whatthehorsedoicallthisblog

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Do you know this queer character?

Castiel is Queer and Agender or Genderfluid, and uses varying pronouns based on presentation!

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The sun is still out at 8 o'clock... Wow

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the fact that so often ppl are told to read shakespeare rather than watch it is so weird. like yeah sure reading it can help u get the language and stuff. but it’s meant to be watched. imagine your favorite movie or tv show episode. and then imagine how much less fun and interesting it would be if u just read the script instead of watching it. Shakespeare meant for his works to be watched and performed not read. not saying u can’t get something out of reading them obviously. just saying the way it’s taught and presented to ppl is often fundamentally flawed. 

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shinx! ⚡️

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dude seeing these Mega high quality images of the surface of mars that we now have has me fucked up. Like. Mars is a place. mars is a real actual place where one could hypothetically stand. It is a physical place in the universe. ITS JUST OUT THERE LOOKING LIKE UH IDK A REGULAR OLD DESERT WITH LOTS OF ROCKS BUT ITS A WHOLE OTHER PLANET? 

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Anastasia Trusova, “Dust” Acrylic on canvas / 70 x 80 cm / 2022

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Source

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are u ever sick w longing. and i don't just mean romantic longing. i mean longing for a place you barely get to see, longing for friends you no longer have, longing for feelings you might have left behind in your childhood, longing for creativity, longing for a rich and more expansive life, longing for less inhibition. longing for more passion. longing for ur life to be so incandescent w something it thaws all the frost in ur bones. are u ever so consumed w it it rends ur heart in two. do u understand me

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Nidoking and his clutch of Nidorans in a poppy field. I drew this maybe 3 years ago for a zine that was never released and I think about it every spring since then. If you’d like a print, I’m taking currently taking preorders! Get it here: gumroad.com/l/nidok

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#GUERNSEY IS THE BESTTTTT

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imagine you're some guy and you're going through the woods one day and you stumble upon a house and the people who live there just give you free food and eventually let you inside and it's like nothing you've ever seen before and the people are so nice and loving towards you and then one day they decide to never let you leave again, steal your balls, and give you a stupid fucking hair cut

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look. the nature of the artist (any kind) is to become inexplicably obsessed with certain themes and motifs for a few years and just milk that subject matter to death. when respected artists do this, art critics refer to it as a “period.” the only thing separating you from them is fame and accolades. to your haters you will be “that freak who’s fixated on drawing weird trains,” while to your admirers, you are simply in your “tiny trains made out of household appliances” period

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MOST BASS ARE JUST FISH BUT LEROY BROWN WAS SOMETHING SPECIAL

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When I was younger and more abled, I was so fucking on board with the fantasy genre’s subversion of traditional femininity. We weren’t just fainting maidens locked up in towers; we could do anything men could do, be as strong or as physical or as violent. I got into western martial arts and learned to fight with a rapier, fell in love with the longsword.

But since I’ve gotten too disabled to fight anymore, I… find myself coming back to that maiden in a tower. It’s that funny thing, where subverting femininity is powerful for the people who have always been forced into it… but for the people who have always been excluded, the powerful thing can be embracing it.

As I’m disabled, as I say to groups of friends, “I can’t walk that far,” as I’m in too much pain to keep partying, I find myself worrying: I’m boring, too quiet, too stationary, irrelevant. The message sent to the disabled is: You’re out of the narrative, you’re secondary, you’re a burden.

The remarkable thing about the maiden in her tower is not her immobility; it’s common for disabled people to be abandoned, set adrift, waiting at bus stops or watching out the windows, forgotten in institutions or stranded in our houses. The remarkable thing is that she’s like a beacon, turning her tower into a lighthouse; people want to come to her, she’s important, she inspires through her appearance and words and craftwork.  In medieval romances she gives gifts, write letters, sends messengers, and summons lovers; she plays chess, commissions ballads, composes music, commands knights. She is her household’s moral centre in a castle under siege. She is a castle unto herself, and the integrity of her body matters.

That can be so revolutionary to those of us stuck in our towers who fall prey to thinking: Nobody would want to visit; nobody would want to listen; nobody would want to stay.

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