WolfPotion200

songofages:

theupshotsky:

sentiment-is-a-defect:

becks28nz:

Lord of the Rings : Gender Swapped

Holy shit, can this please happen? Fucking perfect casting

I didn’t know I needed this until just this very minute.

Paul Bettany as Galadriel? Fuck yes.

Yesterday was one of those days…

It was one of those days when I felt totally left out and alone even though I was sitting in the midst of a group of perfectly nice people. I realize that letting people know what I need in order to communicate and understand is just one of those things I need to work on.

I’d typed out a little story about feeling alone during lunch with the other young adults from my church, but I’m reminded that if you want people to read your blog, then you must curb your verbosity. So I’ll give you a list. That’s the trend these days, right? People like lists? However, I refuse to include obnoxious gifs like Buzzfeed. Here goes…

How to Include Hard of Hearing Friends in Group Conversation

1. Always Face Us

It’s much easier to understand someone if they are facing us. For one thing, their voice is directed at us. For another, most hard of hearing people read lips, whether consciously or not.

2. Choose a Quiet Setting

It can be difficult to find places to eat that aren’t loud and crowded. If you must eat out, choose a restaurant that is typically less crowded. If you can’t avoid crowds, choose a restaurant that has good acoustics. Places with cement floors are to be avoided. Carpeted spaces and/or booths are preferred.

3. Slow Down and Speak Clearly

You don’t have to shout! Usually we can hear you just fine. We may just have a hard time understanding what you’re saying. Rather than raising your voice, slow down, and make sure you enunciate clearly.

4. Don’t Just Repeat, Rephrase

If you repeat something and we still aren’t getting it, rather than repeat the same thing a third time, rephrase it. Use different words to convey the same message. For most people with hearing loss, certain speech sounds are more difficult to understand than others. We’re more likely to get what you’re saying if you use different words.

5. Use Visual Cues

Sometimes a gesture, a facial expression, or even a little sign language if you both know the sign, can come in handy when trying to clue your hard of hearing friend in on what’s happening.

6. Know Your Friend’s “Good Side”

A person with hearing loss will often have different amounts of loss in each ear. I personally am profoundly deaf in my right ear and wear a hearing aid in my left. I get nothing out of my right ear, but I am not a cochlear implant candidate. Therefore, it’s preferential that my friends talk to me from my “good side,” that is, into my hearing aid on the left ear, if not facing me.

7. Acknowledge the Limitations of Hearing Devices

Don’t just assume that because someone uses a hearing aid or cochlear implant that they can hear and understand “like a normal person would.” Hearing aids and CI’s don’t just pick up the stuff we want to hear, like the person talking to us. They also pick up all the background chatter, music, drinks being blended, etc. This can be very frustrating.

8. Speak One at a Time

See above. It’s difficult to pick out the voice you want to comprehend when there are three other voices talking at the same time. In addition, if everyone starts laughing but your hard of hearing friend looks confused, feel free to fill her in on the joke.

9. Don’t Talk With Your Mouth Full or Your Hand In Front of Your Face

This goes back to the lip reading thing. It’s pretty difficult to lip read someone when their mouth is full or otherwise covered up. Facial hair can create similar issues.

10. Be Willing to Relay a Change of Subject

If the subject changes all of a sudden, and your friend looks a bit confused, be prepared for her to ask what the conversation is about now and fill her in.

11. If All Else Fails, Text or Write it Down

Everyone loves to text these days. Go ahead and text. It’s the one context where it’s perfectly fine and normal to text someone in the same room as you. If you don’t have a cell phone with a text plan available there’s always the old standby of writing using a paper and pen.

12. Have Them Repeat Important Info Back to You

If you’re communicating something really important like an address to meet you at later or an emergency phone contact, have your friend relay it back to you, so you can be sure she got it right.

btvs + priorities
   ↪ "Uh, can we just revel in your fabulous lack of priorities?"

family: why won't you come with us?
me: there must always be a stark at winterfell

silentgiantla:

Animated artwork by Rebecca Mock

Fine, detailed and subtle animated artwork created by New York illustrator Rebecca Mock. Apparently the animated gif back to stay, gradually more and more people are exploring this old format and customers asking for shouting. Several of these illustrations were created for the New York Times or The Warlus magazine.

I am tired of token women being strong in a man’s world by taking on male attributes: strutting around in black leather, spike heels and wraparound shades, killing people; or riding a horse, swearing a lot, carrying a big sword, and killing people; or piloting a ship through hyperspace, drinking whatever pours, slapping boys on the back, and killing people. I am equally tired of women-only worlds where all the characters are wise, kind, beautiful, stern seven-foot-tall vegetarian amazons who could never dream of killing anyone. I am tired of reading about aliens who are really women, or women who are really aliens.

Women are not aliens. Take away men, and we do not automatically lose our fire and intelligence and sex drive; we do not form hierarchical, static, insectlike societies that are dreadfully inefficient. We do not turn into a homogenous Thought Police culture where meat-eating is banned and men are burned in effigy every full moon. Women are not inherently passive or dominant, maternal, or vicious. We are all different. We are people.

A women-only world, it seems to me, would shine with the entire spectrum of human behavior: there would be capitalists and collectivists, hermits and clan members, sailors and cooks, idealists and tyrants; they would be generous and mean, smart and stupid, strong and weak; they would approach life bravely, fearfully and thoughtlessly. Some might still engage in fights, wars, and territorial squabbles; individuals and cultures would still display insanity and greed and indifference. And they would change and grow, just like anyone else. Because women are anyone else. We are more than half of humanity. We are not imitation people, or chameleons taking on protective male coloration, longing for the day when men go away and we can return to being our true, insectlike, static, vacuous selves. We are here, now. We are just like you.

Nicola Griffith, talking about writing Ammonite (via limousine-eyelash)

Twenty years ago, as she pointed out on Twitter, and still something we need to hear.

(via ktempest)

jasbeaw:

What do you mean, vet’s office? YOU SAID WE WERE GOING TO THE PHILHARMONIC!

jasbeaw:

What do you mean, vet’s office? YOU SAID WE WERE GOING TO THE PHILHARMONIC!

livesandliesofwizards:

The Muggle Studies classroom is always locked. In fact, there are few rooms in the castle with as much magical protection. There’s a special password needed to enter that’s distributed carefully to the year’s students on the first day of classes. They are sworn to secrecy and, to date, no one has broken that trust.
There’s more to this security than just fear of vandalism, though there has been that. Charity Burbage spent more than her fair share of time scrubbing nasty messages off her office door when she first started teaching. For a while it was a point of pride that she used her own effort to remove the hateful words. Then came the morning when she fell asleep next to a bucket of soapy water and was nearly late for her first lesson of the day. After that, she cast a Repelling Charm on her office and tried not to feel guilty about it.
The real reason for the layers of charms wrapped around the classroom is what goes on after hours.  If you were to stroll by on any given night. you may see a tearful first year or a stressed out fifth year or even a cool and confident prefect strolling up to the door.  You’d see them execute a complex set of wand patterns, whisper a word, and look around furtively before they enter. 
If you were to follow them in (and I would not suggest this, for the room has its own way of dealing with intruders), you’d see students of all Houses and years, talking and studying and reading. But you may miss what they have in common: they’re all Muggle born. This classroom is the after-hours refuge of those who feel as if they don’t belong, those who find themselves trapped between the magical and the mundane, their parents and their classmates. Here there are shelves of magazines whose covers don’t move; there are stacks of textbooks on science and math, heavy tomes of Shakespeare and thin volumes of poetry.
In the corner you may see Justin Finch-Fletchley studying for his A-levels. He had promised his mum that he would at least try for them, even if he wasn’t sure he would ever leave the magical world. Sometimes Hermione Granger joins him, and they teach each other calculus and world history and pore over the periodic table. 
By the fireplace you could find that tearful first year sitting with the calm prefect, their heads bent close. You might hear the first year pour out his heart, outline his fears, confess his insecurities. The prefect could respond in kind, admitting to the knot of confusion that lies underneath her placid exterior. They might then take out their wands and practice a spell, or pull out a child’s fairy tale collection and read aloud.
If you were a Muggle-born, this might be your sanctuary. It might be the place you miss most when you go home for the summer and try to fit your square peg into a world of round holes. It might be what you defend at the Battle of Hogwarts, fighting for your right to be confused and not fit in. It might be why you come back as the new Muggle Studies professor, why you create an after-hours class to help others get their A-levels and apply to university.
But then again, it might be just another classroom.
(written and submitted by the lovely ppyajunebug. There’s a tremendous sweetness to this that I find very appealing, something comforting about knowing that the Muggle-borns have their own space. This blog often explores the horrifying and strange, but sometimes it’s nice to consider good things, as well.)  

livesandliesofwizards:

The Muggle Studies classroom is always locked. In fact, there are few rooms in the castle with as much magical protection. There’s a special password needed to enter that’s distributed carefully to the year’s students on the first day of classes. They are sworn to secrecy and, to date, no one has broken that trust.

There’s more to this security than just fear of vandalism, though there has been that. Charity Burbage spent more than her fair share of time scrubbing nasty messages off her office door when she first started teaching. For a while it was a point of pride that she used her own effort to remove the hateful words. Then came the morning when she fell asleep next to a bucket of soapy water and was nearly late for her first lesson of the day. After that, she cast a Repelling Charm on her office and tried not to feel guilty about it.

The real reason for the layers of charms wrapped around the classroom is what goes on after hours.  If you were to stroll by on any given night. you may see a tearful first year or a stressed out fifth year or even a cool and confident prefect strolling up to the door.  You’d see them execute a complex set of wand patterns, whisper a word, and look around furtively before they enter. 

If you were to follow them in (and I would not suggest this, for the room has its own way of dealing with intruders), you’d see students of all Houses and years, talking and studying and reading. But you may miss what they have in common: they’re all Muggle born. This classroom is the after-hours refuge of those who feel as if they don’t belong, those who find themselves trapped between the magical and the mundane, their parents and their classmates. Here there are shelves of magazines whose covers don’t move; there are stacks of textbooks on science and math, heavy tomes of Shakespeare and thin volumes of poetry.

In the corner you may see Justin Finch-Fletchley studying for his A-levels. He had promised his mum that he would at least try for them, even if he wasn’t sure he would ever leave the magical world. Sometimes Hermione Granger joins him, and they teach each other calculus and world history and pore over the periodic table. 

By the fireplace you could find that tearful first year sitting with the calm prefect, their heads bent close. You might hear the first year pour out his heart, outline his fears, confess his insecurities. The prefect could respond in kind, admitting to the knot of confusion that lies underneath her placid exterior. They might then take out their wands and practice a spell, or pull out a child’s fairy tale collection and read aloud.

If you were a Muggle-born, this might be your sanctuary. It might be the place you miss most when you go home for the summer and try to fit your square peg into a world of round holes. It might be what you defend at the Battle of Hogwarts, fighting for your right to be confused and not fit in. It might be why you come back as the new Muggle Studies professor, why you create an after-hours class to help others get their A-levels and apply to university.

But then again, it might be just another classroom.

(written and submitted by the lovely ppyajunebug. There’s a tremendous sweetness to this that I find very appealing, something comforting about knowing that the Muggle-borns have their own space. This blog often explores the horrifying and strange, but sometimes it’s nice to consider good things, as well.)