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On Gender Dysphoria“Why do you always dress like a boy?”
Confused, I looked up from where I was pulling my shoes on. “I’m sorry?” I asked, frowning at my mum where she was washing dishes at the sink.
“You,” she said, turning to me and leaning back against the bench. “Why do you always insist on dressing like a boy?”
“I… don’t,” I replied hesitantly, still confused.
“Yes, you do. You’re always dressing like a boy, or wanting to. Why?”
Thinking for a moment, I remember Shaylah’s sixteenth birthday party, 60’s themed, which I’d wanted to attend as a classic gangster. Then, I remembered last weekend, when I’d gone to the Sugar City Comicon, dressed as Femlock, then looked down at myself now, wearing a black dress shirt and slacks for Film Friday of the school’s Spirit Week, probably the best, most entertaining week of the year. “Not really.”
“But you do! Why c
Potterlock|Chp 5: The Midnight MonsterJohn left the common room as soon as it emptied, but even so, he was close to twenty minutes late by the time he reached the painting of the fruit bowl. Part of him was hoping Sherlock had given up and left without him, but an even larger part was praying he was still here. Tying off his dressing gown, he looked around in the gloom, trying to make out any shapes.
“Sherlock?” he whispered, barely a breath. “Sherlock,” he hissed, louder when there was no response.
After a moment he sighed quietly and was about to turn back down the hall when a hand gripped his shoulder. Surprised, heart racing, a yelp escaped him before another hand clamped over his mouth, silencing him. The short sound echoed along the hallway and John breathed a little unsteadily through his nose, extremely conscious of the person behind him. “Shut up, idiot. Do you want to get us caught so soon?” a familiar voice whispered.
“Jesus Christ, Sherlock, why did you do that?”
PotterLock|Chp 4: Beginnings“Alright, so what are we actually going to do?” John asked once he’d caught up to his short friend.
“I’m going to read this,” Sherlock said, flashing to book he’d taken from the shelf. “You are going to go interrogate some of the ghosts.”
“What?” John exclaimed, then whispered a, “Sorry,” to Madam Pince when she glared at them. “What do you mean, ‘interrogate some of the ghosts’?” he asked, hushed.
“I mean,” Sherlock said with exaggerated patience, “you’re going to go up to some of the ghosts and ask them if they’ve seen anything or know anything pertaining to the dog which is supposedly haunting Gryffindor Tower while I read all about said ghosts’ histories and how they came to be here, in Hogwarts, as ghosts. Savvy?”
“Never say that again. Please.”
Sherlock shrugged, but an amused smile tugged at his lips.
James Moriarty|An Argumentative Essay
The third season of Sherlock was long-anticipated and the question we were asking ourselves before it came out was ‘How in the bloody hell did he survive?’ Strangely enough, that’s the same question we’re asking ourselves now, months after it was – sort of – answered the first time. Except this time, it isn’t Irene Adler faking her death or Sherlock Holmes jumping from the roof of a hospital; James Moriarty shot himself in the head and I’m sure we’re all wondering how in the hell he could have pulled it off. Only the writers of BBC’s acclaimed ‘Sherlock’ (2010 television series)  know and none of them are talking, which leaves us alone with our collective imaginations to think it out.
Numerous theories have been circulated  and this is just one more predictable plot twist, but what if it’s the one Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss had in mind? If it isn’t, then no hard feeli
The Final Goodbye“Hey. I’m not really sure why I’m here. Actually, that’s a lie. I know full well. I’m not meant to be here, though. I have to get these blackberries to a freezer soon or they’ll melt into juicy mush, which isn’t very pleasant. It’s just… a little strange, I guess. You might think so. That I came here to tell you I no longer believe in you. It sounds a bit harsh when I say it like that… You know what I mean, though. You’re supposed to know everything.
“I would have come inside, but the doors were locked. That’s fitting too, I guess. Not really welcome in a place I don’t belong. But from what I know of you, it’s not you who’s locking me out. It’s me. Sorry about that, again. It’s just… I’ve moved on? No, that’s not quite it…
“Oh, God, am I crying? Hah… I guess that’s what happens with these sorts of things. ‘It’s not you, it
Time For an ApologyI think it's about time for a proper apology. It's long-winded, and you don't have to read it, but whatever. It's an explanation for everything, half a year late.
I’m sorry about what I did and I regret that it hurt you. I don’t regret doing it, though. Before you get offended by that statement, I would appreciate it if you read the rest of this message. However, there are a number of things I need to clarify before getting started:
This is not a message asking you to take me back.
The reason I’m sending you this on facebook is because I suck at saying things like this with my mouth.
I want you to know that this is a message which has been thought about (a little) and written in words which best fit what I’m feeling (to the best of my capabilities).
I want you to know that I have no idea what I’m feeling, so I’m going to apologise in advance if this either doesn’t get sent or doesn’t make sense.
I also want you to know that feeling
Do We Need a New Language about Homosexuality?One of the more popular, misunderstood, and challenging problems Catholics face today is the topic of homosexuality. I think of the many great strides we as a Church and as a culture have taken in speaking about it. In the same way, neither side whether secular or religious, has spoken more clearly on the subject. Catholics, at the very least, have always been very good at making distinctions. The process of making distinctions is not just good philosophy and theology, but it also aids in our practical and charitable responses to what we experience.
When we respond to homosexuality we should know what it is. Moreover, when someone is homosexual it does us little good to categorize that person according to preconceived notions about their sexual activity, sexual purity, or moral state. In fact I've usually seen these reactions as one's own personal, moral blindness than as a useful discussion geared towards understanding something so as to respond to it more effectively.
That being said
Hello, My Name Is Oscar
Hello, my name is Oscar. This is my story.
From when I can remember, I had lived in a cage with my brother. I didn’t mind it. We kept each other company. We had plenty of humans giving us food and water, playing with us, petting us, giving us attention. We had the life.
One day changed that, though. It started off like any other day, my brother and I sleeping in the cool indoors, when a little girl and her mother walked into the store. She was looking at the various other cats that were in other cages, before she turned to her mom and asked her something. The mother pointed to our cage and replied. Of course, I wasn’t too bothered by it. Humans came in and out all the time, looking at us animals in cages. I simply rolled over onto my stomach. Then the door to our cage opened. That’s funny, I thought, we were already fed today. One of the humans who fed us took my brother and me out of the cage, handing my brother to the girl’s mom and me to the little girl
LABOR DAY 2014 “LABOR DAY”
(What Made America Great)
Another labor day is nearly at hand
Those whom we honor, in this, OUR GREAT land
All who do toil week after long week
Hoping to gain the ‘dream’ they each seek.
For those who DO ‘risk’ everything they possess
To start a new business with financial stress
We THANK YOU for investing in places you reside
In hopes that your business will give you much ‘pride‘.
But we ASK that you also remember the people
Who helped build your dream, your church, their steeple
For both on ‘their own’’ stand tall and stand proud
Yet when COMBINED, both shout it out loud!
There’s a delicate balance between ‘worker’ and ‘boss’
To disregard EITHER is everyone’s LOSS
One without the other is like a man with NO ‘Heart’
Who walks on this earth but is always ‘Apart’.
I fear that this ’balance’ is no longer ‘true’
What Is Love What Is Love
Love is an emotion, but it is also something more.
To deny ones self for the sake of another,
To put the self second instead of first,
That, is love.
Love is not idle, Love is not stationary.
Love moves, Love is action.
On FreedomWhen I think of freedom, true freedom without rues or laws, I see the way of the natural world. I also see, however, chaos. Chaos which only appears when you give humans the freedom of the natural world. Mankind can’t handle freedom therefore they create chaos. Humans are meant to be bound by social, cultural and political tethers, humans can not know or have true freedom.
In the name of...In nomine amoris
I did it so we could be together.
I did it for her.
I did it for him.
In nomine dei
I did it because the book said so.
I did it because the holy one demanded it.
I did it to be worthy.
In nomine Domini pax
It wasn't supposed to happen like this.
I did it to stop them from hurting us.
I did it for the greater good.
in nomine... ad rem?
no, it does not.
Confesiunea unui suflet pagan Asculta-mi spusele, pentru tine, nu doar de dragul celor din jur. Poate si tu ai trecut prin acest cosmar,
dar nu ai avut curajul si nici cuvintele necesare sa spui.
Nu e fictiune, nu e o poveste cu printi si printese,
ci doar confesiunea unui suflet de taciune in spatele caruia
se afla o inima imbibata cu venin de atata amar de vreme.
O lacrima nevinovata, ce trece ca un fulger pe obrazu-ti de copil te diferentiaza de
un pui de demon.
Te privesc in oglinda si departe de ordinara-ti infatisare umana, departe de ochii-ti
negri ce lumineaza, dar plang
a jale, vezi un spirit intunecat care ti-a aparat fragila constiinta si nu te-a lasat sa
innebunesti de la prima cadere.
Un gand se proiecteaza in tacere pe zeci de sentimente care ricoseaza direct in inima ta
gingasa si te doare... si nu-ti citesc dintr-un roman, ci dintr-un suflet.
The Truth The truth. The truth was a cold monster swimming in my veins. It didn’t vanquish my hatred, only provided the nutrients which it needed to grow. The truth was harsh; life was harsh. Every passing day hurt my body and tore at my soul. Grievances that others said were long buried, followed me like vengeful ghosts.
It’s only words. Words that follow you long after they are said. Until the human voice lies forgotten, leaving only the spite. Only words? When ever have words poured out of my heart, as though I was bleeding onto the paper? Since when did the words of others cut into me. Not once, but again and again?
I’ve bled the words until I have nothing more to bleed. I have been sliced by their poisonous words until I have stopped feeling. Stopped feeling the pain, as well as the joy.
In every dark corner lies a ghost of the past. In every room lies a memory I’d rather forget. I can’t escape even long after those words were said.
Words mattered little. Despi
growing up I feel the majority of a humans spend most of their life in a war, a war between the child with in them and the adult in them. Society and school tend to push the idea into children's heads that being a child is bad. Some people refuse to grow up and give up on trying to achieve in life. No one should be a total child forever, but we must remember that it is the child that invents, creates, and dreams. I hope to take the skills and knowledge of being an adult, but add the creativity, curiosity, and hope of a child. I hope that the war with in me never finds a winning and loosing side, I hope both child and adult can live in harmony.
a dangerous hallucinationThe light coming through the window was bright,
much too bright.
Even though my eyes were closed
I could see it-
The skin of my arms prickled,
sweat dripped from my brow.
It was two in the afternoon but…
the sun was setting
through the window facing east.
I should have seen the hutch,
shelves lined with bone china
decorated with delicate leaves and vines.
I was so thirsty
and reaching for cups that should have been there.
Instead I found a billboard of butterflies,
the colors raging
more than any rainbow
I'd ever seen.
Their wings fluttered and flashed
yet somehow they moved in slow motion.
I wanted to stand,
wanted to reach out and touch them but…
I couldn't move,
and yet I laughed
ignoring my dry mouth
and the tingling in my feet.
There was a tempest
on the rise
and in my blood.
A sugar rush disguised
as a riot of butterflies
and they were swarming me.
There was a small vial
of insulin in my pocket
that I nev
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More