#anyone posted this one yet?

[thequeensthroat]

A sick, sad woman sings, "I'm gay, I'm bursting with joy": Verdi's Violetta Valéry, the lady of the camellias, from La Traviata (1853). Tubercular, she projects a fast showy cabaletta to stun the house at the first act's end. As coloratura was falling out of style, Verdi resurrected it for this one moment in La Traviata; coloratura, no longer the soprano's natural gift, is a sign of her recidivism—a talent she turns on when pushed to the edge. Coloratura is Violetta's problem, her last resort, a sign that she has abjured bourgeois sexual arrangements and has returned to a scapegoated social position. When she proclaims free love and goes gay ("Gioir!"), these liberating decisions force her into archaic modes of routing air through her body, virtuoso techniques for which her recompense is an audience's love. The phobic logic that frames AIDS today and that framed TB and syphilis yesterday locks Violetta in a jam. By living for pleasure she commits suicide. Coloratura will kill her, but it thrills us. And though she, too, takes pleasure in courtesan delights, with each repetition of the gay yet lumbering main theme the soprano grows more dolorous, the downbeats more ponderous, as if this cabaletta were a totentanz. In a 1955 La Scala performance, Maria Callas's "Sempre libera" has the deliberateness of a girl about to swallow Seconals. She says she wants to fit from pleasure to pleasure ("Sempre libera degg'o folleg giare di gioia in gioia"), and her melody lands on the downbeat's blossom, sucks it, and rebounds. She rises to a high C, slides down, and continues, with effort, the self-consciously gay melody. The slide and the slowness convince us that her illness is showing, that she can no longer afford to live it up. Ha ha ha! No one believes operatic laughter: horrid, hollow. Offstage, Alfredo serenades her, but she repeats her cabaletta, she returns to coloratura's seraglio. Her initials are V. V.: the V of Verdi, vortex, virtuoso, violet, venereal, and voice. (She began to spill and display on the syllable "vor" of "vortici.") In "Sempre libera," Violetta warns: Lose yourse in my voice's vortex, and you'll die of consumption. The song we love for its own sake, the soprano we love because she turns away from Alfredo and domesticity, and pumps us with coloratura: these are deadly de-lights. It kills her to sing, and it kills us to listen. She is contagious. From Violetta, we catch the opera bug.

Wayne Koestenbaum, The Queen's Throat

[butchfalin]

the funniest meltdown ive ever had was in college when i got so overstimulated that i could Not speak, including over text. one of my friends was trying to talk me through it but i was solely using emojis because they were easier than trying to come up with words so he started using primarily emojis as well just to make things feel balanced. this was not the Most effective strategy... until. he tried to ask me "you okay?" but the way he chose to do that was by sending "👉🏼👌🏼❓" and i was so shocked by suddenly being asked if i was dtf that i was like WHAT???? WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?????????? and thus was verbal again

[giantkillerjack]

Today my therapist introduced me to a concept surrounding disability that she called "hLep".

[plain-text version of this post can be found under the cut]

Which is when you - in this case, you are a disabled person - ask someone for help ("I can't drink almond milk so can you get me some whole milk?", or "Please call Donna and ask her to pick up the car for me."), and they say yes, and then they do something that is not what you asked for but is what they think you should have asked for ("I know you said you wanted whole, but I got you skim milk because it's better for you!", "I didn't want to ruin Donna's day by asking her that, so I spent your money on an expensive towing service!") And then if you get annoyed at them for ignoring what you actually asked for - and often it has already happened repeatedly - they get angry because they "were just helping you! You should be grateful!!"

And my therapist pointed out that this is not "help", it's "hLep".

Sure, it looks like help; it kind of sounds like help too; and if it was adjusted just a little bit, it could be help. But it's not help. It's hLep.

At its best, it is patronizing and makes a person feel unvalued and un-listened-to. Always, it reinforces the false idea that disabled people can't be trusted with our own care. And at its worst, it results in disabled people losing our freedom and control over our lives, and also being unable to actually access what we need to survive.

So please, when a disabled person asks you for help on something, don't be a hLeper, be a helper! In other words: they know better than you what they need, and the best way you can honor the trust they've put in you is to believe that!

Also, I want to be very clear that the "getting angry at a disabled person's attempts to point out harmful behavior" part of this makes the whole thing WAY worse. Like it'd be one thing if my roommate bought me some passive-aggressive skim milk, but then they heard what I had to say, and they apologized and did better in the future - our relationship could bounce back from that. But it is very much another thing to have a crying shouting match with someone who is furious at you for saying something they did was ableist. Like, Christ, Jessica, remind me to never ask for your support ever again! You make me feel like if I asked you to call 911, you'd order a pizza because you know I'll feel better once I eat something!!

Edit: crediting my therapist by name with her permission - this term was coined by Nahime Aguirre Mtanous!

Edit again: I made an optional follow-up to this post after seeing the responses. Might help somebody. CW for me frankly talking about how dangerous hLep really is.

Plain-text version:

Today my therapist introduced me to a concept surrounding disability that she called "hLep".

Which is when you - in this case, you are a disabled person - ask someone for help ("I can't drink almond milk so can you get me some whole milk?", or "Please call Donna and ask her to pick up the car for me."), and they say yes, and then they do something that is not what you asked for but is what they think you should have asked for ("I know you said you wanted whole, but I got you skim milk because it's better for you!", "I didn't want to ruin Donna's day by asking her that, so I spent your money on an expensive towing service!") And then if you get annoyed at them for ignoring what you actually asked for - and often it has already happened repeatedly - they get angry because they "were just helping you! You should be grateful!!"

And my therapist pointed out that this is not "help", it's "hLep".

Sure, it looks like help; it kind of sounds like help too; and if it was adjusted just a little bit, it could be help. But it's not help. It's hLep.

At its best, it is patronizing and makes a person feel unvalued and un-listened-to. Always, it reinforces the false idea that disabled people can't be trusted with our own care. And at its worst, it results in disabled people losing our freedom and control over our lives, and also being unable to actually access what we need to survive.

So please, when a disabled person asks you for help on something, don't be a hLeper, be a helper! In other words: they know better than you what they need, and the best way you can honor the trust they've put in you is to believe that!

P.S. Also, I want to be very clear that the "getting angry at a disabled person's attempts to point out harmful behavior" part of this makes the whole thing WAY worse. Like it'd be one thing if my roommate bought me some passive-aggressive skim milk, but then they heard what I had to say, and they apologized and did better in the future - our relationship could bounce back from that. But it is very much another thing to have a crying shouting match with someone who is furious at you for saying something they did was ableist. Like, Christ, Jessica, remind me to never ask for your support ever again! You make me feel like if I asked you to call 911, you'd order a pizza because you know I'll feel better once I eat something!!

Edit: crediting my therapist by name with her permission - this term was coined by Nahime Aguirre Mtanous!

Edit again: I made an optional follow-up to this post after seeing the responses. Might help somebody. CW for me frankly talking about how dangerous hLep really is.

[andrigyn]

[distorted-graffiti]

they could be the worlds worst polycule

[in-study-hell]

Lone warrior: 50%

[vwoop-prince]

YJ S3 Dick, still in the midst of his fever dream, hides underneath the 'souvenir' instead of behind some boxes, and accidentally opens the airlock trying to take care of the Parademons. The others get it to close... but not before Nightwing is thrown into space.

There, he stares at the ship holding his friends and mentors. There, he wishes more than anything that he can, somehow, survive. There, he tries to live, if only so his family don't have to bury him like Jason.

There, Nightwing dies, wanting to save everyone, even with the cold seeping into his bones far too quickly for a regular section of space.

Then, Dick opens his eyes to... Earth? There's a little house, and grass, and trees, but there's a bubble of green over it all. Outside of that green was an entire castle, one that looked like it should have far more support beams than it does for even a hope that it stays standing.

And the sky was swirling shades of that same green. It makes him think of Lazarus.

"Well, that's something you don't see every day." He whips his head behind him, a bit too fast for Earth's atmosphere, but it doesn't hurt him. Past the bubble of green was a blue-skinned adult in purple robes, the insides of a grandfather-clock fitted inside their torso, and a black staff with a stopwatch on its top. Beside them was a man with snow white hair, glowing green eyes, a crown of frozen fire dancing above his head, and the most galaxy-like cloak Dick's ever seen clasped to his shoulders. He's wearing... a hazmat suit? Maybe? The twinkling stars and odd lighting of wherever he is were giving him a bit of a headache.

But in front of those two, within this bubble, was...

"DICK!" Wally shouted with unrestrained glee, a blur overtaking his spot for barely a heartbeat before Dick's stuck in a crushing hug that he reciprocates once his brain stops feeling like its melting.

He doesn't know how long it took for them to calm down, but the man with the crown spoke up after a time, as Wally was still wiping their faces free of tears. "Welcome to the Infinite Realms, Nightwing." Dick barely even registered that he was still wearing his suit, but now it felt suffocating. "I suppose you're the one Clockwork was holding out for; There shouldn't've been enough Ectoplasm around you to form a Ghost, and your physical body's still in space. I can see why you like this one, though, Clockie," he states flippantly, turning to his companion. Almost like he didn't expect Dick to pay too close attention to what he was saying.

"Either way, there's two options for you." The man didn't let Dick swallow his tears and question anything. Dick's not sure if he's grateful or not. "First: Stay in the Realms permanently. You'll see Kid Flash whenever you want and learn to be a Ghost with the denizens of the Realms. Maybe find your parents."

"But..." Dick pulls away from Wally, keeping him at arms length, eyes flitting between them. The two outside the bubble were distinctly... ghost-like, so the mentions of 'Ghosts' make sense. But Wally looked... alive. A bit pale, a bit thin... but alive. Dick can't see any of his own skin to see if it was blue or tinted that way, but the Nightwing symbol on his chest kept flickering between its own blue and this 'Realms' green. "But--What about the others? What about you? Why can't you come home?" The last two, he focuses on Wally, because now he can feel a heartbeat beneath his gloves. Wally's alive. He's alive.

His friend just shrugs. "Something about their portals not fit for the living? I'm meant to wait for someone to figure out a permanent portal, but they won't tell me how long that'll take." Wally glares at the... 'Ghosts'? There was a heat to it, but it also seemed like this was a well-worn argument.

"The permanent portal was always an 'if', Wallace West. And that is entirely dependent on if Richard Grayson takes the second option," the clock Ghost--Clockwork?--speaks up. But instead of the adult Dick was expecting, there was an elderly Ghost in their place. Still with the time motif. Was that... more literal than Dick took it?

"Yes, the second option..." The crowned man glares daggers at Clockwork. The temperature dips below comfortable. Dick tries to blink the spaceship and stars out of his sight, withdrawing his arms from Wally to try and warm himself. Tries to remember he's not in space. "The second option is that you return to your body... changed. You'll be able to protect Earth better, stay with your alive family, save the Lost Ones... for a price."

Dick doesn't know if he should ignore the plural in 'Lost Ones'. He doesn't know if he's reading too much into how, in this Realm, apparently only his parents were able to be found. Where's Jason? He doesn't dare hope, but...

"What's the price?"

The man smiles and a ring of blue forms around his waist. It splits in two and travels up and down his body, replacing the cloak and whatever clothes he was actually wearing with a NASA shirt, worn jeans, and red sneakers actually duct taped together. The blue tint to his otherwise tan skin fades completely. His hair turns black. His eyes turn blue.

He was like a taller, slightly slimmer, way hotter version of Bruce.

The man walks through the bubble, but doesn't disturb the grass beneath his feet. "You become the Ghost King's vassal." Dick flinches away and almost hides behind Wally. "Not my idea! But, well... it is either this, or your permanent death."

"What does becoming a vassal do to him?" Wally asks, gently trying to stop Dick from breaking his ribs with how tightly he was hugging himself. Does he even have ribs?

"He gains my powers. Ice, electricity, invisibility, intangibility, flight... He becomes a Halfa. He becomes what I was, in life. Just... needing to make offerings to me, now and then. Something like that, at least. I give him powers, he gives me a chunk of, I don't know, chocolate once a week. Like a warlock."

Wally keeps talking to the man, keeps getting information that he knows he should pay attention to, but something in his chest screams to accept this deal, and he can't focus on anything else.

Nightwing can protect. He can return to life and go back to Blüdhaven, be the Vigilante they need. He can visit Gotham every now and then, help with cases and stop criminals from harming others. He can see his brother. He can see his friends. He can eat Alfred's cookies, and have little get-togethers with Babs and the Team--hell, he can argue with Bruce.

And all he has to do is... give an offering to this guy? The Ghost King? Every once in a while?

"There's no other price?" The King turns his attention to Dick. His eyes had shifted to a blue-green that almost hypnotize him. The green swirls, the blue forms and melts like snowflakes, and he can't look away.

He takes another step forward and Wally steps to the side. There was familiarity between them. Wally deferred to him. Dick can't quite tell why. Though, with how Wally hasn't once looked at Clockwork, maybe it's because he's... grounded? Are all speedsters in trouble with, what, the Ghost of Time? That... actually makes perfect sense.

"I'll be honest, Nightwing: You've impressed me." The weight behind the King's words lifts the ones that've been on his shoulders since he was nine. "You remind me of myself. Maybe, if I wasn't a Halfa... If I had a mentor... I could've been like you.

"Despite Clockwork's insistence over the years that I get back in touch with the living, I've held off. When he eventually suggested that I help create another Halfa, I locked him in his tower for twenty years. I didn't want anyone to go through what I had. But, now... I see that you won't. You can't. Even if you hide this deal--our shared powers... You'll still have people by your side. Strong people. Smart people. You can already handle yourself. And I'd love to see what you can do--who you can save--with my help."

There was maybe two inches between their faces when the King finishes speaking. Dick roves his eyes across the other's face, trying to find the common and familiar ticks that show lies and deceit and manipulation. All he finds is sincerity and genuine care.

Wally plays with his fingers from the corner of his eye, gaze hopeful as he looks between the two of them. Wally, who was alive and breathing and able to leave if he accepts. Eventually. Somehow.

Dick Grayson sends a quiet apology to his parents and hopes they will forgive him for being a little bit selfish.

"I accept."

He flings his eyes open. Above him, domino mask too wobbly to be properly secured anymore, was Robin crying and begging him to wake up. His hands were sloppily placed over his heart. Batman was trying to drag him away, the firm set of his jaw screaming grief.

Nightwing gasps once he registers his lungs burning.

There's a large cacophony of noise, multiple bright suits and people hounding over him, and the distinct artificial taste of slightly-too-much oxygen that the ship with the Parademons had. That he flew out of and died. He was still too cold.

Someone moves their arm beneath his knees and shoulder and Dick passes out.

(Dick 'Nightwing' Grayson dies in space. Ghost King Danny Phantom likes this too-human Hero. They split their souls in half, take one piece of the others, and all they know is that Phantom is now Nightwing's Patron Deity. Danny uses ice, for electricity killed him. Dick uses electricity, for ice killed him. They are opposites, and yet so incredibly similar. Clockwork was looking forward to when Danny starts putting off his paperwork to hang out with his new 'friend'.)

[that1notetaker]

DADS DADS DADS DADS. (Read below for a short written scene to add context)

Lucifer purses his lips, echoes of his daughter's words jarring daggers from behind his mind's eye. 

“They’re our people too, dad. People with—with hopes and dreams, and—and fears. Like you, and me. I have to do something."

That had been months ago. Same day she left home, along with most things in her room and the knickknacks that had innocently scattered around the house. Once overlooked, now the fractures that chiselled the crack in the wall.

From the corner of his eye, the man’s brow tightens. Lucifer watches shoulders stiffening under a black suit, a red beak pulling into a frown. The imp's eyes remain cemented in the same spot of the table, however, an empty murkiness tredging the edges. Too recognizeable. Too familiar.

Lucifer closes his eyes. Fine. Okay. Okay.

“Uh.” He clears his throat. “Hard day?” Perfect.

[bucksboobs]

I do think at some point in the not too distant future, the 911 fandom, at least on Tumblr, is going to have to reckon with the fact that despite M!slash being the main driving force of the fandom, gay men like myself are in the vast minority (I think a recent poll put us at something like 6% but it didn’t separate bisexuals by gender so it’s hard to say how many mlm are actually in the fandom) and in the same way being a gay man doesn’t exempt him from being incidentally or purposefully misogynistic, being some other flavor of the rainbow doesn’t prevent someone from perpetuating homophobia against men who love men.

At some point the jokes about how Tommy is just here for dick or should just get dick and move on (when he’s already made it very clear that he wants a relationship with Buck) are going to start to sound like hypersexual stereotypes of gay men. At some point the constant push to get them to break up as soon as possible and for Tommy to die or get shipped off to Arizona or wherever is going to seem less like regular ship hate and more like wanting a gay male character to be punished for daring to seek a relationship with a man in the first place. We obviously aren’t there yet but I do think we should be aware that it is fast approaching.

[blamemma]

some of my favourite tributes shared by photographers, vcarb team members, and others, so far. // part ii

lids_harper / jasemcalpine / digital.lighthouse / rosstomkinsphotography / alexvoconnor / taylorbrobbins

[fuchsea]

i know it doesn't need to be said on tumblr but i'll still say it. as we are starting to get details about liam's funeral, i am pleading fans to not show up at the funeral. i understand he was a big part of our lives, and he will continue to be that, but at the end of the day, he is a son, brother, father and friend to his loved ones and he deserves to rest in kindness. his loved ones deserve to say goodbye to him in private and without worry about their grief being splashed onto headlines. i also implore you to not share any photos from the funeral, especially of the boys because they need the time and space to grieve however they want to. it's been such a tragic time all around and even after his death, his life was dissected brutally and it's all so unfair. he deserves to be laid to rest without all the added noise and shown some dignity that he hasn't received since the moment he passed. as much of a harsh truth as it may seem, but we didn't know him personally and we don't know his family, friends, the boys and loved ones personally either. ultimately, we grieve as a community, but not as his family and i think it's incredibly important to remember that. i am not diminishing anyone's grief, i am just saying that we have no right to invade his or his loved ones' privacy.

[bubblegum-and-ciggarettes]

Fionna and Cake Episode 2 Intro!

[mobius-m-mobius]

I know what kind of god I need to be... For you.

[wyrmswears]

jay dump

[arttsuka]

Based on somewhat real events

I spent way too much time drawing this...

But yeah, Ford finally saying thank you

A continuation (kinda)

[epavirees]

important photos for bisexuals