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"...followed by a brisk mauling."

The virtual sanctuary of a Trixie of the oddest variety; as described by others, ze's a queer, liberal, crippled Muslim. As described by zirself, ze is. Take the red pill, follow zir down the rabbit hole, buy the ticket and take the ride... whatever you want to call it, you can join zir here, for as long as ze is.

Alhamdulillah

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Things Trixie Loves

Post via clgomalley

whoneedsfeminism:

I need feminism because other people shouldn’t shame me for wanting to be a single mom

This. Fucking this. Always.

Post via clgomalley
Photo via clgomalley

refabbedvintage:

Love this! It’s so true & perfect!

Photo via clgomalley
Photo via clgomalley

lacigreen:

bialogue-group:

This is why gender neutral bathrooms are necessary

Some places around here have gender neutral bathrooms...

Photo via clgomalley
Photoset via clgomalley

All things truly wicked start from innocence.

Photoset via clgomalley
Photo via baddecisionfairy

His shirt reads “They gave me a medal for killing two men, and a discharge for loving one.”

You are a bad-ass.

Photo via baddecisionfairy

Posts tagged "ifn"

I hate to turn up out of the blue, uninvited, but I couldn’t stay away; I couldn’t fight it. I hoped you’d see my face and be reminded that for me, it isn’t over.

Adele, “Someone Like You”

Saudade (Portuguese): The feeling of longing for someone that you love and is lost. Another linguist describes it as a “vague and constant desire for something that does not and probably cannot exist.” It’s interesting that saudade accommodates in one word the haunting desire for a lost love, or for an imaginary, impossible, never-to-be-experienced love. Whether the object has been lost or will never exist, it feels the same to the seeker, and leaves her in the same place: she has a desire with no future. Saudade doesn’t distinguish between a ghost, and a fantasy. Nor do our broken hearts, much of the time.

Original source unknown

On Surviving, & The Distinct Difference Between It and Living

I haven’t felt this raw since the last time I died.

On Love, The Inevitability Of

My feelings towards you of late are Moriarty’s to Holmes: “Let’s not waste any more of each other’s time; we both know how this ends.”

Your feelings to me are more Potter’s to Voldemort: “Let’s finish this like we started—together.”

This frightens me more than words alone can express. You want to see this through to the end, but where is that? Where do we end?

Falling off a balcony to the turbid depths—together and alone.

Neither you nor I deserve to fall.

I’m glad we’ve had this time. Before I thought of you with as much resentment and fear as with any fellow feeling. Now I know that you are not only capable of change, but that you have. You have become a man worth being, and a man I should be proud to know. Where once you were worth only my hatred, you’ve become a man worth loving; I am happy to know you, as I am to love you. You have given this love back, and more importantly, you have proven worthy of my trust.

But I haven’t changed. What’s more, I don’t know that I can. I still fear you. I am sorry to do so, but I know of no way to change that. And you, you whom I do love as I never thought I could, you deserve to be with someone who trusts you with the same intensity and fervor as you do me.

Forgive me, my love. I shall always now remember you with fondness. Thank you for giving me the chance to. It is a gift I can never repay. But perhaps allowing you to move on is a start.