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dramatisecho:

tv show characters // the wire

Omar Little


Hometown love.

dramatisecho:

tv show characters // the wire

Omar Little

Hometown love.

(via knowlesian)

"So I went to Disney about a month ago and i got to meet aurora. she asked me and my mom if there were any “princes’” with us today. When I told her that I leaned more toward princesses she looked over at Cinderella sighed and replied with “yeah me too” and I think about that a lot."

-8isexual8itch (via bloodymeth)

I got the this post died message while trying to reblog this but liked it so much I spent the next 15 minutes scrolling through the virtual year that occurred in the meantime to find it. A secondary benefit is I truly realized for the first time the staggering volume of the internet.

(via professorspork)

(Source: sandandglass)

"My idea of rich is that you can buy every book you ever want without looking at the price and you’re never around assholes. That’s the two things to really fight for in life."

John Waters  (via detailsdetales)

(Source: marion--crane, via zombres)

*2

"…Watching The Vampire Diaries, which is terrible, there’s a scene where the receding hair line vampire high school guy mumbles and looks at his feet and then tells the boring high school girl that he’s “not very good at small talk.” 

Well, you fucking well should be, shouldn’t you? You’re four hundred years old! You should be awesome at small talk! You should be able to walk into a room and own it like fucking David Bowie, my friend. What have you been doing all this time?”

Catherynne Valente, “My Commitment to Sparkle Motion”

faitherinhicks:

ink-splotch:

There comes a point where Susan, who was the older girl, is lost to Narnia because she becomes interested in lipstick. She’s become irreligious basically because she found sex. I have a big problem with that.” - JK Rowling

Can we talk about Susan’s fabulous adventures after Narnia? The ones where she wears nylons and elegant blouses when she wants to, and short skirts and bright lipstick when she wants to, and hiking boots and tough jeans and big men’s plaid shirts when she feels like backpacking out into the mountains and remembering what it was to be lost in a world full of terrific beauty— I know her siblings say she stops talking about it, that Susan walks away from the memories of Narnia, but I don’t think she ever really forgot.

I want to read about Susan finishing out boarding school as a grown queen reigning from a teenaged girl’s body. School bullies and peer pressure from children and teachers who treat you like you’re less than sentient wouldn’t have the same impact. C’mon, Susan of the Horn, Susan who bested the DLF at archery, and rode a lion, and won wars, sitting in a school uniform with her eyebrows rising higher and higher as some old goon at the front of the room slams his fist on the lectern. 

Susan living through WW2, huddling with her siblings, a young adult (again), a fighting queen and champion marksman kept from the action, until she finally storms out against screaming parents’ wishes and volunteers as a nurse on the front. She keeps a knife or two hidden under her clothes because when it comes down to it, they called her Gentle, but sometimes loving means fighting for what you care for. 

She’ll apply to a women’s college on the East Coast, because she fell in love with America when her parents took her there before the war. She goes in majoring in Literature (her ability to decipher High Diction in historical texts is uncanny), but checks out every book she can on history, philosophy, political science. She sneaks into the boys’ school across town and borrows their books too. She was once responsible for a kingdom, roads and taxes and widows and crops and war. She grew from child to woman with that mantle of duty wrapped around her shoulders. Now, tossed here on this mundane land, forever forbidden from her true kingdom, Susan finds that she can give up Narnia but she cannot give up that responsibility. She looks around and thinks I could do this better.

I want Susan sneaking out to drink at pubs with the girls, her friends giggling at the boys checking them out from across the way, until Susan walks over (with her nylons, with her lipstick, with her sovereignty written out in whatever language she damn well pleases) and beats them all at pool. Susan studying for tests and bemoaning Aristotle and trading a boy with freckles all over his nose shooting lessons so that he will teach her calculus. Susan kissing boys and writing home to Lucy and kissing girls and helping smuggle birth control to the ladies in her dorm because Susan Pevensie is a queen and she understands the right of a woman to rule over her own body. 

Susan losing them all to a train crash, Edmund and Peter and Lucy, Jill and Eustace, and Lucy and Lucy and Lucy, who Susan’s always felt the most responsible for. Because this is a girl who breathes responsibility, the little mother to her three siblings until a wardrobe whisked them away and she became High Queen to a whole land, ruled it for more than a decade, then came back centuries later as a legend. What it must do to you, to be a legend in the body of a young girl, to have that weight on your shoulders and have a lion tell you that you have to let it go. What is must do to you, to be left alone to decide whether to bury your family in separate ceremonies, or all at once, the same way they died, all at once and without you. What it must do to you, to stand there in black, with your nylons, and your lipstick, and feel responsible for these people who you will never be able to explain yourself to and who you can never save. 

Maybe she dreams sometimes they made it back to Narnia after all. Peter is a king again. Lucy walks with Aslan and all the dryads dance. Maybe Susan dreams that she went with them— the train jerks, a bright light, a roar calling you home. 

Maybe she doesn’t. 

Susan grows older and grows up. Sometimes she hears Lucy’s horrified voice in her head, “Nylons? Lipstick, Susan? Who wants to grow up?”  and Susan thinks, “Well you never did, Luce.” Susan finishes her degree, stays in America (England looks too much like Narnia, too much like her siblings, and too little, all at once). She starts writing for the local paper under the pseudonym Frank Tumnus, because she wants to write about politics and social policy and be listened to, because the name would have made Edmund laugh. 

She writes as Susan Pevensie, too, about nylons and lipstick, how to give a winning smiles and throw parties, because she knows there is a kind of power there and she respects it. She won wars with war sometimes, in Narnia, but sometimes she stopped them before they began.

Peter had always looked disapprovingly on the care with which Susan applied her makeup back home in England, called it vanity. And even then, Susan would smile at him, say “I use what weapons I have at hand,” and not explain any more than that. The boy ruled at her side for more than a decade. He should know better. 

Vain is not the proper word. This is about power. But maybe Peter wouldn’t have liked the word “ambition” any more than “vanity.”

Susan is a young woman in the 50s and 60s. Frank Tumnus has quite the following now. He’s written a few books, controversial, incendiary. Susan gets wrapped up in the civil rights movement, because of course she would. It’s not her first war. All the same, she almost misses the White Witch. Greed is a cleaner villain than senseless hate. She gets on the Freedom Rider bus, mails Mr. Tumnus articles back home whenever there’s a chance, those rare occasions they’re not locked up or immediately threatened. She is older now than she ever was in Narnia. Susan dreams about Telemarines killing fauns. 

Time rolls on. Maybe she falls in love with a young activist or an old cynic. Maybe she doesn’t. Maybe Frank Tumnus, controversial in the moment, brilliant in retrospect, gets offered an honorary title from a prestigious university. She declines and publishes an editorial revealing her identity. Her paper fires her. Three others mail her job offers. 

When Vietnam rolls around, she protests in the streets. Susan understands the costs of war. She has lived through not just the brutal wars of one life, but two. 

Maybe she has children now. Maybe she tells them stories about a magical place and a magical lion, the stories Lucy and Edmund brought home about how if you sail long enough you reach the place where the seas fall off the edge of the world. But maybe she tells them about Cinderella instead, Sleeping Beauty, Rapunzel, except Rapunzel cuts off her own hair and uses it to climb down the tower and escape. The damsel uses what tools she has at hand. 

A lion told her to walk away, and she did. He forbade her magic, he forbade her her own kingdom, so she made her own. 

Susan Pevensie did not lose faith. She found it. 

I reblog this every now and then seeing as it’s one of my favorite things on the internet.

(Source: ifallelseperished)

codip:

radicalmuscle:

residentgoodgirl:

lovelyandbrown:

scruffymacgoogler:

lovelyandbrown:

For those of you who don’t know, I’m a thick woman. I got booty. And hips. And thighs. And tummy. And soft skin. And stretch marks. All of that.

Though I speak frequently of my weight loss / fitness journey, I still ALWAYS aspire to a thick girl.

I love my curves. I love feeling womanly. I love the way a dress rides up my backside. I love the way my jeans have to stretchhhhhhhhhh to fit my thighs. I love the way my man’s hands are plastered to my phatty. I love it.

It has taken me some time to get used to all of this. I still look around and feel sad sometimes because I’m “supposed” to be skinnier. But, this is who I am. And while I am changing to become a better me, how I look right now is a gift.

Thick thighs save lives. Act like you know.

Dats me.

Look at my boyfriend, trying to baller block! 

you are so freaking cute like??? wtf

This entire set caught me off guard.

Like, whoa.

ur so pretty love the outfit

(via beginning-of-a-rebellion)

"Of course I loved Buffy...She had the whole high school experience that I had…exceot with fewer vampires. Not none - no one gets through life without falling under the spell of someone who just needs you to feed themselves.”

Cat Valente

Goddammit. New Valente, first page, already infatuated.

*1

"…There’s a lot in here about stories. How to write them, how not to write them. How to find your voice and sell it to the sea witch if that makes you happy"

Seanan McGuire