and then i was like 'why not a mix

The other boys really weren’t into it, I don’t think…For instance, some of the clothes and different things that Harry wears I wouldn’t wear. We all like different things.
—  Liam responding to why they didn’t dance as a boy band (Mix 107.3 Interview)
Why I learn Languages..

I am a mixed African American, who lives in one of the whitest areas on the west coast. I’ve only interacted with the white side of my family. The sixteen years that I’ve spent with them, doesn’t stop the very apparent divide between me and that side of my family. They know I’m different from them, just like I know they’re different from me. I’ve never felt a strong connection to them before but that’s the only family I knew. Recently I started getting in touch with the black side of my family. They are not mixed and none had ever had that kind of relationship with a white person before, mainly because of my great great grandmother who was raped by her white master in Alabama which eventually produced my great grandmother we called Grams. She never knew her father (obviously) but she knew about what had happened. Because of those stories she told to us. The black side of my family preferred not get involved with anyone outside of the African American realm. So when I was born that put a wall in between my black side and I, they would call me lucky because I was a light skinned, and had “white people” hair, and generally associated me with white culture. I don’t blame them for this because I just think that they didn’t know better and they all grew up in a generally racist part of the US (deep south) which in a way isolated them from knowing more about white culture in the US. Which currently leaves me in Limbo. I am an Mixed African American whose isn’t accepted to be apart of white or black culture. This lack of self-identity lead me to try and grab and reach for any sort of culture I could grab onto. I tried to learn Norwegian because of my moms heritage, I would try and learn an African language but I wouldn’t even know which one because I don’t even know which part of Africa my “African” side comes from. I feel like a foreigner in my own life. So through all different kinds of languages it’s almost as if I can create my own identity and life.

anonymous asked:

I blocked and deleted the guy who raped me last year today. Why do I feel like the bad guy in this?

I think there are just a lot of emotions you’re feeling right now and it can be confusing and things might be getting mixed up. Hopefully with some time you’ll feel more of a sense of relief from blocking and deleting him. The way you’re feeling is not wrong, emotions are always valid… even if they don’t make sense.

anonymous asked:

Could you do (all platonic) Gabe ,genji, and mccree reacting to reader whos blind being put into Blackwatch and theyre lowkey confused bc they dont think reader can defend themselves cause they have a cane and ask to be walked around the area but when put into the ring to practice they find out reader fights like Daredevil(from Marvel)? Thank you so much!! 💕

I’ll give it my best shot!

Gabe:

  • He’s not about to question why his friend was put into Blackwatch until he sees what they can do. He figures they were selected for a reason.
  • Doesn’t show it, but he’s impressed by their fighting skills.

Genji:

  • Really puzzled by his friend’s being recruited to Blackwatch, and he discreetly asks if there was a mix up.
  • When he sees them fight he’s so proud of them! He wants to spar against them as soon as they will agree to it.

McCree:

  • Asks the officers if they’re senile and off their rockers, putting his friend into Blackwatch.
  • Is floored by how well his friend fights, and apologizes to them afterward for not having more faith.

wattaabunkamamuti  asked:

People who are actually from Okinawa wouldn’t call you “Okinawan".

So some of you may be wondering why I sent an ask to myself and why it’s so negative.. well, I recently came across an incredibly old post where a particular user had told me this. My response back then was great but I want to add something…

This particular user who had sent this to me a few years ago was not Okinawan but because they are mixed Japanese, felt that they knew more about my culture because of that. And I want to say this, if you say ignorant shit like this then you are showing how fucking ignorant you are of Okinawan culture. You do not apply Japanese culture and Japanese mindsets and think that they are going to be applicable to how Okinawan culture and society works, it doesn’t work that way. Not only do Okinawans from Okinawa call Okinawan diaspora, Okinawan but they EMBRACE their diaspora counterparts. And you, as a Japanese person, should never talk about a culture you have no interest in, don’t know the culture, and have no ties to.

To the ignorant asshole who told me this sometime ago. I’m so glad my fellow Uchinanchu would and do call me Okinawan. And that Okinawans in general are accepting and uplifting and I’m truly glad to be able to call myself Okinawan.

Can we all just take a moment to appreciate the pitch perfectness that was setting Wonder Woman during WW1? I mean, at first I was like…WWI? Why WWI? There was no clear cut bad guy in WWI. It was one of the most tragically pointless wars in human history.

But then I realized that was the point. In WWII it’s easy to point at Hitler and the Nazis and say, that’s them! that’s the bad guy. Just KILL THEM AND BE DONE WITH IT.

But the Point of Wonder Woman is that people, all people, are part of the problem. From Steve Trevor, who’s people, my people, massacred the Native Peoples, to the teenage German soldiers putting gas canisters on a plane, EVERY SINGLE HUMAN BEING IS  MIX OF GOOD AND BAD CHOICES, and a victim and a perpetrator of choices that lead to death and suffering and tragedy.

And that makes Diana’s choice to keep fighting for peace even better. Because she’s not out to defeat one big bad and get it over with. She’s out to fight for peace, and that is a war that will NEVER end. How is that not 10000 times braver than just killing one person and ending a war?

It is Tolkien’s long victory, the victory you only see after the end. And that fight is braver than anything else you can do because it is step by step, day after day, choice after choice.

3

HERE’S A PAINTING I FINISHED AT LIKE 4AM

meg’s photoshoot with rob was one of the single most visually inspiring things i’d ever seen so i was REALLY intimidated to take on a single one of them. i told myself i wouldn’t pour a ton of time into this, and then immediately threw that thought in the trash

so here is His Holiness being a little judgy

THEORY BC I CAN’T STOP THINKING ABOUT THIS

Ok so with these last episodes, to be specific, ‘The Trial’, most of us if not all have come to the conclusion or at least suspicion that Yellow Diamond shattered Pink Diamond and her behavior was obviously giving it away:

BUT

There’s something that still doesn’t really fit here…

“I was there. I saw it with my own eye. I watched the leader of the Crystal Gems – Rose Quartz – shatter Pink Diamond!”

Now, it’s not that wise to trust a gem’s perception and vision, when she only has one eye and a ‘gem eye’.

And hear me out here, because this is a bit nuts, what if she can see well but her eye-gem-vision allows her to see everything with a red filter?

And… what two colors look pink like Rose Quartz when mixed?

Red and White

We know gems can shapeshift into almost anything so how about a Diamond shapeshifting into a smaller gem?

What about the common knowledge that only a Diamond can shatter another  Diamond?

So what if not Yellow Diamond but White Diamond?

But that brings a lot more questions…

Why would YD try to cover WD? And why did WD even shatter PD to begin with?

But until more proof, like a Zircon, I rest my case.


Bonus:

I’m still not sure what this mural means but I see Rose holding a diamond and another gem in front of her with her arm lifted. In the past I saw people saying this was YD but looking at her desing and WD mural, I can almost confirm that’s indeed WD.

Honestly that’s all I have until here.

I really NEED to see White Diamond and find out more about her.

instagram

🎨

Scene: a spaceship. A human and an alien are chatting over a cup of hot chocolate/brine. It is the first time the alien has ever mixed with humans.

Human: “So yeah, I slipped and Brad just started laughing like an asshole and…”

Alien: “Sorry, what?! Can you repeat that? I think my translator is broken.”

Human: “I said I slipped and Brad started laughing his stupid head off like the asshole he is!”

Alien: (takes translator off, checks it, puts it back on.) “Oh my [untranslatable, deity associated with surprise and sulphuric acid] you actually meant to say that!”

Human: “Yeah… why?”

The two of them stare at each other, the human in confusion, the alien in straight up horror.

Alien: “… your species, your anuses can… laugh?”

Comfort

Happy Friday! 

I’ve gotten some messages lately asking where I get my reference pics and why I post them on the side. I guess I can take the opportunity to the answer the question here! The references are a mix of commissions, requests and photos I find on some blogs I follow. When it’s just for fun (like this one) I usually dont really care about capturing the likeness, just the general pose :). 

Thanks for all the new followers and the ones that have been throughout the years- I feel grateful for every single one of you that like, comment or even see my art. Dont take you guys for granted. Have a good weekend you guys!~ <333

8

I know it’s Christmas and I don’t want to be posting this first thing but…

I couldn’t sleep and I go on Twitter and I see this shit.

And I’m really sad now.

. @thisiseverydayracism @thisiswhiteculture @mixedgirlrants

6

There’s a great mammal in the ocean known as the 52-hertz whale. All year, he practices his love song for the female. Travels thousands of miles to find her. But when he finally gets the chance to serenade her, she doesn’t give him a call back. Why? His love ballad is sung at 52 hertz, a sonic signature one note higher than the lowest sound of a tuba. The average female hears at 10 to 15 hertz. So she never hears his song.

like it like it is pt. 2

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | Follow on AO3

A series of drabbles counting down the six weeks from Iwaizumi’s birthday to Oikawa’s.


Tooru is talkative.

His default mode is chatty.

When they’re tucked away in their shared apartment, limbs sprawled haphazardly one over the other, breathing synced and the television on low, Tooru’s voice is what fills Hajime’s silences.

He knows how the silence eats away at him.

How it picks away at him, unraveling him; how hard it is.

How heavy.

Most people are turned off by the fact that Hajime doesn’t talk very much. They take his sharp looks and slow, contemplative silences as a signal that he doesn’t want to hear what they have to say; that he likes the silence.

Liking the silence. It’s almost an amusing thought.

“Hajime,” Tooru says, his voice quiet and heavy with fatigue. He nudges Hajime with his nose, nuzzling against his chest. Hajime moves his hand up Tooru’s arm, thumbs brushing across his shoulder lazily. He traces patterns, soft swirls moving into circles. He hums to show he’s listening, as always, so Tooru keeps going. “You were right, too, you know? About that guy in my class? I thought he was just an idiot, but turns out he was just nervous about the presentation, too…”

Hajime closes his eyes, focusing in on the sound of Tooru’s voice, on the rumble in his chest as he talks. Low, relaxed. Constant. He laughs, shifting his weight, and Hajime takes the opportunity to pull him a little closer.

“I wish you coulda seen him, Hajime. It was like watching a train wreck. I didn’t even know what to say - he just kept talking and talking and oh my god, even the prof was laughing his ass off by the end of it.” He snorts a little, trying to hide it behind his hand, embarrassed, but Hajime always sees it. He just smiles, pressing his nose into Tooru’s hair, leaving a small kiss there.

Tooru’s skin on his is warm and soft. The slide of their limbs together sends little shivers up his spine. He’s not wearing anything other than a pair of boxers, and Hajime appreciates the closeness, loves the skin-on-skin contact. Tooru keeps talking, warm and comforting and safe, each word breaking down Hajime’s walls. Slowly. At just a pace Hajime is comfortable with.

He starts leaning closer the more he talks, the later it gets; he sighs into Hajime’s touches, which get a little harder, more insistent. Hajime squeezes Tooru’s shoulder blades, sliding his hands down his back, feeling the strong muscles there from much hard work. Tooru inhales when Hajime massages his fingers in, working out the tension in his back. Hajime knows that he spends way too many hours hunched over his desk, pencil in hand, agonizing over every little piece of the puzzle of his work, delicately creating works of art, sometimes getting so into it he forgets to eat. 

Every day ends like this; sometimes earlier in the evening, other times not until three in the morning when they’re smelling of cheap beer and cigarette smoke, stumbling in and laughing as they catch each other in the doorway, hurried kisses shared as they try to navigate back to the bedroom.

“How was your day?” Tooru asks, not opening his eyes. He shifts a little to give Hajime better access, stretching out his toes when Hajime hits a spot just right. “Good?”

Hajime nods slowly, now comfortable. It’s just him and Tooru, alone and safe in their bedroom; the curtains drawn tight and their phones long forgotten, tucked away into backpacks. Everything else is forgotten and finally, at last, the Hajime that only Tooru knows comes to light.

“Yeah,” he says, digging his fingers into Tooru’s lower back, smiling when he keens a little, “It was good… my train was late in the morning, though, so I was almost late to class. And my pink lighter, you know, the one with the flowers on it?”

“Your favourite one?” Tooru asks lazily, lifting his head to throw Hajime a smirk.

Tooru may be talkative, but he also really knows how to listen.

Hajime smiles. “Yeah,” he responds, leaning down to kiss the smirk right off his face. “That one. Well, I’d left it on our patio table, so I couldn’t even have a smoke while I waited for it…”