people decide for themselves

🔮Shoutout to my underaged witches who can’t afford to let other people know about them.
🔮Shoutout to the people who picked up a book one day and decided to call themselves a witch.
🔮Shoutout to the witches who started learning from a young age and didn’t give up even when people told you to.
🔮Shoutout to the witches who were told they were invalid and yet are still witches.
🔮Shoutout to the people supporting witches of any age, gender, race, sexuality, size, or shape.
🔮Shoutout to the witches that do stuff on their own terms.
🔮Shoutout to the witches who don’t want to be defined for just what they practice and believe in.

You. Are. Valid. No matter what ANYONE may say against it.

I just hope this gives people having a hard time accepting themselves as a witch a little more hope. It doesn’t matter what you do or what you did to get you here, you are an important witch and I love you. -Max

Honestly I 100% support trans people lying to doctors about their experiences and identities to get health care and hormones from doctors who have granted themselves the right to decide whether people get hormones based on everything from what you wear to your sexual orientation.

Millions of people have decided not to be sensitive. They have grown thick skins around themselves just to avoid being hurt by anybody. But it is at great cost. Nobody can hurt them, but nobody can make them happy either.
—  Osho

There’s a hugely ableist notion behind people who claim autistic people can’t “know better” enough to understand whether we’re trans, nonbinary or nonheterosexual.

It’s a very backhanded way of saying autistic people can’t think or decide things for themselves. It’s an attempt to remove our autonomy and agency AND it’s infantilization! 

People love to claim autistic people have no sexuality or gender identity other than the one they force upon us based on our physical genitalia. 

They can eat my entire ass.

I’m cis/ace, I can’t pretend I understand the struggles of dysphoria and being confused about gender. I DO understand the feeling of having my identity invalidated (”you’re not autistic enough to -blahblahblah-”) enough to know it probably sucks infinitely worse to be misgendered/deadnamed because “you’re autistic, you don’t know what you want!” 

It really disgusts me to see people use trans/nb-phobia and nonheterosexual-phobias as a basis for ableism.

I don’t care if you have a beard and a penis and sensory issues don’t let you present the way you want to– if you say you’re a woman, I’ll say you’re a woman too and tell everyone who says otherwise to go choke on a cactus.

Millions of people have decided not to be sensitive. They have grown thick skins around themselves just to avoid being hurt by anybody. But it is at great cost. Nobody can hurt them, but nobody can make them happy either.
—  Osho
Skincolours in art

I have seen so much negativity and anger towards this issue in this site, and often from the mouths of people who don’t draw/paint themselves, so I decided it’s my time to step up and speak my mind as someone with a traditional art degree in their pocket.

The problem seems to be that many people don’t know that it’s perfectly natural for artists to fail a few times before getting the hang of colouring a new skintone. That lack of understanding, and the posts it brings with it, really, really bother me.

Now, I am not going to pretend whitewashing and & racist ideologies don’t excist in the art world. Of course they do, but this post isn’t about that. This is about colouring skintones, and the common mistakes that happen while doing it.

I am being serious - as a traditional art student, I got to study a lot of colour theory and was taught how to make skin colours pop, and you know what? It’s already very different to colour a warm undertoned and cool undertoned skin of same darkness/lightness level. Not to mention trying a totally new darkness/lightness level of a skin - it can be very tricky to figure out on your own! So if someone is colouring, for example, yellow toned skin for the first time they might easily make it too yellow. It happens. It doesn’t necessarily mean the artist was trying to be racist.

“But everyone knows how to paint pale skin, so it’s racist!” - no, they don’t, and no, it’s not that simple. I was in a portrait painting class, and dear god half of us managed to make our portraits too green while painting a light skinned model. Too green, you ask? That’s because in portrait painting, you often use contrasting colour as the undertone of your canvas to make your colours look more vibrant. In this case, green to contrast reddish skin tones. Not everyone used enough warmth in their work to tint off the green, so some sickly looking paintings were made. It was rather unfortunate, but also natural part of the learning process.

The assumption of artists having to be able to colour all skintones because they have mastered a few is ridiculous. “It’s not that different, why do white people pretend thet can’t colour dark skin” - it is very different, actually, especially if we go dark enough. At some point, it becomes more about noting the colours at the highlights of the skin (very dark skins where the undertone is most prominently seen in these areas) instead of paying attention to the colours of shadows on someone’s face (very light skins). Everyone’s personal undertone also plays part on what colour of shadows you should use, and the lightness/darkeness of their skin adds another layer of thinking into the mix of what colours to use. For example, light pink might work as a blush on pale skin, but looks off in warm brown skins, and green veins look good on yellow toned skin, but kind of off in red toned skins. This balance of colours plays part in everything.

Not to mention people’s personal colouring styles - for those who don’t aim for natural tones, it’s a whole another process to think how they can express different skin colous in, for example, pastel colours. Also in cartoon-y styles, you often have to simplify skintones. I have seen several artists getting hate for their unconventional colouring styles.

It’s important to give artists, especially more inexperienced ones, the room to learn, grow and make mistakes. You can (kindly) give tips, but smashing someone down for a mistake & calling them racist for a skin colouring mistake they did because they haven’t yet mastered that tone is more likely to scare them off from attempting to be more diverse than it is to make them magically know how to colour that skintone.

Mistakes, especially ones made while learning, are okay. Don’t start your witchhunt the first mistake someone makes. Educate. Then, if someone actually doesn’t want to learn and and means what they do a bad way, call them out. But give artist the right for mistakes.

And please, just be kind.

A note on the Birthday Unending.

I’m trying to clear out some of the pending Asks.  Unfortunately, this often triggers a flood of people going “oh oh my birthday was eight months ago but do me now.”  Please remember that I am one person under a mountain of Asks, and save your admission request for a) your actual birthday or b) when you really need it.

I am currently running almost six months behind.  If I have not answered your request, this is probably why.

Please do not request admission for living people who didn’t decide to request themselves, unless they are too young to have a Tumblr, or otherwise unable to send their own Ask.

Please do not request admission for pets.

Please do not yell at me if I take a long time.

The Astral is an MMO

Or at least, it’s a lot like an MMO.

Some people can’t even figure out how to log on, let alone afford to pay the subscription. Sometimes their computers are too old or their graphics card isn’t right, which makes the image blurry and the animation choppy and it crashes every couple of minutes.

Most people start out at level one, and they have to grind through the really boring story stuff.  Lots of times these people are confused and misled, but also amazed by the open world, and they run around a lot without getting anything done.  Many of those people will level up for a while without ever making any friends or joining any guilds, which is a totally perfect and valid way to play.

Some people have one of those instant level 99 tokens, and they level up instantly, and are kind of overwhelmed by how difficult the game was right off the bat.  Sometimes those people decide it’s in their best interest to quit now before they stress themselves out, and that’s okay.

Some people get in the game and they already have friends who are in pretty high-ranking guilds, so they’re pulled into giant awesome boss fights.  And man, are the boss fights awesome.  They play their role naturally and have a really great and fun time doing it.  Everyone in the guild really feels how fun and exciting it is, and the people watching them stream the game are also pretty excited, even if they’re a bit removed from the situation.

And the next day, when they’re talking to their IRL friends and they say, “Oh man, killing Archimonde last night was so cool,” their guild friends will totally relate, and agree with them!  But their IRL friends, who have never touched an MMO, will just kind of say, “Yeah, that sounds pretty cool,” even though they can’t relate at all.  They feel a little left out and almost like they’re expected to play the MMO, even though they can’t really commit the time to learn how to play.

And meanwhile, there are thousands of other players who have beaten the same bosses, played the same games, earned the same trinkets, and had guilds of their own.  Some people have explored most of the game without ever beating a boss.  Some people spend their time on the market earning gold. Some people play on a trackpad on their laptop and some people own a Razor Naga mouse.  And some people never even pick up the game at all.

And all of this is totally and completely valid.

Just because you’re not beating the biggest baddest boss in the game once a week, doesn’t mean your astral travel is less cool or less valid.  Do what makes you feel good, and what your abilities allow for, and don’t feel like you have to meet any extra expectations to have a good time.

anonymous asked:

One thing that really bothers me is policing how other people identify - why does it matter if someone identifies as a lesbian who may not 100% fit your standards? Like, why would that even happen in the first place? (other than the fact that gold star lesbian purity is the community standard, identifying as bisexual gets you hatred and violence from the sapphic community, and that people think you are available to men if you don't say you're 100% lesbian)

So I get that there’s nuance within these things but like…. If u regularly feel attracted to men in whatever way outside of coercive heteronormativity then you’re not a lesbian because the definition of lesbian is a woman/woman aligned person who is only attracted to women/women aligned people
I’m not, like, “invalidating” people’s identities here I’m literally just saying that words have meanings and it’s a shitty thing to identify as a word that doesn’t describe you.

Not to mention that yeah, being bi warrants dealing with biphobia within the sapphic community, which sucks, yeah, but it’s not like being a lesbian absolves you of all issues within the sapphic community. Lesbians still deal with lesbophobia in the sapphic community. It’s not “easier” to be a lesbian than it is to be bi, just like it’s not “easier” to be bi than it is to be a lesbian. Plus, “identifying” as something other than what you are doesn’t mean you won’t still face discrimination/oppression for that thing. There are plenty of trans people who don’t identify as trans, they just identify as the gender that they are, but they still face transphobia. 

And the fact of the matter is that it’s lesbophobic to divorce the word “lesbian” from its historical and cultural meaning. Lesbian has always been a word for women who are attracted to women and not attracted to men. And while it’s expanded to include nonbinary people as our society’s understanding of gender has expanded, that doesn’t mean it magically loses its meaning. Lesbians are not attracted to men outside of the social conditioning all lesbians experience (coercive heteronormativity), and people who are attracted to men outside of coercive heteronormativity aren’t lesbians.

I didn’t make this up to “gatekeep” the lesbian identity, this is the historical and social meaning of the word. Lesbian activism has always been about not only the right for women to love other women, but also the right for women to not love men. It’s not “gold star politics” (which I am against, reading virtually any of my lesbian positivity posts will tell anyone that) to let the word lesbian keep its historic definition. It’s not “identity policing” to ask people to not identify as something they are not.

And it matters if someone identifies as a lesbian when they aren’t a lesbian because that’s lying and it hurts people. If someone is attracted to men but decides to call themselves a lesbian for whatever perceived benefits they think it will give them, it perpetuates the lesbophobic idea that all lesbians are “secretly attracted to men” or “really bisexual” when that’s not the case. The reason it’s not okay for people who aren’t lesbians to identify as lesbian is because it’s lesbophobic.

TL;DR: it’s lesbophobic to identify as a lesbian if you experience attraction to men that isn’t coercive heteronormativity, it hurts lesbians by validating the lesbophobic myth that lesbians are secretly interested in men or really bisexual, and it’s just flat out lying.

Final stance: If you think people who are attracted to men outside of coercive heteronormativity can call themselves lesbians, unfollow me. That means if you think people can call themselves “biromantic lesbians” or “bisexual lesbians,” unfollow me. If you think people who date men because they are attracted to men and love men can call themselves lesbians, unfollow me. I’m done with this conversation publicly, if someone wants to discuss this with me they can pm me.

Valentine’s Day Love Languages: Acts of Service

Newt never said outright that he expected you to help him take care of his creatures. In fact, he had pretty much been quite used to handling the task on his own without any prompting of another unless need be. But you, being his significant other, simply assumed that that’s what he wanted. It just made sense.

You had assisted him plenty of times before you decided to initiate a romance. Why should dating change any of this?

If given some thought, you’d assume that it would be due to the fact that as friends, you had the decision of leaving for your own living space at really any given time. But once two people decide to commit themselves to each other, your life potentially becomes theirs and vice-versa. This meant taking on the other half’s circumstances as well, be it adjusting to their work hours, helping them deal with less than pleasant relatives, or helping them get through the monthly rent.

With Newt, it just so happened that his circumstances included caring for a suitcase packed with stigmatized beasts and assuring their health and security.

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anonymous asked:

It seems like Communism needs something to strive for, the need to get better. Capitalism has that. However, Capitalism do not care for those that falls to the wayside, no matter who they are, no matter whether they have contributed or not, no matter if they perhaps fills a rarely requested but vital role once requested. Communism has that.

“ Capitalism do not care for those that falls to the wayside “

This is wrong. Capitalism allows people to keep their labor and decide for themselves who get the benefit of it.

Republicans (anti commies) give much ore of their income to charity than democrats. Poor Republicans on average give a higher percentage than rich democrats. [source] [source]

Liberals are extremely generous, with other peoples labor. Not their own.

Capitalism allows me to give to the women’s shelter or the no kill pet shelter rather than to a in illegal immigrant or someone that chooses not to work. 

“ Communism has that. “

At gun point, against your will. Socialism/Communism have three inherent flaws; 1) uses force of the gov’t to compel action 2) in that human nature has to be ignored 3) rewards laziness. 

Communism believes that needs dictate rights. If you have a need, you have a right to it. The greater good must be done.

This is 100% in contradiction to individual free will. 

Capitalism = free will, people may suffer.  You farm food, you eat. Others that don’t farm may die.

Communism = no free will, everyone suffers. Others force you to farm to feed them at gun point. 

There is no possible scenario where people do not suffer. 

You either allow free will and hope for the best. Or you oppress everyone.

The fact liberals, who believe the gov’t is racist/sexist institutional power that wants to kill them should be put in charge of all the jobs, money, education, and health is the biggest joke. 

Notice You// Matthew Gray Gubler

Prompt: MGG meeting Reader in a coffee shop/art class setting.

Requested by: Anonymous

A/N: I finally wrote something! It’s fairly short, and I had to remind myself that just because it’s short doesn’t necessarily mean it’s not good. Let me know what you think!


Originally posted by actuallymggallday

Matthew hadn’t noticed her. Not at first, anyway. It wasn’t until he had passed by her on his way to order yet another large coffee that his mind finally registered her face. He recognized her hair, and even the soft aroma of rose petals that seemed to linger on her skin. It was a smell that he’d noticed before whenever someone walked past him, only this time he knew who it was coming from.

He tried his best to be subtle as he waited for his order. He glanced between her and his phone in an attempt to appear nonchalant. She was seated just a few feet away from him with a pencil in her hand, working away at a drawing in a sketchbook in front of her.

And that’s when it finally clicked. He’d definitely seen her before even if it had been only in his peripheral vision or for just a split second. She looked up, undoubtedly feeling his stare as he hastily looked at anything but her.

He saw her again that same day. His eyes instantly landed on her as he stepped into the small art studio. He’d taken to coming in every weekend now. For only ten dollars, you were free to use whatever materials found in the place to express yourself. Everyone would simply walk in and gather the materials they wanted before finding a seat and getting to work. Some preferred sketchbooks, some preferred painting on canvas. There was even a small wheel for pottery in the corner.

Matthew grabbed his preferred materials, some simple paper and pens along with watercolors. His usual seat was towards the front, near a window that allowed the sun’s rays to hit his skin as he sketched. Today he took a different seat, opting for the empty one next to her.

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Okay i just think it’s really troubling that all everyone in the skam fandom right now is talking about is Isak. Like okay, this is fandom and I cannot tell people what to talk about, they decide that for themselves based on what they want.

But don’t you see the problem when we’ve just had a clip that showed a Muslim girl in a really well played, emotional scene and all everyone wants to talk about is that Isak made a two second appearance via text???

p.s. don’t come after me saying i’m homophobic, I’m bi and love Isak more than you can know, that’s not what this is about. By all means, talk about Isak to your heart’s content just like I’m doing, but also, understand why I’m asking that maybe people pay a little attention to what is an important Muslim narrative, rather than sidelining it. Thanks, love :*

Star Trek: DS9 Notes - S6, Vol. 5

Hello hello Tarra Treks is BACK! Read ‘em and weep, I sure did by the end.

6x20 ‘His Way’
- Netflix: “Bashir shows off his new holosuite character, a 1960s Las Vegas singer who performs in a lounge full of martini-swilling customers.”
  me out loud: “Why are you like this.”
- what is this boozy Mad Men fantasy
- it’s actually SO STRANGE to see them all in here in their uniforms!
- “pretty sweet pipes for a lightbulb” oh I like this, I like that he knows?? weird, weird and fun!

Julian is criminally pleased with himself and his preternaturally astute holographic lounge singer

- wait are Kira and Shakaar an on-again-off-again? since when?
- Julian: “He knows about love, life, women!”
  Miles: “Three things you know nothing about.”
  Julian: “Now that’s a little unfair.”
  hey if you knew about life you wouldn’t have walked right into that one
- hold up, I just realized I’m watching Quark give Odo relationship advice. QUARK AND ODO. TALKING ABOUT ♡
- Odo: “Who asked for your opinion?”
  Quark: “You did. I came here to talk about a missing shipment of groat clusters.”
- please tell me what is in a Warp Core Breach
- I SAID THAT AND THEN QUARK PULLED OUT A LITERAL FISHBOWL

this is incredible

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Nature Boy

Part 1 of the Come Attrition, Come Hell ficlet requested by @randombiochemist… This is only a sequel insofar as it’s my headcanon of what I think happened after that story. I still want people to be able to decide for themselves. 🙂

It was weird jumping back in to this story, but very fun. I hope you like it!

——

221B Baker Street
Now

The name is Sherlock Holmes, and the address is 221B Baker Street.”

Sherlock almost smiled to himself as he ascended the 17 steps to his flat, the wood creaking beneath him as it always had done.

Well, not always, he supposed. There was the incident with jumping off the roof of a hospital and the subsequent pretending to be dead for 2 years while he tracked down the last of Moriarty’s Network. The wood hadn’t creaked then. Not for him, anyway. And then there was that whole “solitary confinement for 2 weeks” thing that he had to deal with that one time. He had to concede that the wood hadn’t creaked for him during that time either. Not to mention this whole more recent business with his sister blowing up and nearly completely obliterating the 1st floor of Mrs. Hudson’s house. And though, miraculously, his bedroom and the flight of 17 steps had managed to escape the ordeal little worse for the wear (and somehow the floor on which the bomb had actually landed, oddly), he’d still stayed away during the beginning of the reconstruction.

But now everything, for the most part, was back in its place… including himself. Because he belonged here. He’d thought, once, years ago, on the night that The Woman had appeared in his room to challenge everything he knew about himself and his world, that she she was an invader, and he was under attack… because 221B was his castle. His fortress. A place where he could be alone, and where he was protected by impenetrable walls both inside and out. Now, however, he realized that his flat here on Baker street was something so much more than a castle or a battlefront: It was a home. It was his home. A home complete with hearth and warmth that always accompanied regular appearances by friends and family, people who loved him and whom he was now more than comfortable loving back. Because love wasn’t a weakness, oh no. Love, sentiment, bonds; they were an advantage. Caring was an advantage. People caring in return was an advantage. He’d heard over an over that there was strength in numbers, and always chalked it up to another of many useless platitudes he’d heard over the course of his 4 decades long life… But John and Rosie Watson, Molly Hooper, Mrs. Hudson, and even Eurus and Mycroft Holmes: their love was his strength, and it gave his life a meaning, a context, he’d never known he’d needed. He was better for it, wiser for it.

Though, he knew, all of his thoughts and emotions would forever be subject to the inner processes of his mind and the deeper seated levels of who he was – and who he was, for better or worse, would always be Sherlock Holmes – he also understood now one of the most important things about himself and, indeed, everyone around him…

That he was human, and that it was okay.

Sherlock stepped through the parlor door and began untying his scarf, before unconsciously turning to look toward his bedroom on the other end of the corridor. He began slowly toward the room, pulling his scarf off as he walked. Once there, he threw the garment on his bed, followed shortly after by his coat. Something was off, but he couldn’t quite place exactly what it was right away. His eyes traveled across the space from his bed, to his drawers, to his armoire, to his nightstand. Nothing was out of place, but…

He closed his eyes just for a few moments, but then snapped them open.

She’d been here.

And then her text alert emitted from his pocket.

He pulled out his phone, unlocked it, and read the message.

The mantel.

He was off toward the parlor and standing at the mantle in a matter of moments – a wide, flat, black box staring him in the face.

Another text alert.

A housewarming gift.

Sherlock put his phone in his pocket and took the box from the mantle. He pulled the lid off, and smiled a small, likely imperceptible to anyone who may have happened to be watching him, smile at the contents: a simple, though clearly well made, black frame – and behind the glass, a note:

To remember what matters most.

She’d known of the photo that Sherlock had kept of himself and his brother on his chest of drawers for years. He’d admitted to her finally that it had served as a reminder that he could always count on Mycroft when he really needed him… And after everything, he knew that to be more true now than he’d ever realized in the past. So this gift, this frame, if he understood correctly, was to house a new reminder.

He immediately thought of his family. His real family which would now forever include his friends as well as his blood… And he knew, too, that it included The Woman. And her daughter.

Well, their daughter.

Sherlock looked up suddenly as though startled, nearly dropping the frame in his hand. No, wait. She’d never said that. She’d never even hinted at it… but… yes. It made sense. He knew it made sense, and he knew he was right. He knew it, just the way that he sometimes knew anything, or the way he could predict someone’s moves weeks in advance. He didn’t always understand it, as even he couldn’t always keep up with the way his mind worked, but he’d made the deduction somehow, and there was no doubt in his mind. The child was his. Irene Adler’s little girl was his daughter. His family.

She had to be. He wouldn’t accept anything different.

He set the frame back down on the mantel and pulled his phone from his pocket. Having recently only begun to understand the importance of family, he still understood how important, how… fundamentally monumental this was. It was time to stop repressing. Time to stop hiding. Time to stop holding it all back, or holding it all in. He hadn’t seen it before, because he hadn’t want to see it before – but he saw it now, and even the racing of his heart and the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the apprehension, the anger, and even the fear – none of it could deter him.

Why didn’t you tell me?
SH

His text was simple, and most might even say “cryptic”, but not Irene Adler. She’d understand immediately.

A few moments later, her text tone broke the silence yet again.

I knew you’d figure it out when you were ready.

He didn’t hesitate before replying.

I’m ready.
SH

1 Month Earlier

Sherlock stood behind Mycroft’s desk where he sat, his hands folded in front of his face.

“And what do you get from these meetings with our dear sister, Brother Mine?”

“I get to know my sister.”

Mycroft smiled ironically.

“Ah, the power of music.” Mycroft sat up. “Tell me, aren’t you frightened of a repeat of, shall we call it… her idea of fun and games?”

Sherlock laughed shortly, though his face barely registered it at all.

“Do I underestimate her? No. Do I fear her?” Sherlock shook his head once, slightly. “No.”

“You care for her.”

“Of course I care for her.”

Mycroft raised his forehead.

“Well, that’s certainly new.”

“It’s not new. It’s been held at bay by years of repressed psychological torment, or did you forget the part where you lied to me my whole life while terrifying me with stories of east winds and dogs?”

“To be quite fair, the dog was completely your fabrication.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and took a step toward his brother’s desk.

“She’s brilliant. She’s a genius beyond what you and I can even comprehend, and you locked her away in a cell with a bed and a table…” he slammed his fist on the desk, before leaning over it with both hands, but his brother only looked slightly startled by these actions. “I was alone for two weeks, Mycroft. Two weeks.” he stood straight, and began half pacing. “With nothing to preoccupy my time with but the thoughts inside my own mind.” he finished this sentence by making an agitated twirling motion near the back of his head.

Sherlock stopped, biting his lip and placing his hands on his hips, before turning back to his brother.

“It was hell.” he continued, and then shook his head. “And I can’t even begin to imagine what nearly a lifetime of solitude could have been like for a Holmes.”

Mycroft swallowed and sat back in his chair.

“She’s a murderer, Sherlock.” he started. “What would you suggest I had done?”

“Nothing different from what you did.” Sherlock answered honestly. “But now I can help her. I’m her brother, and I promised to bring her home.”

“I’m assuming in a figurative sense.”

“Real enough for her. Home doesn’t have to be a place, Mycroft.”

“I’ve seen redemption take a lot of forms, but never the form of a violin.”

Sherlock walked to the corner of the room and grabbed his coat from the stand.

“There’s no such thing as redemption.” He said, pulling the Belstaff over his shoulders. “We will always have always done what we’ve done, and will always be what we have been. Life isn’t a balance sheet.”

“And what is it?”

Sherlock put his hand on the door handle and turned to Mycroft.

“Life.” he responded, before pulling the door open and leaving his brother alone in his office.

221B Baker Street
Now

Sherlock had never noticed how similar in appearance he and The Woman were… not until this moment when he looked over the results of the melding of those features on one face. Deep blue eyes set in to a background of sharp angles, dark, curly brown hair… Pale skin flushed with just enough color on the cheeks.

He sat back from his computer screen, a tightening in his chest beginning to make it difficult for him to breath.

This face was Irene, and this face was him… and she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He felt an odd and, he thought, unearned sense of pride as he examined the expression of curiosity on her perfect young face, because he’d done little to contribute to her life other than some genetic coding… But he loved her. Easily and without expectation; loved her more than he would have given himself credit for being capable of, even now.

But as his thoughts turned to Irene’s husband, and his daughter being raised by another man, his hands balled to fists on either side of the computer.

He closed his computer, rotating his jaw before standing and buttoning his jacket button. He ruffled his hand through his hair, feeling the anger mount, feeling the helplessness pool, feeling the hatred and bile rise from the pit of his stomach…

I knew you’d figure it out when you were ready.

Sherlock picked up a mug from the table and, with a sound of anguished fury escaping his chest, hurled it across the room and against the wall. The ceramic shattered loudly, and cold tea dripped down the wall paper as though the yellow happy face were crying.

Sherlock swallowed, his breathing ragged.

Irene Adler. The Woman. He’d never forgive her for this.


TBC

“I got called a plant once!!” okay but asexual had been used to refer to non-sexual reproduction for fucking forever before ace people decided that’s what they wanted to call themselves,,, like maybe you should have chosen a word that didn’t already have a scientific meaning

anonymous asked:

what's the difference between queerplatonic relationships and best friends? i'm genuinely wondering

Okay. First I want to apologize for taking so long to write this. This is one of those topics that, since it’s more a fringe aspect of my sexuality at best, I wanted to make sure I handled well.

Second I want to point out that the difference between QPR’s and best friends depends just as much on a person’s definition of “best friend” as it does on their definition of “queer platonic relationship”.

And third, I think it’s important to note that whether or not everyone agrees with the answer I give and whether or not they agree that there’s a sufficient difference between QPR’s and best friends, the concept of QPR’s within the community is ancient even if the terminology is not. We as a community, especially surrounding the AIDS crisis, have a very long history of building life partnerships and families and even children off of relationships that did not involve romantic love but was clearly and definably made of something in addition to friendship. On a slightly personal note - my own birth is literally a great example of this. The two people who combined genetic material to get me had zero romantic interest in each other. But they spent several years together, as life partners, and decided to have me together. There were many things that bonded my bio parents, but romantic love was never one of them. And yet I don’t think it is exceptionally common for two best friends to spend multiple years living together and trying to have a child together.

And yet, within our community, stories like mine are incredibly common! Especially pre-accessibility if things like IVF. It was extraordinarily normal when I was growing up to hear about my “cousins” so to speak being born from the intimate partnerships of two people who would never fall in romantic love with each other. Some of them were not asexual or aromantic and were best friends. But there were some of my cousins who grew up in homes where their genetic parents were both living together, keeping house together, and raising families together. My whole life, my uncles lived with their child’s mother and she was an important part of their life and their family in ways my own mother (my uncle’s best friend) was just not. And when my uncle died, his partner and his child’s mother still lived together and grieved together and were life partners in their own way even without him. Again. This was incredibly common.

We as a community have always bonded together into partnerships, into families, which don’t fit the mold. And giving language to those who need it is a good thing.

So that said. The difference, as most people see it, between best friends and queer platonic relationships is that best friends tend to be people you love, people you consider family, people you might do almost anything for, but not people you would consider to be intimate life partners for you. QPR’s on the other hand, while not involving romantic love and while likely existing as a friendship as well, DO involve being life partners, in all the details that may represent. Things like marriage, raising children, living together, sharing beds, perhaps (for some) a sexual relationship, are all things that can occur within the confines of a QPR normally which are generally considered pretty unusual for friendships.

Another place where QPRs tend to be common is non-monogamy. In such relationships, you may not be in a romantic partnership, or even a sexual one, with all of the people in your partner’s network. And while hopefully you get along with most or all of them, that isn’t required either. What can sometimes happen though, between people-who-are-not-romantically-involved among the polyamorous network, is that you become life partners anyway. You care for each other in ways outside of the friendship you also built. Sometimes this is called metamours (an older word than QPR, though only slightly) and sometimes it’s called a QPR. It depends a lot on the people naming it and the relationship they feel exists.

In short, while the language is relatively recently developed, the existence of life partners in the community who are not and have never been romantically attracted to each other is a far reaching tradition. It tends to differ from friendship partly by role and partly by emotional response. But in the long run, it is up to individual people themselves to decide whether the distinction between QPR and best friend is clear enough for them personally to need the language. People’s experiences are not universal, so just because some people find it a valuable and meaningful distinction in their lives does not mean everyone will.