Still Think He Is Cute, But This Is Hilarious.

The first pride was a riot, more specifically a riot against police violence. Trans women like Miss Major and other people of colour paved the way for the celebration of pride today. You cannot celebrate your pride this month, or any month if you aren’t also supporting Black Lives Matter and the riots going on against police violence right now. Us white LGBTQ+ need to stand up for our black siblings and their rights, their struggles. We need to amplify their voices and show any support we can. (Edited to add links and make the image clearer)

Extensive BLM Google doc including places to donate to, education resources, etc

List of 75 things white people can do right now

Simple way to donate to the cause if you have no money to

In the midst of all of this people gloss over who filmed George, a young black girl named Darnella Frazier who is traumatized and been bullied ever since. Here is the description which was written by her mother and the GoFundMe is run by her:

DONATE

he's like me fr

König Headcannons – Part II:

If I wasn’t clear in my last set of sfw headcannons, I interpret König as having ADHD and Social Anxiety Disorder. I’m going to get into some diagnostic criteria and give some of my headcannons for how they appear for König specifically, and some blurbs throughout because I never learned how to stop talking. 

Social Anxiety Disorder (Social Phobia):

Anxiety surrounding social situations in which there is the potential for scrutinization. I think König’s anxiety would be particularly focused around interactions (conversations, meeting new people, etc) and being observed. 

- He isn’t comfortable with crowds, the dislike of being surrounded by people is intensified by the tinge of constant situational worry that comes with being a soldier. 

         -- If you take busy public transport, where there’s people packed into a bus or a subway car, he’ll sit bouncing his leg and playing with your hands. If you’re standing, he’ll be right behind you with one arm around your waist keeping you close against his chest; if it’s a particularly bad day he’ll hunch himself over to bury his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in the smell of you and trying to ignore everyone else. 

- Even in more regular social situations he’s got this habit of coming up behind you and resting his chin or cheek on your head. You’re used to it, often grabbing his hand and putting it on your waist, but the reactions from whoever you’re talking with range from befuddlement to discomfort, to outright terror at this massive dude just lingering directly behind you. 

- He does not like having his picture taken, especially when he isn’t aware that the picture taking is happening. He will get upset if anyone refuses to delete photos they took without his knowledge and permission. 

         -- He does, however, usually let you take polaroid with him – they develop soft enough that his worries about the photo being horrible are eased, plus he finds he’s fond of the way you’ve got them tucked around the house. Once you took a polaroid of him that he clearly didn’t like, he wasn’t really saying anything about it but you could tell, and you fucking lit it on fire – you went and got a zippo and burnt the fucking thing. He was oddly touched by your wiliness to commit a small act of arson purely for his comfort. 

- I also think he’d not particularly like eating in front of others – as a result of his anxiety he thinks people watch and judge him more than they do, and there’s too many opportunities for something to go wrong, so the threat of that embarrassment causes him to take most of his meals alone. 

         -- The knock at his door is soft and measured, three knocks just loud enough to catch his attention but not startle him. He knows, really, before even opening the door, that it’s you. He wants to see you, he really does, but the thought of it kicks his heart rate up and he feels the urge to fidget with his hands or the edge of his shirt as he takes the few steps needed to reach the door. You’re standing there, holding two full meal trays, flashing a bright smile up at him as you explain that you noticed he’d left the mess hall without eating. You ask to come in and he wordlessly steps to the side, hesitating just slightly as he contemplates if he should ask you to leave – he reasons with himself that he’s confident if he did ask you to go, you would, and that’s reassurance enough to have you stay – before shutting the door behind you and praying he won’t do anything humiliating. You chatter about how you weren’t entirely sure what to grab him, setting his tray on his desk, and sitting cross-legged on the floor with yours balanced across your knees. It twists something unfamiliar in his guts when he looks at his tray and realizes it’s a fairly accurate representation of what he would have gotten himself. He thanks you, the murmur of his voice barely audible. Then, the battered slice of cake catches his eye. The sweets they serve on base aren’t ever particularly good, but it’s chocolate and, fuck, he loves chocolate. Usually these slices, provided to the base kitchens already in a small plastic container, are hard to get and it’s even rarer for someone to make it out of the mess hall without being forced to give it up on some grounds of hoarding. The way there’s frosting smeared on the inside of the container suggests you underwent that trial. You must notice him looking at it for longer than anything else and you immediately grin, devious and triumphant, and regale him with the tale of how you managed to sneak the cake out, all because you offhandedly remembered he’d mentioned once about liking chocolate. You even apologize for the dubious quality of it, and he thinks he could cry. The story gives him time to settle across from you with his own tray largely free of intensive notice. By the time you’ve shifted to discussing a different topic with him – giving his responses a genuine attentive regard that makes it difficult for his anxiety to think you’re secretly judging him – he swears if you ripped out his heart right at that moment, you’d find your name written all over it. It just… becomes a Thing™ to meet up like this for meals, in his room or yours. You always seem to know when to talk, when to turn your head away from him, when to let him think you don’t notice his fretting, and when to either coax him into conversation or sit in easy silence. He panics less about it. He finds himself becoming more and more comfortable with you – fond of the peculiar way you habitually gesture with your fork, how you’re always willing to split things in half to share, how you inexplicably manage to scrounge up hot drinks during the cold months – and he's surprisingly glad to have your company. 

- An individual with social anxiety can be fearful of acting in a way that shows anxiety symptoms that will be seen negatively. 

         -- I think König would be worried most about being the reason people reject his company or take offense to his presence. He, at his core, wants people to like him, no matter how much he buries it. He has a hard time knowing whether or not you’re joking if you ever pretend to be disapproving or mad – his fear of driving you away, of you viewing him negatively, totally wipes away his ability to detect when you’re being sarcastic or playful. I think once you two are close he’d look to you in public settings for indications on when other people are kidding around or not – he trusts your evaluation of tone and social context far more than his own. 

         -- I also headcannon that one of the rare times he isn’t worried like this is when he’s really, really tired. When he’s exhausted, he’ll flop next to you, lean his weight on you, and laugh when you struggle to hold him up. This is when he’ll be the most blatantly transparent. You often feel like you should excuse yourself as soon as possible when this happens, but sometimes it’s on missions when he’s falling asleep while you keep watch and you can’t go anywhere; or at base when he’ll grab your wrist and ask you to stay, and how could you say no to him? All you can do is try to mitigate whatever comes out of his mouth, so he doesn’t reveal too much when he’s barely lucid. When he’s out of his mind tired is when he’ll look at you, starry-eyed and with no attempt to school his expressions into something less embarrassing, and whisper how beautiful and kind and perfect you are. He rarely ever remembers doing it – in his memories the comfort of your presence slots in seamlessly with the relief of collapsing on his bed for the first time in two days. 

                   ---- I think the same thing would happen if he’s ever on hella painkillers. He’s awake but definitely not all the way in his own brain so he’s just babbling about how wonderful you are. He’s just… narrating his thoughts. You’re the medic with him throughout the helicopter evac when he’s covered in more injuries than God should allow? You’re getting more of an honest confession of his feelings than the situation calls for. You’re the doctor moderating his recovery from a nasty concussion? Holy shit you’re going to hear about how you personally make the stars shine. Your whole medical team will know how he feels about you before he ever knowingly confesses. 

- Avoidance of anxiety inducing situations.

         -- I love him, but König has a frustrating habit of avoiding or retreating from you when his anxiety spikes. He needs a lot of reassurance that you don’t think of him the way his anxiety tells him you do. 

- I also think, as a comorbid symptom, he suffers from a bit of body dysmorphic disorder regarding his height/size and his accumulated scars – he perceives these things, respectively, as defects and flaws due to the way they’ve only ever drawn attention to him in situations where he’d rather everyone not even notice his existence. 

         -- His heart is going to explode. It’s going to explode and shred through his lungs. Is that medically possible? He feels like it is. It has to be. Because this is the first time you’ve seen him in a short sleeve shirt and you’ve got your hands on his arms and you’re currently looking at the jagged silvery scar that curls across his bicep and- and fuck, he needs to remember to breathe. He offers the stories behind each scar you ask about nearly entirely on autopilot. Can you feel his pulse? He’s scared of what you think, even as you hum and trace your fingertips carefully over each flaw on his skin. He’s marred, he knows it, and he makes a desperate attempt at casualness with some quiet self-deprecating joke about how the scars are ugly, but they couldn’t really make the rest of him worse than it already was. He misses the mark by a fucking mile, apparently, because your hands go tight around as much of his forearm as you can manage to wrap your fingers around and you're staring directly into his eyes with the intensity of the goddamned sun. He wishes he could throw himself into the sun right about now. But he’s listening, mostly, when you tell him that he’s handsome and well-built and nothing even has the possibility of changing that, not to you. That you like his scars, the proof that he’s endured, and you wouldn’t change a single thing about him. He’s listening, mostly, he swears, but he’s also super fucking concerned about how his heart has definitely just exploded and every other organ in its vicinity is splattered across the inside his ribcage. He can’t function like this, for god’s sake, can’t do much more than offer a jerky nod and let you resume your exploration of his arms, littered with grumbling comments about how you can’t believe he doesn’t think he’s good-looking, has he looked in a mirror recently, is he fucking blind.

                   ---- Bonus points if this somehow takes place before you’ve ever seen him without the sniper’s hood on; so he counters that you can’t possibly know if he isn’t hideous and you cut him off telling him he’s beautiful, and he’s like you’ve never even seen my face, and you tell him you know it’s pretty because it’s him and because it’s him it’s pretty, it has to be, regardless of anything, because he’s inherently pretty, and he just… has to blush about it for several business days.

ADHD

We all know about how our boy couldn’t be a sniper because he was 1.) too fucking big and, more to my point, 2.) couldn’t stay still. König has ADHD, argue with the wall. 

- The inattentive criteria I think he specifically meets are difficulty organizing tasks, avoiding activities that require sustained mental focus, often losing things necessary for tasks, easily distracted by extraneous stimuli and that his mind seems to be elsewhere even in the absence of any obvious distraction, and he tends to be forgetful regarding daily activities. 

         -- I think for work stuff he’s got a whole mess of systems to help keep himself on task and completing everything he’s supposed to be doing – sticky notes in improbable places, a seemingly nonsensical ways of going about starting things, using things like the amount of time it takes someone else in the barracks common room to reload their clips as a timer for how long he has to do something of his own, etc etc. He'll drag his desk three feet to the left just so he'll notice it in the morning and remember something. I think he very often writes things on his actual self with permanent marker, usually on his hand or forearm, if he’s really got to remember to do something. He might even have a more regular system for that, like a dot on his index finger means he has one important task to remember. 

         -- He fucking hates paperwork. It’s boring as hell and his brain never wants to do it. Very much “but I know who’s saying I have to get this done; it’s me, and I know I’m full of shit” vibes. Deadlines aren’t real until they’re tomorrow. He bribes himself with sweets or something he actually enjoys for every few pages he gets through – if you see him buying a pack of multitudinous candy from the vending machine, he’s likely got a stack of reports to do. 

         -- It seems like he’s got a staring problem, and most people are super intimidated by it, but he’s usually just spaced the fuck out. You’ve got this odd habit of crossing your eyes at him whenever you catch his gaze and he sort of refocuses; he doesn’t quite know why you do it, maybe just to communicate to him that you notice, but he finds it endearing. 

- Hyperactivity and impulsivity – fidgeting, uncomfortable with being still for extended periods of time, excessive talking, an inability to wait for his “turn” in conversations or blurts out answers before the question is fully asked, difficulty remaining seated, and general restlessness. 

         -- Fidgeting. Don’t… don’t ask me to explain this, and it might not be everyone’s cup of tea… but… I think maybe, maybe, he’s got a lip ring or tongue piercing that he fiddles with. It’s a secret from his superiors, obviously, because that’s definitely not military protocol compliant, but I think with how often he’s got his hood on it wouldn’t be awfully hard to hide. I’m fixated on imagining him with one silver lip ring or a tongue stud, someone please explain to me why. Anyhow, I’ve mentioned before that he will fidget with your hands, but I also think he’s prone to messing with whatever’s near – whether that be a pen or a weapon or some part of his gear or clothes; he has a habit, of dubious safeness, of spinning a butterfly knife around and has more than a few small scars from where he’s accidentally nicked himself. 

         -- He’s prone to squirming if he has to sit somewhere for a while, especially if there’s not much for him to pay attention to. He ends up sitting super crooked most of the time. 

         -- I think he uses running or otherwise working out to burn off some of his energy, especially when he’s particularly restless and when he’s on base. He hates feeling stuck in the small room he’s assigned to sleep in, and there’s something satisfying and grounding about the ache in his muscles and the way he has to concentrate on his breathing. 

         -- When he’s comfortable with you, which absolutely took an ungodly long time, he will go on tangents and simply not shut up until he starts worrying that he’s annoying you. If you ask him about whatever his recent fixation is, he’ll be over the moon about it. Good luck getting anyone else to believe he can talk that much though, the most they’ve heard him talk is over comms in the field and that’s nothing compared to what you’re privy to. He always apologizes when he interrupts you, no matter how often you tell him you understand and that it’s alright. 

Other prattling unrelated to me thinking way too much about psychology: 

- Loves that you make the effort to learn how to pronounce his name correctly. When he’d first told you his name you said it back to him, asking if you had it right. He usually would just tell people they had it fine to avoid the awkward back and forth of trying to get them to say it right, but something about the way you looked at him made him actually give you the slight correction you needed. Then – and this is one of his endless fond memories of you – you sort of looked off into the middle distance, staring unfocused at his chest, and said his name softly over and over again with entirely correct pronunciation before giving a short nod to yourself, looked back up at him and continuing the introduction. 

         -- He’s watched you correct other people on their pronunciations, casually but like it was absolutely necessary that everyone else say it properly, and it never fails to warm his heart. 

- Very rarely gets drunk but when he does, he’s the type of drunk to call you and tell you how amazing you are. Shit, he’ll tell anyone about you. Much like how he’s quietly honest when tired, but his drunk honest is louder and more social. Tells his teammates or friends how beautiful and clever you are, tells the bartended how much he loves you, tells the people next to him how smart and lovely you are, tells the closest table how you make him so happy. Someone tries to flirt with him, they tell him it doesn’t matter that he has a partner, and said person is now trapped in a lecture about exactly how much you matter to him, complete with photos. 

         -- If you end up coming to get him, nearly the entire place will say hello to you because he hasn’t shut up about you for the past hour. He lights up when he sees you, holding your arms and swaying slightly as he stares down at you with the biggest smile on his face, mumbling about “See? Didn’t I tell you? Didn’t I tell you how wonderful they are? See? Look. Look at you, so perfect. I love you; you know that? So much.” 

- Loves when you steal his clothes. Cannot get enough of how you look wearing his shirts. 

- I will accept criticism and differing opinions on nearly anything, but I am adamant that König has the sluttiest little waist. I think he was lanky before he started gaining serious muscle in the military, and now he’s a little more bulky but still has that litheness about him so his proportions just give him a slutty little waist. I don’t make the rules, he’s just built like that. 

- I think, to an extent, he knows how to sew. Nothing fancy, and his stitches aren’t even or perfect by any means, but he knows how to mend worn patches and tears well enough. Hates threading needles. But if he notices you’ve got a tear in your coat or something of the sort, you’ll just find it fixed the next day. Left exactly where it was but mended. Like a house brownie. The only way you’ll figure out it’s him is if you catch him doing it. 

- I know this lovely couple, both from a country outside where they currently live, and every time the husband travels back to their home country he’ll pack all his clothes and whatnot in a suitcase and then pack that suitcase within another suitcase. He does this so he can fill the extra suitcase with all the food and things his wife wants from their home country and take her back essentially a giant package of all the stuff she misses and can’t get in the country they live in. Long story short, if you’re not yet going home with him, König absolutely would bring you anything you wanted from Austria, even if he has to bring a whole extra bag. 

- I don’t think he’d carry any sort of photograph of you with him during work or on missions. If there’s a chance of anyone getting their hands on the photo, of learning that you’re important to him, of hurting you or using you to gain leverage over him, he will not have anything on his person to even indicates that you exist. I think he’d love the idea of it, the romantic sentiment of having a polaroid of you tucked in a pocket over his heart, but he just isn’t willing to take that chance. On leave though, at home, he treasures every little sign that you’re around and involved in his life – from photos to the notes left on the kitchen counter, the way you kick off your shoes by the door, the hickeys and scratches that make it look like he got mauled by a fucking tiger, how you always text and ask if he wants anything while you’re out, and even just the fact that he knows at the end of the day he gets to crawl into bed and fall asleep with you next to him. 

- Piggyback rides. You can jump up on this man whenever and he will go on about whatever he was doing as if nothing’s happening. 

- If he’s drinking anything hot – it might be in a coffee cup, but don’t be fooled – it’s hot chocolate. He makes the real kind at home, with real chocolate and cream on the stove. 

Chinese emperor Ai of Han, fell in love with a minor official, a man named Dong Xian, and bestowed upon him great political power and a magnificent palace. Legend has it that one day while the two men were sleeping in the same bed, the emperor was roused from his sleep by pressing business. Dong Xian had fallen asleep across the emperor’s robe, but rather than awaken his peaceful lover, the Emperor cut his robe free at the sleeve. Thus “the passion of the cut sleeve” became a euphemism for same-sex love in China. — R.G.L.

hey not to be a killjoy but can y’all spread the carrd about what’s going on in Poland

obvious warning for homophobia, transphobia, etc. in the link above.

I was born there. I have countless of LGBT friends there, and the fact that this is happening in the year 2020 is inhumane and terrifying. 

If you’re Polish, vote in the upcoming election. If you’re not polish, please spread the carrd around.

I am not an ideology. Nie jestem ideologią. 

so the academy is reviewing whether or not to remove Will Smith’s award and here are some interesting tweets about that :)

Matchablossom Battle Tendency AU🍵🌸

I feel like to outsiders, Gladio and Ignis are the responsible dad and mom friend respectively which is true. However, they’re both kind of batshit when it comes to fighting. Like, the excitement of it all is a lot for them. Together, Gladio and Ignis are The Battle CoupleTM and neither one of them is even a little bit chill about it. Like, Ignis doesn’t like to lose. In fact, he refuses to lose. His stubbornness is off the charts. People make the very bad assumption that because Ignis doesn’t like to stand out that he won’t rip their limbs off. They always fuck around and find out that Ignis is named Ignis for a reason, as he will totally incinerate them and Gladio is attracted to that. Gladio is also conflicted because he’s a natural protector. He wants to always protect Ignis even when he doesn’t need help, so they’re frequently fighting side by side and in sync. Once Gladio gets over himself though he literally will just launch Ignis at their enemies. The post-battle lust must just be off the charts. I love them.

really hate how so many people are aphobic, transphobic, etc without being OPEN about it. i just wanna follow some new people without having to search through their blog to make sure they dont hate me or other people for simply existing