Markus Bones

As a woman who struggled with her sexuality all her life until very recently (in terms of figuring it out, I’m still struggling because of homophobia lol), I just want questioning women to know that if you’ve been pondering on it for a long, long, long ass time, and it causes you genuine pain and distress when you tell yourself “I’m not bi/a lesbian”, I’m pretty sure you’re not straight.

A huge part of homophobic manipulation against gay women, is to convince them that their love for women is lesser than their love for men (even when we don’t genuinely have it in the case of lesbians), it’s to find every possible way as to why this or that discounts what is obvious attraction to other women.

If you feel within yourself the words “I want to be bi” or “I want to be a lesbian”; I’m pretty sure you are.

How many straight women do you know that hold enough respect for gay women’s identities that they’re willing to suffer in confusion and loneliness for years?

Which straight woman would want to be bi/a lesbian THAT badly that it causes her genuine pain to think she’s not really one? It’s not like being gay grants us any benefits that straight women would DIE for. Literally the only thing in it for any woman is the opportunity to be with women, so if you’re in pain for thinking you’re straight, you’re in pain because you think you’ll never be able to love and be with other women.

Out bi and lesbian women who’re usually sure of their identities and who live their lives as gay women do also question whether they’re “faking” it or not, and it causes us tremendous distress to feel that maybe we’re fakes! Which is clearly something you share with us.

Those aren’t straight feelings. Stop picking yourself apart so much. The only requirement to be a gay woman is to want to be with women.

Welcome home, my loves.

Out of all my posts that could’ve ended up being reblogged by TERFs…

Anyway, REGARDLESS of your gender assignment at birth, this goes for you. If you’re a trans woman, or you’re thinking you may be a trans woman. Everything I said above applies to you too.

Some girls realize that they’re girls when they realize that the way they love girls is not how men do it, and that is a beautiful, amazing thing.

Some girls have already realized and accepted that they are girls, but comp het is 100% inflicted upon trans women too. Being bi or a lesbian already makes cis women feel like Not Real Women, so it can be so hard for trans women to realize that they may not be straight, when society teaches us that, in its terms, being a woman is intrinsically tied to being exclusively attracted to men and any deviation from that puts you in, at best, a gray area.

If you’re seeing yourself in lesbian/bi women’s literature much more than you ever would in straight or bi men’s, that means something. If you project yourself on gay women characters, it means something.

If you feel heartbroken thinking that you want to be with women in the way women are with other women, but that you can’t be, that’s a sign that you actually CAN be and ARE.

None of these feelings are the feelings of a straight woman OR of a man of any sexuality. Thing like these are women’s experiences; trans lesbian/bi women’s experiences.

This is also your home in spite of what some monsters have to say about it, and the rest of us welcome and love you too.

Hey, guys, if you’re gonna reblog this post, I rather you do it with this addition, since the first one didn’t address trans gay girls the way it should have.

One of the best friendships of all time.

I think the internet is connecting us in ways we’re not ready for because the other night a guy I went to school with who I haven’t seen on facebook in about a year made a status at 2am that just said “sick of these nightmares…”. Who could have predicted this is where technology would lead us in 2016. Live reports on the anguish of people on the absolute periphery of our lives. Nobody saw this coming. There’s no Jetsons episode where George gets a holo-call from a guy he hasn’t even thought about in three years saying “hey, I had the dream about the blood again…” and George says “hmm” and hangs up.

You can always count on Sokka :)

oh no now i want to cry :(((

 SOKKA ROCKED YA what a good guy. what a wonderful guy. i love sokka’s quiet character arc throughout the series how he goes from being this frustrated teen struggling to meet this extremely limited definition of manhood to being happy and comfortable with the man he is: someone who respects women. who fights but likes to shop too and whose biggest role is holding people together and supporting them who plans and builds and likes to draw and still has self doubts and accepts too much guilt and too many responsibilities and claims t be a realist and a cynic but at the end of the day he puts a rainbow in where one wasn’t before

Jameela Jamil on fat discrimination in our society. She’s my hero.

Im.. Soft 🥺🥺🥺

cr. 

Everyone please look at this snapping turtle, walking to the pond outside my house, still groggy from a 6-month nap.

the music made this one of the most hilarious things i have ever seen, thank you so much.

I wanted my first-year film students to understand what happens to a story when actual human beings inhabit your characters, and the way they can inspire storytelling. And I wanted to teach them how to look at headshots and what you might be able to tell from a headshot. So for the past few years I’ve done a small experiment with them.

Some troubling shit always occurs.

It works like this: I bring in my giant file of head shots, which include actors of all races, sizes, shapes, ages, and experience levels. Each student picks a head shot from the stack and gets a few minutes to sit with the person’s face and then make up a little story about them. 

Namely, for white men, they have no trouble coming up with an entire history, job, role, genre, time, place, and costume. They will often identify him without prompting as “the main character.” The only exception? “He would play the gay guy.” For white women, they mostly do not come up with a job (even though it was specifically asked for), and they will identify her by her relationships. “She would play the mom/wife/love interest/best friend.” I’ve heard “She would play the slut” or “She would play the hot girl.” A lot more than once.

For nonwhite men, it can be equally depressing. “He’s in a buddy cop movie, but he’s not the main guy, he’s the partner.” “He’d play a terrorist.” “He’d play a drug dealer.” “A thug.” “A hustler.” “Homeless guy.” One Asian actor was promoted to “villain.”

For nonwhite women (grab onto something sturdy, like a big glass of strong liquor), sometimes they are “lucky” enough to be classified as the girlfriend/love interest/mom, but I have also heard things like “Well, she’d be in a romantic comedy, but as the friend, you know?” “Maid.” “Prostitute.” “Drug addict.”

I should point out that the responses are similar whether the group is all or mostly-white or extremely racially mixed, and all the groups I’ve tried this with have been about equally balanced between men and women, though individual responses vary. Women do a little better with women, and people of color do a little better with people of color, but female students sometimes forget to come up with a job for female actors and black male students sometimes tell the class that their black male actor wouldn’t be the main guy.

Once the students have made their pitches, we interrogate their opinions. “You seem really sure that he’s not the main character – why? What made you automatically say that?” “You said she was a mom. Was she born a mom, or did she maybe do something else with her life before her magic womb opened up and gave her an identity? Who is she as a person?” In the case of the “thug“, it turns out that the student was just reading off his film resume. This brilliant African American actor who regularly brings houses down doing Shakespeare on the stage and more than once made me weep at the beauty and subtlety of his performances, had a list of film credits that just said “Thug #4.” “Gang member.” “Muscle.” Because that’s the film work he can get. Because it puts food on his table.

So, the first time I did this exercise, I didn’t know that it would turn into a lesson on racism, sexism, and every other kind of -ism. I thought it was just about casting. But now I know that casting is never just about casting, and this day is a real teachable opportunity. Because if we do this right, we get to the really awkward silence, where the (now mortified) students try to sink into their chairs. Because, hey, most of them are proud Obama voters! They have been raised by feminist moms! They don’t want to be or see themselves as being racist or sexist. But their own racism and sexism is running amok in the room, and it’s awkward.

This for every time someone criticizes how characters of color and female characters of color especially are treated in text and by subsequent fandoms.  It’s never “just a television/movie/book”. It’s never been ”just”.

“…and by subsequent fandoms.“ <— bless this addition.

This one is always worth reblogging. When I say, “Representation matters,” it’s not just the presence of PoC, women, PwD, LGBTQIA, in narrative, it’s the roles are those characters are occupying.

The hall of mirrors that is the interplay between fiction and real life becomes a negative feedback loop with real consequences, because we internalize things and then we act them out.

Storytelling is a powerful thing. What stories are we telling, and why?

How media clearly reflects the sexism and the racism we cannot see in ourselves.

Change the paradigm. Change the stories. Change the world.

so this kid he used to bully me in middle school before i got tough, well this is kind of a funny story. so i sugar from time to time but my latest sugar mommys house is so extra and i didnt bring my glasses but im going through the house because she told me to make myself at home and i see a family photo and im just like he looks really familiar but i cant make out shit. and so she and i start talking and shes like yeah i have a son your age actually and im just like wait… and she was like you’ll meet him later when we go to the car show, and im just like fuckin wait.. and we get to the car show and its me and her we’re holding hands being friendly and shes like and heres my son. and i shit u not this is the same dude who used to fucking bully me in middle school and he starts fucking crying because he didnt know his mom was lesbian and i was just like hey its been a while, but im getting fucked by your mom.

In case anyone missed it yesterday: my proposal for countering corporate Twitter accounts is to block them. This is probably the most effective method we have at our disposal against any kind of advertising. You are not immune to propaganda, but only when you’re actually looking at it. Speaking of overused image macros, making any kind of response to a corporate Tweet, even a negative one like SILENCE BRAND, falls into the trap of giving advertisers what they want: exposure. They want the brand to be shared by any means necessary. If they’re blocked? No exposure. You don’t see it, you can’t respond in such a way that your followers see it. The advertisement has completely lost its power in your online sphere of influence.

Spread the word: block all corporate Twitter accounts. Tell your friends.

A really harrowed-looking man who was probably in his 60s came into the shop today. He was wearing a gold-colored tie that kept sliding down the side of his neck because it was tied very poorly, and a rumpled light blue dress shirt. I did not see his legs or shoes. Part-time cashiers are sometimes just not afforded the luxury.

We said hello to each other as I scanned his items (diet coke and a nature valley granola bar- $2.69), me sounding more interested than usual just because he sounded so out-of breath and very engaged in his purchase. Also maybe because I could not see his shoes.

“How’s your life going?” He suddenly asked, swiping his card, not casually but almost pleadingly curious.

“Uhm, all right I s’pose” I said, too startled to think of a more cheery lie. 

He nodded somberly. “Me too… I guess.” He paused and looked at me for a minute and then just said “it’s a Monday, ya know.”

“Mondays are like this sometimes” I supplied, feeling like we were having a really weird conversation hidden under the one that was actually taking place.

And then he left. I forgot to look at his shoes.

PART II 

Honestly I had no idea that I would ever have the privilege of writing a sequel to this post. I considered it an odd moment, an interaction that changed me in a way, but a fleeting one. I automatically assumed our paths would never cross again, there was such a finality to that window of time on Monday August 22nd of 2016. And yet.

He returned.

I didn’t truly notice him come in, glancing up from whatever menial and already forgotten task I was busy with, but not registering who it was or why he seemed to put out an aura of familiarity. It had been weeks and I haven’t even caught a glimpse of him; the memory of Monday August 22nd of 2016 had faded like a dream. But lo he appeared before me, dressed in exactly the same fashion that made him look like he had just crawled out of carwash (albeit with a pink shirt and purple tie this go-around.)

His face lit up when he saw me, again holding a diet coke and a nature valley granola bar. ‘How is your day going?’ He asked earnestly.

‘Pretty well.’ I said, professionally containing myself, “how are you?”

“I’m good, I’m good” he said, sounding more cheerful than before but just as harried. When I handed him back his change and items and he looked like he was going to cry. 

“Thank you” he whispered with a look of reverence I have only seen on the faces of ancient church members receiving the eucharist.

“It’s no trouble,” I promised, trying not to look perplexed.

He bowed (LITERALLY BOWED) and then made a hurried exit stage left, reminiscent of Lear just before the second act, halfway into madness.

A Lear I had again forgotten to note the footwear of.

PART. 3. 

Okay I’m not even bothering with the pretentious Hemingway style for this one; I’m still reeling over the fact that he came back after four months AND on a Friday instead of a Monday no less.

Notes:

Part Four

First thing’s first,

Probably about two years of wear on them but otherwise well cared for. Socks were white, which I was only able to notice because this human being has zero clothes that fit and his pant cuffs were hovering about 3 inches away from his shoes. I keep thinking his outfits can’t possibly get any better, but this one takes the cake:

Crumpled white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, gigantic scarf that looked as though it were made out of mouldy carpet, neon orange striped tie, and a matching neon orange plastic digital watch that probably came out of a box of honeycombs back in 1988.

He did not grace me with his odd conversational charm today, but I received something better. A clue. 

Today he was buying a red notebook and three ballpoint pens instead of snacks (which was questionable but this is a Thursday we’re talking about; the day that falls on the chaotic spectrum and which I am known for my overzealous distrust of), and when he pulled out his luxury black Mastercard to pay for his items he said eight words which shook me to my very core.

“I do get a staff discount on these.”

This has never come up before because discount plans don’t apply to food items. I have no need to ask the identity of a man buying a granola bar and a diet coke. But now.

I didn’t speak as I handed him his receipt, just nodded courteously. Only staff members know about the specific discount so I had no real need to ask for an ID for proof, and I was cursing my mistake in not asking for it anyway. 

I must find this man. I have been here for three years and yet have only seen him within the confines of the store at odd intervals. I’ve never even seen him step into the store, or leave (another customer is somehow always in line behind him and demanding my attention.) I spent half an hour going through the college’s entire staff directory this afternoon… and may have found something. I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up, I am not yet certain and will have to gather a few more items of information, but for the first time I can promise a part to follow. Perhaps, an ending.

Cinq

Not an ending of any sort, but a very brief update from the field. My work schedule has changed since January and I was honestly beginning to wonder if I wouldn’t see the man again until the fall, as it’s been more than two months now. He startled me quite a bit when he literally blew in as if by a gust of wind right as my shift was ending. 

He was in quite a hurry and only bought a diet coke ($1.50) before blustering(?) off, giving me no chance to run an investigation or perception check, but if fashion checks were a thing…

Please imagine, if you will, a man wearing a yellow polka-dot tie that was not even tied, an orange scarf, the watch mentioned in my previous entry, khakis, a bright periwinkle shirt… and an impeccably matching woolen periwinkle cape. He was also carrying a very large black satchel with tartan lining, every single pocket of which was unzipped.

He looked like a hedge wizard.

I want answers.

6.

I found him.

I don’t think this is how efficient markets are supposed to work.

the world is heavy- let’s lighten it for each other  ❤️ 

The epidemic began on September 13, 2005, when Blizzard introduced a new raid called Zul’Gurub into the game as part of a new update. Its end boss, Hakkar, could affect players by using a debuff called Corrupted Blood, a disease that damages players over time, this one specifically doing significant damage. The disease could be passed on between any nearby characters, and would kill characters with lower levels in a few seconds, while higher level characters could keep themselves alive. It would disappear as time passed or when the character died. Due to a programming error, players’ pets and minions carried the disease out of the raid.

Non-player characters could contract the disease but were asymptomatic to it and could spread it to others.[2] At least three of the game’s servers were affected. The difficulty in killing Hakkar may have limited the spread of the disease. Discussion forum posters described seeing hundreds of bodies lying in the streets of the towns and cities. Deaths in World of Warcraft are not permanent, as characters are resurrected shortly afterward.[3] However, dying in such a way is disadvantageous to the player’s character and incurs inconvenience.[4]

During the epidemic, normal gameplay was disrupted. Player responses varied but resembled real-world behaviors. Some characters with healing abilities volunteered their services, some lower-level characters who could not help would direct people away from infected areas, some characters would flee to uninfected areas, and some characters attempted to spread the disease to others.[2] Players in the game reacted to the disease as if there was real risk to their well-being.[5] Blizzard Entertainment attempted to institute a voluntary quarantine to stem the disease, but it failed, as some players didn’t take it seriously, while others took advantage of the pandemonium.[2] Despite certain security measures, players overcame them by giving the disease to summonable pets.[6] Blizzard was forced to fix the problem by instituting hard resets of the servers and applying quick fixes.[3]

The major towns and cities were abandoned by the population as panic set in and players rushed to evacuate to the relative safety of the countryside, leaving urban areas filled to the brim with corpses, and the city streets literally white with the bones of the dead.[7]

please read the full wikipedia article

Orgrimmar during the incident.

This is legitimately one of the most fascinating events in online and/or gaming history to date.

This post leaves out the most incredible part, which is that the CDC straight up contacted Blizzard and asked for all the data they had on the Corrupted Blood Plague for the purposes of refining their models of epidemic behavior in real human populations. 

I WAS THERE, GANDALF

I NURTURED THAT BITCH THROUGH A SERVER PURGE WITH MY PET

“ugh these characters just feel like someone’s OCs :///”

buddy i have some news about all of fiction