Anonymous asked: so okay i know you specified lgbtq+ kids who had been kicked out but my parents are really abusive(not. physically or sexually) but. they think they're the best parents but they terrify me and please adopt me you seem like the best oerson
SWEETIE, yes, of course, absolutely, come here. *hugs you* (Although, oh God, I hope I haven’t convinced you that I actually…like…have my shit together at all, I am a flailing pre-med student eyeing senior year with apprehension. BUT I will totally be your Tumblr mom, I will be everyone’s Tumblr mom, come tell me about your day and let me remind you to eat and take care of yourselves.)
And BELIEVE ME, I know the feeling of people who believe they’re just wonderful and just…are not. It’s a very particular kind of terrible, isn’t it? Especially when they have the rest of the world convinced, and then turn around and are emotionally (or otherwise) abusive to you. You are tough as nails for dealing, I am so proud of you, I am so proud of you, God. Just…you’ll live through this, sweetie, you really will, and it’ll be hard and it’ll be awful and it’ll be terrible and then one day it’ll be over, okay? And just…it’s not about being all right every day, about magically being fine as soon as it’s over. It’s not. It’s about surviving. And then someday you’re going to blink and look up and realize that you’ve had more good days than bad and that you’re more at ease in your skin and that you’re better. I am not fixed, I am not fine, sometimes I still have to bite down a panic attack when I have to talk to my grandmother or a scream when my grandfather starts talking about ‘well, medicine is awfully competitive, I just hope you know what you’re getting into, it can be rough on women, you know’ and spirals into cruel remarks. But I’m better. I really am. It’s really possible. And you’re gonna make it through this, sweetie, you really are, and I’m so proud of you for making it this far.
You are now my Tumblr child, feel free to either come off anon or come back on anon and just identify yourself. (If there are more of you I’ll start handing out nicknames. Greek letters or something, if you don’t want to come off anon.)
All right, drink some water, make sure you’ve had something to eat, get sleep, take care of yourself. Moran decrees it.
au where the trojan war is a party menelaus throws to win back his girlfriend who left him for some douchebag and he ropes all his friends into helping him and wacky shenanigans happen and a running gag is that odysseus doesn’t even want to be there he’s got shit to do and at the end he gets stuck in traffic on the way home
on the way home odysseus gets into a very minor fender bender that’s more like a fender bumper with some shit driver who is almost DEFINITELY high. and it’s all this guy’s fault but he won’t stop screaming about how he’s gonna fucking sue and odysseus just wants to go the fuck home and the guy goes “I’M FILING THE POLICE REPORT WHO ARE YOU” and odysseus is just so done that he says “nobody” and drives the fuck off and this completely tripping guy ends up screaming to the police at the side of the road at like three in the morning “NOBODY CRASHED INTO MY CAR!!!!!”
So…like…question for the void. I wrote about 20 pages of original fiction for a class I’m taking. It’s not like this is exactly a first, as anyone who was following me around New Year’s is probably aware–I write so much original fiction, like hundreds of thousands of words, like whole novels–but it is a first that this is a short story I wrote that I’m going to have to share with a bunch of people for editing. And I kind of figured that, hey, in for a penny and all that shit, so as long as I’m having a panic attack about my class reading this thing, I could ask the internet if they wanted to read this thing. Sooooo…anybody want to read 12K of some poor dude named Jack dealing with a city populated of every polytheistic pantheon in human history?
WHAT IS THE TRADITIONAL DANCE OF THE VUVALINI AND THE ANSWER CANNOT BE THE ELECTRIC SLIDE.
WE NEED HELP OKAY
I’m sorry, I know you need a real answer, but I’m just stuck on the fact that apparently y’all thought that the obvious answer was the Electric Slide and I just. I just cannot. Because. I have this beautiful mental image of Keeper (who in this nice happy mental image is motherfuckin’ alive) teaching a bunch of Wretched plus the Sisters, Max, and Furiosa (who already knows the traditional dance but it’s been a long time, a lot of height, and a prosthetic arm since then, so she’s refining her technique) the ELECTRIC SLIDE.
What do I do with that mental image.
What.
Edit: FURIOSA TEACHING SOME EX-WARBOYS THE DANCE AFTER THE MOVIE? AND IT BECOMES LIKE THIS THING? YOU WIN A BATTLE AND BUST OUT THE FUCKIN’ ELECTRIC SLIDE I JUST.
can i just say like telling people not to smoke or drink alcohol while they’re pregnant is ableist and classist as fuck and it needs to stop
first off the majority of smokers/substance abusers are from disadvantaged and poor backgrounds or are struggling with mental health issues and they use it as a coping method so to tell them theyre a bad person for doing that is both classist and ableist
the main argument against it is that your child will come out disabled but honestly if that happens so what??? whats wrong with that??? this whole mindset has deep fucking roots in ableist thought process and im fucking sick of it. like. why do you hate people with disabilities lol
okay but if you’re not going to go outside could you at least open a window and let some air in
Am I reading this right?
All yalls kids gonna have fetal alcohol syndrome and my kids are gonna be zooming past them in school
These folks have drank so much of their own kool-aid
If you do anything while pregnant that you know could be an active risk to your child’s health, could have a negative impact on their ability to navigate the world? Once the child is out of the womb, we’d call that child abuse. Once you’re a parent, you have a responsibility to the tiny person you helped create. If you’re going to carry the pregnancy to full term, yes you need to stop doing certain things, or at least damn well try. My cousin was born addicted because his mother was, and he did nothing but scream endlessly while in withdrawal. If you voluntarily choose put put your child through that, even if they don’t have permanent health repercussions from it, you’re a bad damn parent. And honestly, if your baby is disabled as a result of your refusal to stop doing addictive things, you aren’t going to be able to provide for their special needs because you’ll be too busy accommodating your own desires over what’s best for them, just like you did before. If you really cant quit, you shouldn’t be carrying the kid to full term in the first place.
^^ This exactly. This is not coming from some sort of terrible anti-vaxx logic, where people think that they’d rather have their child die of a COMPLETELY PREVENTABLE disease than somehow magically ‘contract’ autism from a vaccine (spoiler alert in case my derision did not carry through the internet: vaccines do not, have never, and will never cause autism, because that is not how autism works and also not how vaccines work, and furthermore if you’d rather indulge your baseless paranoia than protect your child and those who can’t be vaccinated, you’re a bad parent; the tag ‘vaccinate your spawn’ contains my rants to this effect). The logic of “do not smoke or drink or do drugs while pregnant, OR, if you know you cannot quit your vice of choice, avoid pregnancy” is based on the desire to protect newborn children from preventable problems that can threaten their lives. As mentioned above, children born addicted to a drug suffer brutal withdrawal–fun fact, withdrawal can KILL adults. Delirium tremens, the last phase of alcohol withdrawal, has a mortality rate of between 5% and 15%. FOR ADULTS. Even with the best medical care possible–and by the way you’ll need to pay for that and, in the US, it won’t be cheap–there’s obviously a mortality rate for addicted neonates. Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorders (FASD) and other related disorders can include problems ranging from mild developmental issues (ADHD or autism-like symptoms, and as someone who manifests a nice dose of the former with an option on the latter, I can confirm it ain’t a picnic) to severe neurological problems (actual damage to the central nervous system or brain which…um, do I really need to go into detail here). Among other things. I included a nice link to Wiki so you can do your own research.
Hell, if for some reason protecting a kid from preventable life-long problems isn’t exactly your cup of tea, try some self-interest on for size: being on strong drugs or vasodilators (like…well, alcohol) while pregnant can increase the risk of problems FOR THE MOTHER. (We’re going with ‘mother’ here as the generally accepted term for ‘person whose uterus is physically containing a growing fetus’ and I just…I don’t want to hear about it, okay.) Pregnancy is already a risky business, because it demands a total alteration of the mother’s body (more here x, also this is the CDC’s page on pregnancy complications which is actually a little thin on the ground but hey gotta start somewhere). For the love of all that you hold holy, why WHY WHY would you knowingly increase that risk by adding drugs (illicit or otherwise) and/or alcohol to the mix? Christ, it’s recommended that pregnant folks avoid COFFEE so that they don’t mess up the delicate system–in the later months of pregnancy, you’re not supposed to lie on your right side because everything’s so squished by that point and lying in the wrong position can bring on a faint as the vena cava is compressed. See above re: WHY WHY WHY.
So…yeah. No. Honestly? What are you doing? Get clean before you have kids. It’s better for EVERYONE INVOLVED and also for my blood pressure.
Steve, Bucky, Natasha, Sam and Clint are discussing conspiracy theories and end up talking about the JFK assassination. Steve is adamant that it wasn’t an inside/CIA job. Natasha’s pretty sure the KGB had nothing to do with it. Clint is microanalyzing all the details like shot trajectory, line of fire, etc. Steve sees Bucky sitting off to the side Googling everything and wants to include him in the conversation, so he says, “Hey, Buck, who do you think shot President Kennedy?”
And Bucky just looks up and very quietly says, “I think I did.”
ALL RIGHT MOTHERFUCKERS I KEEP SEEING THIS SORT OF THING AND LET ME EDUCATE YOU FOR ONE SECOND.
STEP ONE: LEARN HOW YOU LIKE TO LOOK, AND LOOK THAT WAY. I recommend Good Will or another thrift/secondhand store to do this on a budget (my family is broke as shit, I know the feeling). You like floofy dresses? Dress like a goddamn fairy tale princess. You like slouchy t-shirts and jeans? SWEET, you’re an adorable nerd, maybe you’ll find one for your favorite band. You’re like me and you like formal button down shirts? Great, buy like seven formal shirts and a few ties if that’s your thing, blazers are fun too. You don’t like makeup? FANTASTIC, you have a lovely face. You like wearing makeup? GREAT, ROCK THAT SHIT. You only like blood-of-your-enemies lipstick? OWN IT. You only like bright turquoise eyeliner? AWESOME. You want to dye your hair every color of the rainbow? CONDITION THE SHIT OUT OF IT, IT’LL LOOK GLORIOUS AND BE SOFT AS A FUCKING PUPPY. Looking the way you want to look, the way you’re comfortable, decreases that urge to ‘hide’ by slouching your shoulders and sticking to the background. Badasses do not hide because they don’t like their clothes. If they don’t like their clothes, they change their clothes to represent their inner badass. It seems like a tiny thing, but it even helps when you need to talk to people (what up my friends with social anxiety), because it feels a little bit like armor.
STEP TWO: LEARN HOW TO WALK LIKE YOU’RE NOT JUST READY TO KILL SOMEONE, BUT CAPABLE OF DOING IT WITH YOUR BARE HANDS. That means chin up, shoulders back, and act like you know what you’re doing (no one really knows what they’re doing, don’t get bogged down in that, just fake it and everyone will believe you). Chant to yourself “I AM A MOTHERFUCKING BOSS” until you feel the rhythm in your soul, repeat your favorite line of poetry in time with your heart, imagine that each footfall is the sound of your enemies’ heads being lopped the fuck off, whatever works for you. Look where you’re planning to go and people will get the fuck out of your way. SWING YOUR ARMS, THE MOMENTUM IS SOOTHING IF YOU’RE FEELING FIDGETY AND NERVOUS. Feeling tense? Fold your hands behind your back, it makes you look bigger and feel bigger and hides your tension. Wear shoes that make you feel like you can ACCOMPLISH SHIT. If those are six inch stiletto heels, congratulations on your balance, you are ready to GO FORTH AND FUCK PEOPLE UP. If they’re combat boots (my preference), you are ready to STOMP ON THE SOULS OF THOSE WHO WOULD DEFEAT YOU. If they’re flats, you will look dainty and gentle RIGHT UP UNTIL YOUR GLORIOUS TRIUMPH. It’s about feeling like you can get shit done, like you’re capable of getting shit done. If you pretend to believe those two things, everyone else will be convinced, and that might even help convince you.
STEP THREE: LEARN THE FINE ART OF “I MEANT TO DO THAT.” You are a cat. It doesn’t matter if you just fell down the damn stairs into a tiny puddle of five-foot klutziness (guess who used to do that A LOT), pick yourself up and dust yourself off and crack a quick joke at your own expense and then MOVE ON. If someone else brings it up, TELL THEM THAT IT WAS SO FIVE HOURS AGO. You mis-spoke in front of the whole class? LAUGH WITH THEM RATHER THAN BLUSHING AND LOOKING HUMILIATED. It makes people feel a lot less inclined to make fun of you about something if they think you don’t give a shit. Remember, grasshopper, you have no fucks to give because it would be beneath you to give a fuck.
STEP FOUR: PICK YOUR BATTLES, AND THEN DO YOUR RESEARCH. This one’s pretty simple. You earn a lot more respect if you manage to be reasonably well spoken and well-reasoned on a handful of topics that mean a lot to you than if you go off like a wayward squiggly rocket on any damn thing. So pick a few things that you’re going to fight for (gay rights, pro-choice/anti-abortion debates, racism issues, religious equality, and bullying were usually mine, for reasons that won’t come up) and then LEARN YOUR SHIT. TALKING OUT OF YOUR ASS WON’T HELP. It helps boost your confidence if you know your topic, and it decreases the odds of a confrontation becoming personally vicious. You have a stutter? That’s okay, plenty of people do, sometimes it helps to practice on your own and if it really stresses you out to talk just try to master the “fuck off” glare, it works like a charm if you’re feeling nonverbal for any reason. You really hate confrontation? It’s fine to NOT DO CONFRONTATION, learn how to gracefully redirect the discussion onto safer ground. You’re a fucking adrenaline junkie who kind of loves to fight (me)? It DOES NOT MAKE YOU A BAD PERSON to fight for what you believe in
STEP FIVE: DON’T STRESS ABOUT IT TOO MUCH. Ultimately people will think whatever they want, and sometimes all you can do is take a few deep breaths and hope that they get hit by a falling meteor. These are just suggestions to boost confidence. GO FORTH AND GET IN TOUCH WITH YOUR INNER BADASS.
Sources: I’m a five foot nothing girl, no one’s fucked with me more than once in many years, and apparently I have a bit of a rep.
CLINT/NATASHA AU | Clint and Natasha are stranded on a snowy mountain waiting for S.H.I.E.L.D. to come and get them home after a mission. Natasha’s wearing an hideous sweater she found in the safe house, Clint has some ideas on how to get rid of it…
The boob size thing is wrong. Like, the wrongiest of wrongs. Cup size is in direct proportion to band size, so a 32D (me, depending on the brand) is more like a grapefruit. Unless we’re talking some seriously anemic melons.
^^Yes, thanks. I’m a 32DDD (I knoooooow, don’t talk to me, it’s impossible to find a bra that fits) and I’d say like maybe a cantaloupe. It’s a proportion issue here, folks. I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but it helps explain boob size to people is you know roughly the size of various fruits and the size of your boobs. Your hand is a good measurement. I can about cup my hand around a cantaloupe, I can wrap my whole hand around a lemon, I can wrap my hand about halfway around a grapefruit, I need two hands for a watermelon. (ALSO WTF IS ‘MELON’ DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY KINDS OF MELON THERE ARE?) But yeah this has been ‘colloquial boob sizing’ with Moran. Moran out.
