I talk a lot. And write a little. I'm not doing this right yet, but I'll get there. If you're not reading my tags, you're probably missing out on life.
Look, I get it. Sense8 is an INCREDIBLY expensive show to produce, and Netflix likely wouldn’t be able to justify financing it even if every subscriber watched it. So, with that out of the way, let’s talk alternatives: rights transference, movies, crowdfunding, book deals. Just because a story is over doesn’t mean it’s dead. Look at Veronica Mars: over for nine years and we get a movie and two books, and maybe more on the way. Look at Hannibal: we’re still going strong and Bryan Fuller is openly talking about a possible fourth season. We need to be patient and we need to be loud, and we’ve already proven we can be both those things. Let’s stop diverting our energies to something futile and start directing them at second chances.
I wanted to have a more Cap-centric Cap fic to celebrate Steve’s birthday (and, you know, that little independence day thing or whatever), but this is what I had done today so this is what I’m posting. Title and number of parts based off of “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird,” by Wallace Stevens, and even though this fic isn’t actually a phrase-to-phrase transcription of “Blackbird,” it was at first. Before I start today’s scheduled programming, here’s this:
A man and his brainwashed ex-assassin super-soldier boyfriend
are one.
A man and his brainwashed ex-assassin super-soldier boyfriend and a falcon
are one.
And with that, here’s what you actually came for:
(~500 words. Probably going up on AO3 tomorrow).
i
There is this:
There is him and the weight of the wings on his back and the twist of the wind in his ears and the cry he lets out as he touches the sky.
There is this:
There is him and the wings and he cuts the sky in two.
ii
He is cut in two.
He never put much stock in soulmates or in destiny or in any claptrap about the one; his mama raised him better'n that. But the sky is not a place he could learn to be alone in. It is much too big. He is much too small.
iii
He cannot say what falling feels like, because he did not fall. But this he does know:
Falling looks like a plume of smoke, a comet tail, a shooting star losing its goddamn way.
Falling sounds like a laugh turned to a scream turned to static.
Falling smells like a gas leak and the acrid aftertaste of bombs.
Falling tastes like the bottom of a bottle.
He folds up the wings and puts them back where they came from.
iv
There is this:
There is him and the sag in his step and the creak in his spine and the great empty spots in his head.
There is this:
There is him, and then there is the scream echoing behind him wherever he goes.
v
Things can be found on the ground that cannot be found in the sky. These include mostly grass and dirt, but also bluebells and seashells and smiling baby squirrels.
Also on the ground are people who want him to get better and places he could go to do it. There are people who would help him get better and places he could help in turn.
He's working on it.
vi
His bed is too fucking soft.
vii
There is this:
There is him and the ground and the sensation of finding that ground underneath himself every time he wakes up in the morning.
There is this:
There is the knowing he can support himself with his own two feet. There is the knowing he doesn't have to.
viii
He goes on a run every morning, one long lap of 5.7 miles. He comes home and he eats three and a half pancakes, two scrambled eggs, and one slice of perfectly buttered toast. He goes to work. He helps people.
Maybe it's not the wings, but he's getting used to solid ground.
ix
Solid ground is not so used to him. In fact, it seems to be actively working against him.
x
There is this:
There is him and there is nothing more or less to him.
There is this:
It's still nice to have the wings back.
xi
His shoulders hunch under the familiar weight. The sound of turning gears and shifting pistons fits into his psyche again. When he flies, the air bolsters him. When he lands, the ground welcomes him.
xii
So it seems he's not the only one to watch someone he loves fall. It seems he's not the only one to get back up again.
It also seems that some falls are permanent. Some people are lost forever.
It seems that maybe he has come to terms with that.
xiii
There is this:
There is him and the people around him. They are his air currents and his updrafts. They are his feathers and his hollow bones.
There is this:
He needs no wings to fly.
Not anymore.
If you are gay and Christian, that’s okay. Whichever part of that identity takes priority on any given day is okay. However you reconcile those two parts of yourself - whether it’s celibacy or prayer or the understanding that you don’t actually need to reconcile them - is valid and allowed and important.
If you are gay and Christian, you don’t constantly need to be ashamed of one part of your identity. You are allowed to use both those labels for yourself, and anyone who tells you otherwise doesn’t deserve either.
If you are gay and Christian, don’t be afraid. You’re alright. You are smart and brave and worthy and beautiful just for being willing to put those words next to each other and face what‘s coming your way.
If you are gay and Christian, God doesn’t hate you. God doesn’t hate you. God doesn’t hate you. God doesn’t hate you.
at what point are the writers for the twenty shows that killed off lgbt women this past season going to look around and notice the other nineteen shows who killed off lgbt women this season and realize their clever plot twist wasn’t so clever
There are certain aspects of Tumblr culture that I find really creepy.
Pulling receipts on people is one of them.
Even creepier, the people who go out of their way to send asks like “Just so you know, you reblogged so-and-so and they said something homophobic three years ago.”
Okay? So? I’m just here reblogging dog pictures and funny screen caps from trash tv shows. I don’t really care what so-and-so said three years ago.
You know who else said ignorant shit three years ago? Me.
You know who else said ignorant shit three years ago? You, probably.
I mean, if I reblog something from someone who is actively, currently, human garbage… like if I reblog something from someone who is on par with Donald Trump, go ahead and tell me.
Otherwise, maybe just let it go and stop pouring so much energy into policing the internet. Most of the people here are in their teens and early twenties. They are going to say ignorant shit that they regret!
If you are currently in your teens and twenties and you’re bristling at the idea that you too may be saying ignorant shit that you are going to regret, just you wait and see.
Growing up is a constant progression of looking back at your past self and thinking “Oh god, what the fuck was wrong with me?”
Here’s a thing: I’m here for badly told gay love stories. I don’t care if the grammar is shoddy or the characters badly-constructed. I don’t care if there’s instalove or love triangles or cornily-written true love kisses that bring people back to life. I don’t care about overused tropes or underused tropes or badly used tropes. I don’t care. I’m here for every single story that had even he potential to reach people when they need it most. Every story we tell has value because it’s creating joy in a community that needs it. Every story that ends in happily ever after is a fucking victory, yeah?
For some reason, the tragedy in Orlando hit me really, really hard. I’m not sure why. I’m usually really good at distancing myself from stuff like that. But for some reason, this time, it felt like the straw that broke the camel’s back. I’ve slept like shit all week, and I’ve not felt much better.
But.
But.
It has also caused me to be a little more daring than usual. I’m talking with my parents about me being gay, and they’re being more supportive than ever before. I’m out to a friend in real life, and she’s comfortable with both parts of my identity, and I can make gay and ace jokes without worrying about sidelining the whole conversation into Discourse.
And all this outpouring of support from people on the internet, people who have gone through these struggles and are now bolstering the queer people of my generation through the same, it’s made me hopeful. It’s a perverse hope, maybe, but it’s the first hope I’ve felt in a long time.
I think maybe I can do this. I can be this version of myself, this whole and honest and beautiful version of myself. It’s fucking terrifying, every day, and sometimes I remember lying next to my ex-best friend at a sleepover, my new cat snoring between us, and thinking oh my god, what if I’m gay?
I wish I could go back to my sixth grade self and tell her that it’s okay. That her identity is strange and multifaceted and that, even now, more than six years later, she won’t know everything. But she will eventually be in a place where she’s not afraid to love the way she wants. What seems like a terrifying insurmountable obstacle to her now is something she will scale over the coming years, with grappling hooks and hope and ropes spun from her bravest moments. And when she gets to the top, I’ll be there to greet her, and we can face the next mountain together.
I’m still scared. I’m angry and ashamed and lost by turns, and I’m completely flummoxed at this part of myself I managed to keep hidden for so damn long. I’ve still not quite come to terms with it.
But people have done this before. People will do this again. And I am so, so PROUD to be one of those people.
Thank you to all my queer brothers and sisters and non-binary siblings who’ve come before me. I mourn those of you we’ve lost. I mourn those of you we will lose. But I don’t mourn myself anymore, and that’s the best thing I’ve felt in a long, long time.
Ahh, here is a project that snowballed out of control. I only wanted to draw Hamilton on the mario super star (he’s non-stop, geddit? geddit?), but then decided to turn the whole show into a SNES video game cause I’m crazy like that. There’s four parts to this and I’ll post one a day (I’m still tweaking the ends).
Part 1 of 4: Please click on the pics for descriptions/mission for each game.
edit: if the captions are not working (thanks tumblr), here they are:
Start Page
Eye of the Hurricane: Help Hamilton escape the hurricane but make sure he collects his books along the way!
Cut Scene: New York bound
BATTLE! Farmer Refuted: Oh my god, tear that dude apart. Help Hamilton call for a revolution in this screaming match against Samuel Seabury!
Cut Scene: Rise up!
Here Comes the General: Thirty-two thousand troops are in New York harbour! Fight your way across as George Washington. Watch out for the incoming BOOM!!!
Yo Let’s Steal their Cannons: Race against time with Hamilton and Hercules Mulligan (interchangeable leads) and steal all the British cannons before dawn!
Winter Ball of 1780, Level 1: Grind to the rhythm as Eliza Schuyler. Follow the steps correctly to help her dance her way across the hall to meet the handsome Mr. Hamilton!
Rewind!!! Winter Ball of 1780, Level 2: Uh-oh! Do you remember that night? Retrace all your steps and dance again as Angelica Schuyler.
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|| Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || (links will be updated with each post)
