mindless blathering

I never liked the frills and dresses
Or the bows and flowers in my hair
And even when I protested
They painted my walls pink,
When I asked for blue.

They gave me mountains of dolls and toys to play with, but the dolls ended up-
Becoming Cowboys and fire fighters.

I was never allowed to wear sweatshirts or shorts. All my clothes had to be “girly”
I was never allowed to cut my hair.
Even though I begged.
When I was alone, I dressed up in my baggiest jeans, shirt, put my hair up in a cap and stuffed a pair of socks in my underwear.

I never had any brothers or close cousins or a father. So I had never seen a penis in my life. But standing there in the mirror with that sock in between my legs, it just felt right.
I was on top of the world, until I was caught- and punished for dressing as a boy in secret.

When I was 7 I wanted to have a sleepover with my only friend who was male. I wasn’t allowed and was punished for asking, even though I didn’t understand why.

As a kid I spent a lot of time at the beach. I used to surf. Before puberty hit I had a hard time wondering why I couldn’t take my shirt off like the boys, but I always wore a wetsuit, because most guys did as well.
But then I noticed the older girls wearing less and less. And it became an expectation that eventually that would be me. I was horrified.

My step sister gave me a book that teaches pre teens about sex. Because no one wanted to explain it to me, so I read the book. But the pages that I always focused on we’re the parts about the male body. I would sit there staring at them for hours, reading and re-reading wishing that I would go through their puberty.

I remember being dragged to the store literally dragged to buy my first “training bra” that was literally a small piece of white cloth. And I refused to wear it after.

I was taught to say a prayer every night before I went to bed, and every night I prayed I would wake up a boy in the morning. I dreamed of what it would be like at 10 years old to wake up with a penis just for one day.

When I was 11 I had my first crush on a girl. I became infatuated with her. She said she was “bisexual.” At first I acted disgusted, but then, I started getting close with her, holding hands, and holding her and never letting go. I craved her touch.

And then she said- “I would date you, if only you were a boy.” So she went with someone else.
As a rebound I “dated” any boy who liked me. I never truly liked them, but I went with them to cover up the pain.

At 14 I met another girl, only, she was straight. And more and more I became jealous of all the boys who could have her, when I could not. She was aware of my feelings, and made my life a living hell. She crushed me and left me with no room to breathe.

I started to cut and self harm in every way I could. I kept a journal of a story of a boy who could win her over. Just a normal boy who was born male who ended up with her. But that was just a fantasy.
Holding the knife to my arm was my reality knowing that she would never love me.

And then a bisexual girl said she liked me. She watched me in the locker room and her eyes never left me. I was broken and alone.
So I took up her offer and I spent the night with her at 14.
I did things with her that men do with women.
I had heard what this was called.

Then through broken promises she told me she had a boyfriend.
He threatened to kill me.

My mother was mental.
My step father was abusive.

The girl I loved hated me.

And now this guy wanted to kill me, so maybe I should die. So I tried.

At 15 I met a boy who was bisexual.
He was the first and last boy I will ever share those experiences with.
He and I shared a secret one day, that I wanted to be a boy and he wanted to be a girl.

At a party, he told our friends his secret that I thought was just between us. I thought it was special.
He had the courage, and they dressed him up in a wig and in a dress.
And I cried.

Because I was not strong enough to admit and accept that I was really a boy inside.


There is so much more, but for now, I must close this chapter.

—  My mind.

Oh maaaaaan I am deep in the bowels of middling-to-bad 90s British TV now, otherwise known as Peter Capaldi’s Just Trying to Pay The Bills period. Hooooooo. I finished up Chandler & Co. which did leave it on a rather unsatisfying cliffhanger although then again I know what I would have done in the situation, so there’s that, even if Larry does know ‘sweet f(uck) a(ll)’ about women. Christ, people, communicate. That last episode, I was like I know you kiss I’ve seen the gifs you’ve got fifteen… ten… five minutes left come ON already. Though he was certainly pretty in those last five minutes:

Oh Larry. Oh oh Larry. Why yes those are some lovely long eyelashes you have. That hair, though, needs a lot less gel and a bit of tousling in my opinion (and I’m an artist, so I know pretty).

Then it was on to Stay Lucky, which series I’ve never heard of nor cared about, though as it looks like it was on its fourth season at least someone must have liked it. Fuck if I know, though. His hair was all right, though those glasses, yikes:

I suppose it wasn’t too far out of the 80s in 1993, so it’s not like it’s his fault. And I’ll say one good thing about the show; I had been wondering what I was going to have for dinner, but then it reminded me I have all the stuff for BLTs. So that was a little useful after all.

Part of the way through I was like Wait! I’ve seen that guy! and you know I’m old enough to be quite thankful that things like google and the IMDb exist because not even fifteen years ago it would have been the kind of thing that drove me up the wall for days. But within twenty seconds I knew the guy was Dougray Scott, who played Prentice’s annoying alternative comedian older brother in The Crow Road, but who I hadn’t recognized as the paranormal researcher back in the 70s with the descendant time-traveller ghost in the haunted house from season 33* of Doctor Who which seriously, shame on me. Also, is it just me or does the latest series seem to be recycling/reusing an awful lot of bits of old plots in weirdly specific ways? Come on, writers, the new guy deserves far better than that.

Anyway though it got me thinking that the number of actors in Britain is probably capped by law at around fifty; and of that Scotland is allowed perhaps twelve. Last time I played this game though I was watching 80s Doctor Who looking at people like Michael Keating and BRIAN BLESSED and Paul Darrow (no, not a Blakes 7 fan at all). It’s all new people now, and I feel kind of old.

Well that was a bit of a downer, sorry. Time for that BLT I think.

*Yeah, I’m Old School. You wanna make somethin’ of it, punk?

anonymous asked:

"Well if it isn't Tom Evans. I must say you're much more good looking in person." Sue giggled, placing a hand on her hip. "My best friends band covered Without You but the damn record company took it and threw it along with a bunch of other out takes and called it an LP..."

Tom stared in surprise. He was completely unused to being addressed in such a manner. He felt a mix of strong emotions that even he wasn’t used to feeling all at once- pleasure at the obvious compliment of his work, anxiety about how to even respond, and a vague nagging fear that he was going to say or do something to offend her. He was taken aback by how freely she spoke, and had no earthly idea what response was even appropriate. As many times as he’d been called handsome or good looking he couldn’t quite believe it to be true.
“I’m flattered your friend chose our song and I’m sorry for his band’s fate with the EP. Hope he doesn’t throw in the towel because of it.” He chastised himself for the mindless blathering. The way she was looking at him… He was almost positive she was flirting but of course wasn’t entirely sure. He never was.

October Drabble Fest

if you’re ready to jump head first into the death month say ‘aye!’

…i’m going to have to change all of these links tomorrow fml

it’s october so you know what that means; time to embrace the death of everyone’s favourite fictional couple, JILY!

(let me use humour to cover up my pain ok let me cope like this)


  • there are none
  • okay maybe a few, but there’s only like one major rule?
  • you could follow this dramatic hoe i guess but it doesn’t really matter
  • share this post to get more people to join in the deathday fun
  • send me a prompt (my general guidelines for that is here) (this is the only rule that matter tbh)
  • this is mostly for jily but i don’t really mind doing any of the other ships i have listed under my guidelines
  • both aus and in-verse fics are welcome
  • only one fic per person sorry! this is to make sure that everyone has an equal chance of receiving their drabble

some notes!:

  • prompt fills will be between 500- 1000 words because a) i want to do as much of these as i can and b) i have to do these while working on my other long fics/ other prompts that i’ve neglected because i’m a bad person
  • pretty much any rating is fine (general to explicit)
  • and pretty much any genre is fine (angst! fluff! humour! more angst!) seriously i’m cool with everything
  • if you don’t include a ship name in the prompt i’m just gonna assume it’s for jily
  • this is open for the entire month of october. all 31 days.

i think that’s it idk I’M TERRIBLE AT INSTRUCTIONS AND I’M WRITING THIS UP HALF ASLEEP BEFORE ADDING IT TO MY QUEUE if you’re confused after my mindless blathering (which. i totally wouldn’t blame you if you were) then my prompt guidelines should clear things up.

okay. now that’s it. go forth and prompt me.

mockeryd  asked:

So have you see the racist nightmare that is Rooney Mara's Tiger Lily.

*tentatively googles* *watches trailer*

Oh god. I mean, I knew it was going to be bad. I knew it was, but it still doesn’t make the reality any better. It still sickens me that people do this. 

Especially when Native Americans have approximately 0% of movie representation and in recent years a few high profile roles for Native Americans have been race-gated to white people only. 

This kind of ugliness is not new, Native Americans have often been portrayed by white people, or portrayed as savages, the kind who abduct white girls like Natalie Wood and raise them as their own. 

It’s the kind of ugliness we should have moved past but we haven’t. People act like we live in some post-racial world, where race no longer matters and discussions of racial representation are simply the mindless blathering of the “politically correct”. Then when something like this happens those people are eerily quiet. 

This is not acceptable and as with The Lone Ranger, Exodus and other films I will not be seeing this one.