Listen to me, your body is not a temple. Temples can be destroyed and desecrated. Your body is a forest — thick canopies of maple trees and sweet scented wildflowers sprouting in the underwood. You will grow back, over and over, no matter how badly you are devastated.

Beau Taplin   (via seeking-thegreatperhaps)

(Source: afadthatlastsforever)

How do you do it?” I asked him. “Become all wonderful and lovely like you are out there?”
He turned and looked at me with shock, something dark and sad in his eyes. It slowly vanished.
“You are an odd one, aren’t you?” he asked from somewhere between his mot’s world and his cove’s. “You say little, but you make me want to talk about things that I don’t usually babble about, you know. Maybe it’s those eyes of yours. You don’t judge….”
I looked down. “Most folk find my eyes frightening.”
“My experiences with ‘most folk’ are not so good that I am inclined to follow their standard,” Okha said. His voice was very bitter. He turned back to his mirror. “I had very good teachers, people who took me in when my family cast me out. I worked and I studied, everywhere I went. But that isn’t what you’re asking.”
I shook my head. Since he wasn’t looking at me now, I added, “Not really. Your beauty comes from the inside. You don’t put that on with a brush and powder.”
“Inside I am a beautiful woman,” Okha said, fiddling with a perfect curl. “The Trickster tapped me in my mother’s womb and placed me in this man’s shell.”
I’d heard of many tricks done by the gods, but surely this was nearabout the cruelest. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“At least I understand what happened,” Okha said, getting to his feet and smoothing his dress. “How many like me live our lives without ever knowing? How many of us never feel right in the world where we live, and never realize that a god turned our lives all on end? Some of us even claim the Trickster is one of us, and makes us so She/He has company.”
“Have you asked the god?” I wanted to know.
Okha gave me a tiny, bitter smile. “The god touched me once, Beka. I’d as soon not get his attention again.

Bloodhound by Tamora Pierce

I love this quote. I’ve been known to read out parts of it to friends whenever I’m rereading Bloodhound. As a cis person with trans friends and a trans ex, there’s something about having an explanation for why transfolk are stuck with such a lot in life that’s comforting. Maybe I have no right to feel that way, but I do. I want Okha’s explanation to be true, somehow. And I love how Beka reacts to it. She isn’t weirded out; she has sympathy, and she still accepts Okha and turns to Okha for help. I wish she used female pronouns for Okha, but - how many people who just find out a friend is trans get the pronouns down right? I admit to having some trouble changing pronouns for a newly out trans person in college. It’s a switch in thinking that Beka wouldn’t do automatically.

I really want a short story about Okha’s realizing who he is, the training he went through, and the conversation with whoever first told him that the Trickster god tapped him.

I would LOVE to have a whole book about Okha learning to accept herself.

(via fytortall)

(Source: devrosesinger)

To share your weakness is to make yourself vulnerable; to make yourself vulnerable is to show your strength.

Criss Jami (via onlinecounsellingcollege)

vverism:

blazepress:

These are pictures of different dried human tears. Grief, laughter, onion and change. Each type has a different chemical makeup which makes them appear different.

Shiet

vverism:

blazepress:

These are pictures of different dried human tears. Grief, laughter, onion and change. Each type has a different chemical makeup which makes them appear different.

Shiet

I really want a parody of “You Give Love A Bad Name” except it’s “You Give Smut A Bad Name”