As a lesbian, it’s happened twice already that one “guy” stands out to me and I think “huh maybe they’re kinda cute and interesting, I wanna get to know them” and then I get to know them better and it’s a closeted trans girl who I somehow sniffed with my little nonbinary lesbian nose
IT JUST HAPPENED FOR A THIRD TIME!!!!
You guys will never believe what just happened to me
What does it mean if every “man” I’ve been attracted to was actually a trans woman? Idk what this says about my sexual orientation but it does mean I have astounding egg-dar
Gays being able to detect trans people of our preferred gender and being able to feel preemptive attraction to them is a phenomenon I was not aware extended to people beyond me
“My wife’s horse has a problem with flies bothering his leg wound so she harnessed her Doctoral degree and fashioned him jean suspenders…”
(Source: Ben Voytas)
Jorse
finally, an answer to how a horse would wear jeans
being on tumblr has taught me that girls see men's hands the same way men see tits, therefore from now on i will be constantly covering my hands with gloves to protect them from the horny female gaze
QUIT REBLOGGING THIS
Jenni's POV:
Gloves = thigh high stockings
Solution: mittens
Sorry but a man stumbling in from the cold and removing a clunky, snow-covered mitten with his teeth only to reveal the perfectly sculpted hand underneath is not a solution to this problem
Y'all realize literally NONE of this is doing anything but reinforcing the hands = tits comparison, right.
Is this actually a thing? ._. or is this a joke?
Please somegirl tell me
Source: correctopinionhaver
every month is autism acceptance month with mutuals like these
Very Brief Guide to [tumblr], for Reddit refugees
Shit You Must Do Right Fucking Now:
- Change your profile picture, blog header, and title to something other than the defaults. Do it right now. You will be mistaken for a bot otherwise, and blocked.
- Go into Settings -> Dashboard, scroll down to Preferences, and turn off the options in the picture. This will get rid of most of the algorithmic stuff.
- Turn off Tumblr Live. You have to snooze it once every 7 days for some stupid reason. It's hosted through another company and will steal your data if you use it.
- Go to your blog settings (under the little person menu) and turn off these two settings:
- Turn off infinite scroll (lags the site) and turn on timestamps on posts, in the same menu as Preferences.
Basic Features of the Site:
- Reblogs drive the entire site. If you'd upvote something on Reddit, you'd reblog it on Tumblr. You can add text, images, or tags to a reblog, but you're not required to.
- The dashboard is the equivalent to your Reddit feed, and contains the posts of all the people you follow, with the newest at the top
- You can send an ask to someone, and it'll appear in their askbox for them to answer. You can receive them too, or turn off the settings if you don't want.
- Tags aren't actually used for finding stuff (search function is dogshit), but are more for categorizing. People also talk in tags. Because Tumblr is weird, you can't use quotation marks (") or commas in them without fucking it up
- You can filter both tags and phrases under Account Settings; doing this will put a filter over a post that contains them, which you'll have to click through to see the post itself. Useful for avoiding hate speech or blocking out annoying stuff
- You can make polls in posts. Here's one now.
- Likes are useless. They literally do fuck-all except send a notification to the OP.
Stuff Tumblr Does That Other Sites Don't:
- Very old posts (I'm talking from like 2012) often circulate on this site. There's no such thing as a post being "too old" to reblog
- Blocking is highly encouraged; you can block someone for any reason. Even for just being annoying.
- If you and someone else are following each other, you are mutuals. Mutuals are fucking awesome and are treasured like friends. Mutuals are a thing on other sites but Tumblr treats em differently.
- You can screenshot someone's tags if you like them and add them to a reblog. This is called "peer review"
- Sometimes someone will find a blog and go through it and like/reblog a bunch of posts. This is totally fine and not "creepy" like it is seen as on other sites.
- Tumblr jokes often rely on Continuing The Bit and a "yes, and?" attitude. Goncharov is probably the best example of this.
- We are fucking infested with bots. They will either have totally blank profiles or be filled with porn. Block and report on sight.
- Censorship is pretty lax here. I can say "I want to brutally stab Elon Musk to death and watch him bleed out in front of a crowd" and nobody gives a shit.
General Etiquette:
- Don't try to do epic clapbacks here, you'll probably just get laughed at or blocked. If someone is bugging you or spouting bigoted bullshit, block them.
- Reblog art!!! Artists often struggle to gain traction on here; reblogging will give them a boost.
- Not every reblog needs a comment or tag in it
- You can go all out with tagging your stuff to organize it, or you can just leave it all blank. Someone might ask "hey, can you tag these posts as [x]?" and you can decide if you want to do that or not. It's generally polite to oblige, but "no" is still reasonable.
- Avoid discourse like the plague. Filter it, block people who start it, scroll past it when you see it. Just don't get involved in it. Ever.
- Don't put fandom tags or jokes on someone's posts about serious matters or personal shit
- You're responsible for curating your own dashboard; if you complain about constantly seeing stuff you don't like, that's probably on you. Don't be afraid to unfollow.
- Follower count doesn't matter much here and you don't have to make yours known if you don't want to.
- Reblog, don't repost. Reblogging keeps the credit and doesn't "steal" engagement like Twitter retweets.
- If someone likes something a LOT, they might reblog it like 30 times in a row. This is normal
- Having a post blow up is actually kinda a bad thing, since it floods your notifications. There's a sort of in-joke about how having a big post is awful and people jokingly try to stop their own posts from blowing up, often in vain.
Tips:
- Get XKit Rewritten if you're on desktop, it's a really helpful extension
- In the little drop-down menu next to the 'Post now' button you can either save a draft, schedule a post, or add it to your queue. The queue lets you post things in order at a certain interval, which you can change. It's good for spreading stuff out over time.
- You can use Shift+R to quickly reblog stuff and Shift+Q to queue!
- Filter your notifications under Activity - you can also see some neat graphs
- Find each other! If you want your old Reddit communities to stick together, seek out other refugees and follow them.
Have fun on [tumblr], everyone!
TIL a family in Georgia claimed to have passed down a song in an unknown language from the time of their enslavement; scientists identified the song as a genuine West African funeral song in the Mende language that had survived multiple transmissions from mother to daughter over multiple centuries (x)
In 1997 Amelia’s daughter, Mary Moran, and other members of the Moran family were invited to Sierra Leone, West Africa, where they were welcomed in Freetown by Sierra Leone’s President and then flown by helicopter to the country’s interior. There, in the small village of Senehun Ngola, Mary and Bendu Jabati met and sang this song together for the first time. Years earlier, Bendu’s grandmother had told her that this song, which had been passed down in her village from mother to daughter for centuries, would one day reunite her to long-lost relatives.
In addition to finding out where in Africa her ancestors were abducted into slavery, Mary Moran discovered the meaning of the Mende song: a processional hymn for the final farewell to the spirit, it was sung in Senehun Ngola by women as they prepared the body of a loved one for burial.
(The OP's link leads to a site with a recording of the song sung by both Mary Moran and her mother, Amelia)
Bittle’s head lolls to the side as the bus climbs the on-ramp to the freeway, thudding softly against Jack’s shoulder. He shifts, too, readjusting his hips, turning toward Jack’s body the slightest bit. His hand finding a place on Jack’s forearm. His shoulder prodding into Jack’s bicep. He doesn’t wake, though, and Jack finds he doesn’t want to wake Bittle up either.
Using his thumb to bookmark the page in the book he’s reading, Jack drops it to his lap and looks over at Bittle. There’s nothing but the passing city lights that illunimate all his soft features, features which never seem to callous over: the jut of his jawline, the bow of his lips, the point of his nose. Hair just long enough to fall across the tip of his forehead. Eyelashes so pale Jack can barely make out their curl.
Jack can’t explain it. Can’t explain the inexplicable comfort that settles deep in his chest, the warmth that blossoms across his cheeks. He drops his gaze further to the stretch of cotton that sculpts Bittle’s thighs, the faint hairs on his arms that come and go, glistening under the fading lights.
Slowly, subtly, Jack shifts his body, drops his shoulder to allow Bittle a more comfortable position. His hand on the armrest between them comes alive with nerves, feels everything, and his pinky twitches. Reaches out. Nears Bittle’s own.
Bittle shifts again, then, suddenly enough that Jack jerks his hand back and face up to look straight ahead. His heart’s pounding. His breath is caught in his throat. He hears Bittle hum, feels Bittle bury his face further into his arm, tightening his shoulders. The grip on Jack’s forearm grows stronger for the longest of moments and afterward, Bittle mumbles: “Light. Turn…turn it off.”
Reaching up, Jack breathes out a quiet euh and turns the reading light strapped around his forehead off. Another moment lingers, strewn together with held breath and wide eyes, before Bittle relaxes against Jack again and evens his breathing back out.
It’s not until they’re halfway back to Samwell, somewhere deep in the suburban woodlands of Massachusetts, that Jack allows his eyes to finally close. He didn’t feel exhausted before, not even when they all climbed back onto the bus after the game; yet, sleep comes gently, quick, pulls him down with the weight of Bittle againt his side.
Jack hasn’t found sleep that easily in a long time.
what if Dex is actually bad at fixing things?
like what if he only knows how to fix one specific problem at the haus like he tightens a cabinet handle or something but then bitty sees him and decides that means dex is Handy(TM) and tells the rest of smh
and now dex is being asked if he knows how to fix everything around the haus and like his only skill is that he knows which end of the screwdriver to hold - he doesn't know how to hang a door or re-support the porch - and he tries to correct bitty but then nursey is like 'what you don't want to help the team poindexter?' and so then dex Doubles Down
tons of research, videos, how to guides, he actually gets a part time job at a hardware store "for the money" but in actuality so he can learn from the owner
and he becomes mr fix it out of SPITE
Consider Captain Dex always punching up but never punching down. If anything always reaching down to bring up.
Dex always researching teams beforehand, including each individual player. As a result, he's not only well-informed about how to play; he's also known for being a nightmare (and doing so legally) to the arrogantly affluent and teams that are especially problematic. Yet he can also be encouraging (without being patronizing or going easy) to opposing players from sympathetic or marginalized backgrounds.
Dex's interactions with sports media. Him being suspicious of sports media is an understatement to say the least. It doesn’t stop him from usually being courteous and informative in his awkward way (even more so than the usual hockey speak), but he also isn't afraid to scoff or bristle (with some of the reactions reaching meme status) at stupid or inappropriate questions... even on national tv. Yet he'll be amicable with reporters who are just starting out. Kid reporters always get a good reaction from him, even after a bad game, and he'll even help them out with their interviews.
Dex interactions with fans and spectators. Sportsmanship dictates that players aren't supposed to talk back to the stands, but he clearly didn't get the memo. He's a catankerous smartass on the best of days and won't hesitate to vocally intercede when people jeer stuff that the officials should act on but don't. Yet he'll never brush off interactions with fans, especially if they are kids. Be it smiling for a picture or someone's selfie, giving away sticks... or even sometimes doing a little tricks and maneuvers on request. And under his captaincy, SMH increases its involvement in a lot of community programs and events.
All of this confuses the hell out of the talking heads when they discuss sportsmanship.
jack and bitty both love root beer and most of smh thinks they are crazy for it. a classic stay-in movie date night includes root beer floats for them. they prefer barqs, but a&w is okay as a last resort. they feel strongly that the proper ice cream for floats is vanilla bean, not french vanilla.
dex, either ollie or wicks but not both, and maybe one of the waffles (i'm feeling hops) also like root beer and face chirping for it. whiskey is indifferent and considers it equal to any other soft drink because he's one of those who only likes soft drinks for the carbonation and he somehow is unaffected by the flavors. but he never reveals his neutral attitude towards root beer because he doesnt want to show solidarity with the root beer drinkers.
Everyday I have to sit down for a second and imagine Ransom and Holster forcing the group to watch their PowerPoint presentation on who has the best ass, Jack Zimmerman or Sidney Crosby
The call comes five minutes or so after she sees the picture. The young man’s wearing Jack’s jersey and a backward snapback, and he’s evidently getting in a taxi post-Falcs game, Jack by his side. The photo is blurry enough it takes her a minute or two to recognize the man, but then, she’s sure of it: that’s Eric Bittle, the rising star in the fashion world.
She tries not to sigh as she picks up the call.
“Maman.”
And then, guilt hits — Jack sounds just a bit shameful, which he never should, not with her. “Jack, darling.”
“So you’ve seen?”
She smiles. They know each other too well. They all think Jack got it all from his father, but Alicia knows it was only ever the looks and the earnestness for hockey. “I’ve seen.”
A silence. “I wanted to tell you before, I swear. We thought— we thought we had more time. Sorry.”
“You know how it goes,” she reminds him. “If it’s not inside—”
“It’s public, yeah. I, euh, sorry. I wanted to wait and be sure he's— well.”
She bites on her lower lip. It’s serious, then. It’s serious, and it’s with a model. History repeats itself. History had been ugly for her.
“His name’s Eric. We’ve been— seeing each other for two months now. Just a couple of dates,” he adds, trying to downplay it all.
“I know who he is,” she lets out, and he must have heard it too, because another silence fills the line.
“Tell me, then.”
She sits down, crosses her legs. Sighs. “Jack. I’m happy for you. I truly am. But you might want to reconsider dating… one of us.”
“Maman… He’s not like that.”
That’s a lie. Alicia knows what the industry does to people. It breaks them down to sew them back up in tighter clothes. It leaves people bitter, too competitive for their own good, and starved for something more. Nothing Jack needs. Not Jack’s type to begin with.
“If he’s not like that, then he’s naive, and you can do better.”
That’s the second category of models she encountered out there. The Marilyn Monroe type. The ones who get famous easily. The ones whose only defence is blind optimism. Those are eaten up by the wolves.
“Maman—” Jack protests. “He’s not like that either, okay? He's— he’s been through some shit. You know how it is. He’s seen it all. And he’s stronger for it. He’s the nicest person I know. And clever. And funny. And when he smiles— it lights up the whole fucking room— I lo— I like him, okay? I really do.”
He’s getting breathless, and it makes her pause. Jack’s never gotten breathless before, certainly not talking about someone he’s dating. Her eyes are still on her laptop, scrolling that one twitter thread. Everyone there seems to rejoice — there might have been rumours, but most people agree they’re a good fit. She’d be an idiot to blindly agree with twitter, though.
And then, she lands on another picture. Must have been taken in a pub, late last night, after the game. It’s Jack and Eric, sitting in a booth. Eric’s probably just said something funny, because he’s beaming, careless, head thrown back. And Jack— Jack is looking at him like he can’t get enough. There’s a smile tugging the corner of his mouth, one of those private smiles that only the best jokes can earn. Or the best people.
Eric Bittle’s smile doesn’t light up the whole room, but it sure does Jack’s eyes.
Alicia’s shoulders sag with relief. This time, when she speaks, it’s with ease. “Jack, Jack— I believe you. I’m so very happy for the both of you. You’ll bring him around soon, right?”
“Euh— I’d like to, but… I need to ask him first.”
She smiles. “Good. And good thing your father still lives in 1995. I hear him coming in— you can break the news to him.”
“All right. Merci, maman.”
“Thank you for telling us, sweetie. Je t'aime.”
“Je t'aime aussi.”
nurseydex to all the boys au
i’m never gonna write this fic so let’s do this.
(one might assume nursey would be the letter-writer, but nursey’s letters would be self-indulgent to the point of unreadability (i say this with so much love in my heart. english major thing).) i’m not going to subject you all to that, so it’s dex.
he writes them at home, in maine, the summer after freshman year (“This is so stupid. You don’t even like me. I think I miss you. Whatever.”) and the summer after sophomore year (“I feel like we were maybe getting somewhere. But I know I’m not going to survive a year in the same room as you. I wish you lik I wish I didn’t feel this way.”) and the summer after junior year (“Fuck, Nurse. What am I going to do after this? Except miss you, and wish I’d said something. Maybe I’ll tell you someday. You’d think it’s kind of funny, maybe.”)
near the end of the summer, he decides he’s going to burn all the letters and have a good, fun senior year where he’s NOT stupidly infatuated with one of his closest friend. he takes them out of their box (ofc he was labeling and adding stamps to them as he wrote; he’s dex) and spreads them out around the room and then–shit, guests are here. he goes to deal with that and when he comes back the–the letters are gone. fuck, fuck, what the fuck.
I like to think that after the comic ends, jack and kent make an effort to sit down like adults and talk their history through and apologise to each other. and maybe afterwards they strike up a tentative friendship, especially after jack receives a little package for his birthday containing a pair of bi pride shoelace locks for his running shoes. jack is delighted (bitty is both a little touched and a little furious because somehow the fluorescent neon yellow sneakers are even more of an optical assault when mixed with pink and purple)
and maybe later, kent receives a belated birthday present in the form of a snapback with a rainbow floral pattern, and maybe he doesn’t feel comfortable wearing it in public just yet but it still makes him smile every time he sees it
oh, to be a fifty-year-old jewelry store clerk when three youngsters (a jock, a goth and a hipster pot-head) enter your boutique. oh, to see them looking at expensive wedding bands. oh, to politely ask them their range of price, only to be answered, “eh, it doesn’t matter much.” oh, to swallow your surprise and help that gentleman choose two expensive but simple wedding bands. oh, to come back home that night and tell the anecdote at the dinner table.
oh, to be a fifteen year-old hockey fanatic at that dinner table suddenly struck with the forbidden knowledge that jack zimmermann is planning to propose to his boyfriend sometime soon.
ok we talk about dex having a crush on bitty (which he absolutely did/does) but can we talk about how he also had/has a crush on jack?? mr. "i thought since jack zimmermann played here..." and "YOU should've gone first in the draft" and "your ass is shockingly large" like lmao babe. you're not subtle
i know this has been said over and over again but the storytelling parallels in check please are truly unmatched. jack's first "oh" moment when the coaches tell him "you're a better player when you're with bittle" vs. his "oh" moment at graduation when he realizes he feels better, is a better person when he's with bitty. (of course, much later when jack is proposing, he's fully come to this realization: "it's because of you that this place and this rink and the last four years of my life mean something and were the best years of my life.")
semester 1, year 1 jack is still so focused on hockey only, on winning at all costs, that he needs outside intervention to realize that the person he's been looking at as a problem, a liability, is in fact the person making him a better player. then at the end of year 2, he again needs outside intervention to realize the full scope of his feelings for bitty and that he needs to take his shot if anything is going to happen. both moments are so visually stunning and set apart from the typical panel, and represent a sort of quiet introspection, a reevaluation of everything jack thought he knew: at first thinking that he is the best player on the team and bitty is the worst, and later, thinking that he and bitty are just good friends. ngozi is truly the master of bookends