Excuse Me What The Fuck?

This is how it looks like to struggle with mental illness and developmental disorders.

EDITED : Credits go to Sillvi_illustrations

You can find him on insta.

Do you have time for one question? -I will not make out with you… Thank you for your time!

Jeremy: Michael, how did you find me?

Michael: oh, it was easy, really. I just listened for the sound of complete and utter betrayal and followed that.

What the Bennet family is doing during quarantine...

- Mrs. Bennet would be panicking.

- Mr. Bennet will have locked himself in his library by day 2. 

- Jane is making WAY too much tea. 

- Lizzie is sneaking out every morning to get her walk in and hanging in her father’s library reading to him. 

- Mary knows everything there is to know about the virus, and won’t stop talking about it.

- Kitty is coughing which is causing Mrs. Bennet to panic even more. 

- Lydia is complaining about not being able to see the officers. 

BONUS:

 - Darcy isn’t impacted. He hasn’t left his house in mon– weeks… He hasn’t left his house in weeks.

- Bingley is speed walking laps around Netherfield because he’s worried about Jane and in desperate need of socialization and movement.

28: Severus Snape + Minerva McGonagall

Favourite colleagues pair.

Avatar Aang, Feminist Icon?

“Who’s your favorite character?” I hear that question come up a lot over Avatar: The Last Airbender, a show particularly near and dear to me. Iroh and Toph get tossed around a lot. Zuko is very popular. Sokka has his fans. But something I’ve noticed? Aang very rarely gets the pick. When he comes up, it’s usually in that “Oh, and also…” kind of way. Which is strange, I think, considering he’s the main character, the titular airbender, of the entire show.

I never really thought much about it until a couple weeks ago when I finished my annual re-watch of the series and found myself, for the first time, specifically focused on Aang’s arc. Somehow, I never really paid that much attention to him before. I mean sure, he’s front and center in most episodes, fighting or practicing or learning big spiritual secrets, and yet, he always feels a little overshadowed. Katara takes care of the group. Sokka makes the plans. Zuko has the big, heroic Joseph Campbell journey. Aang…goofs around. He listens and follows and plays with Momo. And yes, at the end his story gets bigger and louder, but even then I feel like a lot of it dodges the spotlight. And here’s why:

Avatar casts the least traditionally-masculine hero you could possibly write as the star of a fantasy war story. Because of that, we don’t see Aang naturally for everything he is, so we look elsewhere.

To show what I mean, I want to talk about some of the show’s other characters, and I want to start with Zuko. Zuko is the hero we’re looking for. He’s tall and hot and complicated. He perseveres in the face of constant setbacks. He uses two swords and shoots fire out of his hands. He trains with a wise old man on ship decks and mountaintops. Occasionally he yells at the sky. He’s got the whole 180-degree moral turn beat for beat, right down to the scars and the sins-of-the-father confrontation scene. And if you were going into battle, some epic affair with battalions of armor-clad infantry, Zuko is the man you’d want leading the charge, Aragorn style. We love Zuko. Because Zuko does what he’s supposed to do.

Now let’s look at Katara. Katara doesn’t do what she’s supposed to do. She doesn’t care about your traditionally gender dynamics because she’s too busy fighting pirates and firebenders, planning military operations with the highest ranking generals in the Earth Kingdom, and dismantling the entire patriarchal structure of the Northern Water Tribe. Somewhere in her spare time she also manages to become one of the greatest waterbenders in the world, train the Avatar, defeat the princess of the Fire Nation in the middle of Sozin’s Comet and take care of the entire rest of the cast for an entire year living in tents and caves. Katara is a badass, and we love that.

So what about Aang? When we meet Aang, he is twelve years old. He is small and his voice hasn’t changed yet. His hobbies include dancing, baking and braiding necklaces with pink flowers. He loves animals. He doesn’t eat meat. He despises violence and spends nine tenths of every fight ducking and dodging. His only “weapon” is a blunt staff, used more for recreation than combat. Through the show, Aang receives most of his training from two young women – Katara and Toph – whom he gives absolute respect, even to the point of reverence. When he questions their instruction, it comes from a place of discomfort or anxiety, never superiority. He defers to women, young women, in matters of strategy and combat. Then he makes a joke at his own expense and goes off to feed his pet lemur.

Now there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for all this, and it’s the one that shielded Aang from the heroic limelight in my eyes for ten years. The reasoning goes like this: Aang is a child. He has no presumptuous authority complex, no masculinity anxiety, no self-consciousness about his preferred pastimes, because he’s twelve. He’s still the hero, but he’s the prepubescent hero, the hero who can’t lead the charge himself because he’s just not old enough. The problem is, that reasoning just doesn’t hold up when you look at him in the context of the rest of the show.

Let’s look at Azula. Aside from the Avatar himself, Zuko’s sister is arguably the strongest bender in the entire show. We could debate Toph and Ozai all day, but when you look at all Azula does, the evidence is pretty damning. Let’s make a list, shall we?

Azula completely mastered lightning, the highest level firebending technique, in her spare time on a boat, under the instruction of two old women who can’t even bend.

Azula led the drill assault on Ba Sing Sae, one of the most important Fire Nation operations of the entire war, and almost succeeded in conquering the whole Earth Kingdom.

Azula then bested the Kyoshi Warriors, one of the strongest non-bender fighting groups in the entire world, successfully infiltrated the Earth Kingdom in disguise, befriended its monarch, learned of the enemy’s most secret operation, emotionally manipulated her older brother, overthrew the captain of the secret police and did conquer the Earth Kingdom, something three Fire Lords, numerous technological monstrosities, and countless generals, including her uncle, failed to do in a century.

And she did this all when she was fourteen.

That last part is easy to forget. Azula seems so much her brother’s peer, we forget she’s the same age as Katara. And that means that when we first meet Azula, she’s only a year older than Aang is at the end of the series. So to dismiss Aang’s autonomy, maturity or capability because of his age is ridiculous, understanding that he and Azula could have been in the same preschool class.

We must then accept Aang for what he truly is: the hero of the story, the leader of the charge, who repeatedly displays restraint and meekness, not because of his age, not because of his upbringing, not because of some character flaw, but because he chooses too. We clamor for strong female characters, and for excellent reason. But nobody every calls for more weak male characters. Not weak in a negative sense, but weak in a sense that he listens when heroes talk. He negotiates when heroes fight. And when heroes are sharpening their blades, planning their strategies and stringing along their hetero love interests, Aang is making jewelry, feeding Appa, and wearing that flower crown he got from a travelling band of hippies. If all Aang’s hobbies and habits were transposed onto Toph or Katara, we’d see it as a weakening of their characters. But with Aang it’s cute, because he’s a child. Only it isn’t, because he’s not.

Even in his relationship with Katara, a landmark piece of any traditional protagonist’s identity, Aang defies expectations. From the moment he wakes up in episode one, he is infatuated with the young woman who would become his oldest teacher and closest friend. Throughout season one we see many examples of his puppy love expressing itself, usually to no avail. But there’s one episode in particular that I always thought a little odd, and that’s Jet.

In Jet, Katara has an infatuation of her own. The titular vigilante outlaw sweeps her off her feet, literally, with his stunning hair, his masterful swordsmanship and his apparent selflessness. You’d think this would elicit some kind of jealousy from Aang. There’s no way he’s ignorant of what’s happening, as Sokka sarcastically refers to Jet as Katara’s boyfriend directly in Aang’s presence, and she doesn’t even dispute it. But even then, we never see any kind of rivalry manifest in Aang. Rather, he seems in full support of it. He repeatedly praises Jet, impressed by his leadership and carefree attitude. Despite his overwhelming affection for Katara, he evaluates both her and Jet on their own merits as people. There is no sense of ownership or macho competition.

Contrast this with Zuko’s reaction to a similar scenario in season three’s The Beach. Zuko goes to a party with his girlfriend, and at that party he sees her talking to another guy. His reaction? Throwing the challenger into the wall, shattering a vase, yelling at Mai, and storming out. This may seem a little extreme, but it’s also what we’d expect to an extent. Zuko is being challenged. He feels threatened in his station as a man, and he responds physically, asserting his strength and dominance as best he can.

I could go on and on. I could talk about how the first time Aang trains with a dedicated waterbending master, he tries to quit because of sexist double standards, only changing his mind after Katara’s urging. I could talk about how Aang is cast as a woman in the Fire Nation’s propaganda theatre piece bashing him and his friends. Because in a patriarchal society, the worst thing a man can be is feminine. I could talk about the only times Aang causes any kind of real destruction in the Avatar state, it’s not even him, since he doesn’t gain control of the skill until the show’s closing moments. Every time he is powerless in his own power and guilt-ridden right after, until the very end when he finally gains control, and what does he do with all that potential? He raises the rivers, and puts the fires out.

Aang isn’t what he’s supposed to be. He rejects every masculine expectation placed on his role, and in doing so he dodges center stage of his own show. It’s shocking to think about how many times I just forgot about Aang. Even at the end, when his voice has dropped and his abs have filled in, we miss it. Zuko’s coronation comes and we cheer with the crowd, psyched to see our hero crowned. Then the Fire Lord shakes his head, gestures behind him and declares “the real hero is the Avatar.” It’s like he’s talking to us. “Don’t you get it?” he asks. “Did you miss it? This is his story. But you forgot that. Because he was small. And silly. And he hated fighting. And he loved to dance. Look at him,” Zuko seems to say. “He’s your hero. Avatar Aang, defier of gender norms, champion of self-identity, feminist icon.”

Based on the marriage posts from @ask-sanji

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¡Feliz año nuevo!

Yes, I am in love with both Mr Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet. No, I couldn't just 'choose one', what do you mean? Yes, I am indeed terribly bisexual and an absolutely dumb-dumb for period dramas, strong females and sad, soft bois.

it had always been eddie.

it had been eddie when richie was seven years old and a small, pale boy started playing with him and bill on the playground. richie hadn't even heard the word "gay" yet, but he knew the way he felt about eddie was special.

it had been eddie when richie was eleven years old, and he made his first mixtape for eddie. there was lots of disco, lots of wham! and george michael, all the stuff richie knew his friend liked. he snuck in a few love songs, hoping eddie wouldn't notice. and if he did, well, he never mentioned it.

it had been eddie when richie was thirteen years old, and they killed a clown over summer break. even when he had forgotten all about derry, about the losers, about eddie, he could remember the heat of eddie's skin against his own, when they clung onto each other in bill's garage, when he cradled eddie's face in neibolt, when he held eddie's hand during their oath.

it had been eddie when richie was fifteen years old, and he got his first girlfriend. she was shorter than him, with short dark hair, and was a clean freak. she wore short shorts and a fanny pack, and richie knew exactly what it meant. they dated for three months before she called it off. she kissed him on the cheek and told him she hoped he figured himself out, and when he did, to call her. she was nice, pretty. but she wasn't eddie.

it had been eddie when richie was seventeen years old, and he started wearing leather jackets and got his ears pierced, while eddie started wearing oversized sweaters and overalls. the sleeves of eddie's sweaters all covered his hands, and richie was mesmerized by the way he delicately rolled them up. they were lab partners in chemistry that year. richie had never been happier about anything in his whole life.

it had been eddie when richie was twenty-one years old, and already starting to forget. he had put states between himself and derry. between himself and eddie. sometimes he would catch himself forgetting eddie's name, having to say it over and over in his head, like a prayer.

it had been eddie when richie was twenty-seven years old, and had his first sold out show. he was still writing his own jokes back then, and, while he didn't know who he was writing his jokes for, he knew there was someone out there that his script was tailored for. someone who would have laughed hysterically at every joke he told. he thought he saw him in the audience, a man with dark hair and a fanny pack, but he lost him in the crowd. he stopped writing his own jokes soon after.

it was eddie when richie was thirty-one years old, and he bought his first house. he owned multiple first aid kits, two on every floor, and, curiously, each one was stocked with an inhaler. richie had never had asthma. but he left them, as taking them out felt so inherently wrong he wanted to throw up. he bought furniture with someone else in mind, always had vanilla ice cream in stock, and kept a plethora of cleaning supplies under every sink. he felt like he was sharing the house with a ghost of someone he once knew. and he liked it.

it was eddie when richie was forty years old, and he remembered. he remembered everything. he saw his friend, silhouetted by the glow of the fish tank behind him, and everything hit him like a truck. he remembered his laugh, his hands, his warm skin, his floppy hair richie had always wanted to run his fingers through. he remembered falling in love.

it was eddie when richie was forty years old, and he lost the love of his life. he felt the claw through eddie's chest like it was his own, prayed to anyone, anything that eddie made it out all right. he clutched eddie's lifeless form to his body, hating the way the warmth of his skin was already beginning to fade. it should have been him. someone, anyone but eddie. he clung on to eddie, even as the cave began to crumble, and would have stayed there with the only man he ever loved were it not for his friends. he left his heart there with him, down in that cave under neibolt.

it was always eddie, richie thought, as he recarved his secret declaration of his love. it always has been, and always would be, eddie kaspbrak.