I’m Just Saying We Were Robbed Of A Scene Where Buffy And Spike Did Each Other’s Makeup And Painted

daily reminders

no human being is 100% happy 100% of the time

being a person is extraordinarily difficult even in the best of times

this is not the best of times

someone is grateful you exist (don't argue, it's true)

a bad day does not predict a bad existence

it's gonna be okay

BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER 5x16 | “The Body” 

yes i see that you're femme4butch, but do you recognize that being a safe space for butches comes before your attraction? how do you feel about butch4butch couples, or butch stone bottoms? do you give them the same level of respect as you do to butches who you find attractive? what about stone butches? do you see them as people, or as a outlet to receive sexual pleasure? do you enjoy butch friendship, or do you only hope to gain romantic attention?

what about femmes? do you look to build community with other femmes, or do you see them as competition to receive butch attention? do you understand butchfemme history and the history of your identity? and most importantly, do your prioritize community above your own attraction?

fat people are allowed to be fat even if they don’t starve themselves or push themselves physically past their limits btw

Rejection-sensitive or not, you have to accept when people say “no” and realize that people’s “no” is not about you. A boundary is never about you, it’s about that person’s sense of security. Do not make people’s personal limits a matter of targeted offence.

Vi and Caitlyn ❤️‍🩹

Someone reblogged that post of mine saying how people will assume a lesbian saying “I don’t like men” means “I hate men” with a very interesting phrase:

Men would rather believe they’re hated than recognizing they’re irrelevant sexually and romantically to certain people (lesbians).

When I’m out with Deaf friends, I put my hearing aid in my purse. It removes any ability to hear, but far more importantly, it removes the ambiguity that often haunts me.

In a restaurant, we point to the menu and gesture with the wait staff. The servers taking the order respond with gestures too. They pantomime “drinks?” and tell us they learned a bit of signs in kindergarten. Looking a little embarrassed, they sign “Rain, rain, go away, come again another day” in the middle of asking our salad dressing choice. We smile and gently redirect them to the menu. My friends are pros at this routine and ordering is easy ― delightful even. The contrast with how it feels to be out with my hearing husband is stunning.

Once my friends and I have ordered, we sign up a storm, talking about everything and shy about nothing. What would be the point? People are staring anyway. Our language is lavish, our faces alive. My friends discuss the food, but for me, the food is unimportant. I’m feasting on the smorgasbord of communication ― the luxury of chatting in a language that I not only understand 100% but that is a pleasure in and of itself. Taking nothing for granted, I bask in it all, and everything goes swimmingly.

Until I accidentally say the word “soup” out loud.

Pointing at the menu, I let the word slip out to the server. And our delightful meal goes straight downhill. Suddenly, the wait staff’s mouths start flapping; the beautiful, reaching, visual parts of their brains go dead, as if switched off.

“Whadda payu dictorom danu?” the server’s mouth seems to say. “Buddica taluca mariney?”

“No, I’m Deaf,” I say. A friend taps the server and, pointing to her coffee, pantomimes milking a cow. But the damage is done. The server has moved to stand next to me and, with laser-focus, looks only at me. Her pen at the ready, her mouth moves like a fish. With stunning speed, the beauty of the previous interactions ― the pantomiming, the pointing, the cooperative taking of our order ― has disappeared. “Duwanaa disser wida coffee anmik? Or widabeeaw fayuh-mow?”

Austin “Awti” Andrews (who’s a child of Deaf adults, often written as CODA) describes a similar situation.

“Everything was going so well,” he says. “The waiter was gesturing, it was terrific. And then I just said one word, and pow!! It’s like a bullet of stupidity shot straight into the waiter’s head,” he explains by signing a bullet in slow motion, zipping through the air and hitting the waiter’s forehead. Powwwww.

Hearing people might be shocked by this, but Deaf people laugh uproariously, cathartically.

“Damn! All I did was say one word!” I say to my friends. “But why do you do that?” they ask, looking at me with consternation and pity. “Why don’t you just turn your voice off, for once and for all?” they say.

Hearing people would probably think I’m the lucky one ― the success story ― because I can talk. But I agree with my friends.

  —  I’m Deaf And I Have ‘Perfect’ Speech. Here’s Why It’s Actually A Nightmare.

HAPPY PRIDE!!! ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜