Viktor @aquaticwizardry - Tumblr Blog

mangonetics

"Let's go": a normal amount of going

"Let's gooo": a lot of going, exciting!

"Let's goo": this is something different entirely

aquaticwizardry

la version española d esto es ole, oleeeee y olee

#x las precarias ✊

flattopfucker

Death before detransition.

renariontea

sıllıes

icantspellthings

Whenever people ask me "why don't you know xyz, it's so popular" well see it's because

icantspellthings

I literally live in south east asia

yayroos

do americans really think most people's world maps are drawn with them in the middle?? That is the 100% normal standard world map. I am in australia and all our maps look like that.

etiennelux

reading a negative review of something you love written by a person who very clearly didn’t understand it at all

t-valentines

reading a positive review of something you love written by a person who very clearly didn’t understand it at all

jabberwockypie

Reading a negative review of something you hate by someone who very clearly didn't understand it at all and hates it for the wrong reasons

upsettingandunfortunateclasshate

When Tess Morgan's son came home with a tattoo, she was griefstricken. She knew her reaction was OTT (he's 21) but it signalled a change in their relationship

This is gold this, absolute gold, the most over the top melodramatic hysterical ridiculous thing I’ve ever read

brawlcloud

This is actually so interesting to read- it’s from 2012 but its full of the same anxieties, even some of the same phrasing that many of the guardian’s later pieces on transness use. really hammers home how much of the terfism that emerged in the late 10s was middle class mothers angry at a loss of control over their adult children- whether that be their bodies or their friends or their opinions- and making that everyone’s problem because they have the power to do so

monkey-cat-vivi

He says, “I’m still the same person.”

I look at him, sitting there, my 21-year-old son. I feel I’m being interviewed for a job I don’t even want. I say, “But you’re not. You’re different. I will never look at you in the same way again. It’s a visceral feeling. Maybe because I’m your mother. All those years of looking after your body – taking you to the dentist and making you drink milk and worrying about green leafy vegetables and sunscreen and cancer from mobile phones. And then you let some stranger inject ink under your skin. To me, it seems like self-mutilation. If you’d lost your arm in a car accident, I would have understood. I would have done everything to make you feel better. But this – this is desecration. And I hate it.”