Shit got real.
Shit got real.
A scratch! But ask for me tomorrow and you shall find me a grave man.
Violet Rose (via c-icatrix)
This is one of my favorite quotes about sexualization/objectification vs autonomy of female bodies bc it’s so succinct
That reminded us of this:
— Guillermo Del Toro (via sailsflyseaward)
Jeanette Winterson, Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit
less unhealthy tragic lesbian movies, more lesbian romantic comedies
The friend zone is very real. We have all had someone we were close to that we realized we were crushing on in a big way - but we hated ourselves for it. As much as we hoped and prayed things would change for the better, many of us acknowledged that our love for the other person was going to be detrimental towards the relationship. The people in this kind of friend zone cry while watching romance movies or go out and get drunk and kiss strangers. We make sure to keep a respectful distance between the person we like and ourselves - we are distinctly afraid of fucking things up because of our shitty heart being a complete dickweed and doing the thumpy thing when it shouldn’t.
The Friend Zone is entirely false and is a complete invention made by boys who on one hand get angry if they think you’re soliciting sex by playing video games but on the other hand get angry if you are not soliciting sex just by breathing. The Friend Zone consists rarely of actual friends - instead it’s often people who stare at us in class and make us uncomfortable by constantly trying to talk to us while we’re obviously engaged in something else. These are the people who invade our personal space and aren’t afraid to talk dismissively about the things which we are passionate about - our faith in particular.
These are not kind people. Once I was in a hospital’s waiting room and a woman was quietly saying a prayer for her son. After a few minutes, several other people joined in, linking their hands and bowing their heads. The boy next to me began to talk loudly to me about how disgusting and juvenile it was and how amused he happened to be by the behavior of the “sheep.”
"I’m Catholic," I replied, looking into his eyes, "I think what they’re doing is beautiful."
He looked down my shirt. “You seemed more intelligent than that,” he snorted, “I should have known. Are you even reading that book or are you just skimming?”
I blinked. I wish I had said something like, “No, I’m just breathing in the words and hoping they stick,” but instead I just gave him a dirty look and tried to tune him out. He kept talking to me for the better part of an hour.
Eventually, he got around to asking me out for coffee. I wanted to explain I was waiting for my mother to get out of chemotherapy, that my family was poised on the edge of a terrible end, that I barely knew him and basically already hated him. Instead, I smiled sheepishly and said, “I’d rather not.”
"You bitch," he replied. I watched his face flare hot. "You sluts are all like this. You play hard-to-get faux-intelligent and you lead people on just to hurt them."
"I’m…?" I started. I was scared. He was in my face. His hands were curled into fists.
"You’re all like this," he repeated. At this point, a few of the other people in the room were staring. I was pressed against the side of my chair, trying to get as far from him as I could. He wouldn’t lower his voice. "You fucking friend zone all the nice guys and date shitty asshole men and then come crying to our shoulders when you need someone."
I am not a confrontational person. Panic bubbled in my throat. I felt tears jump into my eyes. I started stuttering again. I was really honestly positive he was going to hurt me - for no other reason than turning down coffee.
This is the difference between the friend zone and the Friend Zone: one is hating yourself for liking the other person. The other is hating the other person for not liking you.”
— A nighttime story about why the terrible deep Friend Zone, mostly written because about seventeen boys have asked what I mean when I complain about it. (via inkskinned)
Gay, Latino protagonist with a supporting cast that ranges in color, sexual orientation, and economic status. Urban fantasy.
According to legend, King Arthur is supposed to return when Britain needs him most. So why does a man claiming to be the once and future king suddenly appear in Los Angeles?
This charismatic young Arthur creates a new Camelot within the City of Angels to lead a crusade of unwanted kids against an adult society that discards and ignores them. Under his banner of equality, every needy child is welcome, regardless of race, creed, sexual orientation, or gang affiliation.
With the help of his amazing First Knight, homeless fourteen-year-old Lance, Arthur transforms this ragtag band of rejected children and teens into a well-trained army—the Children of the Knight. Through his intervention, they win the hearts and minds of the populace at large, and gain a truer understanding of themselves and their worth to society. But seeking more rights for kids pits Arthur and the children squarely against the rich, the influential, and the self-satisfied politicians who want nothing more than to maintain the status quo.
Can right truly overcome might? Arthur’s hopeful young knights are about to find out, and the City of Angels will never be the same.
WOW this looks really appealing to me, I want to read it.
And he was the inspiration for Zorro who became the inspiration for Batman.
My dad credits this as his favorite photo of me.
When I was younger, I was very socially anxious. I hated crowds, hated attention, hated being up on stage. In preschool there was this little Halloween show that we put on, and man, I did not want to do that shit, let me tell you. All those parents watching me sing some stupid song? Nah, that ain’t me.
But I was forced to, and I was pissed about it. My dad was in the audience, taking pictures and enjoying the show. In that moment, I swear, my tiny four year old was pure rage and resentment. I felt the word “fuck” years before I knew what it was.
My dad pointed the camera at me, and I turned, and I looked. I gave him the look that summed up all the anger, all the absolute fury that was brewing inside me. He says that he had never before seen such a perfect depiction of total and complete hatred. In his four year old son.
To this day whenever I get pissed, he calls me “Buzz Lightyear”.
I felt the word “fuck” years before I knew what it was.