forty sixty

can we please stop making the only LGBT+ narrative we see “i always knew?”

like, i didn’t always know i liked girls too. i wasn’t having crushes on them or kissing them on the playground when i was five years old like you see on tv or read in books. i didn’t know for sure that i’m bi until literally this year (i’m 17 as of writing this). a former friend of mine is a trans girl. she didn’t always know. she didn’t realize she was trans until she was nearly eighteen years old. some people don’t realize it until they’re twenty, or forty, or sixty.

some people do always know. good for them! but can we please please please make it known that you don’t have to have always known for your identity to be valid? it makes it so difficult for people who are figuring themselves out later in life, because it feeds into this idea of “why didn’t i know it before? is this even real? if i haven’t known i’ve felt this way all along, how do i know i feel it now?” and that’s only making worse what’s already such a difficult time in life

give me eighty year old women who are just figuring out they’re lesbians. give me middle aged accountants who realize they’re actually trans. give me a guy who doesn’t know until he’s twenty-eight that he’s actually into dudes. god just please give us some other narrative, so we can be reassured that even if it took us a while to get there, our identity is no less valid than that of a person who’s known they’re LGBT+ since elementary school. stop telling LGBT+ people that that’s the only way they’re really LGBT+

less photos of carrie fisher in her twenties wrinkle-free, stick-thin, and conventionally attractive.
more photos of carrie fisher in her forties, fifties, and at sixty. unabashedly aged, unabashedly wrinkled, unabashedly weighing more than she did at nineteen, please.
and for the love of God herself no photos of her in that metal bikini

Boys vs. Men

Tumblr has a preoccupation with calling basically every male entity a “boy,” and I regularly see lots of younger trans kids who are self-described “trans boys” or “cute gay boys” or whatever have you. That’s all fine, but I just want to make it really clear:

Starting testosterone won’t make you into a pretty anime boy. It’ll make you into a hairy, sweaty, acne-covered man. You will smell like a man, your voice will drop like a man’s, and the people around you will perceive you as man, not a boy.

If you don’t actually have interest in becoming a man, then you might ask yourself about your motivations to transition. I encourage all of you to think beyond your twenties or thirties, and think about how you will feel about being a man in his forties, fifties, sixties…

There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be an attractive young man, but transition is a decision that can affect you for the rest of your life.

You know it’s never fifty-fifty in a marriage. It’s always seventy-thirty, or sixty-forty. Someone falls in love first. Someone puts someone else up on a pedestal. Someone works very hard to keep things rolling smoothly; someone else sails along for the ride.
—  Jodi Picoult, Mercy
Trans boy Yurio is just really fucking important to me??

I mean. Fuck. Fuck. buckle up kids cause I’m going on a tangent here cause oh, my god am I gonna cling to this headcanon till you rip it from my cold dead trans fingers. Like. I just. UGH.

I’m 26 fucking years old and I feel like I arrived WAY LATE to the transgender game gdi. Sure sure we hear stories of folks in their forties, fifties, sixties coming out or transitioning, but y’all KNOW the narrative that gets told, the one that gets attention is the “i knew since I was born” story. The older folks transitioning is often framed around this, around knowing ones whole life but never doing anything about it, and sure, you get those nice positive posts on here about not knowing till your older and having no signs till your older, but that’s not the stories that get Huff post articles and trans documentaries. It doesn’t fit the marketable ideal. Also, for trans boys, there’s no running away from the narrative of the tomboy. You had to be into sports, you had to want short hair, never wear girls clothes, hunt, wrestle, be tough. There’s usually no room for femininity in the childhoods of trans boys and that is hurtful both for the community and on a personal level cause God I was never a tomboy. Yeah I chopped my hair off super short when I was 6, but it was 1996 and half the girls in my class had bowl cuts or mushroom cuts or pixie cuts; there was no masculine drive to it. I lived on a farm and loved playing outside, but I wanted to do it in dresses an wearing nail polish. It wasn’t till I was 11 (july 28 2001 to be exact, according to Wikipedias info on when Yue first aired in an American Cardcaptors dub episode) that Anything happened in my brain to look back on years later and go oh, that was A Trans Thing.

I don’t know if it’s because I was so late in the game, so femme, if my first inclines were correct and i’m not binary trans or what it is, but 4 years since i had my first thoughts of “could /I/ be trans?” and I still find it hard to actually call myself that. I still feel fake, I still feel like even if I’m trans i’m not the kind that COUNTS, I’m not what a trans person SHOULD be. Keep in mind I’m going on 2 months on hormones now, I’ve been binding for almost 2 years, I pack, I desire a more masculine body, but I still feel like ‘i don’t count’ and don’t even talk to me about writing/drawing/seeing prexisting characters as trans. All those blogs for headcanon trans characters and trans boys I’ve always been like, how? How can you do that? How could i look at a character and go ‘he’s like me’ without feeling like a selfish asshole stealing my friends favorite characters and forcing them into a mold just so they can be like me? I’m undesirable, i’m not pretty, it seems like such stupid 2005 era self-inset Mary Sues on shit to say a character is trans. Besides, to me, saying a character is like me has always been a number 1 way to feel like SHIT since those characters never end up being characters my friends like.

SO THEN THIS MOTHERFUCKER BALLET-SPIN KICKS HIS WAY INTO MY LIFE. I’d already seen him on my dash and knew YUP, he’s gonna be my fav, but my GOD did I not understand how much. He just. He’s perfect and I adore the hell out of him, and after a couple eps I was like you know…He…kinda reminds me of me. I too am an angry little sonofabitch driven by spite and a need to destroy my competition, I also look at who beat me in a contest (im an artist) and find nothing but their flaws. I was raised by a grandparent in leiu of a mother. I just really clicked with this brat and so there was this tiny part of me that said hey, he doesn’t show his chest…he’s beautiful…everyone refers to him in feminne terms…so I thought ok maybe he’s trans. It could happen.

Then I log onto tumblr, and find a couple others with this idea…but then also a lot of people in the comments of posts being little assholes just trying to find flaws in the logic of people giving trans headcanons. Which is a douche move guys when someone wants to see a character as LGBT your job isn’t to prove them wrong fucking christ all that did was remind me oh yeah, that’s dumb and selfish>

But, then i drug my fiance into this, and my girlfriend, my fiance’s boyfriend, friend of mine in Scotland. So many people, several of whom agreed yeah, this could be a trans kid, and I thought again, ok maybe he could be. And then I got ballsy as fuck and thought, and maybe HE didn’t know from the fucking start. Maybe he was 9 or 10 or 11. Maybe that flashback where he looks 12, TOPS, was right after he started saying no, call me a boy, call me Yuri. Maybe he LIKES keeping his hair long and shaggy even if some of his rink mates or whoever still say ‘she doesn’t look like a boy’ for it. Maybe he has a drawer of cheetah print sports bras selected carefully for flatness factor and least amount of seams shown under his clothes. Maybe he doesn’t wanna be called a prima ballerina, but doesn’t mind the beauty and grace he’s learning through it. 

It’s always been hard for me to accept myself as a boy even though i /want/ to be one more than anything. i look at myself and say boys can’t have boobs and boys can’t have periods but here’s the thing; since I was 15, WAY before I knew what trans was or nonbinary or even intersex, I had OC’s who were third gender, who lived in a world with more than two reproductive sexes, who were feminine boys. THOSE were the characters I lived through, people who had vaginas and a uterus and wore dresses but were 100% seen as male by society, not a damn question asked. I never identified with or through women, but I was never hyper masculine either. THis is just the first time i’ve looked at someone ELSE’S character, a POPULAr character and said yeah, that boy has a vagina and wears bras and maybe i don’t gotta bind every day when it hurts. And it’s been a really great feeling, especially, to see that other folks think the same way. 


Just when you think that Daily Mail readers must have run out of things to be pissed off about…

the reason there seem to be so few interesting people between the ages of forty and sixty might be that they are all disguised (pretending or resigned) as people younger or older than they really are

on a slightly-related-however-loosely note, if it takes longer than brushing my hair or teeth (two minutes) and/or if it requires soap or scrubbing to remove it, i do not intentionally bother with it in the name of looks. 

if we r going there tho let me just like repeat that u can’t say a piece of art doesn’t have anything to do with the AIDS crisis just because it was made in the seventies or before . I got multiple reasons for this

1 that’s like saying that if an audience watches Macbeth they automatically only react to it in terms of its cultural relevance to England in the early seventeenth century and cannot ever read like, commentary on modern abuses of power or modern corruption into that text . or like saying that a person looking at Wagner works or futurist poetry in 1946 should only look at them in the context of 19th century Bavaria and cannot take into account anything more recent

2 people’s attitudes in the seventies , sixties, fifties, forties toward the suffering of gay people and ideas about sexual monstrousness were the unseen but present preface to the horrific neglect people living with AIDS experienced in the 1980s-1990s . The fear of black men from the 1960s prefaced the expansion of the prison system and the prosecution of black men in the 70s through 2010s. similarly , colonialism and racism dating from the 19th century and before still informs the callousness /blankness with which white Americans react to news that HIV is still prevalent and deadly in India, Uganda, etc . Past informs present

anonymous asked:

Can we hear more about the Robert/Gilbert dynamic?

/ This might get long.

 The cult had a n/azi problem during the war. There was also a c/ommunist problem, but that’s for another time. Ethariel’s followers are against racial and sexual discrimination but are ungodly classist. But, such impactful events created small groups of people inside their society that had their own beliefs and pushed for them to become the norm.

 Between the forties and sixties, most of these people were wiped by their own brethren because their radicalism and discrimination were ruining a lot of people’s business. (They are very noble, I know.) 

 Still, some held onto their views in secret and practiced even more extreme version of e/ugenics. Trying to breed the ‘perfect’ people in their clans.

 Gilbert was born in one of those families. He was deformed both inside and out, and spent most of his childhood isolated from everyone but his family. He went through numerous plastic surgeries, organ transplants, and prosthetics, and eventually was ‘good enough’ for his parents to show off in public.

Robert was suspicious of the whole thing, and so were some of the other high standing cult members, so Gilbert’s parents were neutralized after enough evidence was gathered against them, and Robert took in Gilbert to live with him.

Gilbert was still 11-12 at the time and had no idea what happened, apart from Robert ‘saving’ him. He developed a really unhealthy and deep attachment to the older man, but Robert always denied his romantic and sexual advances, making Gilbert bitter and ashamed over the years.

Basically, Robert sucked as a parent and thought Gilbert would manage to acclimate to the society and make a life of his own, without Robert bothering about it, too much.

After Gilbert returned from his studies abroad, he was resentful of Robert for always sending him to others for learning and training, refusing to ‘love’ him back and having an endless number of other lovers.

So, instead of taking Robert’s offer to become the next leader of the established society of Ethariel’s followers, Gilbert went on to create an opposition and simply take over, changing things to his liking.

 Apart from his physical issues, he is rather unstable mentally, and for the last decade spent time studying his father and the ideologies his family followed, in hopes to ‘make them proud’.

Needless to say, he is an explosive, dangerous, mess of a person.

He has a borderline love-hate relationship with Robert, attacking his partners and friends on many accounts, and trying to kill Robert himself, only to confess his love for him the next moment.

Robert has no desire to help him at this point, and just tries to keep Gilbert at a distance. His heart is doing him a disservice and making it difficult to get rid of Gilbert, because Robert does feel guilty and responsible, even if he won’t admit it. 

At nineteen, it seems to me, one has a right to be arrogant; time has usually not begun its stealthy and rotten subtractions. It takes away your hair and your jump-shot, according to a popular country song, but in truth it takes away a lot more than that. I didn’t know it in 1966 and ’67, and if I had, I wouldn’t have cared. I could imagine—barely—being forty, but fifty? No. Sixty? Never! Sixty was out of the question. And at nineteen, that’s just the way to be. Nineteen is the age where you say Look out, world, I’m smokin’ TNT and I’m drinkin’ dynamite, so if you know what’s good for ya, get out of my way […]

The compromises of middle age were distant, the insults of old age over the horizon. […] The world eventually sends out a mean-ass Patrol Boy to slow your progress and show you who’s boss. You reading this have undoubtedly met yours (or will); I met mine, and I’m sure he’ll be back. He’s got my address. He’s a mean guy, a Bad Lieutenant, the sworn enemy of goofery, fuckery, pride, ambition, loud music, and all things nineteen.

But I still think that’s a pretty fine age. Maybe the best age. You can rock and roll all night, but when the music dies out and the beer wears off, you’re able to think. And dream big dreams. The mean Patrol Boy cuts you down to size eventually, and if you start out small, why, there’s almost nothing left but the cuffs of your pants when he’s done with you. “Got another one!” he shouts, and strides on with his citation book in his hand. So a little arrogance (or even a lot) isn’t such a bad thing […].

If you don’t start out too big for your britches, how are you gonna fill ’em when you grow up? Let it rip regardless of what anybody tells you, that’s my idea; sit down and smoke that baby.
—  Stephen King, On Being Nineteen
You Should Come With a Warning: Chapter Thirteen

“We were victims of the night,
the chemical, physical, kryptonite.
Helpless to the bass and the fading lights.
We were bound to get together’’.

Lydia wasn’t sure when walking into the boys apartment without knocking had become normal. Over the last month, she was a frequent visitor - spending lazy afternoons and long nights studying with Stiles, hanging out with Isaac and Scott and watching endless movies with the girls.

Keep reading

You know what I want to see, especially as I get older? I want to see more middle-aged and older female characters in media. I want to see women who are not just in their twenties and thirties, but clearly in their forties, fifties, sixties, and more–age lines and wrinkles and graying hair and more weight than they carried when they were eighteen, even if they’re in bad-ass condition. Women who are relevant as more than the main character’s mom, or as a hapless victim of a villains mass killing spree. Women who would in no way be mistaken for much younger people, and who have no apologies for it. 

I’m tired of older women being supporting figures to grizzled old men and youngestrs, or being washed-up divorcees trying to put their lives back together after a life-shattering divorce or the last child leaving home. I want to see a woman whose age has given her wisdom not of the “how to be a better mommy to the main character” sort, but how to defuse bombs and how to drive race cars and how to take over a board room with respect and power. I’m talking about the female detective who’s seen it all (the gray at her temples is evidence enough) and is the first one called on the scene of a tough case. I’m talking about the senior scientist who is the only one who can create the serum needed to stop the zombie apocalypse. I’m talking about the musician with her thirty-year career exploding as she takes the stage with a whole new sound. I’m talking about the eccentric artist who’s taken New York by storm–again–and to hell with the damned soup cans. I want to see Buffy the Vampire Slayer at age fifty-three, wilier and perhaps more cautious, but still quick with the wisecracks. I want to see Hermoine Granger to make sweeping improvements to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the pinnacle of a distinguished forty-year career. I want Pepper Potts to have plenty of company.

And I want to see them portrayed as age-appropriate actresses, too. No more twenty-six-year-old women playing forty-two-year-old characters. I want Gwyneth Paltrow and Halle Berry and Uma Thurman and Tilda Swinton out there on the screen and stage. 

Don’t get me wrong–I’ve been thoroughly enjoying the increase of awesome female characters in the YA genre and in movies and comics and elsewhere. But as I get older, I still want to see characters who are like me, even with creaky knees and that spot in my back that’s complaining just a bit, but who wouldn’t dare trade their current lives for being twenty-one again.

I just don’t want to hurt him.”
“Then you’re the one.”
“The one what?”
“The one who loves more. You know it’s never fifty-fifty in a marriage. It’s always seventy-thirty, or sixty-forty. Someone falls in love first. Someone puts someone else up on a pedestal. Someone works very hard to keep things rolling smoothly; someone else sails along for the ride.
—  Mercy, Jodi Picoult

Auggie did not know this was supposed to be in costume. He wasn’t dressed right, he was basically in what he wore every other day of his life. 

He should go back home. This was a bad idea. He huddled in the corner, hoodie pulled over his head waiting… how long should he wait? Sixty minutes? Forty-five?

“Oh, what’s up?” He said when someone interrupted his corner. He pulled on a smile. “Party, right? What’s that, an LMAO song?”

women do not abuse men as often as men abuse women and claiming that’s the truth is not feminism

women deserving equal standing w men does not mean we are treated equally in society now or that we are socialized in the same way or that men suffer the same horrific bullshit at the same rates women do 

like yes obviously men can be victims of abuse but men are most likely to be abused by other men and women and other ppl who aren’t men are the grand majority of people who experience intimate partner violence