Michaela Raina

🌻Shay 🌻. Julia (awkward-pengu1n.tumblr.com)

[leroichevalier]

→ To live without you, only that would be torture. A day alone, only that would be death. 

[madeline-kahn]

Dancing in Film: LGBT Movies/Scenes

Featuring Love, Simon (chgph. Zach Woodlee), Black Mirror: San Junipero (chgph. Dale Mercer), And Then We Danced (chgph. Natia Chikvaidze), A Fantastic Woman, Frida, The Way He Looks, In & Out (chgph. Jerry Mitchell), Shubh Mangal Zyada Saavdhan (chgph. Vijay Ganguly), Downton Abbey (chgph. Diana Scrivener), The Favourite (chgph. Constanza Macras) and Paris is Burning

[speakforthepits]

Its always good to know what to do when your baby is in danger.

[x423h]

This could save lives

[vulcan-science]

I had to do this twice for my dog and it saved his life. Please reblog.

[lightmoondiva]

I can’t scroll by this, my baby and every other puppy has got me so whipped

[xfullcanvasx-deactivated2015120]

this was the scariest thing i have ever had to do

[emmashanties]

For the doggo lovers @sayi @saintoswald

[radvillain-deactivated20160604]

i hear sum dudes dont like cellulite on women.. that’s wild.. u childish if that apply 2 u.. u a child, brah.. u a baby.. imma burp u.. oop.. got ur nose.. 

[qinni]

Now that Tumblr’s video player finally works, I wanted to upload this here. (This HD player’s surprisingly good quality) This was my short film that I spent forever on. Please don’t remove my credits, thanks~! 

My dA | Instagram | Tumblr

here’s a step-by-step process of how I put this together

[leafwolfuniverse]

It’s so cute!

[theincrediblemissfox]

Sweet dreams

[rainbowriddler]

Holy mother of God…

[kekotelli]

[insight-jd]

HOW THE FUCK 

[ambris]

That has got to be one of the most clever uses of transparency I’ve seen on this site yet.

[mr-prism]

we interrupt your regularly scheduled lack of meaningful content, to bring you

[goddammitleah]

but how did you…

[coffeeforthemoon]

[geniusofthehole]

[sleeplittlenemo]

I BET THAT IF TWO KIDS LIVED IN THOSE TWO HOUSES THAT THEY WOULD COME OUT ON THEIR ALMOST CONJOINING ROOFS OUTSIDE THEIR BEDROOM WINDOWS AND TALK AND BE BEST FRIENDS AND FALL IN LOVE.

[sam-berto]

I will not write fluff to that. I won’t. No.

[azumarillvevo]

LUCY I FOUND IT

[kayquimi]

But what if instead of two kids, it was, say, a kid and an old woman? And at first they just ignore each other and keep their blinds down and curtains shut, but then the kid climbs out onto the roof one spring morning to get a frisbee and she’s got the window open bc it’s so nice out and she tells him to cut that out, it’s not a jungle gym and maybe the kid shows off a bit and nearly falls, and the old woman catches his arm…. anyway, so sometimes they leave the windows open and the kid’ll show off his comic books or asks what rhymes with ‘beautiful’ (and it’s totally for homework shut up), and the old woman tells him about all the protests and marches she took part in, and asks him the name of that one cute pop star (it’s absolutely for her crossword now shush). And the old woman gives the kid relationship advice, and doesn’t tell when he tries a bit too much of his parents’ liquor cabinet one time, and the kid comes over and shows her how to use the smartphone her daughter bought for her, and doesn’t tell when she sneaks a cigarrette out of said daughter’s bag. And when the weather’s too bad to open the windows, they tape silly pictures or notes to the glass for the other to see (the kid makes sure to make his extra big so she doesn’t have to admit her eyeight isn’t what it used to be), and when it is nice the kid will sneak over and leave seashells on her windowsill, because the old woman said once she misses the sea, but she can’t travel like she used to. And one day he peeks in her window and sees her on the floor, and calls 911 and basically saves her life because she had a stroke and nobody would’ve known in time otherwise. And when she finally gets back from the hospital, just for a while because her daughter’s talking about a retirement home where she’ll have plenty of medical care and lots of friends her age, the kid comes through the window and then pulls another kid through the window who he introduces as his boyfriend, and says he wanted her to meet him. And she sniffs and interrogates the boyfriend in proper elderly relative fashion, and then declares him worthy of her boy— barely. And when she finally does have to go to that retirement home, the kid still comes to visit her, and always leaves seashells on the windowsill.

[mitchmajor]

sending this around again because of reasons.

[saepphire]

+

[angelwingsandhunterfreckles]

oh my god

[hedaoftheworld]

Ok so it’s the classic story of a young maiden wants a thing and a witch is like “promise me your first born child” and the maidens like “k” and that should be enough but no the witch keeps coming around like “yo where’s my first born child pls” and the maiden is like “bitch I don’t even have a boyfriend” and the witch keeps coming back and being like “how’s the bf search?” And just being generally annoying. then she just keeps coming round and hanging out and they fall in love and the first born child is already the witches and everyone lives happily ever after

[crushes]

To the girl at the table near the back of the library -

I almost asked you what was wrong the first time I saw you crying. Then I saw the book you were reading, and realized that you were crying because of it. And I was interested, because I’d never read anything that moved me that much.

I checked out the book you were reading, and guess what? I cried - just a little - too. That’s how it started. Every time I go to the library, you’re almost always there, usually with a completely new book. Sometimes you smile, or laugh out loud, or cry again, and when you do, I check out the book you’re reading.

That was it, really, until I realized how gorgeous you are. You’re not pretty in the normal kind of way, but god, when you smile, it lights up your face in the best way.

I wish you’d notice me, sitting a few tables away from you, reading the book you were reading a few days ago. I wish you’d smile at me. I don’t have the guts to talk to you. I’m afraid you won’t be anything at all like I imagine.

One of these days, I’ll work up the courage and I’ll ask you about what you’re reading. And maybe you’ll smile that gorgeous smile and tell me all about it, and then we’ll talk about all the books we’ve read. But until then, thank you for the book recommendations. I love them.

Love, the boy a few tables away from yours

[heavensforgaveme]

my 15 year old brother telling me about this girl he met 

[teasweetz]

this is my favourite post on this site

[sw-or-gtfo-deactivated20211219]

my bf has many interesting stories and observations from his new job as a 911 operator

my favorite is how meandering people are, even in the midst of a terrible emergency

they respond to “what is the emergency” with “well, the thing is, four weeks ago–”

and then he’s like “WHAT IS THE EMERGENCY RIGHT NOW”

and they’re like “so what happened this morning was, i said to my wife, i said–”

“WHAT IS CURRENTLY HAPPENING AT THIS MOMENT”

“oh i’m having a heart attack”

my second favorite is how specific he has to get sometimes

like, “what is your emergency?”

“i’m sitting in a pool of blood.”

“… is it… your blood?”

“yes i think so”

“do you know where it’s coming from?”

“probably the stab wound”

“have you been stabbed?”

“oh yah definitely”

[lizawithazed]

In all fairness shock is a hell of a drug

[crrim]

“After learning my flight was detained 4 hours, I heard the announcement: If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic, Please come to the gate immediately. Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there. An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress, Just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly. Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her Problem? we told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she Did this. I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly. Shu dow-a, shu- biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick, Sho bit se-wee? The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used— She stopped crying. She thought our flight had been canceled entirely. She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the Following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late, Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him. We called her son and I spoke with him in English. I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and Would ride next to her—Southwest. She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it. Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and Found out of course they had ten shared friends. Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian Poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours. She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering Questions. She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered Sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag— And was offering them to all the women at the gate. To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a Sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California, The lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same Powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies. And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers— Non-alcoholic—and the two little girls for our flight, one African American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice And lemonade and they were covered with powdered sugar too. And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands— Had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing, With green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always Carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere. And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought, This is the world I want to live in. The shared world. Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped —has seemed apprehensive about any other person. They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too. This can still happen anywhere. Not everything is lost.”

— Naomi Shihab Nye (b. 1952), “Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminal.” I think this poem may be making the rounds, this week, but that’s as it should be.  (via oliviacirce)

[inkskinned]

the gods are not dead. when men speak to me like i can’t read, i feel athena awaken somewhere in my bone structure. her mouth spits words i had forgotten i memorized, facts from the deep pockets of libraries. she revels in the way they stutter at the quickness of my tongue, whispers, here’s what it feels to be above the cities. i know demeter for the way i feel in dirt, i catch sunlight in my palms and beg people to be disgusted at girl unhaunted by pretty, my hair a mess and my legs hairy and my body thick. i’ve kissed aphrodite, i’ve met her not in lust only but in the girl who listens like she is tied to your soul. she comes out and we go dancing, unashamed of our sexuality. i have even been her, once or twice, on rare moons where the stars aligned. i know the rage of artemis. i hunt those who hurt my sisters, i slay demons, i run in night with red lips. and i am persephone, always, goddess of the spring, goddess of the pomegranate, of wanting, of riding her own horse to hades, of being two queens. when men take power from me, i hear her whispering. take it back, she says, tongue sweet, ambrosia in the blood stream, take back your city.

the gods are not dead. they live in women. they live in me.

[pbotoshop-deactivated20220930]

art classrooms are the opposite of liminal space

[dundeelemonade]

explain

[pbotoshop-deactivated20220930]

it has something to do with the paint on the walls, the tables, the floor, the electrical outlets; the cans with their labels torn off sitting in the sink, full of paint-colored water; the pencil doodles on the tables that get erased and changed constantly; the way everything is arranged slightly differently every time you go in; the half-finished projects everywhere in sight, laying on drying racks, hanging on the wall, propped up on an easel. everything about it suggests continuous use even when it’s empty. it suggests continuity and returning and belonging

[dundeelemonade]

thats fucking beautiful what the hell

[lullabyknell]

Can I just… talk for a moment… about how much I love how, if you know them well, words don’t have synonyms?

English, for example, is a fantastic disaster. It has so many words for things that are basically the same, and I find there’s few joys in writing like finding the right word for a sentence. Hunting down that peculiar word with particular meaning that fits in seamlessly in a structure, so the story flows on by without any bumps or leaks.

Like how a shout is typically about volume, while a yell carries an angry edge and a holler carries a mocking one. A scream has shrillness, a roar has ferocity, and a screech has outrage. 

This is not to say that a yell cannot be happy or a holler cannot be complimentary, or that they cannot share these traits, but they are different words with different connotations. I love choosing the right one for a sentence, not only for its meanings but for how it sounds when read aloud. (Do I want sounds that slide together, peaceful and seamless, or something that jolts the reader with its contrast? Snap!)

I love how many words for human habitats there are. I love how cottage sounds quaint and cabin sounds rustic. I love steadiness of house, the elegance of residence, the stateliness of manor, and tired stubbornness of shack. I love how a dwelling is different to a den.

And I love how none of them can really touch the possessive warmness of all the connotations of home.

Words are great.

[bead-bead-deactivated20190901]

I did not expect to cry by the end of this, but I did. Which proves the point, no?

[megan-cutler]

“The difference between the right word and the almost right word is like the difference between a lightning bug and the lightning.” - Mark Twain (and one of my favorites, since I happen to agree with everything the OP said!)

[awesomacious]

Unexpected, but wholesome