exists as an amazing, gracious, wonderful character at the same time we are alive. Can you believe it? I feel so lucky. So lucky to be alive at this time to know that Hunk is a character who exists on the show “Voltron: Legendary Defender”. What a blessing, man. What a blessing.

hobbitunderthemountain  asked:

A Softer World prompt 31 for Baze and Chirrut, perhaps?

(Baze’s self-esteem/anxiety issues reared their head here. Nothing much to look out for warning wise to my knowledge but please let me know if there’s other things I should mention.)

31. I love the way your face lights up when someone says, “It might be dangerous.” (I am glad we are friends.)

“I just want to forewarn you that it could be dangerous,” the master says, hands spread out in front of him in a gesture that is half concern and half apology, and makes Baze think that he does not know who he is talking to at all.

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