NORMALIZE POLYAMORY
my polyam ass: SHOOK
i love seeing these things on my dash, i love them soooooo much!
Thank you!

Kiana Khansmith
Keni
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
Xuebing Du
trying on a metaphor
will byers stan first human second
Sweet Seals For You, Always

Andulka

Product Placement
sheepfilms
Mike Driver
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
taylor price
$LAYYYTER

oozey mess
noise dept.
tumblr dot com
occasionally subtle
todays bird

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seen from Singapore

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seen from Malaysia
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@nuknuk42
NORMALIZE POLYAMORY
my polyam ass: SHOOK
i love seeing these things on my dash, i love them soooooo much!
Thank you!
times when it’s ok to misgender a trans person
when they ask u to because you are going to be around ppl they aren’t out to
times when it’s not ok to misgender a trans person
literally any other time
@ all the cis ppl adding their own exceptions to this post: literally fuck off
If you call pedophilia a kink please unfollow me and never talk to me again
Isn’t it disgusting that 23 people just unfollowed me
Unfollow me too
this goes double if you call paedophilia a disability. unfollow me twice
and if you call pedophilia an “orientation” or in any way compare it to being LGBP+ you can unfollow, delete your blog, and set yourself on fire.
I just lost 50 followers.. bye
clearing out the trash
GO ON AND S M A S H THAT UNFOLLOW BUTTON
BUHBYE U McNASTIES
I’ve seen this circulating forever and genuinely thought “no way do I have any of them following me” until this week when it turned out I had all these fuckin “MAP” (pedophile) followers sad to find out I’m an “anti” (normal person) Please leave and also please get guinea worm.
Just in case…
This is just plain disgusting?? If you think the stuff mentioned above is okay/a disability/an orientation please do not follow me/unfollow me
don’t hate to be that guy but you can walk out lmao… i’m sure i’ve made where i stand pretty clear anyway so yeah
Do you have any triggers?
Jello, Popsicles, Soup Broth.
Nah, I never joke about Jello, Popsicles, and Soup Broth…
Indeed, I am!
I’m a disability advocate whose triggers are Jello, Popsicles, and Soup Broth.
I legit just lost a follower over this.
They must be really big fans of Jello and/or Popsicles and/or Soup Broth.
For those who have trouble detecting sarcasm - the last sentence about them being fans of said foods was sarcastic. But a few people have really unfollowed me over this.
The other three replies, including the original, are serious.
Jello, Popsicles, and Soup Broth are my legit triggers. I would never joke about that.
I know it sounds bizarre. But trust me, I’m serious.
(I’m also not a big fan of fluorescent lights.)
It should be noted that I haven’t received this many death threats since the Great Snape War of 2013.
This is by far my favorite reply:
All right, folks, take your seats, because class is now in session! Let’s have a little talk…
Yeah, yeah, I know it’s Saturday, but learning is fun.
I’ve had seven surgeries in my lifetime and will probably have many more in the future. And one such surgery, which happened about nine years ago, involved really fun (*sarcasm*) things like tubes that are shoved up your nose and end up in your stomach (I know, I didn’t think it was possible either until they did it), eight gallons of really disgusting fluid, pain, lots of pain, and the direct order that I had to evacuate every single bit of food that was inside me.
And that was before the surgery even began!
After the surgery, I had to stay in the hospital for about a month.
And I was on what’s called a clear-liquid diet.
What’s a clear-liquid diet?
For this particular hospital:
Water, Jello, Popsicles, and Soup Broth.
A meal that was delivered to my hospital room three times a day.
That’s all I was allowed to eat.
For those of you who enjoy doing math: I was in the hospital for a month, which is roughly 30 days. I had to eat this meal three times a day. That’s 90 bowls of soup broth, 90 containers of Jello, and 90 Popsicles. Ninety times I had to eat these things. In the span of a month. 90.
Which means that nine years later, I am actually physically unable to eat these three items without vomiting. It’s a sensory trigger.
So why didn’t I talk about this from the beginning instead of enduring four death-threats, six unfollows, and nineteen messages/comments (not including the death threats and the ones that just said ‘Popsicles, Jello, Soup Broth’ over and over again)?
Well, there’s two reasons.
A.) I don’t have to. People don’t ever have to explain why something is triggering to them. Once they say that it is, it should just be a given.
And
B.) The above comment is right. I am a disability advocate. And part of that advocacy includes advocating on behalf of people with triggers. And so, you’ve all been part of a social experiment for the past few hours - an experiment to see how people react when they see that someone has really bizarre triggers (out-of-context).
And I’m a bit sad to say that many of you have failed. Even other people with triggers and/or other advocates.
So listen because this is really important:
I know that triggers are a sensitive subject and I know that there are people out there who do joke about them.
But there are even more people out there who have triggers that seem really bizarre and even silly.
And you know what?
You cannot invalidate those triggers.
You cannot assume that someone is joking, you cannot assume that they’re mocking other people with triggers that are more commonplace or ‘sensible’, you cannot assume that they are anything less than genuine.
If someone tells you that they have a trigger, you need to believe them, no matter how bizarre it might seem.
Class Dismissed.
controversial topics should be stuff like “is cloning good” or “should we fuck aliens” and not whether people deserve to be poor or deserve healthcare
Reminder that all black a-spec women are amazing. (n‿n✿)
bi women asking to not be written off based on relationship status =/= “forcing you to care about m/f relationships”, so jot that down
honestly this wouldn’t be an issue if people viewed bi women as fully fledged humans and not units within a relationship (usually m/f ones because people LOVE to treat us as extensions to men)
so what if she’s in a monogomous relationship with a man? she’s a whole person who has a whole world and identity outside of it. To deny her community based on relationship status is to deny her personhood outside of her relationships.
and to deny her personhood outside of her relationships is to isolate her and make her more susceptible to abuse from straight men!
Queer kids are not allowed to be kids.
They aren’t allowed to get angry when people bully them because by reacting people believe they justify the abuse. They are forced to deal with adult situations often without support from any of the actual adults around them. When they look for leaders in their community they often find no one who is like them and are left with only scraps of representation in media to look to. And they don’t have the support system they deserve, the support system heterosexual/romantic cisgender kids are given without question. They are forced to hide parts of themselves from their family members and we pretend that it is normal. And if they decide to discuss that particular part of their identity it is picked apart and examined often before the kid even knows how to process it themselves. Their own identities is branded as “too adult” for them when it is not their identities that is too adult, but how we treat them once we are informed of these parts of their identities.
Queer kids deserve so much better than they are given.
I KNOW HOW MY FILTHY MUTANT ABILITIES UPSET YOU, SCHMIDT. DON’T WORRY–
–YOU WILL DIE PURE. NO MAGNETISM
JUST FISTS.
reblog Magneto punching a Nazi
you won’t get anything for it, except for a kickass photoset of Magneto punching a Nazi on your blog
JUST LETTING Y'ALL KNOW WHERE THIS BLOG STANDS.
Reblog every time it hits my Dash
‘’being aromantic comes before me being gay and i am proud of my aro identity you fucking aphobes’’
oh now we’re coming after gay aros? i see….
it literally costs $0.00 to not police other ppl’s indentities by telling them what parts of themselves to prioritize or not
A lot of us feel this way too, like, full offence, but y’all are the ones who kept telling us that part of our identity had to be a modifier to begin with. So, when aroace people tell you, ‘yeah, but this is what modifies this part’ you don’t get to be upset by an answer you didn’t like to something you forced on us anyways.
Besides which, like, how fucking arrogant are you that you think you get to decide how other peoples identities function. Like, are you me? Do you know my experiences? Do you understand the immense complexity of my identity and how it interacts within itself? No? Then shut the fuck up and let ME describe and prioritize whatever parts I am going to (if I even want to), because I am the only expert on my identity. You’re an expert in yours, you’re not the expert in anyone elses, and you’re in not position to pretend you are.
Anyways, this is homophobic since you did actually attack how some gay people see themselves and exist as themselves for nothing more than not liking how they’re identity is. Congrats, you’re a homophobe.
🏳️🌈This blog supports all sexual orientations and gender identities
Reblog if yours does too.
Reblog to make a white gay big mad
Reblog to make black queer people feel visible and supported (and also to make a white gay big mad)
[Source] [Convict Collars]
Because saving kitties is important.
This is a freakn’ wonderful idea and needs to be spread around to let people know.
One time I thought I lost my old cat and I cried for days looking for him. People need to care more about them please report lost kitties. :(
Reblog if you love black cats and don’t think they’re bad luck
Speaking as an owner of a lovely black cat
Photo by Femi Matti
Because when I was five, my kindergarten classmate told me I couldn’t be the princess in the game we were playing because black girls couldn’t be princesses. Because I was in third grade the first time a teacher seemed shocked at how “well-spoken” I was. Because in fourth grade I was told my crush didn’t like black girls. Because in sixth grade a different crush told me I was pretty — for a black girl. Because in 7th grade my predominantly black suburban neighborhood was nicknamed “Spring Ghettos” instead of calling it its name (Spring Meadows). Because I was in 8th grade the first time I was called an Oreo and told that I “wasn’t really black” like it was a compliment.
Because in 9th grade when I switched schools a boy told me he knew I had to be mixed with something to be so pretty. Because in 10th grade my group of friends and I were called into an office and asked if we were a gang, or if we had father figures. Because in 11th grade my AP English teacher told me that I didn’t write like a college-bound student (though I later scored perfectly on the exam). Because when I volunteered in Costa Rica that summer, I was whistled at and called Negrita. Because when I asked my host father if that was like being called nigger, he said, no, it was a compliment because black women are perceived to be very good in bed. Because I was a kid. Because I watched from the bleachers while the school resource officer didn’t let my brother into a football game after mistaking him for another black boy who was banned. Because the school resource officer maced him for insisting he was wrong. Because I was suspended for telling the school resource officer he didn’t deserve respect. Because my senior year boyfriend said nigger.
Because I was one of two black girls in the freshman class at my college. Because at meetings to talk about how to attract more black students, someone suggested that the school attracted a certain demographic (sustainable living, farming, general hippiness) and that maybe black people “just weren’t interested in things like that.” Because my college boyfriend called me a “fiery negress” as a joke when he ordered for me at a restaurant. Because the boyfriend after that cut me off for saying he was privileged. Because I can’t return to my hometown without getting pulled over.
Because when I got married people assumed I was pregnant. Because people who know I’m married call my husband my “baby daddy.” Because my pregnancy with my son was plagued with videos of black lives being taken in cold blood. Because their murderers still walk the streets. Because the nation sent me a message that my son’s life didn’t matter. Because when Tamir Rice was murdered I curled up on the bed and sobbed, cupping my belly. Because my son heard me sobbing from the inside. Because they don’t care about us. Because when I was 7 months pregnant my neighbor asked me to help him move a dresser up a flight of stairs. Because I am not seen as a woman. Because I am not allowed to be fragile. Because the nurse that checked me in at the hospital to deliver wouldn’t look my husband in the eye. Because the vast majority of people won’t look my husband in the eye. Because when the doctors put my son in my arms and I saw that he was as dark as his father, I knew life would be even harder for him. Because he will be regarded the same way I was. Because he will be forced to grow up before he is grown. Because strangers at the store think it’s okay to reach into my son’s stroller and touch him without a word to me. Because we aren’t entitled to boundaries. Because they think we are here for their enjoyment. Because people don’t think we are people.
Because my nephew told me he couldn’t be Spider Man like he wants to because Spider Man is white. Because when he was four he said that he wants to be white so that he can go on a boat like the people on TV. Because I couldn’t save him from that. Because I can’t protect my son. Because I can’t protect myself. Because my stomach sinks whenever I see a police car. Because when my husband leaves the house at night I am afraid he’ll be killed for looking like somebody. Because I worry that if I went missing like the 64,000 other black women in this nation, the authorities wouldn’t try hard to find me. Because I am disposable. Because I am hated. Because we keep dying. Because they justify our deaths. Because no one is held accountable. Because I am gas lighted. Because I have been told that by speaking about being oppressed I am victimizing myself. Because our murders are filmed and still pardoned. Because I don’t know what it means to let loose. Because doing the things that my white peers do with ease could cost me my life — trespassing in abandoned buildings, smoking joints, wearing a hoodie, looking an officer in the eye, playing music loudly, existing. Because I am afraid to relax. Because I am traumatized.
Because there isn’t a place in the world White Supremacy hasn’t touched. Because I am trapped here. Because the playing field isn’t leveled. Because I love my skin. Because I love being a woman. Because not hating myself is considered radical. Because I’ve been called racist for defending myself. Because all the major protests are for cis black men. Because I’ve been told that talking about the women who’ve died is taking away from the real issue. Because I get no break from fighting. Because everything is a struggle. Because my anger isn’t validated. Because they don’t care about my pain. Because they don’t believe in my pain. Because they forgive themselves without atoning. Because I’m not free. Because the awareness of it permeates everything. Because it’s not ending. Because they teach the children that it’s already ended. Because someone will assert their supremacy over me today. Because they’ll do it tomorrow. Because I want more.
Because I deserve better.