Daily reminder that your gas station employees and fast food workers are real people and you being a Karen or an asshole can absolutely set off a PTSD episode and if you do that you're a peice of shit
ojovivo

Discoholic 🪩
Peter Solarz

Love Begins

blake kathryn
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
styofa doing anything

Kiana Khansmith

JBB: An Artblog!
Cosmic Funnies
RMH
Xuebing Du
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

Origami Around

shark vs the universe
Mike Driver
Keni
🪼
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@terrorfromtheabyss
Daily reminder that your gas station employees and fast food workers are real people and you being a Karen or an asshole can absolutely set off a PTSD episode and if you do that you're a peice of shit
Okay i can't take screenshots on my phone but Tumblr mobile is serving ads from the HRC inviting me to thank trans soldiers and congratulate Pete Buttigieg for being the first LGBTQ+ cabinet member and. Like.
Fucking.
Please reblog this with links to your donations page if you're an LGBTQ+ person who needs funds for housing or healthcare or food so that I can reblog it because I'm full of rage at what the donations to HRC are being spent on and would like to actually see money to real people, not to Tumblr ads celebrating a price-fixing opponent of universal healthcare getting appointed to the cabinet by a dude who legislated the war on drugs.
trans person here, we really need help- cashapp- $kateclrk
venmo upon request, dms open
Hey there, it’s me, your friendly neighborhood enby who is spending their time trying to yell at state officials for how our unemployment system is completely not working and the call center is useless and, hey, it’s okay, I’m sure a city built on tourism and entertainment will be fine in a pandemic, yeah?
http://paypal.me/nudityandnerdery
Trans person, anything helps me with my transition bills. Cashapp $gotylocks
Im trans and disabled and so is my wife, we could always use help affording food/bills
paypal [email protected] and cashapp is $AliceMoonflowyr
im broke and cant keep work bc1qsrn6rwgktrkfykyxjkrgwajdphvmhsscf94ezr
I'm madi, I haven't been able to find work since I got laid off with the pandemic when my manager found out I'm gay and used a round of lay offs to get rid of me, and I don't have enough money for food, my PayPal is madimaymarie
Hi, everyone! I hate to ask, but I am really struggling right now, and I have been for several months now. I have a job lined up to start soon, but I have no food, no money for food, or for transportation to that job until I get my first paycheck when I start. Any help at all would make a world of difference! I don't have many marketable skills, but I can edit papers and works for money for anyone who would like.
My PayPal is @madimaymarie
Thank you for any help anyone is able to give
it’s the 21st day of the 21st year of the 21st century.
you can only reblog this today.
same tbh
Link for full article below.
Shawna Dias’s sewing machine is tucked away at her work table behind racks of fur. Hot pink, bright yellow, baby blue, they hang like a fluf
*pretends to be shocked but also maybe this will make people realize that Indigenous People Know What The Hell They’re Doing and Deserve Respect*
3 other fun/cool facts about the Inuit:
1. They also invented kayaks and dog booties.
Dog booties are actually really important for working sled dogs in winter to protect their paw pads from iceburn and keep ice from getting in between their toes and burning them that way.
2. The traditional Inuit diet is one of the healthiest in the world, and the most balanced for the ratio of Omega 3 to Omega 6 consumption
Most modern diets consume way too much Omega 6 and not enough Omega 3.
3. Inuit is a plural noun. When speaking about a single person the correct word is Inuk (always capitalized)
For example, “This Inuk woman is wearing traditional Inuit tattoos”.
And she is wonderful
Never a bad time to remember that indigenous people are wonderful and deserve to have a good day.
“World shocked to learn Native Americans actually knew what the fuck they were doing after all.”
Lil Nas wrote a kids book!
You can buy it here!
“Misgendering: An Analogy” by Bishakh Som
this is a good analogy, I’ve been explaining cis people for awhile that someone’s pronouns are how you refer to them when you don’t use their name, and you wouldn’t refer to someone by another name just because of how they look, so names and pronouns are related in my head anyway
This is such a clear and concise way of explaining this.
It’s funny because it applies to dead names too
A black girl will be spending years in jail because she had a mental health crisis. PLEASE READ
Meet Sarya: she was experiencing a mental health crisis. Police came and tackled her. She is 15.
Saraya Rees is a 15 year old biracial girl from Coos County, Oregon. After being abruptly instructed to stop taking her antidepressants by a local pediatrician, Saraya went into psychosis. In her manic state, Saraya poured a small amount of gasoline on the floor. Her parents called Coos Health & Wellness in hope that that would send mental health advisors, Coos Health & Wellness sent the police. While still in psychosis, the officers arrested her, questioned her without her family or lawyers present, charged with attempted murder and assault, and sent her to juvenile prison for 11 years.
This is not justice.
This is inhumane.
WHAT YOU CAN DO TO HELP:
Call these people and demand that she be let go to the custody in her parents.
Please call Governor Kate Brown and Senator Jeff Merkely.
📞Governor Kate Brown: (503) 378-4582
📞Senator Jeff Merkley: (503) 326-3386
Follow @justiceforsaraya on instagram. You can find info on where to send her Christmas cards and get updated on progress.
The instagram handle for information on Saraya’s case and updates is actually @Justice4Saraya
They have a linktree for her case, which contains links to her facebook, a petition for Change.org, updates on her case, and other links highlighted below: linktr.ee/Justice4Saraya GoFundMe to give Saraya legal support and treatment: gofundme.com/f/justice4saraya Purchasing either the Save Saraya candle or the Justice4Saraya candle at Shantic Creations will also donate to help Saraya: shanticreationsnyc.com/justice4saraya Here is a spreadsheet of more places and people to call and email: docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1bD-Jc5_2IInZjaubMFgJv00nLjmXZUMvscTUflWs6-c Here is a spreadsheet of places to send physical letters to demand justice, which also includes addresses to send gifts or letters of encouragement or Holiday cards to Saraya: docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1M3mVfpioHUduSHsi5qkL2XUYY15zIV4JhI1OSL4BgUs Be sure to donate to the GoFundMe and not to any of the Change.org petitions linked on the above Linktree, as no money donated to Change.org is given to help those they were made for or their families.
this made me happy :)
i hope every other jewish person who sees this today has a lovely day
[ID: Post banner, on the left is a blue Star of David. The banner is Blue on blue and reads “This user strongly supports the safety and well being of Jewish people” end ID]
My greyhound was snoozing under blankets in her bed but then decided she wanted to look out the kitchen window. A magnificent beast.
i thought she broke the fucking glass door
What a pretty peacock
You know those anime meta posts along the lines of “I was born with pink hair. The doctors told my parents I was a Main Character and ever since my life has not known peace from demons/spirits/sports competitions/harems who find me”
Well I see that, and I raise you this:
An anime boy whose appearance is, by absolutely anyone’s account, completely and utterly average. Mundane hair. Mundane eyes. Not even glasses to set him the tiniest bit apart. A simple, unmemorable, unrecognizable civilian among a backdrop of millions.
And he has a lot of passions, and a lot of ambitions, which he hones every chance he gets. He’s dabbled in sports and archery and cooking and just about anything you could wrap a competition around. And he’s competed in many of these. Every chance he gets. With all of his passion and all of his might.
He’s crushed by the competition every single time.
Until one day–one day something clicks for him. Something that should have seemed obvious from the start and yet never was–as though everyone, including himself, was unwittingly blind to it. It clicks, when he realizes every kid who’s beaten him in competition, every kid who’s gone on to fame and glory and acclaim, has been some candy-haired gel-spiked ridiculously-dressed fucker.
There’s some trend there that this Main Character boy can’t explain and can’t understand but he decides, this one time, fuck it. He’ll play along too. He’s got a model train competition in four days, and he’s got nothing more to lose. He hits up the department store, buys the pinkest, noxious-est, fruitiest hair dye he can find, the spikiest hair gel available, and the gaudiest clothes on the thrift rack. He enters the model train competition looking like a bubble gum gijinka.
And he wins.
Suddenly, the other candy-haired contestants notice him. They talk to him. They pledge rivalries. Girls notice him. Judges applaud him. Acclaimed model train aficionados offer him internships across the world. He’s hit on something.
The main cast expands to cover just about every candy-hair cliche in the book: from the mostly-normal-looking demure school girl with the blue hair to the Naruto-est, yelling-est boy with the red-and-green spiked hair. The cool megane senpais, the purple haired tsunderes, suddenly everyone is interested in him. They’re prodigies and upstarts and underdogs and they truly believe that this main character boy is one of them.
So the main character boy maintains his ruse. He touches up his roots at dawn every morning and carefully attends to his gelled spikes and tells absolutely no one about this great, uncanny, unfathomable secret he’s stumbled upon. He wins his competitions left and right. He racks up the acclaim. He’s hailed as a prodigy of all trades, just now bursting onto the scene, and boils to the top of all his candy-haired peers.
He’s rising up, his every dream within his grasp. Until one day he gets a note under his door, taped to an old picture of his Normal Boring self from middle school, that says “You don’t belong”
There’s an international competition, and Main Character-kun and all his candy-haired rivals/peers/nakama/friends are being housed in the same hotel.
The night before the competition, some ungodly scream sounds from the Naruto-kid’s room. The rest of the cast rush in, flick on the lights, and find Naruto-kid sitting up in bed, his hair completely flat and utterly black, a pair of DIY salon gloves discarded next to his bed. He races to the mirror across the room, hands hovering in shock around his straightened hair, as though unable to recognize the boy staring back at him.
It’s… an unsettling act of personal vandalism, but Naruto-kid seems unhurt. After verifying he’s okay and reporting it to hotel security, most of the kids are content to go back to their own rooms and just double-check their own locks.
Most seem content…. Not all…
The next day, Naruto-kid is eliminated from the competition nigh-instantly. He’s given no chance to monologue about his ambitions, his friends, his hometown. Not even a second spared for a flashback to the bullying that became the formative motivator of his childhood.
No. He’s summarily eliminated by another candy-haired contestant. Naruto-kid, with his suddenly unassuming black hair, is dismissed from the arena. And Main Character-kun is distressed.
There’s a murderer on the loose. Just in no traditional sense. Another kid is shaved bald in the middle of the night, and eliminated from the competition the next day. Colored contact lenses go missing, and suddenly the red-eyed yandere girl doesn’t have a leg to stand on. She’s sent home without the slightest bit of fanfare. Someone funnels bleach into the sprinkler line, and a triggering of the fire alarm leaves a whole arena of contestants doused in the ruinous fluid. Their candy colors melt into brittle, tacky, bleachy off-orange. Not a single one survives that night’s round of eliminations.
Main Character-kun is still pink. He’s still gelled. He’s still dressed in fiery robes and platform sandals with a bandana cinched around his forehead. He hoards hair dye in his room and sleeps with one eye open. He can only watch in silence as this gruesome assassination plot unravels, without a doubt in his mind that he is the real target.
One night, there’s a knock on his door. And the twisting of a key. And the squeak of hinges swinging open. Main Character-boy’s breathing halts. His time has come.
He looks. It’s the blue-haired girl, the quiet one with self-confidence issues. Her hair is tied into twin pigtails. She’s carrying something in her right hand. Main Character boy braces for impact.
She flicks on the lights. He looks. They’re wigs, in her hand. Three of them. Purple Green and Orange, each primmed and poofed and curled to extravagant degrees.
“Here,” she offers, hand extended. “Take whichever you like. They’re extra.”
“Wait. Why…? What’s this–what’s happening?”
She takes a step forward, and she shuts the door behind her. With her free hand, she grips the blue hairline at her scalp, and she pulls back gently, revealing netting. She drops the blue hair to the ground, and pulls the netting free from her forehead, and a loose, unassuming bob of perfectly black, perfectly normal hair falls around her shoulders.
She’s unassuming in every possible regard, mundane in every sense, a girl to blend into the backdrop of millions.
“We’re not going home yet,” she says. “Not you, and not me.”
chrissy i want you to know im in love with this
The Comb and the Dye are in fact the real anime weapons of this series im so glad they’re wielding them as such
The Main Character girl wraps her hair back up in the netting and fixes her blue wig back in place. She takes a seat in the nearby desk chair and explains why she’s here. She’s suspected for a while that she and MC-kun are the same, both normal-looking people masquerading in this candy haired world. MC-kun had seemed just a bit too distraught during the Naruto-kid incident. That was when Main Character-chan first noticed him, and when she recognized his shade of candy pink hair by its bottle brand.
MC-chan explains that she had lived a very normal and unassuming life. She did Stage Crew in middle school for the drama club, always the unnoticed extra in the background, sweeping in silently, covertly, under darkness to handle the scene changes and wardrobe transformations. She honed her skills making props and costumes for the drama kids, til she was a master of needle and thread, dyes and combs, and props built from paper and plastic.
She thinks it was that attention-to-detail she cultivated in prop-design that let her finally See what MC-kun had seen—the Candy Haired world around her that constantly overshadowed whatever she did.
One day, she put on the wig. And she never looked back.
But she doesn’t know who the hair assassin is either, any more than MC-kun. There’s still strength in numbers. And she figures if they work together, their odds of survival are greater.
MC-kun agrees.
…
The next day is a free day for the kids competing in this International Competition. The morning passes with most of the contestants montaging through a romp in the city, tasting local cuisine and window-shopping around the market area and getting into Kodak-moment worthy shenanigans.
MC-kun and MC-chan steal away to a quiet park, sitting at a picnic table, putting pink- and blue-heads together to talk through all the info they have, and what options are open to them. They don’t get very far. A glasses-wearing girl appears from behind the bushes and stops them cold.
Glasses Girl is small and wiry, mousy in her frame. She has orange hair that poofs around her head, cropped at chin level, in a way that reminds MC-kun vaguely of a roosting chicken. Her glasses are enormous on her freckled face, and they capture the light, obscuring her eyes behind their glare.
“You two… you’re fakes, aren’t you? Both of you.”
MC-kun stops cold. MC-chan spins around in her seat, wide-eyed. “I don’t… I don’t even know what that means! Go away before we—”
Glasses Girl pulls an immaculate, highly stylized laptop from her bag. She flips it open with one hand, propping it on the table and typing furiously, too fast to even see her fingers. Audio begins to play from the laptop speakers.
“We’re not going home yet. Not you, and not me.”
“I hacked into your phone last night,” GG-chan states simply, head tilted toward MC-kun. “I’ve heard the whole conversation.”
“How?!” MC-kun asks. He holds his phone at a distance, like it’s suddenly venomous.
GG-chan shifts. Suddenly the glare of her glasses is no longer obstructing her eyes. Behind the coke-bottle look is an expression of pure brow-knitted confusion. “I don’t…. I don’t actually know. I just could.”
GG-chan was an art student. A not-very-good-at-all art student. And a very-much-below-average competitor in sculpting competitions. She was plain, and unassuming, and inconspicuous, and jealous of the better-established art students around her with their own flashy styles. Her peers wore giant non-prescription glasses; they dyed their hair bright colors and cropped it short to perfect hipster chique.
GG-chan tried to imitate that. But as a truly-not-fantastic artist, she couldn’t even pull that off. She dyed her hair, picked out glasses, overshot “hipster”, and landed firmly in “geek”.
She landed so firmly in “geek” that internationally-acclaimed hacker abilities spawned with her makeover. Suddenly she could break into anything, override anything, hack or fix or erase anything over a permanent wifi connection that followed her as its hotspot.
Her laptop never loses charge. Her bash scripts never fail. Her glasses always glint in the slightest bit of light and slide down her nose so that she has to keep her middle finger pressed firmly to the bridge at all times.
She’s afraid of being sent home in ruin, sent back to her life as a mediocre art student.
GG-chan wants to join the effort to not be eliminated.
…
A day passes. GG-chan has hacked all the email accounts of the registered contestants and has found nothing suspicious. MC-chan has spent her time crafting shorter-cut wigs to give to MC-kun and GG-chan as backups. MC-kun has been trying his best to understand what he’s gotten into. He bought a few extra obnoxious bandanas to bolster his obnoxious outfit, as if that might help.
They’re sitting quietly at lunch, eating in silence, with no new information to share and no desire to attract unwanted attention from the contestants around them.
“Ohhhhh my what is this? Has this pathetic posse of plebeians formed a little club oh how quaint!”
MC-chan chokes on her noodles. GG-chan startles. MC-kun groans.
The voice belongs to a platinum-blond boy, dressed to the nines, who’s sidled up to the table unannounced. He reeks of ambition and money and arrogance and a very particular high-end cologne, and he laughs heartily at his own joke. He flicks a lock of blond hair from his face, which all but sparkles.
MC-kun recognizes this kid. He was one of the first Candy Haired kids to declare an eternal rivalry with him.
“What’s it to you?” MC-kun challenges, already ticked off.
And the Rich Blond Rival Boy deflates. Comically. Pale and hollow-cheeked and exhausted, suddenly leaning against their lunch table, speaking in a rasp. “Please let me join you. I’ve been wearing this Gucci suit for two weeks straight I don’t have any others.”
No one answers immediately. No one has anything resembling an answer.
“Then buy another suit!” MC-kun says.
“Do I look like I’m made of m o n e y to you?!”
“YES.”
“Ah ha! Yes that is the point, well you see–” and RBR-kun pulls out a soggy PB&J from his bag, slumps into an open seat at the table, his eyes dull and matte, solemnly chewing his lunch. “Can one of you spot me like $1.50 for the bus ride to the competition arena tomorrow? I spent the last of my money on this bread.”
MC-kun: “What?”
RBR-kun: “I don’t have money!”
MC-kun: “Why are you ACTING like a rich boy if you DONT HAVE MONEY”
RBR-kun: “LOOK IT JUST KIND OF HAPPENED OKAY.”
MC-kun: “WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT JUST KIND OF HAPPENED.”
And well, it just kind of happened. Rich Blond Rival Boy is as fake as they come. He grew up in a modest household, making money over the summer by doing yard work for neighbors. He was fairly frugal and quiet and unassuming, until his grandma bought him a nice tux for the school dance, and he dyed his hair platinum blond on a dare, and suddenly the world was in his pocket.
Suddenly he had connections in high places. Suddenly he could have wait staff doting on him at a moment’s notice. Suddenly he could summon helicopters at the snap of his fingers, and have any product imaginable, legal or not, air-lifted to him on a whim. Everyone was his pawn. Everything bent to his will. Ever since then he’s been unstoppable in his ambitions.
He just doesn’t have any of the actual money to maintain this. All his cards are overdrafted. His credit is in the toilet. Several different loan sharks technically own the rights to his immortal soul.
Rich Blond Rival Boy wants in on the League Of Background Characters, because he is utterly afraid of the ruin he faces if he is exposed. If the others get assassinated, they get sent home. If RBR-kun gets assassinated, the debtors will drag him out by his toes.
A scuffle erupts over by the lunch line before anyone can give RBR-kun an answer. It’s over in an instant. A shriek, a clatter, a tray and knife hitting the ground. The biker ruffian boy with the blue mohawk lies on the floor. His shorn-off mohawk spikes lie on the platter, as if being served to the cafeteria at large.
Worried murmurs break out in the crowd.
No one had seen the knife-yielder.
No one had seen anything.
As if the act were committed by someone impossible to even notice.
[chanting]
MORE KIDS MORE KIDS MORE KIDS
LAST PART, CONCLUSION AND ALL, AND IT’S LONG.
And the one thing worth noting: MC-chan is now MG-chan, as in Main Girl-chan, to avoid mixing up her name with MC-kun.
Enjoy.
There’s a sustained hush, like a breath held too long. It’s a blooming, crawling, clawing wave of realization that takes the cafeteria captive. Heads turn. Voices falls silent. Clueless candy-hair after clueless candy-hair takes in the murder scene, mohawk spikes presented so curiously, so esoterically plattered, as if part of the lunch selection.
The dish itself is a warning; MG-chan understands that much. She feels the bloodlust in the air. And it’s closer now. She edges her chair away from the table. Her nerves are alight.
“Run,” MG-chan says.
“Sorry?” MC-kun replies.
MG-chan kicks her chair back, lighting to her feet.
“Run!”
And at that moment, a sound like a cannon ball fires, the silence breaking. People startle at the noise, but it’s the boy sitting one table over – directly across from MC-kun – who jolts entirely sideways in his seat. He’s the contestant whose hair has been quaffed perfectly into a cartoon whale, pallid blue and deep ocean undertones brimming through his hairline. He stares forward, as if stunned. The girl next to him asks if he’s okay.
He turns to her slowly, and reveals the entire right half of his face has been consumed in a wad of bubblegum. He raises one shaking hand to his whale-tail, now webbed in gum, and he collapses.
And all hell breaks loose.
MG-chan has MC-kun by the shoulder before he can process it. They’re running. Them and GG-chan and RBR-kun. Them and almost everyone else, a breathing screaming mass of panic as people shove and knee and elbow their way through the crowd.
“Where are we going?” MC-kun asks. He’s stumbling to keep pace with MG-chan, one hand pressed protectively to the bandana on his forehead in danger of slipping off.
“Away from here. Outside.” MG-chan throws her weight against the cafeteria door. It slams open. “Wherever we’re not sitting targets.”
Their feet beat against the linoleum below, into the hotel foyer, but it’s no good. The bloodlust presence doesn’t fade. It does not grow weaker. Instead it gains on them, like heat, like a house fire that lashes out at their heels and trips them with each step. Another two kids go down with the sound of razor blades and a puff of shorn hair, like dandelion fluff blown in the wind.
MG-chan, MC-kun, GG-chan, and RBR-kun all burst out the hotel front doors – RBR-kun with a shriek and a graceful leap over a half-shaved unconscious student on the floor.
“How did he go down?! I didn’t even see him go down?!” RBR-kun shouts, pointing to the kid he vaulted. “Invisibility? Is the murderer invisible?!”
“Maybe super-speed. Really any superpower is possible among these people. We can’t rule anything out.” GG-chan has her laptop out, balanced precariously on the crook of her arm. She types one-handed while she runs. “If I can hack into the security cameras maybe I can activate the infra-red sensors and get a reading on—”
There’s a crack. A gasp. MG, MC, and RBR all look back to find GG-chan frozen in place. Her glasses are shattered, pinned to the wall beside her by a single needle-thin arrow.
“My glasses…” GG-chan blinks, and stares at her laptop like it’s something entirely foreign to her. “What is this? What was I–?”
MG-chan grabs her arm too. “Never mind. Run. Just run.”
Keep reading
Supernatural had the opportunity to do something great. To send a message of love and validation to a whole community. Not only to the part of the community that liked their show, but to all of us. But instead they decided to pander to the people, who never had to fight for their representation.
I support #TheySilencedYou, #TheySilencedThem and #TheyWillNeverSilenceUs and I'm in awe of all of you. Of your eloquence, passion, coordination and decisiveness. And I feel like your message goes beyond this particular TV show and the CW.
It's about protesting a pattern of disrespect towards otherness in Mainstream Media. It's about demanding meaningful, unmistakably queer representation, that enables discourse and furthers understanding in a heterogenic Audience. It's about asking Networks to not only hire diverse staff but to also give them the freedom to tell their stories the way they want to. It's about telling creators to own up to the inherent messages they leave us with in the end.
And that's inspiring and should be celebrated.
Stories matter.
Really hope I don't have to do a fundraiser for my wheelchair...
Just realized medicare doesn't cover wheelchairs for like outside so 🤪
I'll do a real post about this on main when I'm done with my current issue but if anyone cares to help
Hi, I'm Ren/Agent, I'm a trans woman with chronic pain. My mobility has become severely impacted by m… Ren Farrell needs your support for He
We're ~$400 from being halfway there!
If you can’t reblog this, unfollow me now.
it’s fucking disgusting that i just lost 6 followers