anonymous said:

I think anyone who is Trans who wants to be a woman shouldn't think it weird to be expected to present as a woman. Because that proves that you actually want to BE a woman. That is actually the medical definition of gender dysphoria is wanting to be the other gender which entails looking like the other gender. Sorry snowflake tumblr! Also p.s bras are expensive get over it.

To be fair some people can’t try and present as the gender they are because of their parents, or money or laws in their country. Plus, cis boys can wear dresses and cis girls can wear pants, so it should be okay with trans boys and trans girls. I get what you’re trying to say though.

-The Canadian one

wienerretrievers replied to your post:object

there are days I really regret knowing gaelic and I really don’t wanna know what this entails

I’ll wipe your memory later. Too lazy right now.

irishfairyqueen replied to your post:object

An bhfuil tú cinnte go bhfuil sé mianach? B’fhéidir go bhfuil sé …. rud éigin Gina nó Isis nó!

No, no, tá sé mise. Tá a fhios agam go léir de Gina ar … baill éadaigh.

I have a bit of a lisp and sometimes when I am disoriented and I am typing I type things as I would literally say them out loud lisp and all which entails me replacing certain S’s with th’s and I catch myself and I’m like what the fuck

What kind of cognitive malfunction could possibly cause that

well okay i have a few other goals too

  • having year-round disney passes
  • owning a power washer
  • ability to visit friends multiple times a month
  • which possibly entails owning a helicopter or other small flying vehicle idk 
  • write a book

It makes you really ignorant if you just throw around terms to substantiate your argument. Do you know what being tone deaf even entails? Dara is not tone deaf. Tone deafness is more of a disability than anything, where one has the inability to distinguish between musical notes and cannot sing on pitch at all. Dara is always on tune, unless the whole group has had a busy schedule and all are breathless, and she can sing her lines well.

okay but les mis downton abbey au though:

  • enjolras as mary, staunch an uppercrust and the victim of a repugnant societal entail that he wants desperately to overthrow. 
  • eponine as edith. occasionally vindictive, can be incredibly cruel, but sharp as a knife and never going to let anyone ruin her life. 
  • jehan as sybil, the wild card. reads poetry to the trees on their estate. falls in love with the charming irish chauffeur: 
  • courfeyrac, said charming irish chauffeur. 
  • grantaire, a young man from a middle-class family to whom the fortune goes to thanks to the entail 
  • (valjean as the sass talkin’ maggie smith.)
  • (javert as cousin isobel just for jvj versus javert sass offs.) 
  • (cosette as grantaire/matthew’s younger non-canon sister bc shut up i make the rules.)

  • combeferre, the butler of the household. the realest. mess not with him. 
  • joly, the housekeeper. if shit needs doing, you go to joly to do the shit. don’t even bother try doing it yourself. joly all the way.
  • bahorel, the dubious new valet with mysterious past. also, has the hots hot for :  
  • feuilly as anna, the beautiful and hardworking house maid to all three of the young girls. so awesome. literally the bestest. 
  • musichetta, the sass-talkin’, cake-bakin’ cook who won’t let you mess with her pastries for any money. 
  • bossuet the cute-yet-awkward-stop-breaking-stuff-please-how-did-you-get-this-job footman. really good at playing the piano. absolutely adorable and absolutely in love with joly and musichetta. they get together and sass off.
  • marius, the king booby. wants to become a chef. real cute. ultra adorbs. super ginger and super tall. parnasse hates him. 
  • montparnasse, the slimy-ass footman that’s got a heart o’ gold under a shit tonne of bad stuff, along with his accomplice, the effervescent:
  • claquesous, the weird lady’s maid. parnasse and claquesos basically run the Musain Abbey mafia team. don’t mess. 
A Fishy Feeling

It wasn’t exactly what he was expecting to come upon when Florean handed him a slip with an address on it, telling him that Corvus was to be found there. The old man had been more than accommodating for someone who seemed so grouchy all the time when Art wound up at his doorstep in the dead of the night, eyes bloodshot and fist bloody like he’d just gotten into a fight with a dozen Peacekeepers and won. A short exchange of words was all Florean seemed to need to understand exactly what was plaguing Art’s thoughts before spewing his elderly wisdom over a cup of tea (that tasted suspiciously salty and…green) and passing him a note telling him that Corvus would be more than willing to detail him on what being a rebel entailed.

The condo he stumbled into was unlocked which wasn’t surprising given Corvus’ inclination towards inebriation— Art wasn’t entirely sure the man was capable of turning doorknobs. A warm breeze enveloped him as he made his way in tentatively, eyes drawn upwards instantly as the refracted light from the open french windows caught his eye in waves, flickering across the ceiling. Blue and turquoise hues stained the walls and upon dragging his fingers through it, he found that the colour was nothing more than light being emitted from a green pool situated rather inconveniently in the middle of the loft. 

image

"Hello? Corvus?" Art called out into the empty space, but making no effort to stop his aimless wandering through the apartment. He thought it was strange that someone from Twelve would have such a lavish suite, decorated with so much nautical memorabilia. Poking his head into one of the rooms where there was a bed and some nondescript wardrobes, Art found himself far more enchanted by the large glass wall that stretched the expanse of the apartment. Art wandered a little closer, bypassing the the furniture in awe of the warm blue of what appeared to be a massive aquarium, filled with a rainbow of fish that made most Capitolites look drab. A vibrant, angular fish swam past his eyes and he tapped on the glass to get its attention, only to scare it away into the coral behind it. 

Entranced by the aquatic life, he hardly heard the rustle behind him that startled him into the glass screen with a clumsy and hollow clonk of his forehead on the hard surface. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

Replacement Guitar Project

http://www.gofundme.com/erjj88

Hey Tumblr followers!!! I need your help! As most of you know I am currently learning guitar and have been struggling through with a bad guitar. Unfortunately this guitar was broken by my younger brother. I have been saving for a Taylor guitar that I’ve had my eye on for months.

But quality isn’t cheap. I’ve started a Go Fund Me account in hopes of generous souls helping with my musical aspirations. I’m only asking for 600 dollars. And any little bit helps. My account has prizes listed. I went to art school so most of them entail a piece of art you’ll get back.

Please consider donating and if you can’t at least reblog this. Have a beautiful day.

The Quran Tag!

image

O you who have believed, avoid much [negative] assumption. Indeed, some assumption is sin. And do not spy or backbite each other. Would one of you like to eat the flesh of his brother when dead? You would detest it. And fear Allah; indeed, Allah is Accepting of repentance and Merciful. (49:12)

Mash’Allah, what a wonderful tag this is! Thank you very much, limberreverie, for tagging me :)

So, this tag entails us to pick one of our favorite ayah’s from the Quran, and then briefly explain why it is important/relevant to us. This was extremely difficult for me to do because, how does one choose a favorite line from the most miraculous, perfect piece of literature ever? The whole Quran is my favorite. The Quran is everything to me. Every answer you would ever need about this life and dunya and the hereafter is in there. I have so so so so many favorite surahs and ayahs, it really is a struggle to pick just one. However, I recently was reviewing Surat Al-Hujurat, and I immediately fell in love with the entire surah (no surprise there), so I decided to choose an ayah from there.

This ayah is pretty self-explanatory, but I feel it is crucial that we monitor ourselves and try our hardest to stay away from judging one another in any way. It is not our place to judge someone. Ever. We should never make assumptions about anyone. I know for me personally, it really hurts me when people assume random things about me based on anything other than my actions (which they do not always witness/see, but Allah is the All-Knowing, All-Seeing, All-Hearing, and He always knows). Therefore, I do not engage in judging anyone, because I know how hurtful and unnecessary it is. The ayah right before this one (49:11) asks us to not ridicule each other, and to never put anyone else down by any means. I feel these two ayahs link together perfectly. You never ever know what a person is going through, internally, at home, or any struggle they are facing. You never know how badly your assumptions and words could hurt a person. We should just always practice kindness towards one another, and exude nothing but love and peace. We know nothing. I especially don’t like it when people judge your Imaan. They judge your relationship with Allah. I recall family members making 7 year old me feel really bad for not praying. I know how important Salat is now, but I did not understand at a young age. I do however recall always always having a strong relationship and connection with Allah. I feel like these family members could have executed and taught me in a nicer, more welcoming way. Tbh, they made Islam feel so scary and unforgiving to me at that age, but SubhanAllah, I have no bad feelings and my love for Islam has not stopped. I still do not understand how people can judge someone’s Imaan though. Why would you ever assume how someone’s relationship with Allah is? That is between them and Allah only. We should focus on our own Imaan, and not go judging someone else’s. It is never our place to judge. We are capable of such greater things than making mindless assumptions. We need to be more gentle with each other. I believe when engaging in the act of assumption, many times you are only helping institutionalized oppression prevail and this is so dangerous (esp when we’re dealing with racial assumptions), which is another thing Allah has forbid us from doing. There is just SO MUCH that we do not know. Leave the judging to Allah when The Day comes. Of course, we are created weak, we are created to seek refuge in Allah and always ask for help. I also like the constant reminder to fear nothing, except Allah. This always puts me at ease. Even if we do judge and make mistakes, Allah waits for us to flee back to Him and ask for forgiveness, and ask for guidance to Him and away from anything that displeases Him. He is the Most Merciful, Most Accepting, Most Kind, and all of the other 96 Names. SubhanAllah.

I feel like my explanation doesn’t do much justice, and I wish I could just post all 114 Surahs for this tag lol.

I am definitely no expert on the Quran, but Insha’Allah I will continue to increase my knowledge of this miraculous book. 

I tag everyone and anyone who wishes to do this awesome tag! :)

Kuroneko wa Shippo de Amaeru - Fujikawa Ruri
Status: Completed
Categories: Cat/s, Naive Uke/s, Neighbor/s, Novelist, Older Seme, Younger Uke, Pet/s, School Intercourse, Student/s, Unexpected Feelings, Writer/s
Genre: Romance, Yaoi
Recommended by: usagimones

Summary: 

From Bakeneko Scanlations:

"When we met, I fell in love with you…"
The novelist Sakaguchi was troubled. When Sakaguchi took in a weak kitten, the high schooler Kazuya, who comes to the his house to visit the cat, suddenly confessed. He thought it was just childish nonsense, but while usually being quiet, the Kazuya who is confesed his love awkwardly while his ears became red, seemed cute to Sakaguchi. But… adult love also entails sex, right? 
The love between the rough novelist and clumsy high schooler.

The accelerating rate at which reformism, with its tricontinental bellyache, is leaving behind ridiculous leftist droppings — all those little Maoist, Trotskyist and Guevaraist piles — proves by its smell what the Right, and especially the socialists and Stalinists, have long sensed: partial demands are essentially contrary to a total change. But trying to cut off the hydra heads of reformism one by one is futile. Better to overthrow the old ruse of history once and for all: this would seem to be the final solution to the problem of coopters. This implies a strategy that sparks the general conflagration by means of insurrectional moments at ever-closer intervals; and a tactic of qualitative progression in which inevitably partial actions each entail, as their necessary and sufficient condition, the liquidation of the world of the commodity. It is time to begin the positive sabotage of spectacle-commodity society. As long as our mass tactics stick to the law of immediate pleasure there will be no need to worry about the outcome.
—  Raoul Vaneigem, Notice to the Civilized Concerning Generalized Self-Management

valoisfulcanelli replied to your post: “What Asexuality entails for me. For any of you who were curious about…”:

I was married for 18 years and in all honesty hated the EXPECTED sexual side of it for the entire duration of it. My now-ex husband never understood & refused to listen. These days I’m very contentedly single. Thank you for this post <3

Which is precisely why I’ve decided that I’m content to be single unless I find a compatible partner. I was with my ex for the majority of 6 years and it was basically the same thing :( I couldn’t imagine dealing with it for 18 D: *hugs* And they most certainly don’t listen, probably because they simply cannot understand it or see it from your side.

You’re welcome ;u; ♥

7

The Miss Indian World pageant is the answer to Miss America we’ve been looking for

When Kira Kazantsev was crowned the new Miss America on Sunday night, a feeling of déjá vu set in.

Not only was she white — like all but nine of the 94 winners before her — she also fit snugly into a narrowly defined standard of Western female attractiveness: early 20s, long flowing hair and a thin, painstakingly tanned physique that would not seem out of place in a Victoria’s Secret catalog.

In many ways, the Miss Indian World pageant’s definition of what American beauty truly entails is the ideological antithesis to Miss America. Indeed, since 1984, this five-day competition based in Albuquerque, N.M., has honored Native American woman for their contributions to their communities, not their bikini bodies. The top award is given to the contestant who “best represents her culture,” according to Al Jazeera.

Why this pageant is world’s better | Follow micdotcom 

Sometimes it hits me that I could literally start my own religion called Shubbaism if I wanted to.

Could you imagine how ridiculously stupid that would be.

"what do you believe in"
"Shubbaism."
"oh whats that"
"our great 20 year old founder can explain it to you via her tumblr. welcome to thunderdome, brothers, sisters, and miscellaneous." 

If you hold back on the emotions—if you don’t allow yourself to go all the way through them—you can never get to being detached, you’re too busy being afraid. You’re afraid of the pain, you’re afraid of the grief. You’re afraid of the vulnerability that loving entails. But by throwing yourself into these emotions, by allowing yourself to dive in, all the way, over your heard even, you experience them fully and completely.
Make a Wish

"Have you heard of the Make a Wish foundation?"

Danny’s hand froze, just for a second, in it’s path from popcorn bowl to mouth, before continuing, his shoulders relaxing, and his voice calm with the ease of a practiced liar… although for the life of her, Jazz couldn’t figure out why. “Yeah, who hasn’t?” 

She hesitated trying to read his face, but he’d gotten progressively better and better at hiding things since the accident and, while to her the mask was obviously a fake, it was still a mask nonetheless. “…Did you know they were trying to contact Danny Phantom?”

"Really?" His answer was just a bit too quick to be natural, a bit too casual for someone who just found out that it was a kids dream to come meet with him. Sure, he’d become a bit jaded and wary of public attention since the council had decided to put his face up on the "Welcome to Amity Park" sign, but these were kids, dying kids, who just wanted to meet their hero…

"…You know Make a Wish is the one that gives kids the chance to ask for, like, one last request, right?"

"Yeah, I’ll look into it."

"I have the contact info—"

"I can google it."

And that was the end of the conversation.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————

Danny didn’t google it. At least, as far as Jazz knew. There were still articles talking about contacting the Amity P.D. and rumors that Danny had flat out rejected the organization, although most people seemed to think it was just a problem with communicating with the “illusive Phantom.” 

Jazz didn’t understand it. Danny loved kids, loved helping people. Sure, he got embarrassed at all the Danny Phantom paraphernalia they sold in the stores, and blushed fabulous colors when he bumped into the more enthusiastic fangirls, but when someone was genuinely complimenting him? When people praised his feats and called him a hero? You’d have to be blind to not see how proud he was, how good it made him feel… So why was he avoiding this?

The more Jazz thought about it, the more she convinced herself that he must be shy. He’d never said ‘yes’ to any interviews and rarely stuck around after making sure that everyone was okay. Maybe he was unsure how to do it, which phone or email or even voice, to use when trying to talk to these people. To make sure a closer look at Phantom didn’t make its way back to a closer look at Fenton…

The explanation didn’t really seem to fit, and Jazz didn’t want to be pushy… But it could really make all the difference. She’d done her research. She knew how much attitude and hope and confidence could affect a person’s health, their standard of life… And if these kids thought their hero didn’t care about them…

Because there were kids. Lots of them. Of all ages, from four to sixteen, dying of cancer or birth defects, or cystic fibrosis, who just wanted to meet with their hero. And not all of them were from Amity, either.

And the thing that really got to Jazz, after reading the testimonies of parents and friends, trying to get someone, anyone, to talk to Phantom, was that these weren’t just kids who wanted to meet Superman and would settle for an actor that vaguely resembled Clark Kent… These were kids who needed a hero and that hero was real… 

He just, somehow, couldn’t work up the courage to pick up the phone…. Or, at least, that’s what Jazz kept telling herself. 

"You know, if you’re worried about someone tracking the call back to you, they have payphones in the train station." She watched his back stiffen as the avatar he was supposed to be controlling fell to its death. "Or you could just fly in. There’s a chapter not too far from here, the address is on their website."

She felt kind of bad, bringing it up so abruptly, but… he responded the way he did when their mom scolded him for not doing his chores. “I know, I know, I’ve been meaning to. I’ve just been so busy…” He tried to shoot her a smile, looking up at her from his place on the floor, tried to brush it off, to shrug it away the way he did his grades and his injuries and the dishes piling up on the counter…

But as she stared at him from the couch, looking him down, confused and hurt, and, for just a second, furious, that he was not taking this seriously. “Danny, you are literally sitting around, playing video games. And you want me to believe you don’t have time to make a phone call to let dying kids know you care.”

He immediately got on the defensive. “Okay, fifteen minutes of video games does not mean—”

She was furious as she interrupted him, ”You want me to call those kids and tell them you don’t have time for them?”

"What do you want me to tell them!?”

"I don’t know, maybe that they’re important and valuable and worth your time?"

"They’re dying, Jazz, they’re not stupid.”

"You think it’s stupid to think your hero doesn’t care because he ignores your plea for help?"

"I’m not a hero!"

"You are to them!"

He looked away from her, staring, but not really looking at, the TV. “David McAvers, 9, lukemia, San Francisco, California. Billy Higgins, 4, Tay Sachs, Greenville Alabama. Spencer Avery, 7, lukemia, Charlotte, North Carolina . Erika Levey, 12, Ewing Sarcoma, Amity Park. Need I go on?” She stared at him, shocked. 

"You… researched it…" She didn’t know what to say… How could he know that, know their names and their stories and their hopes and not want to help?

"Do you really think a kid from across the country cares about one small town in Illinois? You think they’re searching for approval? I’m not a hero to them, Jazz. I’m a ghost.” He looked away, this time across the room, so that she couldn’t even see his profile, just the back of his head.

"How does that—" She was going to say ‘matter,’ convinced that this was another self-confidence episode, but she realized the truth before the sentence found its way out. She stood there, stunned, for a couple seconds before managing to ask. "You don’t really think they’ll…" She drifted off, unable to figure out how to phrase it.

"If you knew you were dying, wouldn’t you?" 

There was silence for a few minutes, the game long forgotten at the death screen, as Jazz tried to wrap her mind around what Danny had clearly been thinking out for months. “You don’t know that’s the only reason they want to talk to you. You don’t really think a four-year-old has figured that out?”

"No, but I guarantee you some of them will have. And pretty soon everyone will realize it…” He shook his head, turning back to look at her, conflict, and a bit of desperate begging in his eyes. “What am I supposed to tell them?”

"…That it’ll be alright?" She honestly didn’t know, but that was what you were supposed to say, wasn’t it? Or was that overused and cliche and no longer comforting? 

Either way, it was definitely more comforting than the, sarcastic, cruel, condescending, yet heart-breakingly honest tone that came out of her brother’s mouth.

"You want me to lie?”

"…You haven’t died, Danny.” She suddenly felt the need to clarify that, even though, for some reason, the alternative had never occurred to her. 

He looked away. “It felt like dying… And maybe I’m different, maybe everyone’s different, maybe it wasn’t dying and I don’t know what I’m talking about… I just know that my light at the end of the tunnel didn’t bring warmth or peace, or comfort. It brought cold and fear and pain… And yeah, it ended. It’s over and it’s done and that doesn’t change the fact that that is all I have to tell them…

"And, somehow, I don’t think that’s what they really need to hear."

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