“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 through 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 would totally do that for a date lol
If someone did this for me for a date I would bang them on the spot under that masterpiece.
ideas for the future
I have some work ahead of me it seems.
holy shit im fucking crying i’m such a christmas weenie
this is why i always fly westjet when i can. they are one of the most genuinely caring airlines out there who do actually care about their customers and are always positive and i love them a lot okay
What light. So breaks. Such east. Very sun. Wow, Juliet.
What Romeo. Such why. Very rose. Still rose.
Very balcony. Such climb.
Much love. So Propose. Wow, marriage.
Very Tybalt. Much stab. What do?
Such exile. Very Mantua. Much sad.
So, priest? Much sleeping. Wow, tomb.
Such poison. What dagger. Very dead. Wow, end.
Rape isn’t about uncontrollable sexual desire. You only have to listen in on a Call of Duty game to see that. When that kid crows, “I raped you!”, he’s not calling the other guy sexy; he’s saying he defeated him, dominated him, humiliated him. That’s what rape is about, and that should scare you.
gonna reblog this till I stop tumbling
This is the moment when Kurse walks up to his cell and just from looking at him for two seconds, instinctually knows he’s too dangerous to let out.
I love how unafraid Loki is. Or rather, how courageous he is. How resourceful, how poised to use any eventuality to his advantage. If anyone ever says he’s a coward, they haven’t seen this movie.
I just really love how Kurse was just basically LOL I AINT TOUCHIN THAT WITH A TEN FOOT POLE
I love this scene. I love that the two of them basically circle each other like predators AND KURSE BLINKS FIRST. He’s the one who backs away. Even other predators know who’s king here. Look at that little smile in the first gif. He’s not the slightest bit intimidated. He’s faced the worst the universe has to offer. Let unstoppable darkness get back to him when its got a resume. It’s Loki’s version of the same smile Thor gets when he’s about to lay something to waste. It’s the smile of a man who’s not really taking your threat seriously. Let it never be said that Loki’s not a bad ass. He is. Of the first order. And in addition to that he’s dangerous in a way Thor never will be.
i just thought he didn’t let him out because Loki can’t pick a side
i thought it was more like
"oh yes i’m finally going to be let out bwahaha go on set me free"
"oh…you’re…not going to.. what you’re walking away"
“oh *intense disappointment*”
"you’ll die first then *sends him to heimdall*"
Supermodel Karlie Kloss was photoshopped to look less thin for a Numero campaign. There are so many things wrong with this. Models are forced to be incredibly thin to fit a certain aesthetic, but when they do, they’re so emaciated that they have to be photoshopped to not look sick.
Robin Hardy, a former creative director at Vogue, has commented on the practice of photoshopping to cover up the aesthetic and health costs of extreme thinness:
“At the time, when we pored over the raw images, creating the appearance of smooth flesh over protruding ribs, softening the look of collarbones that stuck out like coat hangers, adding curves to flat bottoms and cleavage to pigeon chests, we felt we were doing the right thing…
But now, I wonder. Because for all our retouching, it was still clear to the reader that these women were very, very thin. But, hey, they still looked great!
They had 22-inch waists (those were never made bigger), but they also had breasts and great skin. They had teeny tiny ankles and thin thighs, but they still had luscious hair and full cheeks.
Thanks to retouching, our readers… never saw the horrible, hungry downside of skinny. That these underweight girls didn’t look glamorous in the flesh. Their skeletal bodies, dull, thinning hair, spots and dark circles under their eyes were magicked away by technology, leaving only the allure of coltish limbs and Bambi eyes.”
Anonymous asked: OMG FUCK YOU YOU STUPID PIECE OF SHIT DISNEY MOVIES WERENT CREATED FOR YOU THEY WERE CREATED FOR KIDS SORRY IF THEY DONT MEET YOUR EXPECTATIONS FUCK YOU
Once upon a time I was babysitting my 12 year-old cousin and I took her to the mall for food and window shopping. This was around the time Enchanted came out so of course the walls were lined with Giselle. Not that I particularly minded, Enchanted was a good film.
So at any rate, I was casually browsing some of the outfits they had out and pick out this pink sparkly dress meant to be Aurora’s. I said, “Hey, Destiny, why don’t you wear this for Halloween?”
I should note I was just joking because this was the age where she was rebelling against dresses but rather than to comment on that she simply replied with, “That isn’t for me.”
I thought she was talking about the fact that I was holding up a dress so I pressed on, “Aw why not? C’mooon! I’m sure it’ll look great on you! Oh we could get you a nice tiara and sparkly heels-“
But she shook her head and went, “That’s only for white girls.”
Of course it was the initial line that took me by surprise, but even moreso was the sheer matter-of-factness that was in her voice. She wasn’t even fazed by it and talked as if was telling me some fact that I must have missed in a memo.
She went on to look at the TV screen but I kept going through the outfits thinking that maybe Jasmine or Pocahontas or Mulan would work, but that wasn’t the problem.
The problem IS that she is the so-called target audience for a store in which she found nothing for her and she accepted it as a fact.
The problem IS that all of this princess stuff isn’t FOR her.
The problem IS that I went through this revelation when I was her age and I thought that it would have ended a long time ago.
The problem IS that they rejoiced in Tiana only to get three more non-POC princesses.
And the problem is that all of this will CONTINUE to be and I just don’t know if I would be able to stand watching my two year-old niece realize this herself.
Because we’re Mexican, we’re mixed, we’re African-American, but most importantly we’re not white.
So you know what? No. Fuck YOU.
Because I WAS a kid. These princess movies WERE created for me, my cousins, my niece, and damn near every other little girl I have know in my lifetime.
And we were NEVER a part of their formula.
We are NEVER going to be a part of their formula.
I’m sick of this shit. I want to see this shit change and I’m not going to sit around waiting for it to change.
I am going to raise hell and I will bust my ass through school and I will get my degree and I will get into the animation industry and I will fight my absolute hardest to help in the change because if there’s one thing I never want to see again is a kid questioning why movies refuse to acknowledge their existence.
So you sit the fuck down and you shut the fuck up and you go through hearing this shit from four different kids and then you see if you can get off your fucking ass and say that shit to me again.
This. This is why you keep talking and holding people accountable. Because this is true for most girls, even the white ones.
It’s true, but Disney has a stellar track record when it comes to diversity in their character representations (where it makes sense, Black people in German and French fairy tales are sort of…. ridiculous). There have been Chinese, Black American, Native American, German, French, Swedish, etc princesses and other characters, and Rapunzel was the first white Disney princess since 1990-something. So that’s great.
The problem isn’t in the characters, it’s in the stories being told. Have a story about a mixed Hispanic princess growing up running from labour field to labour field after crossing the border, and finding something relevant to her roots that builds her up into a modern day princess. Have a story about an African girl in the savannah who must confront her tribes old gods to save her people. Have a story about the Inuit or the Andean peoples or the Maori.
Find those stories and make them relatable to everyone, including white people. Make the story about the human experience and watch the next generation grow up with healthy role models from all areas of the world.
1. Stop faking your fucking orgasms. Society already tells young men that they run the fucking universe - if they can’t turn your cunt into a shooting star then for god’s sake, let them know about it.
2. Once you’ve stopped faking your fucking orgasms, use this newfound honesty throughout the rest of your life - stop ordering coffee you don’t actually like; stop sitting at a desk and allowing people to treat you like shit in the hopes that a meek attitude will earn you a promotion (it won’t); stop telling people they can finish your food when you’re not actually done yet. These may seem petty, but they add up, just like every orgasm you didn’t actually get to have.
3. If you wanna dance all night, dance all fucking night. Dance all night even if you have work in the morning. The worst that will happen is you’ll drink RedBull all day and look like a zombie - pass it off as a head cold to the real zombies you work with and flick through the embarrassing photos you’re being tagged in as you pretend to take a shit for some peace and quiet. I promise, you’ll remember dancing all night in ten years, not the suspicious way your boss looked at you that morning.
4. If your ass looks big in that, that’s a good thing.
5. You will never be as young as you are this second. Embrace it.
6. Embrace the fact that you’re going to get older. Ask your boyfriend if he will still love you when you’re seventy and your tits are down to your knees. Look forward to this time - seventy year old women are allowed to do pretty much whatever they want, and no-one can stop them. You can carry candy in your bag and not share it with a single soul. You can stay home all day and cross-stitch expletives onto handkerchiefs for your grandchildren and slip them under the table out of sight of the people you raised. You can drink whisky at 10am. Every phase of your life is going to be amazing for different reasons. Embrace that.
7. A lot of people will pretend to love Bukowski. Don’t pretend to love Bukowski if you don’t love Bukowski. It’s overplayed and no-one will mind if you actually like Virginia Andrews instead - the people who do mind are boring.
warp drive post from over a year ago goes viral:
A few months ago, physicist Harold White stunned the aeronautics world when he announced that he and his team at NASA had begun work on the development of a faster-than-light warp drive. His proposed design, an ingenious re-imagining of an Alcubierre Drive, may eventually result in an engine that can transport a spacecraft to the nearest star in a matter of weeks — and all without violating Einstein’s law of relativity.
This should have hits in millions, people. This is literally INFUCKINGCREDIBLE.
WE COULD CHECK FOR LIFE IN OTHER SYSTEMS BY ACTUALLY GOING THERE.
HOW ARE YOU NOT FREAKING OUT YET?!!???!?!
- pretend that you’re doing really important research to help the Winchesters on a hunt
- you’re welcome
How to Study:
• pretend you’re translating a tablet
• Pretend you are doing research on where Gallifrey might have ended up
•pretend you’re spock