Kit-N-Kadoodle

hurtling-towards-uranus:

youtuber-be-kidding-me:

omgtroyetheboyblog:

so much anxiety right now just sitting in my room in the dark.

Ok anxiety here’s what you do

Name 5 things you can see
Breathe.
Name 4 things you can feel
Breathe.
Name 3 things you can hear
Breathe.
Name 2 things you can smell
Breathe.
Name 1 thing that makes you happy
Breathe.

My therapist was very shitty when it came to anxiety but someone sent this game to me on Twitter and it’s sooo helpful

this just helped me so much THANK YOU

(via whimsydrawing)

queertoonqueertoons:

queertoonqueertoons:

“When I was a little kid, I had very few shows to look to with brown girls like me and none with queer characters (and maybe that’s part of the reason why it took me so long to come out). Now, not only does this representation exist, but it has just been acknowledged as intentional, valid, and beautiful by its creators.

I can’t exactly articulate how Avatar the Last Airbender and Legend of Korra originally became such important shows in my life, but I can now tell you why it will remain one of the shows most dear to my heart. And for that Mike and Bryan, I want to thank you. “ 

- When-Extremes-Meet, Tumblr

Every Avatar fan remembers this first iconic image of Korra released in the summer of 2010.  Announced as the “sequel series” to the beloved Avatar: The Last Airbender, The Legend of Korra promised not only a “strong, hot-headed heroine” but a new, modernized world in the form of Republic City.  Three years later, after the series finale was released, many news outlets praised Korra, as one of the most historically significant animated series in American television, for their confirmation of a queer relationship between the title character Korra and her longtime female friend Asami Sato, known more affectionally within the fandom community as “Korrasami.”  As one of the first academic writers following this series from its inception in 2012 (focused on queer fandom communities of all things), I should have been ecstatic, and yet, it has taken nearly two months for me to structure this more personally-driven essay about a show that infuriated me nearly as much as it inspired me with hope for the future of children’s media.  

Originally, this essay focused solely on the fans and ignored the creators, who I have often criticized for their use of at-times-questionable culturally-appropriated material, casting practices of white voice actors for POC characters, and reductionist approach to complex political ideologies.  I have often defended and highlighted the Korra fandom as the silver lining of a particularly problematic series, and whose community helped create a space of intersectionality, subversion, and exploration of queer identities.  But as I sat down to gather my research, following the finale, reading and watching fan reaction after fan reaction, there was no way to ignore the overwhelming consensus of “Thank you, Bryke!” from the fans.  

At first I was frustrated.  The fans had made Korrasami canon.  They had created a large enough demographic that the Viacom network executives felt safe putting this “progressive” ending out on the airwaves.  But as another one of my  colleagues pointed out, Bryke (the fandom-assigned name for the creators Bryan Konietzko and Michael DiMartino) are the ones who created the media that the fans consume, and thus I can’t completely remove them the equation.  So with a huge breath, I dove into my obligatory re-watch of both series, keeping an open mind about the symbiotic relationship between the fans and the creators. And after a long revision of my original outline I’ve decided to focus this essay around the most important love triangle of the series - Bryke, Korra, and the Fans.

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Very insightful essay.