can she be the mother of my child ; ;

@keyhollow @amazingacepilot I’m going to go ahead and block you because this is an emotional subject for me and I don’t feel like arguing much further about whether or not my grandparents are “shitty entrepreneurs” for playing the terrible cards they were dealt as best as they can. This is theoretical for you, it isn’t for me. I’m a poster child for capitalism: I came from a poor, violent family, I worked hard, now I’m studying in one of the most prestigious schools in my country, making my way to a Ph.D. and then a lucrative position in government service. Success story, right? My ass. My father could have been an engineer and he was too poor to afford to stay in school; my mother could have been a translator and she was too poor to afford the school’s admittance fee. I’m talking about the kind of poverty where you live with no heating and eat one meal a day and still don’t have enough money to make ends meet. So they took shitty factory jobs until my mother’s health went completely down the drain, and my father supported our family on one terrible salary. He busted his ass, I spent days without seeing him because he left too early and came back too late, and now my parents want to buy a two-bedroom flat and they don’t have the money. My father’s factory is closing, he’s 54, what kind of job is he going to find? My bet isn’t on one that will allow my parents to actually buy a place to live. I know how much money they have and how far it’ll stretch; I also know that my father’s pension is going to be low and my mother’s even lower. I’m terrified of what will happen to them once the money runs out. Poverty is my life, this is how I grew up, it’s still looming over me. I know what it’s like to be sent to bed with just some hot milk while your parents try to pretend it’s fun and call it “breakfast for dinner”. I don’t want to dredge up some of the scariest moments of my childhood just to win an argument on the Internet. If you think this means I’m quitting because I don’t have anything more to say to defend my position, that’s fine; if it means I’ve lost the argument, that’s also fine.

My dear lgbt+ children, 

Seven years ago, my mother said having a gay child would be the worst thing that could ever happen to a parent and if one of her kids were gay, she couldn’t love them anymore. 

Yesterday, my mother sent me the link to a website about a lgbt+ christmas market and wrote “Your girlfriend would love this!”. 

People can change. Sometimes it just takes them a couple years.  

Stay hopeful. 

With all my love, 

Your Tumblr Mom 

Mrs Willison’s Homemade Jam

by reddit user FamilialDichotomy

As a child, I was a picky eater like I assume most children are. As my parents tell it, my eating habits transcended normal childhood proclamations of “I don’t like broccoli!” and evolved into a refusal to eat absolutely anything of substance. Things other children might eat and enjoy like chicken nuggets, spaghetti, or even a hot dog were shunned by toddler me. It got to the point, they say, where they and my paediatrician became concerned for my health.

Keep reading

Can we talk about the concept of humans adopting other sentient aliens as equal members of their families?

Like, in the posts I’ve seen so far, there’s mostly talks of humans adopting dangerous alien critters as pets but what about humans adopting sentient aliens?

“Human-George, just leave that be, they’re just a runt.” - “… No.” - “Human-George, you can’t - put them down! What are you doing?” - “Krlunk, I’m not leaving a child behind on this forsaken moon to die.” - “But they’re just a runt, not worth raising. The broodbirther and the feeders must have left it behind when they migrated 5 sols ago.” - “Are they going to come back?” - “No, Human-George, Twargs migrate for long periods of time, and we can’t spare the time to go after them.” - “Then I’ll take them with me.” “- “What?” - “I’ll take this little champion here with me and I will raise them as my own.” - “You- you can’t just do that! You can’t just spill your pack-bonding instincts- Human George!!! Get back here!” - “Don’t listen to Krlunk, kid, I won’t leave you here alone. Doesn’t matter how many appendages you have. You hungry? Thought so, let’s go get you some grub.” - (in the distance) “Human-George! The extra rations are coming out of your pay!!!” - “See if I care, Krlunk. Go eat paperwork or so.”

Imagine human patchwork families with little aliens raised and loved alonside their own, imagine some human trying to explain to crewmates how they have a Twarg sibling and a Sh’ilean sister even though their parents look very much human, imagine humans parents trying their very best to provide their alien child with the best possible care.

Also imagine it the other way around. Humans getting adopted by aliens and bonding with them just as much as they would with their own kind, either through deeds or just love. Humans building their own families in a wild mix of colours and number of appendages or eyes.

“So this is my human side of the family, see, these are my human parents.” - “Is that your larval form in their arms, Hooman-Cassandra?” - “Sort of, yeah, and this is my Gran’hroo mother and all of her children.” - “How can you have a Gran’hoo relative? I thought your kind could only come from a bonded pair of hoomans?” - “Oh, I used to live on the same mining colony as her when I was a child and I’d play with her children, spent most of my days in their house and one day I called her ‘Acraï’ - ‘mother’ in Gran’hoo language - by accident. It kind of stuck. She took me in when my parents temporarily left for another space station and I wanted to finish my education where I’d started it. When I left for my first space journey, she gave a clan insignia and called me her daughter so yeah… this is my Mom, my Dad, and my Acraï and they’re all my parents.”

grantairely  asked:

tell me a magical story!

When the witch says “I can make you this spell, but it will cost you your name,” she doesn’t hesitate.


Instead, she says “Which name?”


And the witch smiles. “Most aren’t so clever as to ask. For that, I’ll let you choose which of your names you give me.”


*


“My child, my child,” says her mother when she brought home the spell, when she heals the little sister who was close to death. “What did you give up for this?”


“Nothing I didn’t choose to give.”


*

Keep reading

Day Ninety-One

-A young girl realized that she had inadvertently been hiding an item while her mother had been attempting to empty her cart and announced, “Mom, I was sitting on a pair of socks! They were hiding in my butt hut!” Any child this eloquent is certain to make history.

-An elderly man walked into the store, stared at a three-foot statue of the Target dog Bullseye, and asked loudly of no one in particular, “Does this dog attack often?” He then carried on his way to go shopping, apparently not all that concerned with finding an answer.

-Upon placing two solitary cans of soup on the counter, I was told with no context, “Tonight, she’s learning the wonders of canned soup.” I eventually was given the backstory that the guest had an exchange student from Austria, where they apparently do not have canned soup, but I believe that we can all do to be reminded of these wonders sometimes.

-I am glad to see that the etiquette of returning one’s cart rather than abandoning it at the register has reached Austria. I am disappointed to see that it has still yet to reach my surrounding area.

-A baby said hi. I said hi. The baby told me I was cute. I ended the conversation there. I did not know how to tell the baby that I am a taken man.

-I rang up a man with one standard brown eye and one eye which appeared to have been made out of stainless steel, qualifying itself as an Eye Deluxe.

-A four year-old attempted to smuggle a Nutella snack tub into her father’s purchase. I tried to help her sneak it through, but we were sadly both found out before the mission could be completed.

Sugiyama Noriaki interview for “Otomedia” Magazine October 2017

Before we start I want to clarify 2 things:

1) I translated only Uchiha Family stuff (it’s about 80% of all interview). Maybe one day my laziness and self-confidence in my translating skills will let me translate it till the end (or someone else translates it) but for now only SasuSakuSara parts.
2) English is not my native language so if you see any grammatical, lexical and other mistakes or just don’t understand some parts feel free to write me. 

This story tells about the final of the difficult situation that has developed in the Uchiha family!

 Was Sasuke (even in his own way) as nervous as Sarada was? While emotions are increasing, the strength of their family’s bond warms the heart. Is it really because of the nervousness in the 23 episode he doubts whether he should poke Sakura’s forehead? We asked about this seiyuu of Sasuke, Noriaki Sugiyama.

“Without words he said to Sakura: Are you really willing to do something so embarrassing in front of your daughter?” It was funny to watch him teasing her (laughs) It seemed to me this shyness was very much in Sasuke’s style. Honestly, after the end of the recording, Naruto’s seiyuu, Takeuchi Junko, said to me: “No, I don’t believe that he could do otherwise!” (laughs), probably Takeuchi-san is right. “ 

We talked a lot with Sugiyama-san about Sarada’s Story. After reuniting with his family, Sasuke again goes on a journey. However, there is bento in his hand made by his family therefore even if they’re apart, their family’s connection is felt even more. 

- How it was to play Sasuke as father and husband?

In "Boruto” Sasuke Uchiha appears to be different from what we’ve seen before. So I often wondered how I should play him. Of course, in «Naruto» he and Naruto sorted all things out, his character somewhat “softened,” but if you change a lot the nature of the character, in the end you will ask: “Who is it?” (laughs). Therefore, to prevent this from happening, I had to think carefully how to express this softness in Sasuke’s style, how would he show it? I believe that it is unlikely that Sasuke would say a lot of gentle words to his daughter … at first glance, Sasuke could look indifferent, given his violent past, but I’ve felt that he certainly thinks about Sarada. And I thought it would be very difficult to balance.

- There was a scene where in his words to his wife Sakura you could feel a “trust”.

There is a reason why Sasuke was absent from the village, that is why I think that during their meeting you can feel how much their relationship changed, especially from Sasuke’s side. Although the atmosphere is similar to the one that was before… how to say it more precisely, there is a mutual understanding between them. At least, I felt it. 

- What’s about Naruto?

 In my opinion, one of the most notable changes was his attitude towards Naruto’s words. After they sorted all things out, instead of cutting Naruto off with words «it’s wrong!» Sasuke rather thinks: “Well, most likely this idea also can be right”. If you compare with the former Sasuke, you can get the impression that in his mind he’s indulgent to Naruto. I think, instead of “a little softened” (about a small change in Sasuke) it would be more correct to say: “Ah, he seems to have become a little kinder.”
  I think if Sasuke was too kind to Sakura and Sarada, Sarada wouldn’t have had all these worries. The image of Sasuke should have turned out to make Sarada think: “Does this man understand what kind of relationship should be between the father and the child?” And this is also difficult.

 - Sugiyama-san, what is your impression of Sasuke’s daughter, Sarada?

 I think with the way she thinks and her insight she’s just like Sasuke. And love. In the Uchiha clan, “they are penetrated with love, that’s why they try to avoid this feeling” and Sarada also inherited it with the blood of Uchiha (laughs). In my opinion, the child is very cute. From her mother Sakura, she gets both love and trust, but you can see how much she wants to know the truth, she want everything to be clarified. Here, the blood of Uchiha has proven itself especially strong.  

- Is there any scene and phrase in the story of “Sarada Uchiha” which really impressed you?

There are a few, but the most exciting of them, when Sarada asked: “Do you think your feelings are well and truly connected to Mom?”, and when Sasuke replied: “Because we have you, Sarada,” what surprised her. Even if he doesn’t say a lot “Sarada, Sarada”, his concern for her is evident. Sasuke’s position can be understood, because if he were in Konoha, it could bring danger to Sarada and Sakura, so he wanted to eliminate all those who sought revenge on him in the village or outside of Konoha. In the village, he has people dear to him, to whom he can’t return, and he strongly feels that he must protect them from the outside.


Translated from Russian to English by me
Translated from Japanese to Russian by SasuSakuTeam. Мастерская переводов

People: *kindly gives me wonderful and delightful parentlock headcanon*

Me: aww :’) 💕💕💕💕

Also me: speaking of Rosie can you imagine how hurt Sherlock would feel if Rosie had grown into her teen years and Sherlock and Rosie argued (as parent and child often do) but then in her fit of emotions she tells Sherlock off saying that “you’re not even my real father! John is my father! Not you, and I know you’re both keeping a secret from me and I know what it is, I know you killed my mother! So you don’t get to tell me what to do!”

Poetry by star light

Aries

she’s falling through the atmosphere
shattering onto the earth like cascading stars
scattering stardust fresh from heaven
a baby at war
this is just the beginning
she is completely out of control
untamed and inspiring
a ruby glow inferno
i will never let you go
she spins her lucid Alice in Wonderland
imagination into a live playground
spiraling down the chorus of cosmos


Taurus

a crown of flowers wrapped around her head
the sweet perfume of daisies
dripping down her neck
she inherited a palace
a dainty treehouse in the woods
and she would sit and drink tea
and read books like she should
good night
and sweet women, gourmet, and wine
serenity and life
there is a kingdom inside

Gemini

every time you open your mouth I see fireflies of luscious
language flow forth like radiating confetti
like that golden helmet on your marvelous mercury mind
…i see you wield words like they are ingredients in spellbooks
and you feel alone with your thoughts
and you don’t know what’s louder, the world outside
or the chaos within
the madness created by your twin
and you write invitations with your mind
to birthdays that lead to wonderland and poetry tea mixed
inside ~
i can hear and see and feel your voice everywhere


Cancer

she writes poetry on sheets of moonlight
with a pen that pours out ink from the whole
night sky
it’s her creamy words made of moisture beads and dreamy
composition, she can create an orchestra
with lunar lyrics and love notes written by the stars

everything i see in the world
it all comes back to you
because you are my mother, my lover
my daughter and my sister
i can hear the stars whisper
stay wild
my dear
moon child

Leo

if i was a psychic i’d say to a leo that their heart was carrying too much weight.
i’d say you are so involved in the moment that i can hear
the violins of your heart playing and you leave it wide open
and that this is your curse and your gift.
i know you go home and you can’t stop leaking
you can’t stop leaking
the gods are watching you crying
but those tears that fell down the cheeks of great leos like napoleon, max heindel, amelia earheart, helena blavatsky and carl jung
are the ones glistening from your eyes
the gods know how marvelous you are ~ even when you can’t shine

Virgo

shaking and rapidly exhaling, don’t crush your wings
against the weight of your own mind
they were so perfectly, pleasantly, patiently crafted
like the way you use your hands to delicately
thread and rewire and repair
they are like instruments the way they touch everything and leave a
frosted glaze
i always know when you have been because
you leave nothing behind
like you want to be invisible

Libra

she rises from the aroma of a flower
dainty as a forest fairy, honorable as a warrior
fighting for the cause that captures
her musical heart
she’s always on the threshold of a fairytale
she is some delectable mind and figure of
abstract beauty to behold
life is her dance
across cards gently placed
she twirls on imagination and spins in reverie,
a performance of abstract movement,
a tightrope display, a true portrait of balance
and artistry


Scorpio

I want to destroy these monsters
But devastating them
destroys a part of myself
I feel more alive in the shadow
than the light
I prefer the creaking hollow in my bones
to the noise of people, the static, the show
I have been violated
by poisons from hidden valleys
I have been stung by leaking ink
dripping dark words from unconscious levies
Sometimes my body is just a floating
Trying to contain century’s memories
Between my legs the monsters crawl
Trying to perforate every part of me
And I was only just becoming used to this skin 


Sagittarius


she hears wisdom from the mountains
and songs from the sea
she sings the music of every language
and tastes of every herb and spice
something is sultry and glowing in her gaze
she is sunkissed and filled with dreams
that seem written constellations
her mind has wandered everywhere
it has left footprints in every valley and
book, every mind and philosophy
she is like sunday everyday, a vacation
a getaway
a sail into the horizon, a cruise through the stars
a freefall into nature’s arms

Capricorn

look how much you’ve grown
i’ve seen you slowly fill in those eyes
that belong to an old soul
i’ve seen you stretch into those bones
that were always too big for you
and you keep waking up every morning
because you know one day you will be
rewarded
you hold onto the knowing that
things will get better
and you will feel less sicker
and your work will finally be done 

Aquarius

you try to read your own puzzle like a book
with a magnifying glass
as if you are disconnected
on the outside staring in
you are not an abstract entity
i feel you
your body pulsates like electrons exploding
like bubbles of blue foam
your feelings are turquoise crystals over the sea
never tainted but reflecting shades and hues from
unknown galaxies
don’t hide what was crafted so exquisitely

Pisces

there were times she stayed in bed for days
i couldn’t touch her without her bleeding
she had third degree burns
every sense hurts
then she would laugh with god
or angels or something invisible
i am not dealing with a girl
but something magical

Cherry

anonymous asked:

I know you probably have a lot of requests with the gods and monsters - but would you ever do an Ares based one?

Zeus’s mistress Io remains in her form of a cow, guarded by Hera’s servant Argus, and Hera is content.

She will remain in that form until her death. Hera hopes that lying with her husband was worth the sacrifice.

Zeus won’t speak to her, unwilling to admit the cow is actually his lover and ensure her death, and equally unwilling to stand against his wife to try and rescue her. Hera has him just where she wants him, and it can’t last, it never does, but she intends to enjoy it while it does.  

Then Artemis comes to her, gold and fierce. She never flinches away from her queen, staring her in the face as if she is nothing more than another of her huntresses. If Hera did not hate her for being her husband’s daughter, she thinks she might actually like the girl. “Io has a destiny,” she says, “you must let her go.”

“I don’t care for her destiny,” Hera says idly, “especially when that destiny involves getting with my husband’s child.”

“She is to give birth to a new line of kings,” Artemis hisses, “to be the wife of a death god, to be mother goddess of a whole new people. She is not meant for us. You must let her go.”

“I am Hera,” she says, “I am Queen. I must do nothing.”

Artemis growls, hand twitching for her bow, but Hera only raises an eyebrow. Let the girl try. There are few that can stand against her, and the huntress is not among them. Artemis lets out a low breath and says, “Do it, my queen, and I will grant you what it is you most desire.”

“Some peace and quiet?” Hera asks.

“A child,” she answers. “Let Io go, let her fulfill her destiny as a goddess of the Black Land of the Nile. If you do that, I, the patron goddess of childbirth, will personally use every ounce of power I possess to ensure you conceive and deliver a child of Zeus.”

Hera’s eyes narrow, “Neither my power nor his has ever been able to achieve this. What makes you think you are any different?”

“We all have our domains,” she says, “just as you cannot command the sea, just as your husband has no power over the art of weaving, so can I ensure a healthy child when you could not.”

She taps her fingers against her throne. They call her a mother goddess, though she’s raised no children. Hephaestus may be her precious son, but he doesn’t know that it was not her that threw him from Olympus. Very few people know that. And she didn’t raise him regardless, that honor belongs to Hecate.

A child, of her and Zeus. A child she can raise.

“I accept,” she announces. “You may take her, and Zeus may fulfill her destiny.” She leans forward, brings the oppressive weight of her power to the fore and lowers the pressure of the air until Artemis is left shivering. “Know this, Patron Goddess of Childbirth. If Io births a son of Zeus before I do, I will travel to the Black Land of the Nile and slay her and her children with my own two hands. Not even Hades will be able to put her back together again.”

“Yes, my Queen,” Artemis says, unable to keep her teeth from chattering.

~

Hera is true to her word. She allows Hermes to think he’s tricked Argus and to steal Io away. She pretends to be outraged at the audacity, at the pure white cow traveling to the sands of the Nile.

Artemis is true to her word. Hera lies with Zeus, like she has so many times before, and a child grows inside of her. One day she stands before her husband and brings his hand to the swell of her stomach, “This is your child.”

Something almost like happiness steals across his face. She forgets, sometimes, that they hate each other only as much as they love each other. After so much time together, many would think it would be one or the other. They simply opted for both.

Artemis is there during the birth, her easy confidence more comforting then Hera will ever admit. Delivering Hephaestus was easy compared to this. She screams and cries and Hestia’s hands on her shoulders are all that keeps her from collapsing and begging someone to just cut the child from her. She doesn’t think she can die in childbirth, not with Artemis between her legs. She wishes she’d thought to ask before this began.

But she does not die. Her son is born, just as healthy and beautiful as Hephaestus was. “Well done,” Artemis says softly, placing the squirming child into her arms.

Zeus touches her hair and kisses his son’s forehead. “We shall call him Ares.”

“Very well,” she agrees, so tired her eyes struggle to stay open.

She hands her son to Hestia, and finally allows sleep to take her.

~

Ares grows into the spitting image of his father. Same copper-red skin, same silky black hair. Her husband keeps it short, but her son lets his grow long. The minutes Hera spends every morning brushing his hair are among her favorite.

He has an eager smile and a soft heart. Hera doesn’t know where he got it, since it’s certainly not from her or Zeus. Demeter tolerates his bumbling after her, though any time Kore attempts to meet her cousin Demeter’s temper frays. Poseidon allows Ares to explore the depths of the sea with a minor sea god acting as his guide. Apollo plays for him, and Artemis teaches him to hunt. Zeus’s lightning doesn’t burn his son, and when storms rage he takes Ares to the top of Olympus and teaches him to throw lightning bolts.

Hera selfishly does not allow Ares to go to the underworld. She knows he would be safe there, that Hades would protect him as he protected Hephaestus, but that’s precisely why she won’t allow it. They got to raise one of her sons already. It pains her to share Ares with them now.

He is happy, and kind, kinder than anyone would expect a child of her womb to be.

“He must choose a domain,” Zeus rumbles, watching Ares shoot arrows with perfect accuracy.

“He is a child still,” Hera says, “let him remain so for a little longer.”

“If he does not choose a domain,” Zeus warns, “one will choose him. We are gods. We must be gods of something.”

She flickers her gaze at him, and he scoots an inch away from her. “He is a child, and for now a child he will remain. We are not Demeter. We shall not thrust the responsibilities and power of a deity on a child who is not prepared for it.”

Zeus disapproves, but says nothing more.

Her son will be the god of something patient, something soft. The god of lost children, of heartbroken suitors, of forgiveness. Something where his gentle heart will aid him instead of hurt him.

She traded her happiness for power. She doesn’t regret it. But Ares doesn’t need to do the same – she’s the most powerful goddess that still walks the earth. He’s her son, and he’ll want for nothing she can provide.

~

Ares is almost fully grown, long hair reaching his hips even braided, and the strength of his limbs is such that he can keep up with Artemis on her most vigorous of hunts, that he can throw his father’s lightning bolts halfway across the world.

He’s been to every place, and met every god of the earth, sea, and sky.

Except for one.

 It’s not hard to find the volcano. He’s strong enough and old enough to take care of himself, and his mother does not worry when he says he’s going to the earth. But he did not tell her where, precisely, on the earth he was going.

He has strong legs.  It’s easy for him to climb to the top of the volcano. He’s almost made it there when something grabs his shoulders, stilling him. He turns, and stares into a single large eye. “What are you doing?” the cyclopes growls.

“I’m looking for Hephaestus,” he says, “He’s my brother.”

“My master has many brothers,” the cyclopes says.

Ares shakes his head. He is not the product of his father’s fling with a sprite or mortal. “I am Ares, son of Zeus and Hera. Just as Hephaestus is. I came here to meet my brother.” The cyclopes hesitates. He asks, “What’s your name?”

“Brontes,” he answers, surprised.

“Brontes,” he smiles, “I just want to meet him. I’ve never met him before. I won’t linger.”

There’s a moment where Brontes looks conflicted, and Ares tries to look as unassuming as possible. “Fine,” he huffs, “but don’t get angry at me if he dips you in lava.”

“That would be fun,” he says brightly. Lightning doesn’t burn him. So far the only thing hot enough to cause him pain is Hestia’s fire. He probably could go swimming in lava.

Brontes looks at him as if he’s slightly unhinged. He just keeps smiling.

~

There are more cyclopes underneath, and bright glittering machines that Ares can’t even begin to wrap his mind around. “Who are you?” someone demands, and a hand grabs his wrist and yanks him away from a boiling vat of lava that he’d been peering into.

He looks up at a man taller and broader than he is. He has skin almost as dark as the obsidian of his volcano, but lighter eyes. They are the color of dark amber, of molasses. “We have the same eyes,” he says happily.

Hephaestus releases him instantly. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Why not?” he asks, “The mortals talk of you. No one else will. But you’re my brother, right?”

“You shouldn’t be here,” he repeats, “Does Zeus know where you are?”

He shrugs, taking a step closer. His brother takes a step back. He wonders if he’ll have to treat Hephaestus like a spooked horse.  “Father doesn’t keep track of where I am. Mom know I’m on earth.” Hephaestus flinches, small enough that he almost doesn’t notice. “We have her eyes, you know.”

He can’t stop starring at Hephaestus’s skin. They do not work like mortals – Demeter, Hestia, Zeus, and Hera are all different shades despite coming from the same parents. But – Ares looks so much like his father. Kore looks like Demeter. Yet Hephaestus looks nothing like their father. He can see their mother in him, in the eyes and shape of his jaw, even in how angry he is right now. He looks like Hera does when she’s about to lose her temper, lips pressed into a thin line and the careful stillness of his shoulders.

“I wasn’t trying to make you angry,” he says plaintively, “I only wanted to say hello.”

Unlike their mother, Hephaestus lets out a deep breath and seemingly all of his anger along with it. “I’ve been avoiding you.”

“Why? You don’t even know me.”

Hephaestus kicks him lightly in the shin, the pretty gold and copper of his metal legs catching his eye. “You have legs, and I do not. Hera did not throw you from Mount Olympus as she threw me.”

Ares looks hard at his brother’s face. The stories say his mother threw her son away for being ugly, but he seems just as handsome as any other god Ares has seen. His features are strong and chiseled, and he supposes that could have looked unattractive on a baby, but –

– his mother loves him. Hera loves him with a ferocity only matched by her temper, she loves him at his most mischievous and irritable, loves him when a stray thunderbolt sets Demeter’s hair on end, loves him when even Artemis and Apollo have grown tired of his antics, loves him when Athena can tolerate no more of his questions. He is her son, and so her love comes without conditions.

He doesn’t think Hera would have loved his brother any less just because of how he looked.

He also knows that if he tries to say that, it’s likely Hephaestus will push him into a lava pit.

“Well, that’s not my fault,” he says, “If you don’t want us to be brothers, can’t we at least be friends?”

Hephaestus’s face softens. He looks like their mother then too.  He crosses his arms, “You can’t tell your parents.”

Our parents, he thinks but doesn’t say. “Obviously. Where did you get so many cyclopes?”

The last remnants of his brother’s stern façade shatters as he throws back his head and laughs.

~

Ares is very near maturity, more adult than child, and his father constantly pressures him to choose a domain. He usually quiets with one sharp glance from his wife, but the fact remains that it is time for Ares to take his place among the gods of the pantheon, to have temples in his name and worshipers like a proper deity.

He doesn’t really want any of that.  He wants to continue hunting with Artemis, learning with Athena, building with Hephaestus.

His brother lets him help out in his workshop sometimes, if he’s very careful and does exactly as he’s told. Otherwise he sits on a table, legs swinging, and watches his brother work and tells him about what he does in the time in-between visits. He talks about their mother enough that Hephaestus doesn’t flinch at her every mention, which Ares can only consider an improvement. Sometimes Brontes will stand beside him and they’ll eat sweet buns together.

Unfortunately, all things, good and bad, must come to an end.

~

There are two giants, Otus and Ephialtes, who grow tired of hearing of the golden boy of Olympus, who grow jealous of his kindness and his beauty.

These two giants sneak onto Mount Olympus in the middle of the night, sneak into Ares’s room, and kidnap him. They’re not stupid enough to attempt to kill him. Instead, they stuff him into an urn, and seal him inside. Ares rages and fights, uses every trick he can think of to break out his prison, but none of them work.

Stuck at the bottom of the urn and seething, he can’t help but think that if he’d listened to his father and chosen a dominion he might be strong enough to free himself. But he didn’t, so he can’t, and instead he waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Days turn to weeks turn to months. He knows they’re looking for him. He knows his mother will tear apart the whole universe attempting to find him if nothing else. But – what if they can’t? What if he’s stuck in this urn for the rest of eternity?

In his darkest moments, his sorrow turns to rage. He is a god, son of Hera and Zeus, how dare they do this to him?

Then, one day, the urn opens.

Hermes peers down into it, then his face splits into a grin. “We’ve been looking for you!” He reaches down and hauls Ares out, and for a moment all he can do is blink at the glaring sun. Then his vision clears, and he sees they’re in the midst of a battle. The giants are fighting against the gods, against his parents, against the twins, against his brother. It’s bloody carnage, but – he can’t help but feel touched that all these people came looking for him. “Almost everyone offered to help find you,” he says, “but Hera didn’t want to draw too much attention to ourselves trying to sneak into their territory.”

No sooner has Hermes finished speaking than a giant barrels into his mother with sickening snap. Her shoulder slopes at a grotesque angle, but it hardly even slows her down.

“I have to help,” he says, a desperate urgency filling him. They came to help him, and now they’re getting hurt. That’s never something he’d wanted.

“Ares, wait!” Hermes calls out as he goes hurtling toward the battle. He doesn’t wait. Fighting on the ground can only do so much good, they’re strong but they’re outnumbered one hundred to one. He darts to Artemis, twisting around the bodies she’s throwing over her shoulder. “I need your bow!”

“Ares!” she says joyously, then, “What?”

“Trust me,” he says, “give me your bow.” A giant comes running towards them. Artemis flips him over her shoulder while continuing to stare at him in confusion. He’d be impressed if he wasn’t so worried. “Artemis, please!”

She hands over her bow. She moves to give him her quiver of arrows as well, but he’s already moving away from her. Next it’s to his father, who’s hurtling lightning bolts towards the swarm of giants crowding him. They’re deadly, but only so effective at close-range. He grabs a sizzling lightning bolt right from Zeus’s hand, the only being on the planet who could do that and survive, and keeps running. “Get clear!” he calls out over his shoulder. “Everyone move!”

He runs up past Hermes, needing to get to high ground for this to work. “Get everyone off the battlefield,” he says to Hermes. “Now.”

Hermes pulls a face, but by the time he makes it to the top of the mountain, the gods have shaken off most of the giants, are far enough away that he doesn’t have to worry.

He can do this. He’s Ares, the son of Hera and Zeus. He’s been trained in archery by the great huntress herself. He breaths in, and strings his father’s lightning bolt like an arrow. He pulls it back, breaths out, and lets the lightning bolt fly.

It lands in the middle of the battlefield full of confused giants. With a great clap of thunder and a burst of light, they’re all gone.

All that remains of the traitorous giants is a crater.

The gods are approaching him, his mother at a limping gait that makes his chest ache. Zeus gets to him first, grin stretched wide as he grabs him by both his shoulders. “My boy! That was magnificent!”

“Thanks,” he says. The smell of charred flesh is in the air, and it makes his stomach roll.

They kidnapped him. They stuffed him in an urn for over a year. They hurt his mom.

That doesn’t mean he enjoyed it. He never wants to do anything like that ever again.

“This was destiny,” his father says enthusiastically, and Ares has no idea what he’s talking about. “This is what you’re meant to do, son.”

He stares. He hopes it’s not.

The other gods are still at the bottom of the mountain. Artemis and Apollo each have one of his mother’s arms slung over their shoulders and are helping her up the mountain. Hermes and Hephaestus aren’t far behind.

He’s never seen his father look so proud of him. There’s a leaden pit in his stomach he can’t explain.

“In honor of my son’s great feat,” Zeus booms, his voice carrying across air, speaking with the voice of the king of the gods so his words become law, so they spread to every corner of the world, “I declare him Ares, God of War.”

Ares can’t breathe.

This isn’t what he wanted.


gods and monsters series, part xvii

read more of the gods and monsters series here

MY MOTHER ASKED ME TO STOP WRITING ABOUT HER
 
  1
 
  When my best friend was a child,
  her mother used The Game of Life
  as a metaphor to explain sexuality.
 
  “You can have two pink guys
  or two blue guys, you know,”
she explained.
 
  My best friend is so straight,
  she doesn’t even masturbate.
 
  Still, she always knew that even
  if she wasn’t, even if someday she ended up
  shotgun to another pink piece,
 
  she would remain loved and supported.
 
  She wouldn’t have to ask for forgiveness.
  Of all the things she was taught to apologize for,
  love has never been one of them.
 
  2
 
  My mother doesn’t bring up my sexuality
  anymore. I think she is tired of arguing.
 
  She is sick of reading about her faults
  in my poetry. She hates my selective memory;
  how I only remember the sharp things,
  the slammed doors, the heavy whiskey.
 
  “I used to sing to you before bed
  every night,”
she reminds me icily.
  “but you must’ve forgotten that story.”
 
  Last week, she silently folded up her old flannels
  and placed them at the foot of my bed.
 
  I know this is probably just a coincidence,
  not a peace treaty or an attempt to understand me.
 
  But for my own well-being,
  I have to take this as a sign she is trying,
 
  even if it isn’t.
—  MY MOTHER ASKED ME TO STOP WRITING ABOUT HER, by Blythe Baird.

When I was 14 years old, my grandma accused me of stealing her jewelry; and instead of accusing the stranger in the house, her maid, she accused me. She threw away my clothes, broke my phone, almost ripped my bag because she threw it at a wall, broke the lamp dad gave me and told me he was dead - she not only yelled at me , she threatened to kick me out. I was only 14.

She never apologized for that, despite being on good terms with her now, I still think about that time- every now and then. I’m 22 years old now, on antidepressants and antianxiety, constantly paranoid around other people’s houses, thinking oh no, if something goes wrong, they’ll blame me.

Last night grandma yelled at Francine, my sister, and told her, flat out “it’s your fault your mom is like this!!” Just because my sister asked my mom for change (which was mine) to buy juice.

Grandma went BERSERK.

And my mind went. Blank. Back to the time she did the very same thing to me. Francine is only 12. We have a neurotic mom. You can’t be angry at a younger person like my 12 year old sister for acting the way she does, because we- she didn’t have a conventional childhood growing up. We grew up piss poor with a vegetable mom and a dad always busy with work. That’s no one’s fault. You can’t blame a child for being birthed by her mother, and you can’t tell a child she she has no right to exist if it weren’t for you.

A child isn’t bound to a contract where they can be mistreated and exploited as soon as they fall out of someone’s vagina.

Older people? Professors, teachers, parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, you name it- they don’t, shouldn’t really hold the right to demand respect served to them on a silver platter if they refuse to provide younger people the same treatment.

Good times with a person isn’t a free pass to take advantage of them, or to guilt trip them into thinking they owe you things.

You’d have to have to have a convoluted sense of love if you think abuse can be negated.

let’s just talk for a moment here. 

I’m gonna say itLena Luthor loves Kara Danvers. loves her. and there are soooo many reasons why. 

first, let’s just list the reasons off the bat, then I’ll explain my reasonings. 

  • donuts
  • lip bites/glances/looks
  • the thirst factor
  • food dates
  • meeting Alex
  • gala
  • flowers
  • her heroics
  • “I’ve never stood behind a man” 
  • “I’m here for you, if you still want that”
  • “I miss you”
  • “I didn’t see your name on the by line”/ “unquit”
  • “I trust you”/Catco
  • heart emoji

ok let’s get started:

first, the doughnuts.

 lena is known for eating healthy. she drinks kombucha. she gets kara to probably eat vegetables. y’know the regular. probably is on a no carb diet. we never see her eating anything bad, because she’s probably been preened all her life to be picture perfect and eat only what’s good for you. but here comes her bff, her gal pal kara danvers, traipsing in with a bag of doughnuts. this happened a couple times, actually. lena indulged in a doughnut for kara. 

the lip bites, holy fuck. I’m going to tie this in with the glances too. because holy mother of god. 

lena is always checking kara out, biting her lip (most likely surprising moans bc hot damn she’s in love with this woman) and the looks. the looks of. pure. unadulterated. love. 

I mean you cannot tell me the look on lena’s face is anything but love? come on. even a blind man could tell. 

next, lena’s thirst factor. 

girl, she is always, always, (almost) always seen with a drink when around kara! 

exhibit A: their first meeting, lena has to pause and get herself a damn glass of water

exhibit B: granted, yes they’re at a restaurant, but lena’s got an almost empty glass, bc hot damnvers kara is something. (lets take in account that kara’s glass is empty)

exhibit C: in the most recent episode 3.01, lena is yet again, shown pouring herself some water bc girl is thirsty af 

exhibit D: oh looky here, Lena’s getting a drink. I am pretty sure Kara just makes her speechless and she needs water to talk

exhibit E: y’all see where I’m going with this, right?

their brunch/lunch/dinner/kombucha dates

lena always seems to have a food date with kara. always. I mean it’s one thing to have one on occasion but they’re known to have these? and I know damn well that kara isn’t always the one to initiate them. lena is probably the one to invite her because she’s rich and offers to feed kara’s immense appetite. 

what about the first time lena was introduced to Alex properly?

this. this is the face of jealousy. she shows up unannounced at kara’s apartment (where’d she even get kara’s address?) and sees this beautiful woman in kara’s apartment and she’s jealous af, and Alex doesn’t let on anything. doesn’t, for a split second, let on that she’s kara’s sister, because I’m pretty sure she knew what Lena’s thoughts were. she knew for a flash of a second, lena was actually jealous, but ew gross, kara is her sister, and that’s when kara finally speaks up, and Lena’s face softens, and she remembers what she actually came over for… 

the gala

she invites, not only kara and supergirl to the gala, but kara’s man friend, mike of the interns, because she doesn’t care. if kara’s friends with this person, she figures she can trust this person too, who tf cares if you met them five seconds ago and could’ve easily told him “It’s an elite party, and I’m inviting kara as my plus one, sorry” but no, she extends an invitation to mike of the interns…

the flowers: plumerias

these are plumerias, for anyone who hasn’t seen them before. they come in all different colors, ranging from blues, pinks, purples, melon, peach, yellow and white. they are an exotic flower, and a bit hard to come by. they have to be imported, usually from Hawaii. they have a few different meanings, but in Chinese, they symbolize love. they mean “I love you” and “you are special” 

and kara’s office, just so happens to be overflown with flowers, most likely plumerias because she mentioned they remind her of her mother, and lena would totally import those flowers and fill her office as a thank you to saving her just because she loves kara. and you know damn well she knows what those flowers mean. she’s smart, we’ll touch on this fact later.

lena being a hero

she is.. its a fact. whether it’s supergirl or kara danvers’s hero, national city’s hero, or anyone’s hero, lena is a hero. 

lena chooses kara and being the hero and will always choose kara and being the hero. when it came to saving jack or saving supergirl, she chose kara over her ex-lover. and we can probably assume that because a) lena is young and b) lena is a luthor, jack was probably her only real relationship. she did love him, you could tell with the emotion from the kiss and even the relaxed-ness of her date with him, they were friends. and she did miss is company, though she wouldn’t date him again. yet then it comes to kara, as supergirl, and she has to choose whether to save jack or end his life to save national city’s hero. she chooses to let jack go, therefore ultimately killing him so she can save kara. she also saves kara’s man child boyfriend from the evil daxamite guard. by shooting him with an alien gun. and she and Winn made whatever that thing was under the table at the gala and it stopped those evildoers from attacking supergirl, and the kicker, my favorite, saving the whole population of national city, not once, but fucking twice.

in s2e8 lena, after finding out her mother is the ringleader of CADMUS, and kara ultimately yells at her and accuses her of knowing what her mother did, etc, still saves national city. she undermines her mother, weasels her way onto her mother’s good side, double-crosses her and makes the medusa virus inert, therefore saving national city’s population of aliens when the only friend she had hated her for the moment. she could’ve easily just given in and killed all the aliens, but she didn’t. she chose to save them because she loves kara and her pro-alien bleeding heart views, even when they sometimes disagree and fight. 

and then again in s2e22, lena, and with the help of Lillian, build a device to rid the planet of the daxamites invading earth. a device that sends out lead into the atmosphere. and she knows what it’ll do. she knows that it’s going to send Mon-el away, and you know she was lowkey happy about that, but she knows it’ll put kara through hell, yet she let’s kara make the ultimate decision to choose whether to go on with it, and kara does. supergirl tells them to use the device. and lena yet again, saves everyone, all because she loves kara and kara is her hero.

and let’s not forget the best time lena was a hero and shot Corbin, therefore saving none other than Special Agent Alex Danvers with the DEO… hot damn, she’s my hero.

lena’s never stood behind a man

*eh hem* I’ll just leave these here. two examples of lena never standing behind a man, because she’s independent and fierce, but Kara is always protecting her and she lets kara/supergirl. we know damn well lena can hold her own, she is a Luthor after all, but she lets kara take the forefront and she stands behind her with grace and poise and love and admiration. 

“I’m here for you, if you still want that”

Lena knows the hell kara is going through. she knows that kara lost her man child thing of a boyfriend she liked for five days. and kara is going through hell. and yet, she’s still cautious. I think this is one of the most significant things ever and we’re going to dissect for a second here. in the second image: kara tells lena “I’m right here” letting lena know she can talk to her and she wants her to, she’s almost willing her to. 

yet in the top image, lena adds the “if you still want that”. she is letting kara know a few things here. a) that she feels guilty over the lead being released in the atmosphere b) she doesn’t want to use kara, because she’s not a talker herself. her walls are always built up so sturdy until kara breaks them down with her super strength and c) she doesn’t want to lose kara. she’s letting her know she’s there if kara wants her because its kara’s choice. she’s not going to force kara into being her friend just because kara is the only friend she has in national city and she will be ready to help kara any way she needs when the time comes. 

“I miss you” 

this also follows with the “if you still want that” because she’s telling kara that she’s being ignored, but she’s not pushing. she knows that kara is distancing herself. but she still lets kara know in a subtle way that she’s still here, she still loves her and that she truly misses her best friend. she just misses her. she misses Kara Danvers, the girl she’s falling in love with more and more as each day passes.

“I didn’t see your name on the by line”/”unquit”

now, first off, kara does anything lena suggests. Lena suggests, she become a reporter and guess who becomes one? Kara. lena tells her in such an unprofessional manner to “unquit” her job. and according to my laptop, unquit isn’t even a word, yet it came out of poised, perfect, prestined Lena Luthor’s mouth. “unquit” 

so kara unquits, and lena sends a heart emoji

a red heart emoji. man, do I have some words about this. Lena, you little lesbian in love with your bestie, damn. lena could’ve easily replied back with a “okay” or “sounds great” or even a “see you tomorrow!” or if we’re going the emoji route: a smiley face, a thumbs up, or fuck idk, a yellow heart? because lena is very, very, very smart. and we all know she knows the meanings that colors represent. like how yellow means happiness, friendship, sunshine, and energy, yet miss luthor sent kara a red heart. red meaning love, passion, heat. you can’t tell me she doesn’t know what they meant. she could’ve replied with so many different ways, yet she chooses a red heart.

and lets not forget the last points: lena buys fricken catco–– “I trust you”

lena “I bought your job for you and I have no fucking idea how to run catco” luthor bought a multimillion dollar corporation so a sexist bottle of cheap cologne couldn’t and she has literally no idea how to run the company, yet she’s enlisting and trusting her best friend and the woman she likes to run it with her. she bought kara a company. because kara asked and she 

lena just dropped everything, and potentially could ruin her career for this woman, and she did it all out of love. 

she even admits to not even knowing how to run the place! yet, just because kara asked, she did it. kara says “jump” and lena asks “how high”. the girl will do anything for the woman she loves. 


anyway, so those are my thoughts and reasonings as to why I believe lena is in love with kara. you can agree or disagree, leave your opinions if you like, but if you’re anti-supercorp please do not leave your opinion. 


*please note: gifs and pictures are NOT mine and I will not take credit for them, I simply borrowed them from the internet. also I stg if the gifs don’t load I will cry, I don’t know if they actually will, let’s hope.

edit: none of the gifs loaded I hate everything… oh fucking well, you get my point and y’all probably know what each gif is a scene of anyway… fml

8

→ In July 1795, as soon as word got out that Marie Thérèse had been seen walking into the Temple prison’s garden, many came to catch a glimpse of the Princess who had been locked for over three years. In that time, she had changed from an adolescent girl of thirteen to a young woman of nearly seventeen of age. On August 17, the Gazette de France reported that Marie Thérèse still did not know of the fate of her mother, brother and aunt. In the later part of August, Madame de Chanterenne broke the news to Marie Thérèse. One by one, as she told the girl that each member of her family was dead, Marie Thérèse emitted sobs of anguish and pain.

In early September, the Committee at last allowed Madame de Tourzel, Pauline and Madame Mackau to visit the Princess in prison. […] She showed them the room in which her brother had died. Pauline was impressed by how strong Marie Thérèse remained throughout and thought the girl resembled all three her parents - the King, the Queen, and her ‘second mother’, Madame Elisabeth. Marie Thérèse revealed to her old friends that she had scribbled on her cell wall:

“I am the unhappiest of creatures. She can obtain no news of her Mother, nor be reunited to her, thought she has asked it a thousand times. Live, my good mother! Whom I love well, but whom I can hear no tidings. O, my Father, watch over me from Heaven above. O, my God! Forgive those who have made my family die.”

On the wall of her late brother’s empty room, the women saw that he had written in charcoal an unfinished message to his mother which read, ‘Maman, je vous pr…’ “Mommy, I beg you? I promise you?”. On another wall, he had drawn a flower.

- Marie Thérèse, the fate of Marie Antoinette’s daughter, Susan Nagel

Clips: Child Marie Thérèse from Marie Antoinette (2006), Teen Marie Thérèse from l’Evasion de Louis XVI (2009), and Fancast for adult Marie Thérèse: Dakota Fanning in Effie Gray.

Lock and Key (M)

*I am so tired*

Requests: Anon asked “Can you make like a dirty y/n imagine of Jimin please??” + @bangtanofarmys asked “ FUCK FUCK FUCK OMG FINALLY SOMEONE’S REQUEST IS OPEN. Ok I want to request a rough Jimin smut, with daddy kink and stuff BECAUSE IM SO TIRED OF BEING REQUESTED AND NOT REQUEST T-T “ you’re so cute wtf 

Word Count: 10.8k bc I don’t know when to stop


Another mundane day has come to pass, your best friend’s arm slung over your shoulders as you soak up the blinding sunrays on your skin. The sun pressed harsh kisses on your delicate skin, a definite burn accompanied by heavy sweating was just the peak of your day. You could barely remember the words of your professor, zoned out and ready to slump into your couch for two days.

Anthropology was fun when you still had your first year jitters, excited to be in university and getting a degree in something you loved. Now, a few weeks into your second year, you wished the years would just pass by.

Distracted by your internal monologue, you barely caught the bus on time, the driver ready to zoom through traffic and you waved your hand out wildly to catch his attention. You stumbled into a seat, the bus moving no less than a second after you got on.

Mindlessly watching the street signs while numerous people leaving and entering the bus, you get off at the stop near your house. You kick off your shoes, dropping your bag on the shoe rack and you heard a broken sob.

“Mom? Dad?” You went into the kitchen, followed by a set of sniffling before going into the living room. Your father held your mother in a consoling way, her hands clinging onto his red sweater. She grabbed a tissue and blew into it.

“Mom? Why are you crying? What happened?”

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dissonance [5]

summary: Go where your heart takes you. || hades!bucky x persephone!reader || mythology au

warnings: demeter is introduced and she is a cunt-nugget supreme, falling out between famiy, use of the word whore, and i think that’s it

notes: I know I said I was going to make this a fluffy scene between Y/N and James, but I had to throw some kind of discourse in there somewhere (blame H). I hope you guys like this, sorry for the long wait. Also, I imagine the cottage to look somehwhat like the one in the gif, only a little smaller. 

Feedback is always appreciated!

Originally posted by beautyisworthagif

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i don’t think michonne gets much recognition from the fandom as a whole for how strong she is. and i don’t mean in a physical/she’s a warrior goddess way. i mean mentally and emotionally. the women on this show get praised so much (rightfully so) for how strong they are after losing people but never michonne… they all lost siblings, parents, lovers. but yall… michonne lost her BABY. i cannot even imagine the pain. the mother child bond is so strong. there’s no other love like it imo. no love as powerful. ik we don’t know what happened exactly but imagine. she wanted to protect him and couldn’t. can you imagine the guilt and pain she felt? and most likely still feels? and the feeling of emptiness and loss? oh my god. i’m so happy rick has finally found his soulmate in her. but i’m even happier for michonne. she’s not only found her soulmate, but someone to confide in and mourn with. someone to be vulnerable and let go with. she’s found comfort in judith and carl, and in turn they’ve gotten that much needed maternal love back in their lives. this shit is just so beautiful and they all fit together like a puzzle it makes me cry.

Yet how can I e’ver be content when I
Have learn’d about my son, my boy, my Ben?
How shall a mother learn to leave her child?
To let her offspring roam, be led astray?
How can you teach a mother to forget
The very one she cuddl’d as a babe?
If I forget thee, then thou mayst hate,
If I forget thee, thou shouldst shun my voice.
If I forget thee, heed not my appeals,
If I forget thee, I am then no mother,
But turncoat, traitor and vile betrayer.
Yet this shall never happen, as thou know’st:
Though thou unto the dark side mayst have turn’d,
‘Tis deep within thy breast, the knowledge of
Thy mother’s changeless and abiding love.
I would deceive my friends ere thee forget,
I would endure the rack ere thee forget,
I would give up my life ere thee forget,
The galaxy would end ere thee forget.
O son, I bid thee let let thy father speak,
His words fall tenderly upon thine ear,
Then listen with an open, willing heart,
Respond by spreading wide thy youthful arms,
And come again unto thy home with us.
Pray let it be, O soul within my son:
Feel thou our love, that three may soon be one.
—  Leia’s soliloquy on her child, Act IV, Scene I - The Force Doth Awaken
What they said

 “You don’t need equal rights, you already have more rights than everyone,” said my father, after he openly said he wouldn’t hire a gay worker, not even me, his daughter.

“You don’t deserve to have kids,” said my mother, who couldn’t understand why the words she said made me cry. “A child deserves a mother and a father, and two queers like you could never raise a child.”

“But she doesn’t look like a lesbian,” said my aunt, the one family member I thought might defend me.

“Where did we go wrong,” asked my parents, as if there was something wrong with me. “We thought we raised you better than this.”

“You’re just confused,” said my father. “Therapy can help you figure out your feelings.”

“She goes to the University of Minnesota,” said my relatives, “what did they expect, her to come out normal?”

“Do you know where people like you go when you die?” asked my brother, who wouldn’t look me in the eye. “Do you want to go to hell?”

“You should be careful,” said my mother, when I told her I was going out. “Because do you know where you’ll go if you die today?”

“All transgender people should just be shot,” said my mother, “just like the queer people they are.”

“You need a mental examination,” was the reaction of my parents, after they first found out. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

“I’ve met a lot of lesbians,” said my cousin, the girl I once considered my best  friend, “but she just doesn’t give off the vibe.”

“She’s going to regret this when she’s older,” said another relative, after I came out on facebook. “She is ruining hope of having a normal life.”

“I love you,” said my good friend, crying like I had told her something bad. “But you know I can’t accept that lifestyle.”

“We’re praying for you,” said everyone, as if I had said I was sick.

“I am so glad you’re over that,” said my mother as I was finding out what heartbreak meant. “Now you need to date a nice boy.”

“I think she’s over that stage,” my mother told my aunt after.

“You are messed up,” was a text I got from my mother while I was attending the Women’s March.

“All that is is a march of a bunch of queers.” She spit out the last word, said it like it tasted as bad as I felt when I heard it.

“I just thought you had better morals than that,” said my mom. “You really have no morals to be doing that.”

“It’s just gross,” they said. “How can a woman love another woman? Something is wrong in your head if you think that’s okay.”

Gross, disgusting, immoral, unspeakable, sickening, shameful, horrid, dyke, queer.

“Don’t tell anyone, ever,” said my mother, ashamed of her daughter.

“We can never accept or condone your behavior,” said my father. “Having this around will influence everyone in the family.”

“You’re heading down a slippery slope,” said my mother. “If that’s how you want to live your life, go ahead. But the only thing that waits for you is drugs and alcohol, because you’ll need it to live with yourself.”

“I just can’t stand her,” said my mother to my sister.

“The last the we want to do is push you away, but we have other kids to think about,” said my mother, because obviously the other kids are more important than me.

“You are nothing but a queer,” said my mother, to my face.

“And we will never,” said my mother, “accept you or your lifestyle choice.”