she might even be there

anonymous asked:

So may I know your thoughts about these...Do you think Olivia totally gave up on Liam? And do you think she ships MC with Liam? or if ever she prefers MC than Madeleine?

Oh, thank you for this question! 

I think it’s complicated. 

Remember, Olivia currently believes that her parents were traitors (which may or be true) and that everything that she knows about her past is no longer true. She is faced with the idea that she would never be allowed to be queen, even if Liam wanted her and she might not even be allowed to stay in Cordonia if it came out.

Add that to her doubt that she ever deserved Liam in the first place. Olivia considers Liam the best person she knows. She has loved him her entire life, partially because he was the first person to truly care about her and because he is so good and kind while she struggles with being nice to people it seems to come so easily to Liam. She has at least always believed that she had the right background and breeding to offer him, even if she might not truly deserve him and now she doesn’t have that.

She also spent the social season coming to terms with the idea that not only does Liam not love her, he does love MC. I think before the social season started Olivia had convinced herself that fond affection was enough and she comforted herself with the fact that Liam cared about her more than he cared about any of the suitors. In a world without MC, she would likely have been his choice (except for the traitor’s plot, of course). 

Then MC appeared on the scene and Olivia was forced to watch Liam fall in love with her. I think it took a whole season for her to accept that and for her to let go of her idea of Liam, but when faced with the idea of having to drop out anyway, she decided she wanted Liam to be happy, which he would be with MC. 

Olivia does not want Liam with Madeleine because Olivia knows Liam deserves better. She cares too much for Liam to want him to end up with a cold, manipulative bitch like Madeleine. She believes that there is no chance it can be her, because of her background and because Liam doesn’t want her, so she has decided that if she can’t be happy, that Liam will be and that is why she is helping MC.

Also, depending on player choices, I think Olivia can grow fond of MC. I think she didn’t want to feel that way, but that a grudging friendship is growing between the women. 

So my answer is I think Olivia has accepted that she can’t have Liam and in that case, she wants MC to have him. And she definitely doesn’t want Madeleine to have him.

anonymous asked:

So!! my chosen name is Elliott!! i really like it and i found it a while ago and it’s :D!! Buttt.... a close family friend just named her baby Elliot. I feel like if I come out now that it’ll just seem as if i’ve stolen her name, even though i chose this name even before i knew she was pregnant :( should i keep looking?

You know what? You seem to really love the name Elliot! And why shouldn’t you? It’s a pretty rad name! In fact, I love that name too! You shouldn’t have to give up a name you love just because of this family friend’s baby. So what if people think you “stole” it? Hey, she might even be flattered! Besides, this baby is just a baby. It’s tiny. Have you ever seen a baby? They can’t fight you for that name. You are the superior Elliot.

9

The next morning, she looked down to find the spider still sitting on his web. She would make good on her promise. Diane crept into the kitchen to make a pretty horrible attempt at macaroni and cheese. It was the only thing in the cabinets that didn’t seem as disgusting as everything else.

She was worried about the cost of repairing things. Her meager savings wouldn’t get her far once she started paying the utilities, groceries, a bed and computer for school.  It was clear to Diane would need a job, but jobs require permission slips and parental names. No; she wouldn’t be able to do an official job until she turned eighteen. 

She’d have to do some side jobs or scavenge in San Myshuno. Diane wrote down a list of things she could do. She could busk if she could find a guitar and do some fishing. Diane even thought she might try her hand at painting or selling scavenged things at the flea market.

“I don’t have to do any of it for very long,” trying to convince herself that everything would be all right, “Just a couple of months and I’ll be finally free of them.”


Beginning / Next / Previous

This is one of the most shallow reasons for why Kara and Lena are a great match (especially because there are so many great non shallow reasons) but I love that Kara won’t have to worry about spending any extra money she has on food because Lena’s a damn billionaire. I know it’s a running gag about how much Kara loves food but she honestly needs a lot of it.

Kara probably has a semi decent income from CatCo but with all her expenses and the fact that she most likely isn’t paid by the DEO, every leftover penny goes to making sure she gets enough calories, especially after she becomes Supergirl and starts using her powers on a daily basis. That’s a ton of food she has to buy in order to balance out how many calories she burns.

But she never wants Lena to think she’s using the woman for her money. Never. So she insists on splitting the bill or ordering much less than she needs if Lena insists on paying and Lena finds it so damn frustrating because why won’t her best friend let her pay for her food???

Until one day it just clicks for Lena after she’s told the Supergirl secret and has done the calorie math in her head and God Kara how are you able to afford all the food that you need? and the next day when Kara walks into her apartment, she sees that Lena has finally used the key she was given to completely overstock Kara’s kitchen with all sorts meals, snacks, protein bars, etc., with a simple note on the counter saying Let me know when you’re running low and it’s stupid but Kara finds herself getting emotional at Lena’s complete acceptance of who she is.

GENDER IS CONFUSING

SEXUALITY IS CONFUSING

FEELINGS ARE CONFUSING

EVERYTHING IS CONFUSING

4

Why are we not talking about the fact Lena spent the entire day looking for ways to help Kara and was about to spend her whole night going through ten years of accounting data of one of the biggest corporations on Earth? And that she did it by herself instead of delegating the task to an army of accountants?

youtube

Stephen Wrabel  has made a strong and beautiful anthem about transgender lives 

“This song is the most important thing to me that I have ever done and probably will ever do. It’s the closest thing to my heart,” Wrabel tells Billboard. (Photo above)

“I came out as gay around 23 into a church in Los Angeles that told me I could and should change; that I was unnatural and wrong. I hope this reaches anyone in need of it and makes them feel like they’re not alone.”

The main role is played by trans actor August Aiden.

I love this song!

Here are the lyrics:

No, your mom don’t get it
And your dad don’t get it
Uncle John don’t get it
And you can’t tell grandma ‘cause her heart can’t take it
And she might not make it
They say, “don’t dare, don’t you even go there. Cutting off your long hair. You do as you’re told.”
Tell you, “wake up, go put on your makeup. This is just a phase you’re gonna outgrow.”

There’s something wrong in the village
In the village, oh
They stare in the village
In the village, oh
There’s nothing wrong with you
It’s true, it’s true
There’s something wrong with the village
With the village
There’s something wrong with the village

Feel the rumors follow you from Monday all the way to Friday dinner
You got one day of shelter, then it’s Sunday hell to pay, you young lost sinner
Well I’ve been there, sitting in that same chair
Whispering that same prayer half a million times
It’s a lie though
Buried in disciples
One page of the Bible isn’t worth a life

8

Cassandra and Ezekiel looking fine as hell in And the Fatal Separation

I’ve been having a lot of #Emotions about trans Ladybug and Chat Noir lately so take some head canons.

  • Miraculous transformations take the wielder’s wants into consideration, and change to best reflect the ideal vision that person has of themselves.
  • Marinette’s Ladybug suit is equipped with clever bits of padding in the chest and hips, giving her a more shapely appearance. It also comes with a magical self-tucking mechanism that she tries not to think too hard about but definitely appreciates once that skintight suit conforms to every inch of her body. Additionally, her hair is glossier, her eyelashes are longer, and her voice sounds just a bit higher than usual when she’s transformed.
  • Like Ladybug, Adrien’s Chat Noir suit is also padded, only his is in the shoulders and (later on, after seriously bribing Plagg) a bit below the belt. Beyond that he’s got hidden wedges in his boots to give him a height boost and a god-tier binder. His hair and voice also undergo a slight change, becoming shaggier and deeper respectively.
  • I think for about the first year of their partnership Ladybug and Chat Noir aren’t out as trans to each other- either because they are nervous about how the other might react or because for the first time in their lives  they are in a position where they don’t have to be out. They can just do their thing and save the day without an extra label floating over their heads.
  • Of course after they spend more time together, growing closer as partners and friends, they start to pick up little hints that maybe just maybe they arent alone in this whole trans superhero thing. Those clues pile up until one day Chat accidentally lets slip one of his many trans-related puns, effectively letting the cat out of the bag. Panicked, he tries to play it off as nothing, but Ladybug has already put two and two together and is already BEAMING. “Thank goodness,” she laughs, clapping Chat on the shoulder. “For a minute there I thought I was the only one!” 
  • Ladybug then proceeds to gush about how great their suits are and how glad she is to hear they’ve got one more thing in common and Chat is just hit over the head with this massive wave of relief, because he has never ever had someone react so well to his coming out and he can literally feel himself fall more in love with his Lady by the minute.
  • Cue them both being supportive af, helping each other through the unique challenges they have to face. Chat is there to lift Ladybug’s spirits when her HRT causes mood drops; Ladybug makes sure Chat doesn’t overexert himself in the weeks after his top surgery; They both joke and laugh and bond over their shared identity in a way that they just cant with their cis friends and everything is good and happy.
  • Eventually the reveal happens, and eventually Adrien and Marinette start dating, and eventually Ladybug and Chat Noir publicly come out as trans, becoming role models for non-cis kids all over the world. Then they grow up, get married, and adopt 3 cats 7 hamsters and 4 children and live happily ever after the end <3
4

she’s superhuman laura do you really think she couldn’t hear (x)

10

bernie wolfe + @ao3tagoftheday (2/?)

bonus:

6

London, England - 1938 

Miss Sybil Moira Branson, daughter of Irish journalist Tom Branson and the late Lady Sybil Branson (née Crawley), has published her first novel at the tender age of 18. The Fate of Gold explores the adventures of an aristocratic young woman who goes against the wishes of her family to explore the goldfields of Australia in the early 19th Century. The novel has so far received positive reviews from literary critics as a ‘heartfelt’ and ‘refreshingly exciting’ piece that examines the harsh reality of the British class system and the challenges of womanhood. 

Miss Branson currently resides in London, working as an intern for the magazines, Tatler and Sketch (the latter owned by her aunt, Lady Edith Pelham (née Crawley), Marchioness of Hexham). Miss Branson’s mother stunned the British aristocracy shortly after the Great War when she married the family’s chauffeur, Mr. Branson. Sadly, she passed away after complications during the birth of Miss Branson in 1920. Thereafter, Miss Branson was brought up with her mother’s family in Yorkshire at the family estate, Downton Abbey whilst regularly travelling to Ireland to visit her father’s relatives after spending a short time in Boston, Massachusetts. 

For the time being, Miss Branson intends to remain in London to begin her career in journalism whilst working on her second novel, which she promises will more thrilling than her first. 

“Bullet Points On Your First Date With A Trans Woman”

1: Since your gonna ask yes, some trans women have dicks,
no, you cannot ask us about it,
we will tell you if we are comfortable.
So if you got buns and you don’t want none but our anaconda
then save your money and run out and buy a dildo.
Hit up Venus Envy*, they got you.

2: What you’ve seen in porn: forget it.
If all you know of us is wet skin flicks
of trans girls sucking dick
you can just stick to that and leave us alone.
Or at least watch good trans porn.
Hit up Courtney Trouble, she got you.

3: Know your date will be cute.
All trans girls are cute, I’m sorry, I don’t make the rules.
So whether she’s short or tall
hold her close and call
“You’re so gorgeous, baby doll”
cause she’ll be putting button eyes to shame.

4: If you’re going to take us out
please make an attempt for it to be fun.
Cause if it is you’ll see the sun
rising up in the column of her chest
to beam through her teeth like morning’s break.
Date idea? I dunno, cheezy bread? Hit up Dominos, they got you.

5: Now, there’s a good chance your girl might be a bit awkward,
cause for some of us believe that this is tough too.
So if she’s shy just tell her “Boo,
its ok that it’s just me and you”.
She going to need to learn to trust,
cause she’s probably been burned before.

6: If you’re out and someone says something, yells something,
try not to start a fight.
Because the wrongs of your fist won’t make it right,
not tonight, bloodshed and might
won’t break transphobia like an eye socket;
won’t fold it like a broken nose.

7: If you’re out and someone says something, she might get quiet
and even if whispered, trust, she’s heard it,
tranny, heshe, shemale, faggot,
and that casts her deep inside her own pit
of funhouse mirror and screaming voices repeating
every time those words have been said to her.

8: If she withdraws understand it’s not you, she’s just human.
Realize that some of us have spent our lives
standing on bridges over water trying not to dive
because riverbeds looks soft like graves
and quieter than the streets and schools
and jobs and houses and even our own minds.

9: Hold her. Let her know its ok.
Take her home but not to bed, kiss her on the head
and thank the stars that she’s not dead .
Cause you got a glimpse of what’s been said,
and what she’s lived through and suffered through
and survived for so many days to even date you.

10: Try again.
It won’t always be like this.
Don’t shy away just because
the world is spiteful and cruel and wrong.
There is so much love that can be given
when we don’t give in to hate.

So hit us up.
We got you.



*Venus Envy is a local feminist bookstore/sex shop. Replace with your own local awesome store.

Once upon a time there was a beast and a curse and an enchantress, which I’m sure surprises nobody. Better put it this way: once upon a time a girl was locked in a castle, and she begged so hard not to be the sleeping princess that she became the beast. That’s more like it, anyway — fairytale logic. You get what you wish for, but it isn’t what you want.

“Don’t let it be a prince,” she begged, “don’t let it be a kiss I can’t see coming and can’t refuse.”

Enchantresses, wicked fairies, call them what you will — they’re all the same story in the end. No one will remember if this enchantress began the story by giving the princess a naming day gift of a hundred year sleep once the tale switches to another track. The point is that she didn’t mind granting this one favor. Maybe it was an issue of statistics. Maybe she thought finding a girl who would fall in love with a princess-beast would be harder than finding a prince to kiss her, make her curse harder to lift (considering the probabilities of who might wander onto the cursed castle grounds). As if girls who love girls don’t know they have to fight harder to begin with, as if they won’t cross miles for each other.

So maybe there was a spindle once, but now there is a rose, and a girl who wanders through a thorn maze unable to find her way. This is the wrong story, she thinks to herself, clutching her leather satchel tighter, but she doesn’t know what the right story is.

“Let me through?” She suggests to the roses that grow squeezed between their own thorns along the twisting hedges. “I’m looking for the love of my life. I’m in a hurry.”

She’s met only with the rustling of leaves and haughty scoffs. “No prince ever found his true love by being in a hurry.”

“I’m not a prince. I’m a shoemaker, and I’m lost. Can you let me through to the castle?” It rises dark and spindly overhead, but though it seems so close she can see no way out of the maze.

Laughter, echoing through the hedge corridors, and then something dark prowls around the corner and half-crouches there, hidden as much as possible under a hooded cloak. Shining talons dig into the earth under their feet.

The beast says, “A shoemaker? You really are in the wrong story.” Her voice is gravely and doesn’t match the laughter. That must have been the roses as well.

“I have glass shoes,” the girl says, staring at those claws. “Or I can make something sturdier, if you give me time.”

“I don’t have enough time of my own to be giving it away,” the beast says, bored, and gestures around them. Even now the hedges seem to be encroaching further into the maze’s corridors, the roses growing and multiplying. One day soon, the girl realizes, the maze will entirely fill in, and the castle will be blocked off.

She’s clever, and she’s brave, and those are the two most important things for a fairytale heroine to be — besides pretty, but that’s easy enough to fake with the right kind of smile. “Then don’t give it to me,” she says, “we can share.”

So the beast reaches out one arm, fingers tapering into knives that she curls so gently they don’t more than scratch the girl’s skin — and the shoemaker takes it with an earnest gravity, looking right under her cloak’s shadow and into her eyes.

The beast’s eyes are unnaturally big and inhumanly shaped, but they’re not cruel, and in fairytales the evil beasts always have cruel eyes. The girl bobs a polite curtsey, using the beast’s arm for balance, and sees those eyes narrow slightly with amusement.

They walk through the twists and turns of the maze to the castle, the beast bent slightly so as not to tower over her guest. “About those shoes,” she says, when they reach the front doors, golden light spilling from the entrance hall and shining through the delicately carved details in the ancient wood.

“In the morning,” the girl says, and because she clearly has not even entertained the thought that she might be argued with, the beast cannot summon an objection. She watches the girl follow an unfurling carpet along the floor to a dusty guest room with no hesitation, as if every dwelling should be as accommodating.

And in the way of fairytales, that’s enough to make the beast fall in love — a disregard for every unspoken rule, a smile that glimmers in the darkness. Should I tell you that the moment the girl arrives at breakfast the next morning the beast can barely look away from her for a moment, that she stays by the girl’s side as she produces leather and tools from nowhere and searches floor by floor for the perfect room to work in — or should I let you imagine for yourself?

Gradually the hood is pulled back, eventually the cloak discarded altogether; they sit in patches of sunlight together to eat lunch, staring down at the maze below. Roses and leaves devouring each other and everything in slow motion.

“If you stay too long you’ll be trapped here,” the beast warns, anxious when the girls shows no concern in her usual solemn air as she watches the maze devolve.

“I haven’t finished your shoes,” is all she says. Each new morning she promises that in return for this latest night of hospitality she is making the shoes more beautiful, and each evening that she has not finished she stays another night.

Sometimes when the girl has gone to bed the beast sneaks back into the workroom, in agony over whether to rip out the stitches or finish the work for her.

Leave before you are trapped here forever.

Stay here forever because I love you.

Each night she does not touch the shoes and returns to sleep herself, and in the morning the girl thanks her for letting her stay, as if the beast could ever turn her out, and promises to repay the night with even more beautiful shoes.

And each morning the beast says, “That’s fair,” and wishes she could find different words, the words she means to say.

The maze grows. The roses are larger than hands with fully spread fingers. The corridors are barely large enough for a small girl to squeeze through. In the dawn light it is lit gently and slightly pink, but the sight of it is painful. The wide window of the workroom shows the progress the maze had made alarmingly clearly, and it’s only then that the beast wonders if that was the appeal of this room over all the others.

The girl appears silently in the doorway as she has for the past week. “Thank you for letting me stay last night. I’ll repay you—”

“No,” the beast says, her voice alarmed and rough. “No. You are leaving now.”

“Now?”

“Before you can’t leave. You must go now.” Her throat is closing up and her voice growing thicker with each word. They’re not the words she wants to say.

The girl cocks her head, a curiously nonjudgmental silence. Finally she crosses the room to her worktable and picks up the shoes, turning them around and around again. They’re boots, really, and almost comically big in her hands. The beast cannot tell if they are as beautiful as she was promised, because the girl is smiling now and that eclipses all else.

“Are they finished?” She asks.

“Yes,” the beast says, unable to choke out anything more.

The girl leaves the boots on the table and swings her satchel, out of nowhere, across her shoulders. “Thank you for sharing your time,” she says. For a moment she holds the beast’s hand in both of hers, and then she’s gone. From the window the beast can watch her leave; for all her trouble getting there, she finds her way out with ease.

She leaves the workroom and doesn’t return all day.

Do beasts grieve? She hadn’t thought they could. She hadn’t grieved when the curse was settled on her; she hadn’t grieved at the idea that it might never lift once the maze finally knit itself together during the coming night. But the loneliness she feels now was different. The absence of the shoemaker is something worse. She’d had no choice in her fate, but she had told the girl to leave. This misery she’d brought on herself.

At night she wanders back into the workroom out of habit, sleepless and hopeless and refusing to glance out the window. Has it happened yet? Is she truly trapped now, or will it happen in five minutes, an hour, at dawn? She stares at the boots for an indeterminable amount of time before she thinks of putting them on.

She does so only because she thinks the girl wanted her to wear them; left to her own devices she might have destroyed them with as little thought as she now gives to slipping them on. They are big enough, and the fasteners are easy to close even with her unwieldy claws. Designs etched into the leather yet invisible in the darkness spiral and branch out beneath the thumb-pad she runs over them. Vines, she thinks. Roses.

A tear slips out, or three, as she stands in her beautiful new boots and smells leather and rotting roses. I want her back, she thinks, even as a wave of thankfulness rises up from the deepness in her, thankfulness that the shoemaker will never feel this trapped. I want to go to her, she revises. Since she doesn’t know how, she goes to leave the workroom instead.

One step and darkness is rushing past her. The rough scrap of stone walls, the rustle of leaves and the tearing of thorns, night air soft all around her. She has stepped not into the hallway but out of the castle, beyond the maze, into the star-dappled night.

“What did you do?” She asks, alarmed, almost before she sees the shoemaker sitting cross-legged on the grassy hill, as still as if she has been waiting all day and night. “What happened?”

“I found what I came for,” the girl says calmly. “And I made her shoes.”

  • mom: i just don't get it. you're taking meds, you have a therapist, you're in DBT, and you have the support to get better. why are you still so self-destructive??
  • me: "per·son·al·i·ty dis·or·der
  • ˌpərsnˈalədē diˈsôrdər/
  • nounPSYCHIATRY
  • noun : personality disorder; plural noun : personality disorders
  • a deeply ingrained and maladaptive pattern of behavior of a specified kind, typically manifest by the time one reaches adolescence and causing long-term difficulties in personal relationships or in functioning in society."
10

every westallen scene ever (148/?)