tough broad

Church of the Poison Mind Ch.2 (Trixya) - Dahlia

AN: Writing this was honestly like pulling teeth, I’ve forced it all out of me and it’s been as cathartic as it has been terrifying. I would not have made it through without the l i t e r a l s t e p m o m to my fic Lale!! Also the lovely Matilda, and Bromeoandjooliet!! Thank you everyone for all of the lovely feedback on the last chapter and don’t be afraid to drop a line by my Tumblr DahliasForKatya!!

Even from a young age, Trixie spent a good chunk of her time in the water. She couldn’t wait to get home from school and retreat to the bathroom; a towel draped over her shoulder. She’d draw her golden hair back in a high bun, and sit haphazardly at the bottom of a stalled shower. The water beat hard against her freckled back, until the cold tile settled into warmth beneath her skin. She’d sit until the water ran cold, and the pads of her fingers pruned. When the mere act of breathing became relentless, Trixie would find herself craving the stinging spray of scalding water across the surface of her body. There wasn’t a problem in the world a that hot shower couldn’t solve, or at least postpone. Sanctuary.

Trixie’s mother would often scold, “You’re running up the water bill!”

And of course, as with most things, a terrible guilt would run through her. She’d resign herself from that happy place and apologize, from there, she’d retreat to her small bedroom. Sitting for hours in a towel, contemplating going back in anyway. Things weren’t always like this, her room used to be sanctuary enough, her home, her mother’s touch; but now she felt distanced from herself, vague, like navigating life through a video game. Have you ever looked down at your own hands, and hardly recognized them? Trixie could feel the meaning of every word she spoke hitch on her lips, each consonant skipping on the beat of its own arrival. Words scattered, wandering across time, lost in the hollows of the space between her ears. She’d wander the halls of her school, a ghost in a shell, auto piloting her way from class to class. Mindless. That sour sting was all that could revive her, all that could bring her back down to land.

The sun peered in rich that morning, and Trixie was reminded of how much she hated wearing sunglasses. She hated the feeling of wearing sunglasses because they were too distracting; she didn’t like the weight on her face, on the bridge of her nose. She’d too often find herself staring at the rims, missing what lie right in front of her. She found the distortion of color irritating, like she was dreaming half of the day away. Lately, removing sunglasses felt no different than leaving them on.

Trixie’s mother used to make blueberry pancakes every sunday morning, but always mixed way too many blueberries into the batter. They were especially runny that morning, especially bitter. Trixie choked them down as she always did, with a warm smile to acknowledge her mother’s hard work. From her seat at the table, she peered around the stairway, willing her father to come down. Her eyes landed on her mother’s pursed lips, and she sunk down in her chair, too nauseas to eat. He hadn’t come home last night. Again.

Trixie’s stomach was churning quietly in anticipation of the day’s classes. She could hear Jinkx’s words still, flowing in and out of her mind. She carried those words with her throughout the day, to her first class, Acting and Stage Presence with Professor Del Rio. A heart of gold, but definitely not the kind of person you’d want to rub the wrong way. This rang true, mostly. She took comfort in the way Jinkx played a witty banter with their professor, she aspired to that confidence.

And then on to Vocal Studies with Professor Minj, where Jinkx had left her outside the door with a smile of warm wishes; She’s a real tough broad but her class can be a hoot if you play your cards right. Trixie worried then about how she’d find her next class without aid. She turned a small glance in the direction of a pale haired girl seated adjacent her own desk, a first year just like Trixie. She seemed friendly enough, quiet, with a smile of gleaming teeth and thin lips. Trixie thought maybe she’d introduce herself, but discarded the idea. Maybe, she’d come to Trixie a bit later on and they’d hit it off. Maybe she’d never even learn the girl’s name.

Trixie gathered her things at the end of class and began down the narrow hallway, headed toward the staircase. She assumed the two in room 203 meant the second floor, at least that’s what she had hoped. Trixie wasn’t keen on being late, but she had terrible navigation skills. This was part of the reason she frequently bummed rides off of Kim.

Trixie, so consumed with the prospect of getting lost, became lost, quickly. Suddenly, she was looping circles around the second floor, passing the same doors, full of the same people and their watching eyes. She couldn’t seem to leave her headspace; that class is crazy, absolutely bonkers, but arguably one of the best at this school! Quite brilliant, actually!  Trixie wondered how something could be crazy and brilliant all at once, how those two could marry and craft a science class.

As the clock struck lateness and rounded 2:30p.m., her lack of sleep was becoming more apparent. She found herself caught between reality and dreams. She could still feel that girl all around her, her mystery, red lipped beauty; could still picture her through the darkness, the way her lips parted and trembled against her own. There was some kind of magic there, in that space, some kind of beginning. The two of them melding in the night, like soft hands braiding underwater. Trixie ached then, there was also some kind of end.

Trixie wandered further down the corridor, passed doors 213 and 211. It was 2:45 now, and she was grateful to have found her way, but reeling. She pictured what the class would look like, students already seated and settled, having to apologize as she walked in. The feeling followed her like an omniscient pair of eyes, stalking her down the floor of the classroom, calling on her tardiness. 207 now, 205, she was getting close-

Lost in thought, Trixie’s forehead collided with the shoulder of someone rifling through papers outside of room 203. The jolt sent both of them to the linoleum, busied papers floating around them like ashes, sweeping to the ground. Trixie looked up, they locked eyes, and her heart plunged deep into the pit of her stomach. Her. It was her. All red lipped and slender. Mystery girl. Trixie’s face flushed, speechless. She could tell from the girl’s ghostly expression that they were both thinking the same thing. Memory overcame her, swelling in her temples.

Her teeth sink into my bottom lip, vicious and stinging. Her moans are like my symphony, beautifully poised as they glide over my lips, their melodies ringing in my mouth. She’s salty with sweat but delicious, and I can’t stop my tongue from trailing up the length of her chest. She pushes my head down where she wants me, needs me, and I tease the daylights out of her, plunging my teeth into the soft flesh of her inner thigh. And then I taste her, and she melts into my mouth, dripping down my chin. She’s stifling her moans now, reaching for my hands and placing them on her breasts. Every part of her is taut and lean, glorious and glowing. She’s too good for me, and she knows it. She feels fleeting, but for right now she’s mine to worship. Her curls are splayed across my pillow, and I’m hoping I can still smell her shampoo come morning. The skin of her thighs is soft against my cheeks, and I feel her legs tighten around me. Her body jerks, and releases, gentle sonatas careening from her lips. I let her music engulf me, consume me, fluid harmonies rising in my ear drums. Turn up the volume, drown out the silence. She pulls me back up to taste herself, and we’re at it again, electric,kinetic. My skin is on fire, her nails scrambling down my back, I’m praying she breaks skin.

The scratches down Trixie’s back lit up like a switchboard, fiery paths radiating down the surface of her skin, hot with anxiety. Her throat felt scorchingly dry, where the words hid from her tongue, shaking in a back corner. Their eyes met again as they scrambled to pick up papers, their faces stark, dumbstruck. She watched the other girl’s hands scattering; and in the light, she couldn’t have been much older than her, maybe a few years. Acid crept up her throat, Trixie wondered if her own skin still lay beneath the girl’s fingernails.

“I - uh, I’m so sorry,” Trixie gathered the remaining papers and rose to her feet, her palms slick with sweat and unease. The girl muttered something soft in reply, but Trixie couldn’t hear over the blood pounding in her ears. She felt the strings tighten, constricting around her. She wanted to say more, but didn’t know where to start. She was even more gorgeous in the light, and her clothes clung criminally to each contour of her body. She had to break eye contact, say something, do something. Anything but this. Both stood quietly, minds racing. Trixie’s eyes darted to the ground in self defense, but she was only more flustered by the sight of the girl’s pointed red pumps. Correction, she wasn’t a girl, she was anything but. Especially then, as Trixie couldn’t help but picture what lie beneath her clothes, she wanted desperately for the bruises.

They brought Trixie’s mind back to the color of her lips, bright against the cream of her complexion. And Trixie stood again, thinking about her lips, wondering what it would feel like to reach out and touch them; to stain her fingertips red, and carry a bit of this woman with her to class. Trixie pictured sitting a few rows down from her, stealing glances, borrowing a pen, unable to look away. She could never be so bold. She knew that the minute they stepped through the door, Trixie would never so much as look at her again.

Mystery girl cleared her throat, bringing Trixie back from her thoughts, and flashed a meager smile before turning for the door. Trixie, in reflex, held it out for her, secretly reveling the scent of her perfume as it lingered behind her; the same perfume that undoubtedly still clung to the fabric of her pillow cases.

The classroom was quite larger than the others she’d seen that day, with black industrial tables and stools in the place of desks. Various wires and tubes wound out of them, connecting tanks below to the burners that sat atop the surface. The walls were lined with large glass cabinets, containing beakers and other related paraphernalia; the amount of equipment seemed almost superfluous given the scant headcount of the room. There might’ve been twenty students at most, but no professor at the head of the class. As Trixie scanned the room, she was privily grateful the professor was later than she, but still, an apprehension simmered within her. Her eyes crossed the room in search of her mystery girl.

Much to Trixie’s surprise, mystery girl now stood at the head of the room, facing away to scribble something across the whiteboard. It read in messy, coiled cursive:

Yekaterina Petrovna Zamolodchikova

“Okay class! I’m sorry I’m late, I got caught up in the dumpsters out back. Very messy! Anyway, as you can see from the board I’ll be your professor for this term. And look, I know name seems daunting, so you can just call me Katya.”

anonymous asked:

1. Hey Sasha! You're one of the most level headed people in this fandom, so I'm sending this your way. What do you think of Harry's promo? I see a lot of people hating how it's portraying him and how he's getting all this promo when the other boys aren't. A lot of that frustration is being turned towards bitterness towards/against Harry

2. And I just find it frustrating that when stuff goes down like this portions of fandom will place the blame on that specific boy (Liam in attitude, Zayn and the entirety of him leaving). Why do you think the fandom will blame their team on certain topics then place their blame/frustrations on the boys themselves. I’ve seen so many people placing their bitterness and frustrations on Liam, Zayn and now H. I just don’t understand why they suddenly think in these instances the boys have control?  3. Which, I’m not saying H had hate directed towards him as bad as Zayn did during his time of leaving, the other 4 will never experience that level of racism prejudice, no matter how hard a lot of the larr*** pretend otherwise. I just find it astounding that the fandom cherry picks what the boys do and don’t have control over, even now during their hiatus. Sorry this was so long, love you and your blog btw. I love seeing you on my dash and cutting through the bullshit when shit hits the fan. ❤️


Hi Nonnie. Well thanks. I am trying to do better and be calmer and more detached. Because, I think that’s for the best in this fandom, which is kind of a sad statement. But as Louis would say, it is what it is.

It’s an ongoing point of frustration that the fandom as a whole doesn’t avail themselves of the information available to them. If people weren’t busying themselves being tired and basic, they would’ve known exactly what to expect with solo Harry. What I mean is, there’s already been one major solo rollout–Zayn. And from that experience we should’ve learned that we shouldn’t expect enlightening revelations or the truth. The best we can hope for is good music, overall success, pretty new pix and a few cute moments. So I find people’s shock at Harry’s heterocentric promo tiresome.

That said, it’s a pretty comprehensive launch so far. He’s doing more promo and more performances. I know the goal is the holy grail of music–a number 1 in the US–because $$$. So, let’s get to number 1, hopefully with minimal bullshit. But some bullshit is expected.

Harry and Zayn are saddled with different narratives. And in the grand scheme of 1DHQ’s WTF scheming, who knows why they’ve gone out of their way to hold Zayn back (I’ve said before I think the anxiety narrative is bullshit)? Was it punishment for being rebellious? Was it strictly for narrative purposes? Remember, Harry was the one 1DHQ singled out for stardom. Business-wise, it’s not a good look for him to crash and burn, even if 1DHQ is portraying themselves as totally out of the picture. They NEED to look like good judges of talent and the “it” factor. It’s a future business thing. It’s ongoing good PR for them. Likewise, Zayn was singled out to be the stereotypical brooding mysterious hot guy that girls wanna save. I doubt 1DHQ wants to abruptly abandon the narrative they worked to put in place. So all that could be part of it. 

As for why the fandom is so blatantly unfair? I guess because it’s easier to be a shitty little drama queen than a person who thinks rationally and acknowledges things for what they are. That’s the way of the world. Society will reward a dumb messy bitch faster than a smart tough broad. Look at Donald vs Hillary. Dumb messy bitches have been having a moment for a hot minute.

I personally continue to believe all 5 members of 1D are absolutely not in control of their own images rn. And that impacts the way they’re portrayed in the press. Y’all can brace yourselves to walk this path yet again because Liam’s got next and I guarantee you it won’t be any better in the media or in the fandom.

Probably an unpopular opinion: Tumblr safe mode

I’ve being meaning to make this post for a while, but I was afraid of being too confrontational, yet here we are.

Tumblr has every right to censor explicit content.
Tumblr has every right to hide posts from minors.

It’s like the ‘adpocalypse’ on Youtube. The system is NOT perfect. It did censor LGBT content, and that’s wrong. It censored non-sensitive material, and that’s wrong, but, just like youtube, the system is learning.

It had to be tough and broad at first before it could learn what is and isn’t appropriate. The report system can help it refine this. And tumblr has explained why LGBT content was censored and is actively changing this. With the report system it has and the system learning, it will soon hone in on how to do its job.

So the only argument I still haven’t addressed is:
'Let me see what I want, who cares if I’m a minor.’
Well, speaking from minor to minor here lad, you are NOT supposed to see explicit content.

Exposing minors to pornography is not something tumblr can let stand. Exposing minors to pornography is an offence. And even if it isn’t an offence is your country, it is under American law. And tumblr is under American law. 


You all keep complaining about this system. You all kept complaining about porn bots, but now tumblr is doing something to fix that, you get mad?
Majority of posts with this argument I’ve seen are angry, they use offensive language, and it is not helping your cause. You want to view mature content, you want to be viewed as mature, you think being rude to tumblr staff is going to get you what you want? 
You’re wrong. You’re just hurting the movement.

My friends, use tumblr’s system. Don’t think a post is sensitive but it was marked anyway? Apply for repeal. Got some good suggestions? POLITELY tell the staff about them. Don’t be foolish.
Tumblr is trying to do good here. It is trying to protect people. The system is not perfect, but it will get better. And even if it doesn’t, you don’t have much right to complain because tumblr is within its rights to do this. You have almost no authority over changes tumblr may make to its site.

However, I have seen someone suggest beta tests, and I agree with this. And the memes about it have been hilarious, I must admit. But don’t be unkind to staff, and don’t think that you can view whatever you want, regardless of age, because you’re not invincible. And the law doesn’t support you in this.

Have a good day, tumblr.

(Oh and a little note: @staff please keep refining and working on this update. It has actually protected me from an explicit blog that followed me that I had to block, so your system is working. Keep doing this.)

Excited (Bad Boy!Jin)

Plot: #077: "Your dad is really excited to meet you soon, it’s driving me crazy.” with bad boy!Jin as a father

Word Count: 833

A/N: so this is the start of the second set of drabbles, I may finish the others but they’ll be more spread out, as always, all of the father related posts are here and of course bad boy!Jin is right here

Your husband was known for a lot of things. He was known for his tattoos, his piercings, he was known for his tough look, tall and broad. Not many people wanted to pick a fight with someone as broad and muscled as Jin but he had gotten into a few fights here and there. He could count the amount of times he had been in a physical fight on one hand, something that couldn’t be said for a lot of his friends. He was known for being protective of the people around him, willing to immediately put anyone back in their place if they even thought about hurting you or the boys. No one ever thought of him as a loving father who melted at the mere thought of his daughter.

Keep reading

OK, TIME TO BLOW UP SOMEONE'S SPOT

PartyBottom will tell you about two experiences she had with HIV health providers today: Last night, PB was sent this highly filtered Facebook post:

——- —– feeling drained 11 mins · Unbelievable that my program, which serves transwomen and men who have sex with men, is being threatened with boycott because one if my referral sources found out I go to fest. Deeply hurt and disappointed. Not sure how to process this. Tired of being in the closet about going to fest just to protect my damn job.

To clarify, PartyBottom is on professional & casual conversational terms with this guy. His deal is that he is some kind of trans guy (?) – let’s just say he very much “passes” as male, “performs” male in his daily life and work, has a visible tattoo that says “BOY,” and (I would venture to say) generally is perceived as male probably 98.8% of the time. He works at a center which, in their branding, and on their website, serves many HIV+ clients, including “trans women and men who have sex with men,” in one breath, populations that have historically been blurred together, often to the detriment of trans women’s ability to access services.

BUT WAIT, THERE’S MORE: the deal with this guy is that for two weeks a year, he goes by “she,” in order to go to the Michigan Womyn’s Music Festival. And works with trans women and gay dudes the rest of the year.

Now, PartyBottom has gone on record as Officially Done With Caring About Michfest, but when it starts FUXXING WITH MY AIDS SERVICES, THAT’S WHEN I GET MAD, OK?

AND, TO CONTINUE: just the other day, I was in a meeting at the New York City Department of Health with this guy, a “community outreach session” designed to develop a public health campaign in New York around PrEP, the HIV pre-exposure prophylaxis, which has had much media coverage as of late (Google it if you don’t know what I’m talking about.)

There are a million reasons why this “community outreach session” was not in fact a “community outreach session,” but instead just a dog-and-pony show so the DoH could say it did its due diligence by being in touch with the people or whatever, but those reasons are boring and typical: it was at 9am on a Monday morning, in some faceless office building in the financial district, with high security where you had to show ID (hello excluding many trans and undocumented people) and THERE WAS NO DAMN COFFEE – but that brings us to the meat of the thing: it really kind of went downhill from there, if you can believe it.

PS: PartyBottom, always the intrepid journalist, was one of two people in the room who were not affiliated with some kind of heavyweight professionalized organization, or historicized activist group.

(This is wrapping back around, trust me, stay with me here.)

The first panel of the morning was on “Populations That Have Traditionally Received HIV Outreach: Men Who Have Sex With Men, Men of Color, and Trans Women.

Okay, this is all well and good, but when it comes to the specificity of trans women’s needs and their inclusion on this particular panel (or, as you’re about to discover, non-inclusion)… See first paragraph, insert frowny face. Even one cisgender women in the room who admitted she’d learned everything she knew about the transgender community from RuPaul’s Drag Race was like, Wait. I don’t get it. Why are we talking about trans women on this panel? They’re women. Moreover, PB would vehemently contest the claim that it is easy for trans women to find trans-specific information about HIV, especially around PrEP. In the initial research presented at the meeting, we learned that of all the PrEP campaigns designed so far in North America (about 50, if PB is not mistaken), two – TWO – are aimed at trans women.

As far as the discussion on men who have sex with men went, it was an extremely sophisticated and nuanced conversation. Many concrete suggestions were made: why not, for example, instead of translating pre-designed campaigns for English-speakers into Spanish, hire people whose primary language is Spanish to design campaigns? Why not start thinking of HIV less as a binary (positive-versus-negative) and more of a continuum? (HIV undiagnosed, HIV diagnosed, HIV on meds, HIV undetectable, HIV negative, HIV negative and on PrEP, HIV status unknown, etc etc etc) which absolutely reflects more the reality HIV/AIDS in the US today? Why not, instead of talking about "safe” sex only in terms of condoms and seropositivity, we start talking about harm reduction sex, including the myriad mindful and careful ways people explore their sexuality in a world where HIV still exists, both with and without condoms and PrEP? What are the intersections of social justice and HIV – you know what really causes HIV? Not lack of condoms, not lack of access to PrEP: racism, sexism, poverty and homophobia, that’s what.

These are some serious thinkers, here in this room. People who are extremely careful with language.

And then, (sad trombone), it was tokenization time. “Well, we were going to invite this awesome trans woman to talk about PrEP, but she couldn’t make it, and then we tried to invite this other awesome trans woman to talk about HIV, but she couldn’t make it.” Since PB had been the only person to identify herself as both transgender and HIV+ in the room (THE MICHFEST DUDE HAD NOT IDENTIFIED HIMSELF AS TRANSGENDER IN THE INITIAL GO-AROUND) she was called upon to, were she so inclined, speak on behalf of ALL TRANS WOMEN’S CONCERNS RE: PrEP.

Fortunately, PB had been taking notes the whole time and is pretty good at public speaking ex tempore. I went up to the mic and gave a little speech on the fly, which, to be honest, could make up an entire other post (and probably will.) Unfortunately, THIS WHOLE DEBAUCLE WAS UNFORTUNATE, AND WENT ON TO BECOME MORE UNFORTUNATE.

Because the next panel, “Under-Represented Populations: Women and Undocumented People” started out with a big ole slap in the face. As the panel was introduced, it was made clear by the moderator that in this case we were talking about cisgender women. Then, a brief discussion ensued on the meaning of cisgender, since about half the people in this highly educated room had not heard of it. (Like, you know the guys from that Academy Award nominated documentary, How To Survive a Plague? One of those guys was there.) It was that kind of crowd.

Then, the panel starts with a (white) woman, who started out her speech: “Yeah, well I guess I’m here to represent ALL WOMEN on this panel. I don’t know about all this cisgender stuff. I will tell you right now, I think that word is stupid. I don’t work with cisgender women, I just work with women. Period.”

Now, look. It is the opinion of PartyBottom, Inc., that language wars around contemporary trans discourse in the last six months have probably done more to alienate intergenerational communities and individual people from each other than to unite them, which is probably a bad thing; moreover, go ahead, call PartyBottom a tranny, a shemale, a he-she, a shim – whatever slur you can think of: it will probably hurt my feelings and I will be annoyed with you, but at the end of the day I know who and what I am and no one can take that away from me. That said, whom I allow to call me any particular slur/term-of-endearment (and yes, they can be the same, but often are not ) depends largely on my personal level of intimacy with the speaker. Also, I think “cisgender” is a very useful word, though I don’t always use it when I’m talking to people who are, ah, a little naive about current trans issues – it all depends on context.

BUT (and this is a big “but,” since context is what we’re talking about here) we were in a room full of people who were there to design communication, and thus had up until that point been extremely careful and nuanced about language. And I mean, in that atmosphere, where everyone is going as far out of their way as possible to not step on each others’ toes, it felt like a slap in the face to be told that naming a hegemonic group that has historically oppressed trans people is just “stupid.”

I raised my hand. I politely objected. I asked for the mic. She kept talking, and steamrolled over me. So I left.

I got up, and walked out of the room.

A couple of nice people came chasing after me, including a nice gay dude who said, (verbatim quote) “Don’t let her get you down, please come back in, girl, you just got hit with the stigma stick!” and another woman who was there on behalf of an organization of people of color living with HIV and was equally annoyed with this woman’s tone, said to me, “Look, for one thing, that woman up there does not represent all women, and for another, you need to be in that room. Your voice needs to be in that room.”

You know who did not come out in a gesture of solidarity? MICHFEST TRANS DUDE, THAT’S WHO.

But I just couldn’t take it. I was hungry, I was tired, I was emotionally and intellectually exhausted. I went to the bathroom. I cried.

Then, I snuck out of the building, via the service elevator.

I guess this is why PartyBottom makes a better writer than an activist, huh?

I felt terrible afterward. Just another hysterical trans woman, storming out of the meeting in tears after one off-hand remark. Like I had not just let down myself, but all trans women with HIV.

As I understand it, later in the meeting there was some resolution around this stuff, and I was contacted later by the DoH and someone from TAG (the Treatment Action Group, historically a very very big deal in HIV research and treatment) so this story is still ongoing. More as it develops.

But the reason I tell it is to illustrate how trans women are systematically shut out of the process of decision-making around HIV prevention and education, and how, sometimes, trans men are complicit in this. ESPECIALLY WHEN THEY GO TO MICHFEST.

I don’t want this guy to lose his job. I don’t want his organization to suffer – they do good work. I want him to take some accountability, and to clean up his act, and to maybe stop supporting an ancient bastion of transmisogyny on his summer vacation. I mean, whatever.

BUT, REMEMBER: I told you this was the story of two HIV social worker stories. Remember, PartyBottom is about BYOPMA: Bring Your Own Positive Mental Attitude.

Today I went for some benefits counseling at the granddaddy of ‘em all, the most stately and centurion and (perhaps ill-managed, if you read the papers) HIV service org in New York. And, I waited two hours to see a counselor there. But it was SO WORTH IT.

First off, when the receptionist told me who I was going to be seeing, I was shocked. She’s still here??, I asked incredulously. After dealing with constant, unending turnover in HIV service nonprofits, it was so refreshing to walk into an org that has changed locations, and, five years later, retained the same awesome staff member.

And she was just so awesome. She has always been so awesome. Organizations can sometimes be fucked, but at the end of the day, organizations are just made up of people, and this particular worker is very, very good people. (She has an autographed photo of Mae West by her desk, given to her by a client. When your clients like you that much, that’s usually a pretty good sign.)

I have a feeling – I don’t know this for sure, but I get the sense that she has been working there for well over 20 years. She knows her shit. I was asking about some health insurance questions (specifically, some creative ways to perhaps get around the Medicaid exclusion for trans surgery in New York – she didn’t blink an eye or skip a beat about this), and she had all the information I needed (and then some), and was charming, witty and funny, all at exactly the right times and maintaining the exact right tone throughout the entire interaction.

I noticed she happened to have a copy of Trans Bodies, Trans Selves on her desk. As we left, I mentioned I needed to use the bathroom and she was like, Okay, the women’s room is kind of schlep – it’s way down the hall past the stairs to the right. We really are working on getting gender neutral facilities. I was like, oh, don’t worry, it’s no big deal – like, I don’t mind finding the bathroom on my own – but she was like, look, to some people it is a very big deal, with this tone in her voice that to me indicated 1) it sucks that women who come there often have mobility or breathing difficulties due to illnesses associated with HIV, and having to make a long walk to find the bathroom, and 2) that she realizes that gender neutral restrooms are essential to serve a variety of transgender clients, not to mention families and all the other people that single-stall restrooms serve.

By-the-by, it came up very naturally in the conversation that she had been married to a man for a very long time, so, I’m guessing – and of course I could be off the mark here – she identifies as a straight, cisgender woman. POINT: solidarity is an act, a series of acts, a lifetime of choices and self-education, a deeply felt human compassion, NOT a button on your goddamn denim vest. Or, even really a matter of identity, when it comes right down to it.

The point is, She knows not only the theory of how the VAST, ENORMOUS HIV bureaucracy operates in New York, but how it plays out in practice. She knows all the ins and outs of everything, because this is work she has dedicated her life to. She was, frankly, the picture of competence.

When I am her age, she is who I want to be. God bless her.

WAAAAAAY TL;DR – When it comes to trans women and HIV, there are lots of young trans dudes out there who Totally Don’t Get It, and there are lots of people (straight people even!) who have been around since this virus caught fire who do, and I am grateful to them every single day.

anonymous asked:

can u ship me? i'm blonde with bright green eyes. i have a rebels heart and don't really give a shit about people's opinions. i love people but can also be alone. i'm kinda popular but not for being a bitch, but just for being me. i love the odd balls and outsiders. i love to write and take photos. i'm just a rebel with a cause ✌🏻❤️🤘🏻

dally xD. he has a lot of the same opinions as you do. (rebel with a cause you go bbg) and he loves your blonde hair and green eyes because he thinks it’s unique because most people have blonde hair and blue eyes but you have green. overall he thinks your a tough broad who is worth his time :)

thanks for requesting!

jamiemac26  asked:

I would love love love a part 7 of cracking bones! Sending love your way! 💙💙💙😊😊

I can most certainly do this!  Here is Part 7, comin’ ‘atcha!

(Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 8  Part 9  Part 10  Part 11  Part 12  Part 13  Epilogue)


“No.”

You look over at Spencer, his shoulders back and his lips taut.

“It’s not your decision,” you counter.

“No,” he says again.

“Well, it’s not your decision either,” Hotch says.

“Thank you,” Spencer acknowledges over to his boss.

“But it’s our best bet,” Hotch eyes Spencer carefully.

“No!” he yells, taking a step towards you.

“Y/N, you can’t do this,” Spencer says, reaching out and putting his hands on your shoulders.

“Well according to you, I can’t do much of anything nowadays,” you retort.

“I don’t give a damn about your joint-cracking!” Spencer yells, his eyes wide and his face close.

Standing there, feeling his breath on your face, you take a step back as your eyes start to water.

“I’m going after them,” you whisper, Spencer’s body collapsing defeatedly in a chair behind him as Hotch nods lightly.

“How do we do this?” he asks you.

“Oh, now you want my opinion,” you snap.

As Spencer’s gaze slowly lifts to you, he recognizes that tone of voice.

That tone of voice that he had taken with so many of his co-workers in his Dilaudid days.

Slinking out of his chair as the two of you try to come up with a plan, Spencer takes out his phone and calls Garcia.

“Welcome to the Google of the BAU.  I am your host, feed me your request.”

Chuckling, Spencer says, “It’s me, Garcia.”

“What can I do for you, honey?” she asks.

“Can you pull up Y/L/N’s expenses for the past few days?”

“Not…really…?  Without a damn good reason…?” he says.

“I’m afraid she is craving, and I want to make sure she hasn’t…”

“That’s a pretty good reason,” Garcia says, typing away in the background as your expenses and bank accounts pop up.

“Whoa,” she says.

“What?  What is it!?” Spencer exclaims in her ear.

“Nothing.  Nothing in here suggests any money removed or any “visits” to any places for alcohol, but the girl…is…looooooaded.”

As Spencer’s brow furrows, he hears Garcia still typing in the background.

“Garcia?” Spencer asks.

“Yes, honey,” she says.

“Keep tabs on her acfount.  I don’t care where her money comes from.  I only care if she walks into an ABC store,” Spencer says, his voice full of hurt and worry.

“I’ll let you know as soon as something fishy happens,” she says, her mind elsewhere as she pokes around in your accounts.

“Garcia…” Spencer warns.

“Alright, alright.  Closing out now,” she says, clicking windows shut and erasing information.

“And remember, anything fishy,” Spencer says, turning back to you with a worried glance as Hotch courts you off in to a room, seemingly ready to begin the process of dangling you as bait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a very cryptic phone call and an address being mailed to the post office, you hop in your car, sans weapons, and type the address into the car GPS.

Following the directions, you pull up to an abandoned house straight off of the highway, slowly pulling your cell phone out of your pants and sticking it into the car glove box, switched on with the location blaring at the top.

Getting out of the car, you hold your hands up as you walk to the porch, the old wooden door creaking open before you ascend the steps.

“There are grave consequences if you aren’t alone.”

That voice.

Swallowing hard, you squeak out, “I’m alone.  Don’t worry.”

Walking slowly up the steps, a hand darts out of the darkness and rips you in to the house.

Stumbling into a side table, trying to catch yourself in these heels, you whip around as a body presses itself against you.

“They’ve been struggling for quite some time,” he lulls, his smoke-ridden breath on your neck as you turn your head away, straining to hear any signs of struggling.

Met with silence, you feel his hand slip down to the hem of your shirt, his fingers slowly drifting up your skin, feeling for the scar he had inflicted so very long ago.

“You know, you were the only child who had this scar who survived,” he breathes.

Feeling your jaw begin to tremble, he wrenches you by your arm, throwing you down the hallway as you knock into a chair.

Trying to stand up, he presses himself behind you, wrapping his arm around your waist and bringing you up, your feet off of the floor, as he throws you over the back of the chair, plummeting onto the coffee table.

“Such strength,” he enunciates.

Struggling to get up from the floor, you hear the faintest of voices.

“Help!”

As tears trickle down your face, you whirl around, slowly standing to your feet as your body stands crooked in front of him.

“You can do anything you want…anything you wish.  You can slice me open, dice me up, use me as your servant, or kill me if you please.  But you have me.  So it’s time to let them go.”

“And how will they ever get away?” he asks, walking towards you as he cocks his head.

“The car outside.  They can drive and drive until they are as far away as they please.  And then I have no way to escape.”

As he ponders this deal…the deal that he set in motion…you lean forward as press your lips into his ear.

“At.  All.”

Watching him slowly back away, he dips behind an obstruction and removes some duct tape, motioning you to sit in a chair as he begins to tape your arms and legs down.

As tears stream down your face, he looks at you as he leans in and slowly kisses your forehead.

“You are going to be perfect,” he murmurs as he walks off, leaving you alone in the darkened room, with nothing but your thoughts to consume you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I have the girls!” Garcia exclaims, “I have them on camera.  Passing an ATM in Douglas headed towards Manomanto,” she says.

Nodding to Morgan, he and Rossi dart out the door, heading to an SUV to go intercept the mother and daughter duo.

“But no Y/N…” Spencer mumbles.

“I-I’m…sorry,” Garcia stutters.

After a brief pause, Spencer sighs and Garcia attempts to calm him down.

“She’ll be ok,” Garcia coos on the screen, “She’s a tough ol’ broad.”

Nodding slowly, his eyes filling with tears, Spencer feels a hand on his shoulder as he squeezes lightly.

“You care about her, don’t you?” Prentiss asks, eyeing him as Garcia listens from her station on the video-call.

“I mean, we all do,” he chokes out.

“No,” Prentiss says more stern, “I mean…you care for her.”

Sighing as he dips his head in his hands, he shakes his head as he tries to hold back the tars.

“I don’t think I even realized it until her AA meeting that we crashed,” he breathes.

Feeling Prentiss rub his back, Spencer embraces her quickly and tightly in a massive hug, the tears flowing onto her shoulder as Emily shushes him in his ear, trying to get him to calm down.

“You should tell her,” she says, “You know, when this is all over.”

“She hates me,” Spencer says, sniffing as he pulls back.

“She’s hurt, but she doesn’t hate you,” Prentiss says.

“I don’t even know where to begin to fix things,” he counters.

“Did you tell her the reason behind your snapping episode with her?”

“Yeah…” he drifts off.

“Then when we find her, and we will, you need to run up to her, wrap her in the biggest hug she can imagine, and hang on…no matter how much she pushes or yells or hits…you need to hold steady.  She’s been through a lot, and she’s been alone through all of it.  She needs to know that she no longer is.”

And as Spencer wipes his nose, sniffling one more time before wiping the tears from his cheeks, Hotch rushes into the room as he wiggles into his bullet-proof vest.

“We have the mother and daughter…and we know where Y/N is.”

anonymous asked:

Advice for tough times Archy?

I am a bad inspirational speaker and “tough times” is a broad category. Maybe one of these applies:

  • Don’t give up.
  • You are allowed to be sad, to cry, to be angry, but don’t let it consume you. You are alive, find something to be excited it about and go at it with passion.
  • Internalize that you are not alone. I promise you, everyone at some time in their lives goes through tough times. For some is short lived, for some is how life is.
  • Don’t be passive and wait for things to change, if you can, be active and get engaged.
  • Don’t lose sight of what is true. Accept what you can’t change and work to change the rest.
  • Don’t let the tough times defeat you, don’t give up.

If you need to talk more, let me know.

Originally posted by 9fail

anonymous asked:

Ah god. Your Bucky who misses ladies thing is my favorite. I LOVE that your Bucky and your Steve are definitely bi. In your Steve + Bucky 5eva universe, does Steve have much experience with ladies? Cause I could see Bucky and Steve sharing a lady, but Bucky taking some time to instruct Steve on how to please a woman with the dirtiest of dirty talk, while Steve helplessly does everything Bucky says. And the lady is well, completely thrilled. And very satisfied. A few times over.

omg, Anon, i actually have a really old fic i never published that answers this question!! here it is:

“Hey, Buck,” says Steve. Bucky is hogging the entire shower head and he doesn’t care, letting it run over his hair and down his back, his head bowed.

“Buck,” Steve repeats. “Bucky.”

“What? Jesus,” Bucky grumbles.

“Will you shove over?” Steve grumps.

Keep reading

angel in disguise// l.h. pt.9

Pairing: Boxer! Luke + Reader

Parts 1-8

8tracks playlist

A/N: there’s smut at the end kids. plus alot of kissing. enjoy :) 

     

Luke had tried his game best to get everything ready to make the date a one to remember. Hoping that Y/N would understand the situation, he left the gym not caring to take a shower and hopefully not smell like stinky gym socks.

Everything was running smoothly until Y/N hit her long time best friend; traffic. A string of curse words left her mouth as cars surrounded her from every direction. It wasn’t even rush hour yet.

“Take a next to impossible Friday chem class,” she mimicked herself, slapping her hands on the steering in frustration. “It’ll look good on your application,” she ranted on.

The run down car she was driving in had a weak amount of AC slipping through the vents. She still had to change into her bathing suit and get ready and what not for the beach. A million scenarios of what could happen at the sandy shores made her heart flutter and knees weak. A shrieking car horn wiped her into reality as the traffic began to slowly inch forward.

Luke hesitantly knocked on the flat door which was awfully familiar to him.

No response came from the other side of the door. One hand messing with his lip ring, he knocked again impatiently waiting.

The door flew open to show Y/N’s flat mate, Lucy, who was currently in the middle of curling her hair and went back into the flat.

“Y/N, how many times have you forgotten to take the keys with you?Jesus, that Luke boy has been messing you up real bad,” Her naturally loud and gregarious persona failing to notice Luke at the door.

“Um, I don’t know know about,” he smirked.

Lucy snapped her neck to peer at Luke who had now walked into the crummy flat.

“Hey,” he smirked at her astonished face. “Where’s Y/N?” Luke eyed the place.

“She was at uni today…” Lucy trailed off. “She must be on her way or something,”

Well this was beyond awkward Lucy thought to herself. She assumed it was Luke because he resembled what he was described as.

“So how long have you two been dating?” Lucy asked, curiosity getting the best of her.

Luke had to think about it for a moment. They hadn’t officially asked each other out, it was like a mutual agreement. Hell, this was their first official date.

“For a few weeks,” Luke replied, messing with his lip ring out of habit, slowly realizing the fact that he was wearing his swimming trunks that had plaid print on them.

”She hasn’t shut up about you. It’s like you’ve got her wrapped around your finger,” Lucy laughed.

“Oh really?” Luke chuckled, waiting for Y/N to magically pop through the door so they could get going. Somehow Lucy’s words made him fall more smitten with Y/N, he couldn’t believe it.

“You goin’ swimming today?” She asked, eyes raking down his appearance, not failing to notice his broad and tough build.

”Y/N wanted to go to the beach today, so I’m taking her,” he smiled, scratching his neck. Her guitar placed on the coffee table caught his eye.

Luke took his phone out to check for any texts from Y/N but with no avail. She was almost an hour late. Was she fine?

“You’re like the first boyfriend that she’s had ever since she’s came here,” Lucy blurted out. “She’s been hitting the books real hard and like sort of lost a social life. Did you know tha-,”

The door creaked open to interrupt the conversation to reveal a very sweaty and pissed off Y/N, with a backpack laced over her shoulders. A messy bun was threatening to fall down atop her head.

Closing the door behind her, she was greeted by the tall blonde.

Without a second longer, she threw her book bag on the couch and wrapped her arms around Luke. He was taken aback at first, but then relaxed into her touch.

“Sorry, for being late. I feel really bad. Traffic was being a bitch and then my professor decides to throw an essay at us,” she ranted to Luke.

“Hey, no worries bub,” he soothed, kissing her forehead.

“I’ll get changed real quick,” Y/N beamed as she noticed Luke’s attire.

Skidding to her small room, she quickly stripped off her tie dye shirt and leggings. A second thought of doubt ran through her as the reflection of her body showed in the full length mirror that was hung on the closet door.

Her butt had gotten bigger,stretch marks appearing as a result. Her boobs were really small and not model size. Her stomach wasn’t flat either, it was bigger than other girls that Luke was seen with in previous years. All of those pizzas with extra cheese she had devoured on late nights studying for exams had their affect on her.

Why would Luke even give her a second glance? Maybe she should just tell him that she wasn’t feeling ill or had to finish up a lab report. She hated her pudge rolls that showed whenever she bent over.

Luke impatiently looked at the time on his phone. What was taking Y/N such a long time? Lucy had excused herself to finish with her hair, leaving Luke to himself. Deciding to check up on her, he got up and knocked on the door.

On the other side, Y/N was in a panic. She cursed under her breath as she scrambled for a shirt to hide her bikini clad body. He opened the door to come in sight of a embarrassed girl throwing on the nearest shirt off the ground. Her cheeks were a deep shade of red and her ears had blood rushing to them.

“D-do you think we should just chill here and watch Netflix?” she asked randomly. “Or do you want to play board games?” Y/N rambled on.

Luke starred at her like she was crazy, furrowing his eyebrows. “Are you okay?” He asked stepping closer to her. “Why don’t you want to go anymore? I thought you loved the beach?”

“Yeah I do,” Y/N replied sighing. “I’m not your type Luke, I don’t even know why you’re actually talking to me. You’re so fit… and I’m just- too fat and not attractive enough. Go date some model or something,” Y/N didn’t dare to look at Luke. “I won’t say anything if you leave,”

“Are you fucking serious?” Luke turned her around so she was facing him.

“Why the hell would you think that? Y/N, even though we haven’t known each other for a long time, we’ve been through a lot,” he put his hands on Y/N’s soft cheeks. His eyes were intently searching her face, eyes turning a light blue.

“Please don’t say that again, don’t compare yourself to others,” Luke felt like complete shit, his eyes suddenly beginning to glisten with tears.

Y/N sighed, looking down at their intertwined fingers, his pale hands contrasting against her tan ones.

"Can I go swimming in this?” She pried on, still not wanting to reveal herself to the tall blonde in front of her. If Luke saw her like that, then he would surely leave her.

Pushing all of his thoughts to the back of his head, he gently pushed Y/N to the wall, catching his plump lips to hers. Taken aback, a gasp left her lips as she automatically ran her fingers through Luke’s blonde locks. He sweetly kissed her jaw as he put his hands above her shoulders.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” Luke mumbled as he attached his soft pink lips to the crook of her neck, biting down. Y/N moaned, earning a smirk from Luke. Her heart was beating against her chest, breath quickening. He cautiously blew on the love bite he had made, smirking to meet a pair of dark brown eyes.

“Do you trust me?” Luke whispered, his fingers holding the hem of her baggy shirt. Blue eyes raked over her legs for a second.

“Y-yeah,” she nodded. His eyes held her gaze as he carefully lifted the shirt, finally throwing it over her head.

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up and blush as she watched Luke in all of her in her vulnerable state. His eyes lustfully raked in her teal bikini as he kissed her sweetly and slowly.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N,” Luke breathed, smiling as she wrapped her arms around his body.

“Thank you so much Luke,” she whispered just so he could hear.

“Bring a extra pair of clothes baby, You’re staying at my place tonight,”

//

Once again, Luke being Luke Hemmings, he had to go out of his way to make sure everything was perfect. Ditching the normal Bondi beach, he drove to a secluded beach, thirty minutes away from the loud city.

“Warriewood beach, m’lady,” Luke laughed, making his voice even deeper. Y/N got out of the familiar Tesla awing at the sight in front of her. The pair seemed to be the only one’s there as the intimate sounds of the waves filled her ears. The wind was cooling, whipping her hair back.

Luke grabbed a backpack from the boot of the car, and he came to where Y/N was standing.

“This place is so fucking pretty,” she cursed, watching the luminous water.

“Not as pretty as you,” Luke wiggled his eyebrows as they walked handin hand closer to the water. They had decided to place their stuff nears a pile of rocks covered by large palm trees.

Y/N laid down the towels that Luke had puled out of the bag. To his protests, she had brought a bottle of sunscreen for him.

“Do I have to?” Luke whined as he stripped of his muscle tee and laid on his stomach atop of the blue beach towel.

“Yes Lukey,” she taunted, squeezing the cream onto his toned back. She skillfully rubbed it all over his back and shoulders. “Do you remember how burnt you got last time?”

“Don’t remind me,” Luke quickly grabbed Y/N by surprise and turned her over so she was underneath Luke.

“Your turn,” his raspy voice rang through her ears.

“Hell no,” Y/N shot up from the ground and towards the water. She hastily threw off her shirt and shorts revealing her bikini. Luke’s giggles were uncontrolled as he ran after her.

Luke’s inhumanly long legs gave him an advantage to pick Y/N up. A smile was etched on her face as she couldn’t stop laughing.

They were quite deep in the ocean, the clear sky and waves opened their vision.

“Luke! For fuck’s sake,” she giggled because he almost tripped with the ocean current. He mischievously grinned downed at her as he threw her down into the water.

Y/N shot up from behind him, wiping the water droplets from her eyes.

“You got me wet!” Y/N shrieked, trying not to laugh.

“That won’t be the first time baby,” he smirked, proud of the fact
that his hair wasn’t messed up yet.

Y/Nlet showed a weak attempt by trying to push Luke down but his tall
frame and build didn’t give her a chance. Luke did her a favor and
swam deeper into the ocean, submerging himself into the great depths.
He went back up to the shore gasping for air as the salt water burned his eyes.

The empty blue waves came into, the ocean seeming to go on for miles and miles. Where was the brown haired girl though?

Keep reading

Mary Oliver Issues A Full-Throated Spiritual Autobiography In ‘Upstream’

Mary Oliver has received many honors for her poetry, including the Pulitzer Prize and the National Book Award. Oliver has also published many essay collections. Fresh Air book critic Maureen Corrigan reviews her latest: 

“Oliver’s latest book is a collection of essays called Upstream. Most of these pieces have been published elsewhere, but reshuffled here they form a kind of sporadic spiritual autobiography.

If that label sounds precious, you don’t know your Oliver. As much as she’s a visionary poet, she’s also the quintessential tough old broad who finds traces of awe in, for example, scooping out the shining wet pink bladder of a codfish, or getting down on all fours with her dog out in the woods and, “for an hour or so … see[ing] the world from the level of the grasses.”

8

Happy Birthday ♡ Barbara Pepper ♡ (May 31 1915 - July 18 1969)

Best known for her role as Doris Ziffel in Green Acres, most people are shocked to find out Barbara Pepper was actually a blond bombshell in the 1930s. A former show girl of the Ziegfeld Follies, she started her acting career as a Goldwyn Girl along side Lucille Ball. The two met on the train taking them across country and remained life long friends even making their film debuts together in Roman Scandals (1933). She was considered for the role of Ethel Mertz until Vivian Vance stepped in (You can still see her in 9 episodes of I Love Lucy). Her career lasted for 36 years during which she was in over 100 films and 100 tv episodes playing leading roles in B-movies and small parts in many hit films. She specialized in playing tough broads and wild party girls. In 1949 her husband, fellow actor Craig Reynolds, died tragically in a motorcycle accident which left her severely depressed resulting in weight gain. Even at a larger size she was able to find steady work. Something not many fellow actresses have accomplished.