You’re a Final Fantasy XIII fan?? Hell yeah, it was one of my first in the series. Loved Fang and Vanille, lesbians saving the world together had me by the throat as a teenager
Actual footage of me witnessing Fang and Vanille at any given moment in FFXIII
You ever think about many peices of media have zero women and thats just perfectly normal but if a peice of media has an all female cast people get... like that? Women should be allowed to kill over this btw
im no longer warning people about the sixties sfx in tos instead grabbing them by the shoulders and screaming there are aliens made of bubble wrap and latex and so much glitter. most of the episodes are blatantly filmed in southern california or three rotating sets featuring either pink orange or blue rocks. people jump off walls and pirouette when they get "punched". the ship beeps. a lot. too much for realism. spock goes into heat. dont worry about it. the point is there is no BUT. im not going to say "its very silly but its fun" ENOUGH! it's silly AND it's fun!!!!you will learn to love it all because when was the last time you looked at bubble wrap and a back garden and saw another world? remember how much fun it was? do you want to try again?!?!! do you want to play!!!!
i get why people don't believe in marriage as a social construct but legally it is the best and easiest way to say "this is who i trust to take care of me when i can't take care of myself" and i'm so glad gay people fought for that right bc when shit gets scary at least i know im in good hands
bro, i desperately need people to learn that romance is an actual, literal genre of fiction. if you do not like a complete focus on romance and only like romantic plotlines incorporated into various other plots - you do not like the romance genre and you are not interested in romance fiction. simple as that. and it's fine if you don't like it, but pretending like the entire genre doesn't exist and is actually all badly written fiction of other genres which is overly focused on romance is asinine. yet somehow continues being a sentiment i see all the time. romance fiction is not lacking in plot or over-concerned with romantic relationships - it's literally doing what it was designed to do: centers mostly or even exclusively around romance.
Excerpted from the poem Hand Me Downs by Sarah Kay
read below the cut
I know you’ve taken to wearing around your father’s hand-me-down anger. But I wish that you wouldn’t. It’s a few sizes too big and everyone can see it doesn’t fit you, makes you look silly, hangs loose at all the wrong places, even if it does match your skin colour.
I know you think you’ll grow into it, that your arms will beef up after all the fighting and it will sit on your shoulders if you pin it on the right places with well-placed conviction. The bathroom mirror tells you you look good in it, that it makes your fists look a lot more justified, when you dig your hands deep into the pockets you’ll find stories hidden he left there for you to hand out to the other boys like car bombs.
And on days when everything else is slipping through your fingers, this you can wrap yourself inside of, this will keep you warm at night, help you drift off to sleep with a certainty that no matter what, it will still be there when you wake up. And the longer you wear it, the better it starts to fit, until some of the stories are your own. Maybe the holes in the sleeve are from the bullets you dodged yourself, so when it rips, snags on a barbed wire fence or someone else’s family, don’t worry. Cos your mother and your sister will help mend it- patch the holes, sew the tears, replace a button or two, help you back into it and tell you how proud they are of you, how good it looks on you the same way it looked on your dad, and your granddad too, and on his dad before him and on his father before him.
But back then, back then there was only sand until someone drew a line, someone built a wall, someone threw a stone. And the crack in the skull that it hit fractured perfectly outward, like twigs on the branches on the limbs of a family tree. So someone threw a stone back, and each fracture, each tiny break wound itself together into thread and the thread pulled itself around him- your great-great-great-great somebody.
And on the other side of that wall they were knitting just as fast, and theirs fit them just as well but only slightly different shade. So I’m asking, when the time comes, who’s gonna be the first one to put down the needle and thread? Who’s gonna be the first one to remember that their grandpa suffered just as many broken windows, broken hearts, broken bones, in the first time you come down to dinner and your son is sitting at the dining table with your hatred on his shoulders, who’s gonna tell him it’s finally time to take it off?
