the girl who remembered

goldardeos replied to your post “goldardeos replied to your post “Bad things about being a trans man…”

THERE’S ALSO further accessibility in ds!!!! I was thinking abt this earlier in ds3 there are literally braille tomes. Braille canonically exists in DS and idk why that made me so happy but like???? How cool that that’s a thing yknow!!!! ALSO back to Trans Things illusory magic Exists so like….. Why not use that to Subtly Alter One’s Appearance I hc that Gwyndolin did that exact thing bc her character model appears to have breasts so like. Why Not use illusions lol

The amount of accessibility CANONLY that exists in Soulsborne universes is amazing. In Bloodborne we have wheelchairs and they have GUNS strapped to them so you can be disabled but that doesn’t mean a fucking werewolf is gonna get ya.

Braille canonly exists in this universe and the divine and godly tales and legends are entrusted ONLY to the blind. Gough is blind and he’s one of the greatest knights ever, dude’s a badass. Artorias wasnt disabled but he was severely hurt and even then his broken arm wasnt even shown as a “oh no now hes hurt and useless” BECAUSE DUDE STILL KICKS YOUR ASS. I love how Dark Souls handles the hurt and disabled because there’s always something there for them to still kick your ass with.

And on the topic of trans people… Remember the genderfluid coffin in Dark Souls 2? Sex changing magic actually does exist. Reversal ring if you want to present as a certain gender but are happy with your body. Illusionary trans magic is something I’m 100% behind. Also remember how Pharis is canonly androgynous and has no gender and the English translation fucked it up? Love that canon NB archer.

I feel kind of bad for Cynthia. She really shouldn’t have come back after season 8, because now instead of being remembered as the lovable dark horse and Miss Congeniality she’ll be remembered as the girl who came back and didn’t do well in any of the challenges and annoyed the shit out of everybody with her cucu spam.

It’s like when they gave the Lone Gunmen their own show and it was trash. Sometimes the fan favorite should just stay a fan favorite and not be forced into returning or getting a bigger role.

10

Daisy Johnson in Agents of SHIELD: ‘What If…’

100% ACCURATE! 

agirlcalledfrost  asked:

OH OH OH PLEASE TELL US A BOARDING SCHOOL STORY PRETTY PLEASE

so my school had this thing called “senior skip day,” except that senior skip day didn’t exist and every year the administration sent out emails in the spring that were like DON’T FUCKIN SKIP CLASS OR YOU WILL RECEIVE RESTRICTION (restriction was like, my boarding school’s equivalent of detention where instead of staying after school you had to go to bed early and help stuff envelopes advertising the summer program until your hands were BLOODIED AND CRIPPLED BY CARPAL TUNNEL) and every year the seniors were like YOLO THEY CAN’T PUNISH ALL OF US!!!!!

  • spoiler alert: yes they can? THEY ALWAYS CAN.
  • 200 years of american high school and teenagers still think that there is a cap limit on kids in detention and that you can leave after 15 minutes if the teacher doesn’t show up.

anyway, my senior year, we all got together and nattered at each other until some brave soldier (i feel like it was my friend paula but WHO KNOWS) was like “OK SENIOR SKIP DAY IS THIS THURSDAY!!!! NOBODY GO TO CLASS OR UR A SCAB.”

  • she didn’t say scab because she’s not from the 1920s and we aren’t newsies, though this story would be way more interesting if we were
  • what she said was “YOLO THEY CAN’T PUNISH ALL OF US!!!!!”
  • except not yolo because it was 2009 and drake hadn’t been invented yet except as a dear sweet boy in a wheelchair.

we also used this email system to communicate with one another that has very deeply informed the way i understand email and which probably makes it very frustrating to be my friend and receive emails that have subject lines like “URGENT” and then just 42 links to the same florida georgia line youtube video.

  • I’M NOT ASHAMED, but in that way where like i kind of AM ashamed so i’m really aggressively NOT ashamed? 

so the day of reckoning rolls around and my alarm goes off at 8 (class started at 8:05 but i liked to PLAY WITH FIRE when it came to being late; my mom actually asked the school to stop emailing her when i was a sophomore because i was late so often that their rote “Mrs. Ofgeography we are emailing you to say—” was CLOGGING UP HER INBOX and she was like “i GET IT MY CHILD IS THE MOST BORING MISCREANT OF ALL TIME.”) and i looked at my roommate elle and she looked at me and went, “you going?”

“hell no,” i said. “YOLO. they can’t punish all of us.”

elle, who was far prettier and far cooler than i was with the notable exception of her obsession with tswift’s “love story” and her tendency to look at the endangered species list and cry sometimes during study hall, quickly bizounced across the street to this shopping center thing where all the cool kids smoked in secret where huge trucks dropped off clothes for the Dress Barn. i think there were also tennis courts nearby. more importantly there was this chinese food delivery place and a lil restaurant that made HELLA BAGELS.

  • WHAT KIND OF BAGELS?
  • FUCKIN
  • HELLA.

off goes elle! meanwhile i’m like, “yessssss i’m gonna use senior skip day to watch 14 hours of tv shows and eat frozen peanut butter bars that i stole from the dining hall! I’M GONNA LIVE LIKE I’M 23 ALONE IN CHICAGO ON A WEEKEND WHEN MY ONLY PLAN IS TAKEOUT AND CUDDLING WITH THE FAUX-SNOW-LEOPARD BLANKET I WILL ONE DAY SURELY OWN.” 

of course, during this time the administration was continuing to send out emails that reminded us with increasing urgency that senior skip day was NOT A THING and that we were ALL GETTING RESTRICTION if we didn’t get our STUPID ASSES TO CLASS, GODDAMNIT, WE ARE NOT RUNNING A CIRCUS HERE. 

but i was like! yolo, motherfuckers!!! i already got into college, YOU CAN’T TOUCH ME.

at some point during the day elle and our friend ginna came back to the room with takeout from the chinese delivery place and we sat on our floor eating it and probably watching veronica mars or looking at the endangered species list and crying.

all of a sudden, elle said, “guys shut up, guys shut up, GUYS SHUT UP,” and ginna and i were like, “WHAT we have a LOT to SAY about FRIED FUCKING DUMPLINGS, ELLE,“ and elle said, "did you hear that?”

“hear what?”

that!”

‘that’ was the sound of one of our dorm moms, mrs. f, knocking on doors and saying things like, “IF YOU DON’T GET YOUR BUTTS TO CLASS IN 5 MINUTES YOU’RE ON CATEGORY 4 RESTRICTION FOREVER.” elle quickly scampered up our raised beds to hide in the corner, where a tiny human like elle could actually hide from view; i leapt immediately into what we called a closet but was basically a cubby with a flap that was DEFINITELY not meant for a 5'8” individual with knobby as hell knees.

our door, which was never locked because we both hated the effort of typing in the lock code, opened. mrs. f said, “mollyhall?”

i held my breath. 

  • i should add here that i seemed to be operating on like a scooby-doo level of logic where basically i thought that she was somehow NOT ALLOWED to investigate?
  • like, if she can’t see me, there is NO POSSIBLE WAY that she could prove i’m in here, right?
  • she’ll just poke her head in and be like oH GOSH NO KIDS HERE and leave!!

you can see the flaw in my logic.

mrs. f sighed. “mollyhall, i know you’re in here, i literally heard your voice ten seconds ago.”

  • there’s no WAY she guesses i’m in the closet!!!

“mollyhall, i know you’re in the closet.”

  • NO YOU DON’T
  • I AM SCHRÖDINGER’S SENIOR

“mollyhall—”

there was a creak. mrs. f stopped. it wasn’t actually a “creak,” so much as this like, prolonged groan? like it’s the sound an elephant would make if it sat on a really large accordion.

i poked my head out of the closet. mrs. f looked at me. elle sat up.

i said, “where’s ginna?”

  • YOU KNOW WHERE GINNA WAS.

“um,” said elle, “she’s in the—”

  • GINNA NO

ginna yes.

i really wish i could describe the sound the ceiling made when it collapsed. it sounded a lot like the way losing your breath feels. i sort of remember ginna falling in like, really slow motion, like i could see the expression on her face. i didn’t really think about how i would describe this in words. ginna’s face said:

  • oh no.
  • what have i done?
  • this was a mistake. 
  • i regret a series of decisions that i have made.
  • is there a way out of this?
  • are those oreos under mollyhall’s pillow?
  • why are there oreos under mollyhall’s pillow?
  • mollyhall, you HAVE a food cupboard, what good is a food cupboard if you don’t—
  • oh, crap.

she belly flopped onto the floor. i mean, the girl bounced. and then she just laid there. mrs. f looked at her. elle looked at her. i looked at her, still mostly in the closet. we were all going to get category 4 restriction forever.

ginna said, “hi, mrs. f. i feel like i should explain.”

I will always remember you as the girl who loved the smell of the grass after a heavy downpour, who loved running across the wet field, not giving a damn about your dirty shoes and socks. And I, on the other hand, as the little lovegrass that would always catch on your clothes and socks, just something you would never notice.
—  Lukas W. // The Little Lovegrass
underrated ya book recs

from your local teen writer of color with a penchant for magical realism

while the books that are popular are qwhite interesting, they really don’t need any more hype. so here u go. 

one star is lgbt rep, two stars is major characters of color, and three stars are both. my all time favorites are bolded. feel free to add on.

lucy and linh by alice pung **
lucy, an asian-australian girl from a lower class immigrant neighborhood gets into an elite private school full of rich white demons

the porcupine of truth by bill konigsberg ***
idgaf abt the narrator but the other main character is a Black lesbian who got kicked out of her home and has to figure things out and it’s really good

last night i sang to the monster by benjamin alire saenz ***
v sad and v sweet. i’m still reading this one now. if you liked aristotle and dante, you’ll like this

mirador by dan wells **
think big hero six. there’s only one white character in the whole book, and the main character is a brilliant latina hacker. takes place in futuristic los angeles

seraphina by rachel hartman ***
high fantasy. dragons!! the second book gets really gay and there are a ton of poc. the world building and writing are both excellent.

Keep reading

2

I always thought my nose was too big to be taken front profile but that’s what makes me so beautiful tbh @ all my desi girls who r insecure about their big hook noses just remember that hook lives in the curvature of the crescent moon🌒

OVERCOME (M)

Originally posted by jeonify


GENRE: noona&youngerboy, smut

BACKGROUND: Jungkook’s first time had left him traumatized of having sex ever again. It had gone so far to the point that a rumor had even spread about him not being able to get hard-ons. You then decide to step in and prove the rumor wrong. What was supposed to be a simple test of theory leads to a night that you weren’t going to forget for the rest of your life.

AUTHORS NOTE: Omg I haven’t written something in so long. I’m so sorry this took me quite a while. This actually started as a drabble but I kind of got too into it and finished it into a full blown story. I’ll be working on the remaining requests sent to me before, soon I promise you guys, I’m just trying to come up with ideas! But I do hope you enjoy this, tell me what you think. 

Jeon, as forever, is a sinful little shit. 

If there are any errors, I am sorry about those! I did proof read but I know I still missed some. 


Your pen hangs off of your lips, fingers tapping lightly against the glass table as you study the boy in front of you. He has his face buried between the pages of his Physics book, eyes scanning through each paragraph in close precision, oblvious of your scrutiny. You slowly turn your logistics book shut, choosing to ignore your studies as the conversation you had with your brother during last night’s party flashes through your mind.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Just stay with me: marichat?

Marinette huddled under her blanket, her hands clutched around a mug of steaming tea to help fight off the cold. 

She didn’t want to go inside. 

She had thought she had seen the worst of it. She had faced down so many akumas. She had fought against her best friend with barely a flinch of hesitation, knowing that she could do what needed to be done and that everything would be alright. She thought there was nothing she couldn’t handle. 

She had never thought she might have to fight her own mother. 

Marinette huddled further into the corner of her terrace. 

They had been victorious of course. Cleansing the akuma and restoring the city to rights. But while the superficial damage may have been repaired, the emotional damage was taking a toll that Marinette had never realized was possible until it struck at the heart of her own family. 

The attack last night had been all over the news. They always were. The first time the footage aired that morning Marinette had watched in horror as her usually indomitable mother had burst into tear, shutting herself in the bedroom and leaving a silent Tom and Marinette to finish the morning preparation. The normally bustling bakery had been a ghost town, and even though Marinette was off from school her father had told her there was little she could help with and to go enjoy her day off since there wasn’t much to be done.

Alya had insisted that this was normal and would die down in a day or two, sending Marinette several links to articles and interviews she had done on the subject. It didn’t do much to lift Marinette’s spirits, but she couldn’t help but feel an awed sense of pride at the incredible dedication her friend had towards her site.  

Sabine had of course eventually recovered after a few hours. Coming down and joining Tom in the empty shop, but in spite of her attempts to act as though everything was fine, the general atmosphere was sullen. Tom had ultimately retreated to the kitchen to take his frustrations out on a new bread recipe he had wanted to try, and Marinette had retreated to her balcony. 

She felt like a failure. 

She kept seeing the image of her mother- twisted and transformed into one of Hawkmoths minions, glaring at her lunging forward to rob her of her Miraculous. 

It had been by far one of her worst fights. Her mind had been unable to focus, instead racing with questions and wondering if she could have stopped this. 

Thank God for Chat. He had immediately registered her distress and more than picked up the slack, taking the lead for a change. He had forsaken his habitual good humored flirting and managed the battle with a quiet, efficient intensity that she would not have expected from her usually exuberant partner.

It had been over in a matter of minutes, one of their shorter battles if she was being honest. But it had somehow felt like an eternity, and she had barely been able to get through the traditional fist bump before fleeing the scene so that no one would see her burst into tears. 

Now here she was, huddled helplessly against the wind, her face stained with tears that had been falling on and off for the last few hours, ashamed to go inside. 

She heard the sound of footfalls on the roof and looked up expecting to see her father. Instead she was met with the concerned green eyes of her partner. 

“Chat… what are you doing here?” she asked fighting the urge to attempt to straighten up her appearance. 

“I like to check up on the victims after the attacks,” he said collapsing his baton and stowing it behind his back. 

“I wasn’t the victim.” 

“I know. I already spoke to your mother down in the bakery.”

“Oh,” Marinette said, surprised, “How…” she trailed off. 

“She’ll be ok,” Chat said coming to sit down beside her. “She was blaming herself for something she had no control over.” He gave Marinette an assessing glance. “Seems to be a trait with the Cheng women I see.” 

She laughed softly then scooted closer and dropped her head against his shoulder. Too tired and too heartsick to care that she was untransformed and therefore shouldn’t be showing this level of familiarity.

Chat’s eyes widened slightly in surprise but he made no effort to stop her, only adjusting slightly so they fit together in a more comfortable angle. 

“I didn’t know you did this,” she said quietly. 

“Did what?”

“Visited with the victims. It’s very kind of you.” 

“No one should have to go through something like this alone,” he said, “pain is worse if you don’t talk to anyone about it. It can change you, leave you broken. Even hurt the people around you.” 

“You sound like you have some experience on the subject.” 

“I might.” 

She nodded slightly and took a small sip of her tea. “Do you talk to all of the victims?” she asked curiously. 

“No, not all of them. Some of them don’t need it, I’ll go to check in on them and they will already be on the road to recovery. Your friend Alya for example. She had her own ways of coping.” 

“You should have talked to her anyways. You know she would have adored getting a personal visit from Chat Noir.”

“You know in retrospect you are right,” he said with a small smile. “Next time I’m on patrol I’ll make a point of letting her catch me for an interview. Unless you want to make my life easier and just help with a set up?” 

“She’s coming over for a sleepover tomorrow night,” Marinette said feeling warmer for the first time all day.

“I’ll be sure to coincidentally land on your balcony during my rounds. Say around 9:00?” 

Marinette smiled. 

“So, who was the most difficult person for you to talk to?” she asked. 

Chat thought for a moment, his brow furrowing in concentration. 

“Probably the little girl, the one who stole all your dolls, remember?” 

“You talked to Manon?” 

“Yeah, that one was rough. Not gonna lie I went home that night and put together a Hawkmoth dart board. Might have gotten a little carried away. Even stabbed the thing with a fencing sword if you can believe it.” 

Marinette laughed, pressing closer against her partner and he wrapped an arm around her. 

“That’s actually kind of fantastic,” she said, “Do you still have it?” 

“Nah, my father made me take it down. I think it freaked him out that I was violently lashing out what most of Paris thinks of as some unknown mystical super being.” 

“What do you think of him as?” 

“Exactly what he is- some guy in a suit who thinks its ok to terrorize innocent people for his own selfish gain. He might have powers but he’s just an ordinary man.” 

“Like you are?” she said, looking up at him and for the first time desperately wishing she could know the boy behind the mask. 

“Exactly.” 

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Marinette sipping on her tea without really tasting it and Chat rubbing his hand idly up and down her arm over the blanket. 

“Why did you come to talk to me?” Marinette asked at last. 

“Because you looked like you needed a friend,” he replied. 

“I do,” she admitted, hating the pricking of tears she could feel returning to her eyes, “I really do.” 

“Is there anything I can do for you princess?” he asked tenderly, wrapping his other arm around her and pulling her in close. 

“Just stay with me.” 


Look I did angst!!!! Part of my 4 word prompt drabbles. Not taking on new ones atm just finishing the ones I have. 

an-actual-stone  asked:

Remember the weird period of time where it was widely assumed that there were no girls on the internet?

Yeah actually I remember anyone on webforums who said they were a woman would be accused of lying and then people would demand proof through nude photos

People talk like the internet today is super gross and sad but if they weren’t around for the internet before 2007 they have no idea

Have another of my founders headcanons

In relation to this post

OKAY, SO. LET’S HAVE A TALK ABOUT HELGA HUFFLEPUFF. BECAUSE. I HAVE SO MANY THINGS TO SAY.

Here’s the thing; in my head, Helga Hufflepuff has always been a soldier. Yes, she’s kind and fair, but she also knows when a good hex or a punch in the face is the only solution. This does not happen often. She’s friendly and accepting and patient. But when someone threatens her friends, or her family, or her students, that someone better be prepared to have her wand aimed at them. Or better yet, a sword. Use what you know and all that, and while she’s great with her hexes and curses and even some charms used in a way her old mentor would definitely not have approved of, there’s just something incredibly satisfying in meeting someone sword to sword. She and Godric spars every now and then, though it’s clear he’s more of a dueler than a soldier. But Helga. Helga joined the war when she was 15, and she never regretted it. It was grueling, and it was painful, and she watched so many of her companions fall. But she joined for a reason – to protect (her family, her little nephews and nieces and all the children of her village) and to, one day, try and change the world enough that war wouldn’t be necessary. She fought for years, rising in rank as fewer and fewer of her friends were left, and she refused to give up. This was for the children. This was for the future.

When she was 23, she became general. And at 24, the war finally ended. And then she had to find something else to do.

She went back to her village, to the little houses and fields and her family. And for a while she was content, but not for long. She wanted to do something, because that was the reason she joined the war in the first place. For change. She wanted peace, and quiet, and a place to call home. But when she had it, she realized she only knew how to fight. And she was not going to accept that.

She went to find her old mentor, an aging wizard who kept forgetting his wand in odd places but who also knew a lot of spells and had more magical books than she had seen anywhere else in her life (later, when she met Rowena Ravenclaw and saw her collection, she would stare at it for ten minutes and then just go “nope” and walk out of the room). She asked him to teach her as much as he could. What he’d taught her before she left for the army was useful, but if she was gonna change the world she needed more.

He listened to her, listened to her reasons and her dreams and then he sat her down with a cup of tea and started talking about magical theory. Most of her went over her head. She listened anyway.  And she kept coming back. And when she realized how many children he’d helped out through the years (her among them), she asked him about that. He started spouting even more magical theory. And she kept listening. And when it was over and he said he couldn’t teach her anymore, she knew more about accidental magic and magical cores than she thought possible. And she was satisfied, because this was what she needed to know. Something that could help. Something that could change a life, or two, or a hundred, if you only had the people to teach it to. This was for the children. This was for the future.

And then she met two wizards and a witch, constantly bickering and joking and everything in between. And the wanted to start a magic school. Of course she went with them. It was the purpose she had been looking for. It was a way to do what she’d always dreamt of.

They started planning how to do it, and moved into Godric’s family castle up in Scotland. As they decided to split the students into four groups, Helga started to get irritated. She had spent half her life fighting a war, she knew that you couldn’t always get the brave or the smart or the cunning. You had to use the resources that were available. Anyone could become a good soldier (or student, she supposed) if they were trained properly. 

She was a general, and she’d take anyone who wanted to learn. She was a soldier, and she’d take anyone who would work hard, because that’s all you need to change the world. She was a 15 year old girl who joined the army, and she remembered what it was like when people judged you for your bravery, for your intelligence, for your strength. She was a 26 year old veteran, and she would punch anyone who said you couldn’t learn because of something as stupid as who you are. In the face. They’d deserve it, for implying that her students weren’t good enough.


@egdramaqueen I said it “needs a bit of polishing” which apparently means I sit here and write another 700 words into it in less than an hour, so here it is. I finished it.

Me? Care about a mortal? As if.