“Write” The Wrongs You See

another 100+ questions of music ask:

okay tumblr’s exclusion from the twitter social media ban list is hilarious but genuinely we do not belong on there. if a real human person asks “where can i find you on social media” and your choice is a swift death or revealing your tumblr, most of us would simply expire. half of y’all change urls every week like you’re in witness protection. just imagine for one second attaching your wholeass government name to your latest two am clownposting and tell me that didn’t send a cold chill down your spine. the only place i ever want to see the words “connect with me on tumblr!” is on the ao3 profile of an author i’m actively stalking. anyone in the world can follow me except anyone i personally know. antisocial media.

I read somewhere that "When you choose a life partner you're choosing your eating companion for about 20,000 meals, your travel companion for about 70 vacations, your retirement friend, career therapist, & someone whose day you'll hear about 18,000 times" and I really can't stress this enough.

queer as in gay but also queer as in unusually and exceedingly peculiar and altogether quite impossible to describe

Thank you to all the people who agree that having to viscerally reject a feature once a week is a part of tumblr culture we can all get behind (and loathe)

Happy 100th birthday to the late and great Sir Christopher Lee

Happy 101st Christopher Lee. You are missed.

reading a tgirl self defense zine and wishing i’d know about this like 3 weeks ago

i cannot stress enough how important the last one is. your friend who’s kinda tall or looks tough? your friend who’s a little clocky in an intimidating way, or the girl who passes better than you or did a bit of voice training? she’s not gonna take care of it for you. there is no weapon, no intimidating stance, no threat more effective in de-escalation than even a single other person who at least looks like they’re willing to help out someone getting harassed. fan the fuck out and show up for your friends.

tags from @inneskeeper are SO GOOD

The walls didn't bleed, but the black sludge that slid down them at the first hint of rain had no plausible source. The cellar smelled of death, and yet the rammed earth had been swept clean. Doors slammed. The hot water was either ice cold, or a hazard. The stairs were... agile and greasy.

"Do you remember when Grandma got sick? When her feelings got too big and she got tired and sad?" She said, softly and quietly to her children, holding their hands. "I think the house's feelings got very big. I think the house saw some really scary things like Grandma did when she was little, and it's feelings are too big to carry. I don't think houses are supposed to feel things like that. It doesn't want to be mean, it's just tired and sad. We don't have to let it be mean, but we can't be mean back, okay?"

Ashleigh would read the house bedtime stories from her thick, cardboard, books. Stories about the moon, and kittens, and even one about a friendly spider. She still saw shadows sometimes, but they only stood in the doorway now. They didn't try to reach for her ankles in the dark. That was okay, because she didn't like to sleep alone anyway. She would tell the shadow goodnight, and that she hoped it had good dreams.

Bryce knew to use the infra-red thermometer to check the water before showers. "Hey, it really hurts when you try to burn me. Okay? I just don't want to stink like a-... like butt after band. I don't know why you don't want us to shower but like... see these things on the floor? They're rough so you can't slip or nothing, okay? Please don't burn me." And it didn't. Sometimes the temperature shifted a little but never as badly as before.

Sometimes they prayed with the house. They weren't sure what else to do. They didn't pray at it, and it wasn't exactly Christian or ... anything else really, but they just ... just... sat with it, and said words of gratitude and peaceful contemplation. They wondered if it missed that moment of familial togetherness around the table. Each of them would note something good about their day, and something that maybe had been bad but had taught them something important, and there was always mention of being grateful for a roof over their heads... that shelter, togetherness, and safety made it a Home.

"I like it here, Mommy." Ashleigh had said once. "It was scary at first but you were right... the house was just scared. We were new, and different and I think the house was scared we might tear it up and change it. But I like it here."

"I like it here too, Baby." She had said, quietly. She liked that she could afford to feed, clothe, and house two children because the house had sold for pennies on the dollar. She liked that there was room here for hobbies and game rooms, for a home office and a real dining room. "I think, deep down, the house likes us too. We know some sad things happened here, and that's a lot of big feelings. I think that as long as we're good to the house and show it that it doesn't have to be scary, or scared... that it'll get better."

That night she stared at the spot of damp threatening to leech through the fresh coat of paint. "House... or... whoever you are. My kids have been through a lot. And we're going to keep having this little talk for as long as we have to. Please just love them the way I love them. Love them the way they love you. You see how they walk in the door after school and the world falls off of their shoulders because they're home? That's not just us, that's you too."

The house settled, almost sighed. It, the amalgamation of suffering and grief and love and joy and birthday parties and funerals and breakfasts and beatings and... life... emotions... feelings... It, the House, considered the wisdom of this Mother's words. It could run them away and sip on their fear and rage or it could love them fiercely, and grow strong with them for generations.

That... wouldn't be so bad.

personality test: when the flight attendant asks you what drink you want to have on the flight, what do you request?

every time you write "q slur" or "q word" I increase my faggotry by two magnitudes

if you decide my identity makes you uncomfortable: congratulations! you are no different at all from my grandmother and therefore I have a moral responsibility to do whatever I can to revel and love my faggot-ass identity in ways which I purposefully try to make people like you uncomfortable!

If you have a problem with me calling myself queer, you are doing the same work as the fundamentalist cult that talked me into attempting suicide when I was seventeen.

Wrapping your fundamentalist Puritanism in woke language doesn’t make it less fundamentalist or Puritanistic.

everyone always asks why i block people who tag my posts with “q slur” bc “why don’t u care abt the ppl who are triggered by that word!!!!!!!!!!!!!” but the thing is, tons of my followers tag my posts as “queer” and i have absolutely no problem with that. whether they’re tagging to organize their blog or so people can filter out the tag, i don’t care.

but using phrases like “q slur” and “q word” aren’t for tagging and filtering purposes. they’re for letting queer people know how they feel about your existence as a queer person. tagging something with “queer” treats it as a neutral word that can be filtered if someone needs to filter it. tagging it “q slur/word” is an explicit statement that means “your identity and existence are not appropriate and need to be censored.”

I once saw this excellent explanation of how tagging queer with “q slur” is like tagging Jew with “J slur”. Like, yeah, it’s a word that is used derogatorily by bigots, it’s a word that many people do get hurt by, but you unilaterally deciding that the bigots are right about the word’s usage and people using the word to describe their own community are using icky or bad language is uuuuh not the side any non-bigot wants to be on.

do you ever just

happy 10 year anniversary to this game changer thank u @joscribbles for your services

can’t believe it’s been 10 years since i learned to always put my name on my art, even if it’s just a shitpost, bc u never know what’s going to blow up

anyway here’s a signed version if you wanna use it to shut up people who are trying to tell you their Opinions

i am once again asking you to watch the 2019 shakespeare in the park production of much ado about nothing

#signor bene D I C K

oh shit that is glorious

Oh fabulous. I was unaware of it and now I need to find out if there’s a recording I can watch.

YES! The camera work in the clip above made me wonder if it was from a professionally filmed performance and in fact there’s a Great Performances version up on archive.org:

ALL HAIL ARCHIVE.ORG

BENEDICK  If Signior Leonato be her father, she would not have his head on her shoulders for all Messina, as like him as she is. BEATRICE  I wonder that you will still be talking, Signior BeneDICK, nobody marks you. BENEDICK  What, my dear Lady Disdain! Are you yet living? BEATRICE  Is it possible disdain should die while she hath such meet food to feed it as Signior Benedick? Courtesy itself must convert to disdain if you come in her presence.

BENEDICK  Then is courtesy a turncoat. But it is certain I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted; and I would I could find in my heart that I had not a hard heart, for truly I love none. BEATRICE  A dear happiness to women. They would else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I thank God and my cold blood I am of your humor for that. I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me. BENEDICK  God keep your Ladyship still in that mind, so some gentleman or other shall ’scape a predestinate scratched face. BEATRICE  Scratching could not make it worse an ’twere such a face as yours were. Act 1, Scene 1

Always reblog. :)

I know tumblr has accepted the whole “cat’s internal monologue is a desolate Victorian child” thing but what if a cat’s internal monologue was Gollum/Sméagol

-scratching the floor near their bowl- “Nasty, filthy dry foods they serves us. We wants soft, juicy morsels from the canses.”

-sitting in the window- “What’s it doing, precious? What noises it makes with pointy mouth. We wants it…”

“Wicked, tricksy humanses doesn’t feeds us in hours. Must reminds them or we’ll starve. Wait for dinners? Oh no. That would kill us! Kill us!”

-bringing dead animals to owner- “Look! Look! See what good kitty finds! Eat them! Eat them!”

There are many flavors of cats. Victorian child cats and Gollum cats are both equally valid.