Ok Wait, Reblog If You’ve Cried At Least Once Because Of Math, Doesn’t Matter Which Grade I’m Trying

Just went on an emotional roller-coaster ride learning about Joan of Arc (Jeanne d'Arc)

Got a bribe from an anon.

I always say that I will never do something like this ever again and I have shot my foot yet again...

The worst thing you can do, as someone who has recently realised they are transfem, is to let terves and transphobes convince you cis women will never accept you.

I was told that when I came out everyone would reject me. That I would find myself isolated from the world, and from other women especially, who would react to me with horror and revulsion.

In reality, within the first months of coming out, in no particular order:

My sister's reaction on my coming out was, "Right, so I have a sister instead of a brother. Cool. I'm taking you clothes shopping tomorrow."

A friend, when she learned I am a woman, immediately invited me to her women-only, girls-night-out birthday party the following week.

Another friend, when a friend of hers expressed doubts about my gender, immediately shut them down and reaffirmed I am a woman.

I went camping with a group of friends, and we had two tents, one for the boys and one for the girls; I was unsure as to which I should enter, to which a girl friend responded by grabbing me and physically dragging me inside the women's tent.

In the women's bathroom at a movie theatre a random woman, whom I'd never seen before and haven't seen since, stopped me as I was going into a stall, to warn me there was no toilet paper in there, because she'd just used the last of it.

All of these, and more, some from friends, some from complete strangers. All within a few months, as a trans woman who hadn't started medical transition yet, and was very visible as being a trans woman.

I've had some people reject me, true, but the vast majority, including almost all cis women, accepted me as a sister with open arms.

Cis women are cool. It's terves who are bigots.

I'm just a man

Concept:

Arthur and his knights and Merlin wake up on an island without knowing how they got there.

The only hint they have is a parchment with a name on it. They have to find that person to get out.

Arthur has to find a guy names Emrys.

Gwaine has to find Dragoon.

Percival the last Dragonlord.

Elyan the king of the druids.

Lancelot has to find the god of magic.

Leon has to find the Dolma.

Etc. Etc .

And Merlin?

Merlin has two tasks: one side says: find Merlin. The other says: run.

arthur knows there is something to be said of the way a man wears his scars.

his father wears his, an angry silver cord right above his eyebrow, with defiant pride. time and time again, he has seen a visiting noble alight their gaze on the mar, and his father's bellicose stare in return, a silent war between them. i have survived this, the king would say without words. i will survive you.

on his father's men, a constellation of pink, raised flesh-- a rope of gnarled skin on sir bedivere's left arm from the slice of a blade; a thick, white tear in the fabric of ector's neck. when arthur's young, he sits by fires and listens to the tales of bandits, beasts, and brethren who leave the marks on the warriors who arthur loves.

and, in time, they come to arthur. a snaking vine on arthur's right hip. a thin slice along his left bicep. none of them grow angry and purple the way he's seen after the battle dust settles. he's lucky, in that regard, that all his settle into the skin like they belong there. a man who wears his scars not without pride, but whose scars wear him with the same reverence.

his new knights collect them with the same wonder arthur first collected his. a memory of a battle well fought. a time where death reached out its hand and missed. i have survived this. i will survive you.

but they never come to merlin.

at first, when he's young and naive to all the things merlin has done for him, it stands to reason that merlin is never scarred. he doesn't do anything. later, when the truth outs, arthur knows that was as foolish a thought as trusting his father blindly.

merlin fights alongside him, now, in their older years. he watches as blade lunges, as arrow pierces, as spear aims-- and yet, merlin walks away from battle without a scratch. surely, arthur thinks, merlin has just been lucky. maybe his scars are like arthur's-- not quite as visible as his father's, as his men's. hidden underneath cloth and armour.

merlin shares his battlefield, his kingdom, and-- on the luckiest night of arthur's life-- decides to share his bed, too.

it's after arthur has run his hands over every inch merlin will allow him that he realises. not once, in the fog of their union, did arthur's fingers ever stumble over raised skin, divots or grooves.

"what's wrong?" merlin asks, his voice quiet, his lips pressed to where their hands are joined. "tell me if you're about to kick me out of your bed, at least, so i can figure out how i am going to walk after all that."

it's a joke to mask how scared merlin must feel. this is a new development, though one as easy as breath, as predictable as the sun rising in the sky. arthur will tell him that later. for now, though--

"you promised," he whispers into merlin's neck, "to keep nothing more from me."

merlin frowns, his brows drawn together. "i haven't? i mean, if you're talking about my affections, surely we can both admit that yours were the more hidden--"

arthur places a hand over the groove of a lower rib. "here," he says, "is where you were almost run through by bandits, a few seasons ago." his fingers trail down to a hip. "here, you intervened in my fight with some beast or another, and i had to watch gaius give you stitches. and here--"

merlin stops his hand, sucks in a breath. "arthur."

"did you use magic to heal?" arthur finds he isn't angry, not in the way he expects. "i understand, merlin. you had to explain away so much; it would make sense--"

"it's a glamour," merlin admits in the space between his words.

arthur frowns. "a glamour."

merlin can only nod.

arthur knows what the word means, sort of, from the magical instruction and history merlin has given him in the time past their-- arthur's-- new found knowledge of their bond. but glamours, as merlin had explained, are oft for the use of enchantment, so as to make one's romantic interest view them as beautiful--

oh.

he rolls merlin onto his back.

"show me." it is a plea more than a command. it is not from merlin's king, but rather, arthur hopes, his heart.

merlin sighs. his eyes glow gold.

like roots spreading through the earth, a tide rippling over sand, his appearance changes. angry pink gnarls. fine, silver cuts. the faint shadow of where a burn once sat. they litter merlin's pale skin, old and new, in places arthur never could have imagined.

he knows his face must show something that makes merlin turn away from him. with a shaking hand, he turns merlin's chin back to him.

"tell me one thing," arthur says. it is a command, now. "were these all for me?"

there is no air in the room as merlin nods.

slowly, arthur draws in breath. he leans down, then, and presses his lips to one at the base of merlin's neck.

"then," he starts, shakily, "this is mine." another kiss, to his ribs, the puckered flesh of a sword wound. "this is mine." to his wrist, where chains must have sat at the behest of his father. "this is mine," and he's choking up, now.

merlin's trembling underneath him, a quaking branch in the wind. arthur spreads his fingers over merlin's heart, takes its beat in his palm, and looks him in his eyes.

"i will love everything you show me," arthur breathes, a promise, "because it is mine."

"as am i," merlin promises back. "as am i."

I think my academic advisor is losing patience with all my questions but unfortunately if I don't receive clear, concise, comprehensible, instructions with no room for error I will in fact tie myself to a railroad track

I made my sister this blanket for her birthday this year.

Merlin is her favorite show. It was really fun doing the tapestry crochet part.

Anyways, I’m looking for another crochet project and am about to start fund raising for top surgery next year. So if anyone likes this kind of blanket or wants to commission something, my dms and asks are open 👀👀

Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The eeb that deebs, the blorb that plinks!

’Twas Tumblr, and the slithy memes Did bode and call out on the dash: Fucken WIMDY were the shitpost streams, And of things was the trash.

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The eeb that deebs, the blorb that plinks! Beware of Shittos Glup, and shun Bendlebick Cumperdincks!”

He took his discourse sword in hand; Long time the chungus foe he sought— So rested he in the ball pit (free!) And sat awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish (derogatory) thought he sat, The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, Came GIFfling through the old group chat, And hurgled as it came!

UWU! UWU! And through and through The discourse blade went "Um, actually, the Jabberwock is coded as friendly because 'eyes of flame' means red and orange, and those are warm and inviting colors according to 'color theory', which I guess you haven't heard of and don't understand." He left it dead, and with its head He man car door hook hand.

“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boi! O #frabjousday! Sounds fake but okay!” He reblogged in his joy.

’Twas Tumblr, and the slithy memes Did bode and call out on the dash: Fucken WIMDY were the shitpost streams, And all of us were trash.