Don’t Worry Bro , Black Tumblr Got You And Your Sister.✊🏿

random jjba lockscreens; like or reblog

Well, well, well. Guess who fell into the new gay pirates fandom? And guess who finished OUR FLAG MEANS DEATH and was immediately like, “I gotta find some fic to read to fill the void.” Despite that I swore up and down I wasn’t going to get drawn into another new fandom, five minutes after the final episode, I was opening up AO3 and clicking away like my life depended on it. I thought it’d just be a fun, silly show to watch in between more serious ones! Just some cute pirate antics with some nice queer rep! Sure, maybe some heavier stuff might happen, but it was ultimately a silly pirates show and I wasn’t going to have real feelin– OH NO NOW I’M HIP DEEP IN FEELINGS AND I AM MAKING IT EVERYONE ELSE’S PROBLEM WITH ME. Because if fic is going to make me cry and/or laugh through my tears, I’m not suffering that alone. So, here, read a bunch of fic with me. OUR FLAG MEANS DEATH FIC RECS: ✦ He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven by AuntieClimactic, ed/stede, NSFW, 14.4k    “Here we go again,” he heard Lucius scream over Izzy’s furious cursing. ✦ and he doesn’t mind the (ooh) by thatbug, ed/stede & cast, NSFW, 5.4k    As a curious man, Captain Stede Bonnet determines that he should learn more about the great piratical pastime of buggery. Edward Teach is surprisingly unwilling to discuss. In which it’s much harder than Stede would expect to convince Blackbeard to fuck him up the ass. ✦ do no harm, take no shit by holsmi, ed/stede & mary & cast, 2.1k    Mary Bonnet receives some uninvited guests. ✦ The Biblical Sense by Fyre, ed/stede, NSFW, 2.5k    Ed’s eyes creased around the edges. Smiling. One could always tell by them, even if his beard and moustache and everything else hid his mouth. “I know you’re a bit new to the whole… seaman thing,” he said with that rumble of amusement in his voice, “but I thought even you’d recognise a come on when you saw one.” ✦ echo your name (call it love) by treescape, ed/stede, 1.6k    Or, Stede realizes he’s maybe, possibly started calling Ed rather revealing things. ✦ Beyond Vanity by reserve, ed/stede, 2.3k    After Izzy leaves, and Stede gets patched up, Ed uses the bathtub for something other than a nervous breakdown. ✦ Hold me deep beneath your waves by makesometime, ed/stede, NSFW, 1.2k    “Would you believe…” Stede breathes, voice shaky in that way that Ed’s come to learn means he’s excited, but like, in a nervous way. “That I’ve never done… this… before?” ✦ this is not your grave, get out by morian, ed & lucius (& ed/stede & black pete/lucius), 10k    Or: Lucius survives. For better or for worse. ✦ Break down, it’s alright by rowenablade, ed/stede, NSFW, 3.2k    “Stede.” Ed’s voice breaks, dragging Stede’s eyes back up from where they’ve been staring at the floor in shame. “Please.” ✦ you reached out your hand to me by holsmi, ed/stede, 4.1k    Stede Bonnet sneaks onboard the Revenge, and sets some things right. ✦ the relationship counselor by Nanashi07, ed/stede & olu/jim & lucius, 4k    Lucius Spriggs: the unofficial – and involuntary – relationship counselor of The Revenge. ✦ peccadilloes by Badgerette, ed/stede, 2.1k    On the benefits of literary references. Now with a variation on a theme. ✦ ease one life the aching by treescape, ed/stede, 1.1k    Or, Ed’s not used to being taken care of. Stede wants to change that. ✦ separating salt from water by morian, ed/stede & cast, 6k    Or: The Revenge has been becalmed for six days. Ed has bigger things to worry about, like sharks and being in love. ✦ denial by huojuvuus, ed/stede & mary, 2.1k    (or, mary builds an unlikely friendship and maybe saves her ex-husband’s relationship in the process.) ✦ when you love it by mia_ugly, ed/stede, NSFW, 5.7k    Stede’s being kissed before the door fully clicks shut behind him. ✦ on the bed of this blue ocean by kirkaut, ed/stede, 9.6k    [Or: Ed hears about Stede’s ‘death’ and promptly falls apart.] ✦ Trick by Desdemon, ed/stede, NSFW, 4.2k    Stede teaches Ed how to play piquet. ✦ Two Captains and a Baby by triedunture, ed/stede, 9.2k    The crew of The Revenge finds a lost infant during one of their bouts of fuckery. Stede and Ed play caretaker for one night. ✦ every morning the world by treescape, ed/stede, NSFW, 1.1k    Or, breakfast in bed doesn’t go exactly as planned, but that’s okay. ✦ we were warnings by mia_ugly, ed/stede, NSFW, 13.1k    Stede comes back. Ed does too. It just takes a little longer. ✦ Never Been Sketched by Luddleston, ed/stede & lucius, 3.6k    Or: Ed poses for a portrait in the nude, and Lucius has to watch Stede go through a life-altering internal crisis, witness a frankly upsetting level of sexual tension, and deal with the most fidgety portrait subject ever. At least he gets to ogle Blackbeard while he’s at it. For the sake of art. Obviously. ✦ heartless by Nanashi07, ed/stede & izzy & frenchie & jim, 4.8k    Stede seems determined to win Edward back. It must be why he keeps “accidentally” showing up in Edward’s life.

stupid murder man meets big murder man😳

"Do you know what makes an Air Nomad? It's the ability to sit down quietly, wherever you are, be it dark room or empty field, and just . . . sit. To sit with yourself, without causing problems or hurting anyone else. That's it. That's all it is. The airbending pales in comparison."

-- Avatar Yangchen, The Dawn of Yangchen

SNAP SNAP SPARK SPARK

I THINK. tsubomi shoild b an esper

*writes two paragraphs after months of literally nothing and it took three hours*

“i. “Your name is Tasbeeh. Don’t let them call you by anything else.” My mother speaks to me in Arabic; the command sounds more forceful in her mother tongue, a Libyan dialect that is all sharp edges and hard, guttural sounds. I am seven years old and it has never occurred to me to disobey my mother. Until twelve years old, I would believe God gave her the supernatural ability to tell when I’m lying. “Don’t let them give you an English nickname,” my mother insists once again, “I didn’t raise amreekan.” My mother spits out this last word with venom. Amreekan. Americans. It sounds like a curse coming out of her mouth. Eight years in this country and she’s still not convinced she lives here. She wears her headscarf tightly around her neck, wades across the school lawn in long, floor-skimming skirts. Eight years in this country and her tongue refuses to bend and soften for the English language. It embarrasses me, her heavy Arab tongue, wrapping itself so forcefully around the clumsy syllables of English, strangling them out of their meaning. But she is fierce and fearless. I have never heard her apologize to anyone. She will hold up long grocery lines checking and double-checking the receipt in case they’re trying to cheat us. My humiliation is heavy enough for the both of us. My English is not. Sometimes I step away, so people don’t know we’re together but my dark hair and skin betray me as a member of her tribe. On my first day of school, my mother presses a kiss to my cheek. “Your name is Tasbeeh,” she says again, like I’ve forgotten. “Tasbeeh.” ii. Roll call is the worst part of my day. After a long list of Brittanys, Jonathans, Ashleys, and Yen-but-call-me-Jens, the teacher rests on my name in silence. She squints. She has never seen this combination of letters strung together in this order before. They are incomprehensible. What is this h doing at the end? Maybe it is a typo. “Tas…?” “Tasbeeh,” I mutter, with my hand half up in the air. “Tasbeeh.” A pause. “Do you go by anything else?” “No,” I say. “Just Tasbeeh. Tas-beeh.” “Tazbee. All right. Alex?” She moves on before I can correct her. She said it wrong. She said it so wrong. I have never heard my name said so ugly before, like it’s a burden. Her entire face contorts as she says it, like she is expelling a distasteful thing from her mouth. She avoids saying it for the rest of the day, but she has already baptized me with this new name. It is the name everyone knows me by, now, for the next six years I am in elementary school. “Tazbee,” a name with no grace, no meaning, no history; it belongs in no language. “Tazbee,” says one of the students on the playground, later. “Like Tazmanian Devil?” Everyone laughs. I laugh too. It is funny, if you think about it. iii. I do not correct anyone for years. One day, in third grade, a plane flies above our school. “Your dad up there, Bin Laden?” The voice comes from behind. It is dripping in derision. “My name is Tazbee,” I say. I said it in this heavy English accent, so he may know who I am. I am American. But when I turn around they are gone. iv. I go to middle school far, far away. It is a 30-minute drive from our house. It’s a beautiful set of buildings located a few blocks off the beach. I have never in my life seen so many blond people, so many colored irises. This is a school full of Ashtons and Penelopes, Patricks and Sophias. Beautiful names that belong to beautiful faces. The kind of names that promise a lifetime of social triumph. I am one of two headscarved girls at this new school. We are assigned the same gym class. We are the only ones in sweatpants and long-sleeved undershirts. We are both dreading roll call. When the gym teacher pauses at my name, I am already red with humiliation. “How do I say your name?” she asks. “Tazbee,” I say. “Can I just call you Tess?” I want to say yes. Call me Tess. But my mother will know, somehow. She will see it written in my eyes. God will whisper it in her ear. Her disappointment will overwhelm me. “No,” I say, “Please call me Tazbee.” I don’t hear her say it for the rest of the year. v. My history teacher calls me Tashbah for the entire year. It does not matter how often I correct her, she reverts to that misshapen sneeze of a word. It is the ugliest conglomeration of sounds I have ever heard. When my mother comes to parents’ night, she corrects her angrily, “Tasbeeh. Her name is Tasbeeh.” My history teacher grimaces. I want the world to swallow me up. vi. My college professors don’t even bother. I will only know them for a few months of the year. They smother my name in their mouths. It is a hindrance for their tongues. They hand me papers silently. One of them mumbles it unintelligibly whenever he calls on my hand. Another just calls me “T.” My name is a burden. My name is a burden. My name is a burden. I am a burden. vii. On the radio I hear a story about a tribe in some remote, rural place that has no name for the color blue. They do not know what the color blue is. It has no name so it does not exist. It does not exist because it has no name. viii. At the start of a new semester, I walk into a math class. My teacher is blond and blue-eyed. I don’t remember his name. When he comes to mine on the roll call, he takes the requisite pause. I hold my breath. “How do I pronounce your name?” he asks. I say, “Just call me Tess.” “Is that how it’s pronounced?” I say, “No one’s ever been able to pronounce it.” “That’s probably because they didn’t want to try,” he said. “What is your name?” When I say my name, it feels like redemption. I have never said it this way before. Tasbeeh. He repeats it back to me several times until he’s got it. It is difficult for his American tongue. His has none of the strength, none of the force of my mother’s. But he gets it, eventually, and it sounds beautiful. I have never heard it sound so beautiful. I have never felt so deserving of a name. My name feels like a crown. ix. “Thank you for my name, mama.” x. When the barista asks me my name, sharpie poised above the coffee cup, I tell him: “My name is Tasbeeh. It’s a tough t clinging to a soft a, which melts into a silky ssss, which loosely hugs the b, and the rest of my name is a hard whisper — eeh. Tasbeeh. My name is Tasbeeh. Hold it in your mouth until it becomes a prayer. My name is a valuable undertaking. My name requires your rapt attention. Say my name in one swift note – Tasbeeeeeeeh – sand let the h heat your throat like cinnamon. Tasbeeh. My name is an endeavor. My name is a song. Tasbeeh. It means giving glory to God. Tasbeeh. Wrap your tongue around my name, unravel it with the music of your voice, and give God what he is due”

—

Tasbeeh Herwees, "The Names They Gave Me“ (via cat-phuong)

I am weeping.

(via strangeasanjles)

what kind of idiot would spend almost $400 on figures

it’s me. I’m the idiot.

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…

HAPPY STAR WARS DAY and May the Force be with you.