i made a thing for fest too

5

I saw a pic with Mishima in his full gym clothes and he was so cute this monster happened

anyway I feel like someone as tiny as Mishima playing sports would be so cute to watch? I like to think he’s pretty decent at it since he was in a sports club (I assume to stand out, but well things didn’t work out.… .)

i also like to think of Ryuji as the Tired Best Friend who knows Akira has a crush on Mishima but has to watch Mishima unknowingly side-step all the damn time (gdi ryuji, blocking me at the school fest too)

Last pic is kinda a sad thought :’)

Valentine's Day OverWatch Imagines

(This involves Genji, McCree, Hanzo, Reaper, Solider 76, Junkrat, Roadhog, Reinhardt, Lúcio, and Zenyatta)

******

Genji:

•He goes out of his way to use his ninja skills to surprise you with quick kisses and small little candies

•He sneaks up on you, and pops into rooms, stealing a quick kiss, leaving his s/o flustered and speechless.

•Those events lead up to a big romantic dinner that Zenyatta helped Genji put together.

•Genji pulled out all the stops, three coarse meal, roses, chocolate, and of course a present for his adorable s/o.

•He bought is s/o a beautiful necklace with a emerald dragon charm.

McCree:

•McCree used really corny pick up lines on his s/o, making them laugh uncontrollably.

•He’s constantly hitting on his s/o, calling you “darlin’” every chance he gets.

•McCree takes their s/o to a very nice restaurant, and treats them to a very romantic dinner.

•He then takes their s/o out to the movies to watch that really bad romcom, but he just makes out with his s/o instead of watching.

Hanzo:

•He isn’t very emotional person, but he tries a bit harder.

•Hanzo wants to have a special night in with his s/o, and sets up his room at the base with candles and sakura peddles.

•It was a night full of romance and delicious Japanese food made by Hanzo himself. He made it with extra love just for his s/o.

•Hanzo then did something pretty far from his normal personality, he snuggled his s/o. He snuggled his s/o all night. And it was perfect.

Reaper:

•Despite being the really emo and edge-lord he normally is, today he was completely different. Well only for his s/o.

•He insisted he do EVERYTHING for his s/o, including making breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And he is an extremely good chef.

•Dinner is extra special, and romantic. Reaper covered the table with rose peddles, and even played violin music.

•After dinner, Reaper has a special bubble bath for him and his s/o, and it’s nothing short of completely romantic.

Soldier 76:

•Soldier 76 may be a little gruff, but he knows how to kick up the romance. He happily spoils his s/o all day.

•All his attention is on his s/o. No one else.

•He treats his s/o out to a movie and dinner, which he lets his s/o pick the movie.

•At the end of the night, he tops it off with a diamond necklace for his s/o.

Junkrat:

•Not really a romantic, but more of a very passionate lover. An EXPLOSIVE lover.

•Knows how much his s/o likes bath bombs from Lush, and buys a bunch for his s/o. (He makes a few too, but those aren’t really… safe)

•Junkrat takes his s/o to their favorite cafe to grab some Boba Tea, and snack on some little cakes and such. It’s a secret, but Junkrat does love his Boba Tea and sweets.

•He rushes his s/o home so he can have an all out cuddle fest!

Roadhog:

•He bought a bunch of plushies and sweets for his s/o, since he knows how much he and his s/I LOVE adorable things.

•Roadhog makes breakfast in bed for his s/o, which he made 100% with love.

•Creates the perfect movie night, with tons of blankets and pillows, and snacks all around. It’s the perfect way to spend the night with his s/o.

•Lets his s/o snuggle up on his belly, as they fall asleep. He loves to watch his s/o peacefully sleep.

Reinhardt:

•Extremely excited to spend all day with his lovely s/o. And when he says all day, he means all day.

•He spoils his s/o rotten. Making sure they don’t have to lift a finger all day. Including carrying them all around their house.

•Buys his s/o amazing German chocolate, which he really did get from Germany. And damn was it yummy.

•Feeds his s/o chocolate while they enjoy talking to one another about little things, just enjoying each other’s company.

Lúcio:

•Makes a special mixtape for his s/o of all original songs that he wrote just for them.

•Plays another sexy music mix, and sets up a very romantic breakfast for his s/o. He sets the mood perfectly.

•After the very romantic breakfast, Lúcio takes his s/o to his Valentine’s Concert, and then surprises his s/o by taking them up on stage and serenade them.

•After the concert, he takes his s/o to a five star hotel, and rents out their biggest sweet, so they can have a rooftop view as they snuggle in the hot tub.

Zenyatta:

•Never really understood the holiday, but was happy to celebrate it for his s/o.

•He attempts to be romantic, but just ends up being adorable in every way, making his s/o giggle and cuddle their omnic lover.

•Tries to use cheesy pick up lines that Genji told him to say, making his s/o laugh a lot then kiss his metal forehead.

•Cuddles all night with his s/o, enjoying making them happy on this human holiday of love.

HANKER - Poly!YoonMin

Word count: 7,674.
Summery: It looked like you loved him. And worse, it looked like he loved you. Jimin took a shaky breath before he clicked his phone shut, rubbing his hands on his thighs as he got ready to get up. There’s nowhere left to hide from this anymore.
Genre:  Idolverse.


Min Yoongi of Bangtan Sonyondan was caught on a date with his mysterious girlfriend!


Jimin’s heart fluttered in his chest, before it got so heavy he thought it might have turned into stone. An uncomfortable feeling sank in his stomach and his thumb froze hovering above the illuminated screen of his phone. He wanted to scroll down farther and look at the pictures, analyze every angle of Yoongi’s face to see if he looked happier with you then he looked when he was with him.

He tilted his head back, wincing when it hit the wall a little harsher then he intended it to. He looked up at the ceiling even if he couldn’t actually see it through the dark clouds in his head.

Yoongi really was dating you.

Jimin’s teeth sunk into his bottom lip before he shut his eyes tightly, shaking his head as an automatic reaction his body had for the feelings that rose inside of him.

He knew it’ll be this way, ever since he and Yoongi broke off whatever romantic relationship they had between them. Yoongi had a point when he called it off – a few actually, when he asked Jimin to be whole with what they had. He wanted Jimin to come out to both of their parents about them. He wanted to stop hiding from everyone, and Jimin knew how his mind worked, he knew it’ll come out at some point.

The growingly tense situation finally blew out when Jimin and Yoongi went to Daegu to visit Yoongi’s parents. Jimin kept feeling so self-conscious from how badly he wanted Yoongi’s parents to like him. It was the first time they’ve seen them since they started their thing and he was going half insane with the amount of responsibility he felt was on his shoulders. Jimin honestly barely noticed that he swatted Yoongi’s hands away whenever they reached out to touch him, stepped away from him when he was close and barely looked at him when he praised him to his parents’ ears.

Yoongi noticed though, every single time it happened. He noticed and it ate him up inside, so much that by the time they had to leave, he told Jimin they need to sit down to have a serious conversation.

Yoongi went through so much with his parents, and he reached the part of his life where he’s sure they’ll accept him no matter what. No matter what side of himself he’ll bring forward, they’ll embrace it.

He wanted them to embrace Jimin.

Keep reading

Dear Diarist

High school AU where Dean finds a diary, and it just so happens to contain his name - and details of the mystery writer’s intense crush on him. But Dean’s also got a crush… it’s too much to hope for that the diarist is Castiel, right?

happy birthday to @destieldrabblesdaily!!! love you Shirley <3

(read here on AO3 if you prefer!)

Dear Diary,

I think I’m a ghost. No one ever seems to see me at all.

Dean frowned, staring down at the first page of the book that he’d found on top of the lockers, pushed back out of sight. He’d never have found it at all, if Sam hadn’t taken his Physics textbook and hidden it up there, just to show off that he was taller than Dean now.

I don’t talk to anyone and no one talks to me. It’s not that they don’t like me, it’s that they don’t seem to see me at all. I swear I really am a ghost.

Dean stopped reading, frowning. Was this supposed to be an actual diary, or some kind of story? He checked the front cover of the book for a name, a clue to whom it might belong - but found nothing. He opened it up again.

One day, I think I’m just going to stand up and walk right out of class. And no one will even look up. I’m going to walk out of class and never come back and not one person at this school will miss me. And I won’t miss any of them, either. Except…

Dean leaned back against his locker and flipped the page, his attention caught. He wondered briefly whether he should stop reading - but then he got a glimpse of the next few words, and his curiosity escalated out of control.

… there is one boy. Dean Winchester, his name is Dean Winchester. 

Keep reading

I actually have this problem with SOJ, too, but I think AA5 is worse.

See when I first played it I thought it was pretty good. But I also hadn’t had a main series AA game in over five years and I was desperate for ANYTHING new with these characters. It was also the first main series aa game that I flat out got bored of and stopped playing for a LONG time. I only beat it when SOJ came out and I figured that I had to beat it to play it–and it felt like a chore. I wasn’t invested in the story. I didn’t care about the characters.

Let me try to break it down in bullet points.

  • The writing is all over the place, and doesn’t flow with the other games at all–it practically washes AA4 out of existence. I recently replayed AJ and its pretty shocking how much stuff capcom seemed to completely drop. The tone also feels totally different for me. It’s not a well-written, quirky story that can easily be both serious and hilarious. It feels like a heavy-handed fanservice-fest that tries to recreate the charm and wit of the original series without grounding it in the things that made the original four games truly great–a solid, cohesive story and well-developed cast as it’s basis. It feels more like a more generic anime adapted into a visual novel than an aa game, if that makes any sense. This was part of my problem with SOJ. I was happy to get Apollo development, but it felt so hollow and fake, and was ultimately not as satisfying as I’d hoped
  • It tries to do way too much at once, too. Develop Athena, bring in Juniper, bring in Simon, develop Apollo, develop Phoenix, bring in all these old characters for Useless Cameos, establish the dark age of the law, basically build the whole world from the ground up and ignore the past games, and there’s no due time for anything to be done right.
  • Like I said, it basically completely ignores AA4. Phoenix is a lawyer again, and all his development from that period seemed to fade. Apollo’s character is put through a trash compactor until his only personality is constantly yelling I’M FINE!!!! (something he does like…twice in aa4) and hiding his emotions, which is totally out of line with the overexcited crybaby we see in the previous game. Klavier and Apollo’s development is totally gone, and they act like they barely know each other. Kristoph is NEVER mentioned again, not even with those fuckin psyche locks. They don’t even touch on the sibling issue. It’s like AJ never happened. 
  • The characterization is just not there. The game tries to do so many things at once, and the characters pay for it. They come out as one-dimensional and flat, and time isn’t invested into making the player care. Clay’s death is sad, yeah, but not nearly as evocative as it could be, because he’s no one to the player. He’s a name. We barely even find out shit about him as the case goes on, just that he liked space and was a good guy. It’s all a big exercise in tell, don’t show and it’s boring. Part of the beauty of the first 4 games was seeing the characters develop and show their personalities in ways that werent so….blunt. the new games have very little sense of nuance.

this is all completely subjective, mind you. i have a lot more to say but this post is long enough.

I haven’t made art recently and I feel sort of shallow for posting so many photos of myself online but I have so many exciting things coming up! I’m gonna be tabling at QTZ (queer/trans zine fest) in Providence in a couple weeks!! I’ll be in NY (also NYC mutuals/artists holler @ me if u wanna smoke a J or something lol) w my partner hanging out too so hopefully I can make some art moves there! N then I’ll be in Michigan for two weeks taking classes/getting some off campus credits :-) exciting💌💌💌💌

anonymous asked:

give me all the fic recs. I'm a newbie

I’m so in love with you right now nony, so this is my Bottom!Derek must read[Sterek only]:

  • My first bottom!Derek fic in this fandom, This time with feeling It’s my first De Aged Derek too, and to me the best one, I love this fic a fuck ton
  • A Legend of a Lonely Boy is my first Mpreg Derek, it has a trigger warning but if you can I really recommend you read it, it’s well written and really sweet how Stiles and Derek got together
  • You know those fics you read and feel that it could be possible? I do, do you?  is one of them, like they’re so emotionally constipated that is so them let the other go and suffer because of it
  • My first Series, six fics where they literally are tumbling in fuck or die situations, and they fall for each other but fail to tell Famous Last Words I’ve read each like six times
  • Crestfallen in California Is basically an You’ve Got Mail Au, it’s sweet and make you think about fate, and all that jazz
  • You know about hot lines and how they’re important to people out there who need someone to talk to when they feel alone, so Reach outis one of those fic with a bonus, they’ve met before
  • Dating Backwardsis one of those fics that shake you in the best way possible, is versatile Sterek actually but dude, let me tell you something, is something you should read, it’s the first thing that made me cry in a sex scene, that is the power in it
  • This one is another versatile Sterek, but the bottom Derek in there is the most close as a freedom act you’re gonna read in anywhere, seriously Bubblesis my first arranged marriage/marriage of convenience too
  • You know those fics that you just don’t have a clue how it didn’t made a lot of success yet?All I Want is The Taste That Your Lips Allowit’s like a fan fest this fic, there is friends/to lovers, there is fake pretend relashionship, it’s awesome
  • You now an awesome combo? Cop Stiles and Single dad Derekour lives are changing lanes really sweet, like hella, the kids are cute, Stiles is awkward and flirt and just love Derek so much
  • Another versatile one with a bottom Derek that made my knees go a little weakFive Times Detective Stilinski and Fire Captain Hale Had Sex In Public, and One Time They Did It In A Bedhow you can actually see it’s a five+ that has the longest title ever, I love it
  • So, this is a new writer on our fandom, this is actually her first work posted but she’s awesome and sweet, and this fic, if you’ve watched the show you’ll get the references, but there’s no problem if you not, reallyI Might to be a Foolit is very funny and very sexy
  • I don’t like short fics, so I’ll give you 2 for one, okay? First Role ReversalThis fics needs to be a series, like yesterday
  • And this one is one of the most sexy Omega Derek already writtenBiology Is Not PowerI love heat fics, and I love Omega Derek, so
  • So this fic is from one of the writers in this fandom that I have a HUGE crush on, no seriously We got something Magic has not only wolf Derek that is one of the tropes that I love most, but has Dream sharing and Magic Stiles, I read it like there’s no tomorrow
  • You know how they say that we always put the best in the end? No homo this fic is one of the most frustrating and raging fics that I’ve ever read, I wanted punch Stiles like 80% of the time, and I wanted hug Derek, and I wanted shake Stiles and scream to Derek and in the end, I wanted hug them both better – It’s one of the most sexy fics that I’ve ever read in my life, hands down.
5 Things (1/11/15)

1. I started Wellbutrin this week. I didn’t want to take medication. I’ve always been afraid of medicine. But I promised myself I’d try something new to help manage my depression, anxiety, and ADD in the new year, so I did. I don’t know what else to say except…it’s working. I still have an anxious thought here or there, but it’s so much easier not to get stuck there. It’s easier to find light. I climb out. I don’t feel like less of me. I don’t feel “medicated”. I feel like a fog of perpetual doubt has been lifted. I feel like more of me.

There’s more work to do, of course. Pills aren’t magic. I still need therapy, I still need coping mechanisms, and I still need to be honest about what my emotional and mental health requires. But, I feel like I can do that. I’ve always suspected I could do anything I put my mind too. Now that I’m taking care of my mind, the suspicion is becoming a belief. I worry about coming across as arrogant. I worry about that a lot. But that worry is tired. I’m a black queer woman in America, and I have to bet on me. I must.

Starting wellbutrin is me finding out what it looks like to make myself a priority, to put me first. I need to be selfish in service to myself to love myself well. I’m going to keep saying that until I believe it. I’m trying. Every single day I try.

2. This week I’ve been hyper-aware of how many women have lifted me up and continue to empower me. There were multiple times this week when I was brought to tears by the ferocity of my friendships with the women in my life. Do you know what one of my greatest pleasures is? Introducing a brilliant woman I know to another brilliant woman I know. In my mind, this is the closest I come to divining my own magic.

3. Right now I’m reading “Everything I Never Told You” by Celeste Ng. The truth is, I’ve just started it. Another truth is, I’ve already neglected most of the other reading I’m supposed to be doing so I can spend more time with this book. So far, I’m enthralled. Have you read it? Don’t tell me how it ends! 

I’ll let you know what I think when I finish, and I’ll let you know what I start reading next. I’ll try to tell you what great things I’m consuming.

4. My birthday was this week. 28 feels more productive. Or that’s the wellbutrin…either way, I’m starting to feel I’m getting myself together. A lot of things changed when I was 27. I started a new job, I moved to New York, I finished the first draft of my book, and my boyfriend moved in. Those are the big good things.

27 also made me watch my grandmother, the love of my life, enter hospice. I was physically and sexually attacked on the subway. I experienced my first real manic episode. My brother stopped talking to me aside from a text here or there. Yeah, there were some big bad things too. 

On Wednesday, my actual birthday, my favorite food blogger (and now good friend) and her husband made a meal that made me feel like a Queen. Another friend hosted us in her home and decorated the table with confetti that spelled my name. There were paper crowns, balloons, and the most whimsical casual love fest I’ve ever experienced. My people sat at the table and each one made a wish for me in my 28th year. I cried, they cried, and we turned air around us into whatever truly moves a heart.

Here is my wish for my 28th year: That I give better, love better, and walk boldly in the direction of the life I want. I want to lift others the way I’ve been lifted, maybe higher. I want to give somebody their shot. And I want to take mine too.

5. It’s been seven days. Kelly has made a practice of making me tea in the evenings. I like to kiss him until he wakes up. Every few days one of declares the room too messy and we work together to pick it up quickly. We went to Trader Joe’s, put three things in our basket, saw the checkout line and promptly abandoned our cart and went to a bookstore instead. We only hold hands when it won’t block someone on the sidewalk. We both know the Edward Norton Hulk movie, though imperfect, is the only one that matters. I made him watch “Bridget Jones’ Diary” for the first time and was delighted by how much he genuinely enjoyed it. Guys, he was enthralled. 

It’s been seven days. I never knew a person could sweat so much in their sleep. He’s concerned that I don’t poop enough. Maybe I don’t, but how is that his business?! He tried to get me to walk somewhere that was forty minutes away, and when I said I didn’t want to, he harped at me about my doctor saying I needed to be more active because of my high blood sugar, and I got mad because I felt like he was calling me fat and lazy. Twice, at group outings, he  drank what I consider too much. I don’t know if it’s actually too much because I never have more than one mixed drink, two beers, or two glasses of wine. I am biased. Alcohol scares me. He wasn’t sloppy, but I was worried. I worry a lot. He leaves his shoes everywhere.

This is the first relationship I’ve ever had where I feel like I have a partner in crime. It often feels like we’re conspiring, whispering our next move to each other, and smirking behind our hands. I’m the one with the plan, he’s the one who thinks better on his feet. Together, we get the job done. We create. We miss each other. We let each other go. And we come back. He slips away to make me tea when I’m writing, and when he’s laying in our bed, sweaty and sweet, I kiss his eyelids and shoulders. I say, “Good morning, My Love.” Then I leave the room, stopping to line his shoes up right next to mine.

With pleasure (and a lot of excitement)I am glad to announce the first ever to be made GruviaFluff-Fest organized by Yuuba and I (Unisonraidd ) aka Jade and Sarah.Let me explain a bit about this event which will celebrate the cuteness of this adorable ship.We have the Gruvia week which combines both smut and fluffyness,angst and so on then the lovefest which is mainly well precious smut of our otp.So this event will be all about the fluffy side of the relationship.I hope this wasnt too long T.T

Since this is a fluff fest ill kindly ask people a few things ^^

  • No nsfw though light touches that might lead to that will be accepted but really please dont since this is a fluff fest afer all
  • Any kind of participation is welcomed-fanfiction,fanart ,edits and so on but they should be yours not stolen because taking the work of an artist  or writer is wrong and disrespectful

The event will start from December 8 and finish on the 15 though there will be two bonus days December 16 and 17 and here is our list of prompts i hope everyone who plans on participating likes them

December 8-15 ❈ 1.Cook 2.Artist 3.Snow 4.Hot chocolate 5.Ice-skates 6.Bath 7.Scarf Bonus days December 16-17 ❈ 1.Hoodie 2.Cosplay

If anyone has any questions he can drop an ask here or contact me or yuuba^^All of the contributions will be reblogged here so I ask people to tag their work with - gruviafluff so we can find them^^iM SO HAPPY THIS EVENT SET SAIL ITLL BE AMAZING!!This is all for now I hope everyone has fun with this fluff-fest^^

When I decided to write this book, I knew I couldn’t do it without devoting an entire section to Jonathan Groff. He’s my best friend in the entire world - in fact, it’s fair to say that I didn’t understand the concept until I met him. He’s been through more ups and downs with me than anyone else. He’s like a brother, and I love him like crazy.

We met at our Spring Awakening audition I had done workshops of the show, so I felt pretty confident that I’d be able to keep my role with the production, but we needed to find a guy to play Melchior. And in walked Jonathan Groff, this kid from Lancaster, Pennsylvania, wearing jeans that were way too short and a shirt that had clearly been washed when it neede to have been dry-cleaned. And the gel! His hair was as hard as a rock. I looked at him and thought, “What a sweet boy, but he’s never going to get this part.” But I helped him that day because it was clear that he was the nicest person: I gave him some insight into things the director liked to see and worked through some of the scenes with him outside the room before we went in. But I can’t take much credit because there was a huge amount of talent beneath the badly fitting outfit and hair gel! Not only did he get the part, but he ended up getting a Tony nomination and the launchpad for an incredibly successful career.

To this day, I’ve never met someone who has understood me more than Jonathan - I can completely be myself, with all my different quirks, and never feel judged. I’ve laughed harder, and cried harder, with Jonathan than I have with anyone else. We’ve been kicked out of Broadway shows for falling into fits of giggles in the audience, and I’ve literally shown up on his doorstep with my heart broken. He always helps me put myself together. After one particularly rough episode with a guy, Jonathan wrote me this incredibly nice letter, in which he told me that I would find someone amazing. He was going away on a vacation and so he gave me a task to complete while he was gone, since he knew I would miss him like crazy and needed distractions. He instructed me to watch every single Meryl Streep movie while he was gone - and said that there would be a quiz when he returned.

And then there was the time we went to Washington, DC, together so that I could sing for President Obama. Melanie was there in the hotel room with us, doing my makeup, and I was trying to focus on the task at hand; serenading the leader of the free world is no small thing. But Jonathan was intent on getting me to laugh, and so a wrestling match/tickle fest went too far, and he made me laugh so hard I peed my pants. I assure you, I showered - but thirty short minutes later, I was in front of the president. Those are the moments that keep you sane, and so I’m eternally grateful to Jonathan for always helping me keep my feet on the ground. If peeing my pants is what it takes, I’m always game.

From the moment I met Jonathan, I knew that he was gay. I’ve always been a loud ad outspoken person who has little to no filter. But for whatever reason, even though I would normally not have been shy about saying, “Oh, you’re gay,” out loud in front of other people (particularly Broadway people), with Jonathan, I held my tongue. I didn’t want to do or say anything that might possibly hurt or embarrass him, particularly because it was apparent that he wasn’t ready to be out. For the first time, I could feel someone’s emotions. I could feel that at that time, he just wasn’t ready, and I needed to give him the space to do it on his own.

We call ourselves City Mouse and Country Mouse, because he grew up with Amish people, while I grew up with cross-dressers in New York City. Watching Jonathan grow over the years has been one of the best things ever: He’s developed an incredible career and been a wonderful son to his parents (who have become my parents’ best friends).

That time in Spring Awakening with Jonathan was the best time of my life. We had a very intense sex scene that we had to do together; you have to feel really comfortable with someone to do that. We went there together, every night. Sometimes we would do the scene and cry the entire time; others, we would be silly and laugh. But we were in it together.

I also have Jonathan to thank for Glee. Jonathan was in Los Angeles filming a TV pilot with Ryan Murphy when I went though a bad break-up (yes, same bad breakup that I’ve mentioned before - ha ha, if you’re reading this, and thanks for getting me my big break!). I needed to get out of NYC and spend some time with Jon, so I flew to L.A. to see him. After I arrived, Jonathan, Ryan and I went to Chateau Marmont, and I spent the night talking to Ryan about how much I love and admire Barbra Streisand. After, Jonathan told me that Ryan was writing a show called Glee and that he wanted me to do it. I was like, “Yeah, right - I’m never going to get that,” as I hadn’t had any luck breaking into TV.

I’m so thankful for him - obviously for introducing me to Ryan and pointing me toward Glee, but mainly because he’s there for me like no one else and it’s such a relief to know that a person like Jonathan is out there.

—  Love Letter to Jonathan Groff, from Lea Michele’s book “Brunette Ambition” (released on May 20, 2014) (x)
What Michfest Means to Me

“You walked alone, full of laughter, you bathed bare-bellied. You say you have lost all recollection of it, remember … You say there are no words to describe this time, you say it does not exist. But remember. Make an effort to remember. Or, failing that, invent.”

Monique Wittig, from Les Guérillères

I’ve long harbored these suspicions that a lot of what I think of as “me” is a reaction to my conditions. As a trauma survivor, I have not only wondered at what I would be like without my damage, but have worked like hell to find out, as much as that’s possible.

 As a survivor, I am a huge success story. I was a dissociated, addicted, intimacy-avoidant self-harming agoraphobic with obsessive/compulsive behaviors and a messy interpersonal life, to put it kindly. For many years now I have been dramatically recovered–clean and sober, stopped self-harming, am able to travel widely and love hard, and am high-functioning with the exception of some anxiety.

All of the work I’ve done to get here has benefited me, of course—my life has been transformed by it. And yet, the knowledge of my own power had always remained hovering somewhere around me, nebulous, never quite touching my skin. While I had accomplished all of this healing and integration before I ever set foot at Michigan Womyn’s Music Festival, I had not glimpsed the truth of who I really am and what I am truly capable of, until I got to the Land.

I was not crushed by my anxiety at the Festival. I did not feel awkward. I knew there was nothing wrong with me. Knew this.

On the Land, the power I’ve been cultivating for so long dropped down to reside within my body for the very first time. I glowed with it. It rose off of me like electricity.

 In mensland, one of my worst anxiety triggers is public speaking. At Fest, I co-presented a workshop called Detransition Perspectives. I spoke to a larger-than-expected audience of women about some of the most intimate details of my life: words not easily spoken to the most trusted therapist, sponsor, lover, or friend. I heard myself projecting these words with casual authority to a crowd of women I’d never met before, in trust. And I could trust them. It was not that they all knew, from direct experience, what I was on about. It was that they were listening and empathizing so hard, with so much love, that their care was palpable. They were not an audience but witnesses. They spread their wings over me in shelter. They cried when I couldn’t afford to. They held space for me. They cared.

In fact, they received my trust and accorded me respect and even a kind of status for having offered it. Status does not operate in a familiar way on the Land, but apparently one way it can be attained is by offering generously and intimately of yourself. Have you ever felt that your life was being wasted, sucked out of you? Have you felt that what is yours uniquely to contribute is wasted on the world at large? That you labor too long and for no real purpose? That what is true and beautiful in you is lost on the people you’re surrounded by? At Fest, what you give is received so open-heartedly. What you are matters and is seen.

When Nedra Johnson sings in her brilliant new song, August Moon, “We know we are love,” that is not a platitude. However it may sound to cynical ears outside the Land of the Living Matriarchy, this is the fundamental truth of Michigan: nothing I had ever experienced in my life prior to the Festival prepared me for the way that I was treated there. I have never in my life been so loved, respected, appreciated, cared for, listened to, and held–as a whole, complicated, messy, difficult, jagged Self. At Michigan, for the first time, I was not indigestible. I was not a contaminant. Nobody sought to “normalize” me in any way. I was held, as-is, without judgment or expectation of change. There was no sense that I was “too much,” too intense, too dykey, too loud, too mouthy, too strange, too anything.

Norms don’t function, at Michigan, the way they do in mensland. I had assumed that at Michigan, norms might be reversed; i.e., where straight is the norm out here, lesbian would be the norm at Fest. It’s true that there are far more lesbians than straight women at Fest; it is true that this culture is lesbian-feminist by origin; but it’s not true that the norms are simply reversed. It’s not a preservation of existing power structures with a simple exchange of nouns; it’s an entirely different way of norming altogether. At Fest, the norm is multiplicity. The norm is that there are always more than two sides. The norm is that there is room for you, me, her, them, her, her, her, and her–to all be valid and real and respected. Contradiction and conflict are not a threat. There is no scarcity of legitimacy, so it’s not made into a hierarchy where you have to fight each other to win it. There is a bedrock assumption that women will not throw each other away over their differences, even when they are painful to navigate. I would say that the bonds are more familial, but I have seen the nuclear kind of family explode over far less. On a related note, it generally sucks to be the “only” of something in a group, but I actually found even this type of experience to be palpably different and less hopelessly alienating at Fest.

Another critical difference between mensland and Michfest is the music. There is a reason womyn’s music gets treated as a joke out here. Out here, music can be a lot of things: entertainment; an aesthetic badge of belonging within a subculture, where the aesthetics are supposed to convey a message about your identity; the sonic equivalent of art to match a sofa; the receptacle for your entire emotional experience which is disconnected from every other part of your life; or, rarely, something closer to religion. At Fest, that last meaning is brought into play in an expanded way, a way that is not divorced from the rest of the culture of the place, but that acts as its fully integrated, beating heart. The artists at Michigan are not “the entertainment;” they are something like Priestesses. Again, you are not engaged as a passive audience, but as witness and participant. These women are the soul of the Place, and some of its most powerful leaders. They create with each other in a way that conjures ideas of alchemy–they transmute reality. Simply, they are making magic and inviting you in. Across genre, the performers practice a deeply female art, and it is indescribable. Elemental. Outside of time, and resonant in a way that feels ancestral. This is more like what music was before it was ever recorded, before it was ever supposed to make money, before it was about ego in any way. It really doesn’t matter if you think you “like this kind of music” or not. It is holy, and it changes you. It was so transformative that I now understand “the Land” in a different aspect, more of a verb—it is the ground that grounds us; the place where we can finally Land—into our individual and collective bodies.

That grounding, rooted in deep self-knowledge of female realities, is born of the continuity of female knowledge and power built over the Festival’s near-40-year history. It turns out that when you stop demonizing your elder women or patronizing them as ignorant dinosaurs, and you go hang out with them in the woods instead–they show up and mentor you in ways you thought only happened for boys in novels and movies. Real mentoring. How they managed to convey what they did over the course of a measly week is beyond me–but the Old Womyn of Fest went to bat for me, showed up for me, paid a higher quality of attention than I’ve ever known, and fed me–emotionally, spiritually, conversationally, with their creative offerings, and with steak cooked rare so that I was well nourished while doing heavy warrior work. And they did this not because it’s old women’s job to be caretakers, but because they were inviting us in, with pride, to take part in what they’d built–because they know that what they have fought to make is worth passing on, and they want to invite our hands to help carry it forward into the future. I used to dream about this kind of support and offer of legacy, but I’d met enough of my former heroes to consider it a pipe dream. Come to find out, sheroes are another matter entirely. I had so much support that it was hard to absorb. I can’t overstate the impact of being surrounded by packs of wild, brilliant, gorgeous, Old women.

So much of female socialization is the kind of trauma that precludes any sense of a future. To see wild Old women in a state of matriarchal nature is a phenomenal antidote. They showed me a future worth having. They gave me so much to admire–the toughness born of their resilience; the way they’ve honed their skills at listening, thinking, loving, politics, life; the way they’ve deepened into themselves; the way they inhabit their bodies; their attunement to their strengths and limitations. All of it was beyond beautiful and it moved me somewhere entirely new.

When I was a teenage Leslie Feinberg fan"boy,“ I read that essay she wrote about Michigan. The language about border policing and wrong bodies made me feel so afraid. I believed what everyone in that scene said about Michfest–that they’d panty-check anyone who seemed "off” or “wrong”–and if there was one thing I dead knew about myself then, it was that I was the embodiment of “off” and “wrong.”

Without getting too personal, I grew up with a significantly atypical female body. In my “queer” subculture, I was taught–and I believed–that I would not pass muster to enter the supposedly purist gates of the Fest, on this basis. This is not to mention that with Leslie Feinberg making the critique, there was also the implication that if you didn’t comply with directives on male-defined “femininity,” you would not be welcome. I believed the lie that a gender-defined space was required for my liberation. But the fact is, where the focus is “gender” I will always be relegated to the position of human Rorschach blot. In fact, at Fest, where the boundary is sex-defined, I find the only possible space to be free of that burden.

This is the thing I have to say about what the Festival’s Intention means to me: as a female outlier living in mensland, I learned over and over that I was Wrong, and that I could not belong. Not woman enough, not man either. Because men define these things a certain way. A woman is not just an adult human female–oh no. Men have a lot more parameters than that! And it’s never enough to be a woman, you have to be the “right kind,” too. The rules for what makes you “right” enough are always changing, of course–it’s a moving goalpost on purpose to keep us all off balance, constantly checking ourselves. They are the ones running the world like a gauntlet of panty-checks and whole-body-checks, besides–let’s be clear on that. They are the ones drawing borders and policing them. They are the ones leaving so many women out in so many kinds of cold. 

At Fest, there is no wrong way to be a human female. The entire goddamn point is for as many human females to gather as possible so that we can see the richness of our diversity, all of the different ways that a woman can be. Because of this, Fest is the ultimate HAVEN for female outliers–physical outliers, “gender” outliers, dykes, and other Others–as much if not more than it’s a haven for women who fall squarely into what mensland recognizes as such in an uncomplicated way. 

Got a beard, a mustache? You’re not alone at Fest–lots of women will be wearing theirs openly, and plenty more will admire you–not despite it, either. Pass as male without T and without even meaning to? Welcome home; nobody will question your belonging here. To the contrary of the “panty-check” rumor, Fest is one magical place on earth where you will not have that “restroom moment” ANYWHERE. You know, the moment where some freaked out lady tells you that you’re in the wrong place and you feel you have to flash your boobs at her or talk so she hears your high voice or show her your ID so she knows you are not a man. For a detransitioned woman especially, NONE OF THE ABOVE MAY EVEN BE AVAILABLE OPTIONS ANYMORE in mensland, so it makes this Place absolutely unique in its ability to hold women of this experience. 

It is possible to transition medically to the point where the general world will not ever recognize you as female anymore, or at least–not easily. At Fest, you can still be seen and recognized as a woman, if you just show up. In fact, contrary to the rumors, there are really only two laws of the Land–one, nobody can drive a vehicle over 5 miles per hour; and two, nobody can question anyone else’s gender on the Land.

There is no “WHAT ARE YOU?” at Fest. Fest is The Place where your very presence answers that incessant, eternal question so you never have to.

Oh. Except for one thing: because I know that some males decide to deliberately violate the intention of the gathering, I looked with suspicion at some of the other women there. I scanned their bodies for signs of femaleness, to calm my nervous system. That is SUPREMELY messed up. That is exactly how I hoped nobody would regard me. But because some males insist on showing up at Fest in violation of the intention, they sow this seed of doubt and fear. This hyper-vigilance that I could otherwise lay down actually went on overdrive–because if you are a male who deliberately violates female boundaries, then you are exactly who I am most afraid of, for very legitimate reason, regardless of your “gender identity.” And I say this not out of ignorance, but direct experience, including being an erstwhile member of the trans community. Sex is real and it matters; all males who violate female boundaries scare me. I will never feel safe around that behavior; I do not want to be coerced to attempt it. In that attempt I lose my very breath. In the words of poet Dionne Brand, “If I am peaceful…is not peace,/is getting used to harm.”

When I listened to Nedra Johnson sing, “First time I came to Festival, I learned I’d always been afraid/Finally laid that burden down; I could not believe the weight,” I so wanted to experience that feeling. I know how heavy this one is for me. That fear has been with me for longer than I can remember. It is older than language, in my body. But that’s not the burden I got relieved of; because I knew that there were some males present who clearly, demonstrably felt entitled to violate female boundaries. So I still carried that fear on the Land. Not as much as out here–I went for late night walks on the Land. But I didn’t go alone and I didn’t go unarmed. It made me sad that this felt necessary, but the violation itself is traumatic enough, regardless of any additional actions. That said, I took heart in knowing that I was surrounded by many women I would trust to respond appropriately if I needed help. That’s worth a lot. It is a material difference.

And I did get to put something very heavy down on that Land. The burden I got relieved of was shame about my body. So when I sing along to Nedra’s song in my T-scarred voice, I sing, “First time I came to Festival, I learned I’d always been ashamed.” I hope Nedra doesn’t mind the liberty I take with her lyric. I truly could not believe the weight of the shame I let go of There.

Being atypical, I really did not believe I belonged in the category of “female.” I grew up thinking I was a monster. It is really hard for me to talk about my body anyway, but when males, on the basis of their trans identities, claim to have been female from birth; when they talk about their bodies as outlier female bodies (for example, when they say their dicks are “just very large clits,” or when they say, “I am just a DIFFERENT KIND of female with a different KIND of female body,”), it actually becomes impossible for me to name my reality at all. They are using the only words I can use to explain my experience, and they are using them to mean the exact opposite of what I need them to mean, in order for me to be sayable, to even be thinkable. What they reserve for metaphor makes my literal naming incomprehensible. Regardless of “gender identity,” what they actually are is male; what I actually am is female. To deny this only makes any redress of our actual, specific grievances, impossible. And the distinction matters to me in large part because it was so brutally difficult for me to get to the point where I could know that I am female—that my differences may sometimes put me at a margin, but that I still belong in this word. That I am just as much a standard as any other female, in my way. I have known this intellectually but it is different to be at Michigan, mirrored by many other Selves who teach you by their Being. Now that I finally know this, not only in my mind but from within all the borders of my own body, I want to scream, “You cannot stand in the exact spot I am standing in without standing on me.

On the internet I don’t bother too much with this because I can’t prove I’m an atypical female rather than a male telling tall tales; on the Land it was different. Women saw me; they recognized me and they understood that what I said was true. They knew it was truth because truth Lands differently than bullshit. They heard my story and they knew I was talking about another variety of female socialization, not male projections, stories, lies, or narratives of any kind. There is a difference. The conflation of male trans experiences with the experiences of female outliers and with intersex people is erasure by appropriation. Many males with trans identities use intersex as a talking point for why they belong on the Land, but it really has jack-all to do with their argument and I suspect they know it. Women with AIS or CAH (for example) haven’t been protesting for inclusion on that basis; such a protest would be incomprehensible, because these experiences are already inherently part and parcel of the Intention. The boundaries of Fest are not identity-based, but about material, sex-based reality; providing haven and healing on that basis. Understanding women with intersex traits/conditions/DSDs as belonging There–if they themselves see it that way–is a given. Like I said, if anything, atypical and outlier women of all kinds have an even greater degree of haven.

So–outside of the mistrust and suspicion that is sown by males who deliberately violate the female boundaries set by Fest, there is no WHAT ARE YOU on the Land. What you are is a womon, and a sister, and the daughter of this Place. I say daughter because this Place acts like every idea you never let yourself have about a real Mother Goddess; every idea you never let yourself have because you needed Her too much to let yourself feel that when you didn’t believe that need could ever be met in this life.

You know that old therapy joke, If it’s not one thing, it’s your mother? You know how the national pastime of the USA is mother-blaming? You know how you have this well of bottomless need that you want to put on your mom even though she’s just one person doing the very best she can and it’s never going to be good enough? You know the old saw about it taking a village to raise a child? 

Can you imagine being held in the kind of security that comes from being mothered by something outside of the bounds of time and space that constrained your human mother? Can you imagine being mothered by something that isn’t passing on patriarchal damage along with life-giving milk? Can you imagine being mothered by something that doesn’t require you to cut off pieces of yourself in order to receive the care you need?

I don’t have to imagine this anymore; I have known it. And because of this I can start to glimpse for the first time, flashes of an answer to questions like, “Who would I be if I had been raised with perfect love and support?” “Who would I be if I had not been harmed and twisted?” “Who would I be if I had never been measured against a toxic standard?” “Who would I be if I had not grown up fearing rape?” “Who would I be if I had not had to spend so many years on simply trying to survive, heal, and recover?” Those questions start to get a lot less rhetorical, in light of Fest. The nourishment seems to be unbound by space/time limitations–it seems to reach back to all of my past selves who most need to be fed.

What I am left with is this bitter question: “Who would I be if I had not been lied to and kept from this Place for all these years?”

I believe I would be speaking and singing in a voice nobody will ever hear again, a voice I altered with testosterone instead. I believe my body would be more typical for my chronological age, and not frequently disabled by chronic pain. I believe I would have had the chance to manage and learn the logic of the odd hormonal balance I carried before I disrupted and obscured it by adding T. I believe I would speak from the position of having recovered my sense of bodily integrity, instead of living with the knowledge that I colluded in my own erasure by medical “normalizing.” I believe I would be a hell of a lot less alone.

It is not possible to really know how to love yourself with abandon and without condition–until you have been loved that way first. And I have been loved that way–courageously, with the imperfect but divinely-inflected human love of the womyn of Fest, but also–perfectly, by the Fest Herself. She is more than the sum of Her parts.

I was not a “woo” person before this experience. I thought it was creepy that people capitalized “the Land.” I thought it was weird that people talked about Fest with female pronouns like a person. I thought it was all kind of corny and embarrassing. But this isn’t any sexy pagan/martyr mommy/flowy robes/demure white lady/Giving Tree/“holy tit”/pushover/has-a- male-consort Goddess I ever heard of before. This is the Lioness who eats the faces of her enemies; this is the All for whom we are never too much; this is the butch Goddess who only consorts with Us; the dyke Goddess who knows and needs our hearts; this is the best of us all, made electric by connection; the incredible gift woven of so many women’s lives; this is, as Staceyann Chin put it, “our collective cunt.”

This is finally Landing at Home, in Family, Tribe, Belonging, Self, Wholeness, Integrity, Truth and Trust. I don’t care if I sound like Dr. Bronner. This is real. 

And I don’t care which dumb Gay, Inc. or sham “lesbian” organization (*cough* NCLR) tries to make it “wrong.” I need Her. We need Her. And She will go on, powered by Us.

6

It’s the in between moments. Look at him when he’s not actually singing. You can see he hears the cheering and he just kind of stands there and absorbs the energy and for the three or four minutes or however long the song is, perhaps he feels he is truly giving the audience something?

And then there was the time we went to Washington, DC, together so that I could sing for President Obama. Melanie was there in the hotel room with us, doing my makeup, and I was trying to focus on the task at hand; serenading the leader of the free world is no small thing. But Jonathan was intent on getting me to laugh and so a wrestling match/tickle fest went too far, and he made me laugh so hard I peed my pants. I assure you, I showered-but thirty short minutes later, I was in front of the president. Those are the moments that keep you sane, and so I’m eternally grateful to Jonathan for always helping me keep my feet on the ground. If peeing my pants is what it takes, I’m always game.
—  Lea Michele talks about Jonathan Groff in Brunette Ambition (x)

agentpaxieamor  asked:

Bucky watching the Guy Ritchie Sherlock Holmes movies, first alone but everyone comes in when they see what he's watching. Tony is the last to show up

Title: Observation
Rating: PG
Summary: Robert Downey Junior looks so familiar, somehow…

This one ended up a little light on actual Bucky… 

“Who does that guy remind you of?” Bucky asked, when Natasha sat down next to him on the couch.

“Jude Law? Someone I’d bang like a drum,” she said. 

“Not him,” Bucky said, pointing to the shorter man in the shabby hat. “That one." 

"Robert Downey Junior,” she said. “He’s a famous actor.”

“Yeah, but, I mean, who does he remind you of.” 

Natasha tilted her head, considering. “I don’t know. I mean, I didn’t grow up watching a lot of movies.”

They exchanged a look; Natasha had spent her formative years in a Russia that Bucky had already left decades before, but there was a certain level of culture they shared, and Communist Russia’s disdain for western capitalist entertainment was one of them. 

"But I’ve seen some of his old movies. Have you watched Chaplin?”

“I saw actual Chaplin,” Bucky pointed out. “I’m watchin’ Sherlock Holmes now. It’s not like the Sherlock Holmes we got in the nickel theater for sure.” 

"Better or worse?” Clint asked, clearing the couch in a sideways leap to join them, landing with his head in Natasha’s lap and his feet on Bucky’s. 

“Just different. More explosions,” Bucky said, giving him a shove. Their bickering match over Clint’s feet in Bucky’s lap lasted until Thor solved the problem by appearing, moving Clint bodily out of the way, and sitting down next to Bucky. Clint huffed and shifted to another sofa, where Sam was settling in as well. 

“That fellow looks familiar,” Thor remarked. 

“See? Thor thinks so,” Bucky said. “CAP,” he yelled, and Steve put his head into the room from the kitchen.

“How’d you know I was here?” he asked. 

“Heard you clomping around,” Bucky replied. “Make some popcorn and come watch this movie with us, we’re tryin’ to figure out where we’ve seen this fella before." 

By the time Steve showed up with two huge bowls of buttered popcorn, Bruce had joined them too, the heroes were undergoing a very satisfying explosion in a pig butchery, which made Bucky nostalgic for the days of the knackers and the meat packers. 

"JARVIS says there’s a party I wasn’t invited to,” Tony announced, just as Steve settled in at Bucky’s feet and handed him the bowl of popcorn. “What are we watching?”

Everyone, almost in unison, slowly looked from the television screen to Tony. Onscreen, Sherlock Holmes, with salt-and-pepper hair and a fake goatee, was comforting Watson’s fiancee; next to it, Tony was wiping his hands on a rag, thumb rising to smooth down some stray hair in his goatee. 

“Oh, hey, I like this movie,” Tony said, oblivious to the open-mouthed stares that followed him to the couch cushion next to Sam. “I used to party with Robert Downey. Miracle either of us made it to forty." 

"You and him?” Bucky asked.

“Nice guy. Handsome, too,” Tony said, relaxing back. “We had a thing for like, a minute, back in the mid-nineties." 

Steve leaned back and tipped his head up, looking at Bucky; Bucky put a finger to his lips, and Steve nodded. 

"Hey, can we watch the sequel after this?” Tony asked. “I like the part where he goes in drag." 

2

I just moved into my new room that’s just downstairs instead of upstairs. Honestly, I didn’t know what my mother was thinking when she told me she was going to turn a common area of the house into my own little loft unit, even after she had learned that I was applying to Berklee and that I may (had I got in, and yes, I did, #grateful) not even be around to enjoy her latest greatest idea. My mother spoils me and I vow never to take advantage of that. I guess traveling is where I like to spend my hard earned money, and home building is where my mother likes to spend hers. 

I’ve only got this to show for now cos it’s the section that I’ve been working on the hardest; I call it my Cuddle Corner. I guess this is where I’ll journal and read the books I’ve been meaning to read, with photos of what’s happened over the past two years (best years of my life… so far). Come tomorrow, there’ll be 71 (yes, we counted) more photos for me to put on my wall, and I can’t wait to show you guys the final result!

When I get every other part set up, such as my bed area, where I’ll hang up art from Candace McKay, Elroseabel and Maja, or my living room area downstairs (yes, it’s loft room! I’m a lucky girl!) I’ll take proper photos and show y'all.

As for the life update. Life is good.

Not just content anymore, as how I would repeatedly say over the past couple of months. I’m very happy–busy, but happy–and I’m just loving how everything has fallen into place for me thus far. Yeah, sure, I usually wouldn’t wanna jinx it but I just thought I’d let everyone know that shit turns out fine. And if you work and make yourself happy, your ‘fine’ will turn into a 'great’.

To be honest, emotionally I had a rough past 12 months. You know, boys. (If you’re a dude, I’m sure you know how I feel too. We’re all the same! Emotional human beings!) There was a hole I fell into that I could have sworn I wouldn’t get out of.

Please trust me. I’m sure you must be wondering, how miserable could she have been? All her pictures she seems pretty chill. Oh it was bad. Days spent in bed wallowing and crying over things that weren’t even in my control, then going out with friends just to suffer even more cos I felt the need to hold my junk together, then coming home and repeating the misery fest all over again.

But here I am, and I made it out alive. And I was taught to not take things too seriously when it comes to the matter of the heart. Let it ride along with the current. Don’t try to speedboat your way through the forest because you’ll miss all the beauty in between. And don’t get yourself into situations you don’t want to be in. If the situation is sticky, and you feel uncomfortable, you have all the right to just get out of it. There is no “I have to stay”. You are in control of yourself. Please don’t let anyone else influence your decisions when it comes to your emotions. 

I am very happy. Because new beginnings have begun. My heart is in an extraordinary place and a place I never thought it could be, or rather, expected it to be. 

Whatever emotional 'romantic’ heart booboos you’re going through right now, it’ll blow over. I was just on Skype with Avelyn last night and she was the first one to make me realise that I got out of that black hole. She pointed at me and went, “I told you it’ll all get better.”

Of course, it’s not that easy, or quick, but the time will come that you’ll be happy (that’s if right now you’re feeling sad). 

And I’m telling you this from experience fresh out of the oven. When you think it’s the worst thing that could ever happen to you, it really isn’t, and worse things will come, but even that, you’ll soldier through. You just gotta be sure it doesn’t consume you. 

I am fine. And you are fine.

If you’re not, you will be. Have faith in yourself. You’re stronger than you think. 

Till tomorrow, friends!