armed woman

Countries qualified for the ESC 2017 final

Armenia: 6 armed woman

Australia: kid looking much older, 80% eyebrow

Austria: dreamworks kid, feel old yet?

Azerbaijan: woman singing to a man on a ladder with a horse head

Belarus: cute adventurous people on a boat, making everyone dance

Belgium: awesome studio performance, looking a lil uncomfortable live

Bulgaria: this kiddo is going places

Croatia: personality disorder

Cyprus: probably getting bullied by his background dancers

Denmark: woman in red dress, lots of fireworks

France: gotta make sure everyone knows we’re from france

Germany: titanium

Greece: yaoi shipping

Hungary: man bun but a cool jacket

Israel: wink one more time please

Italy: man who can light up an entire continent with his smile, dancing gorilla

Moldova: a legend has returned

Netherlands: the girl squad

Norway: i think my television broke

Poland: what’s up with all the wedding dresses?

Portugal: precious beautiful baby. Protect at all costs

Romania: pop/rap/yodeling, graphic background design is my passion

Spain: surfer dudes invading eurovision

Sweden: looking hella fine and knows it

UK: lowkey rickrolling all of europe

Ukraine: giant head… ya why not?


“Bangles are traditional ornaments worn mostly by South Asian women in India, Pakistan and Bangladesh. It is a common tradition to see a new bride wearing glass bangles at her wedding. Bangles also have a very traditional value in Hinduism and it is considered inauspicious to be bare armed for a married woman. Chooda is a kind of bangle that is worn by Punjabi women on her wedding day. It is a set of white and red bangles with stone work. According to tradition, a woman is not supposed to buy the bangles she will wear. Moradabad is India’s largest producer of bangles.”

Canon Arya Stark: Favourite Friendship

I made a gifset for today’s prompt but I wanted to write something too. It’s a more expanded version of this snarky post I made quite a while back and is me adding my words to go with my gifs.

Sansa knew all about the sorts of people Arya liked to talk to: squires and grooms and serving girls, old men and naked children, rough-spoken freeriders of uncertain birth. Arya would make friends with anybody.

 Arya is an extrovert, and she does not choose her company based on class which is unusual amongst nobles in Westeros. Arya chooses her friends based on how these people treat her. 

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Your Other Pillock Boyfriend

One-shot. 1,152 words.

James writes to Lily to explain a few things.


Morning  Afternoon Evans,

Mum thinks I’m a pillock, and Dad reckons I’ve been hit with too many Bludgers. They’re not wrong, but I need to explain why we weren’t at the house after you returned from taking Mary and Breda home.

If you recall, before you left, we were dangerously low on the Drink-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named-But-Starts-With-F-And-Rhymes-With-Episkey. 

(Never fear that your boyfriend’s lost his wit. Marauder’s honor, I’ll fabricate a better name when my brain function returns.)

Anyway, you, fantastic girlfriend extraordinaire, promised to return with reinforcements. Great. Fantastic. Except the Traitor Git (Pettigrew) drank the last bit before we could do another Refilling Charm.

(You’re laughing, so I’ll say it: I’m not convinced we could’ve pulled off a Refilling Charm, either. But we’ll never know, will we, ’cause Peter drank away our only opportunity to attempt it.)

We were pretty sure you’d be back (I, personally, never doubted you), but Remus, despite extreme inebriation, convinced us that his watch, and therefore Time, was moving backwards.

Wormtail was weeping over his disgrace. And possibly the end of the alcohol. Probably both.

Padfoot was getting rather tetchy at the three of us.

(You were here. You know how many bottles we’d consumed.)

In short, we needed more booze.

The house elves refused to break into the cellar. Sirius couldn’t Apparate drunk. (Which is a great story for another time; remind me to tell you about the badgers.) The four of us couldn’t fit on The Bike, so we sat there, despondent, occasionally hiccupping or sniffling, depending.

And then Moony had the brilliant idea to Transfigure my Head Boy badge into a Portkey.

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That Night In New Mexico. (Chapter Three)

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x Reader. (Soulmate AU)

Warnings: None?

Word Count: 1,441.

Previous Chapters:

Chapter One | Chapter Two

It was dark by the time they got to where this “satellite” was.

Parking the Pinzgauer, the small group of three made their way to to the edge of the ridge and crouched down to avoid being seen. Pulling out a pair of binoculars - which made Y/N wounded why she have binoculars - Jane looked down.

The small valley was brightened by a number of lights that reached high into the dark slay and went outwards. There were guard towers set up with at least two men in each, both of which were armed. Other men and woman rushed around on the ground. A glass-walled trailer was at the center of all this, and Jane could just barely make something out beyond it. It was small, dark and looked to be on a stump of some kind. There were tubes and wires running along the grounds, leading in and out of what appeared as temporary offices of some kind. On the side of the building, Jane and Y/N saw the word S.H.I.E.L.D. written in bold letters.

Y/N heard Jane say something, but she wasn’t paying enough attention to actually make out what it was.

Why was S.H.I.E.L.D. here? Why did they practically build a city around the supposed “satellite”?

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“Neith’s Arrow” Part II

A Nesryn Faliq Fan Fiction 

[Part I]

    An inch of snow already blanketed the uncovered floors of the aerie. The giant curtains they drew and bolted into the stone rippled and groaned as the winter storm ravaged through their mountains. Nesryn Faliq sat beside Borte in the hall, their toes outstretched to the fire. They tucked a wool blanket around themselves and huddled together to share body heat.

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In Times of War - Part Nine

Summary: With Steve and Y/N divided, the mission seems more and more arduous. Especially when they discover Alexander Pierce’s secret.

Warning: mention of minor character death, manipulation, swearing

Main masterlist / In Times of War masterlist

Previous part - Next part

A/N: Here is the ninth part of my entry for @marvelous-fvcks‘ challenge. Sorry it took so long, and I hope you guys enjoy it!

Y/N stared at her reflection in the mirror, her gaze trailing from her unkept hair to the dark shadows under her bloodshot eyes. She looked like she hadn’t slept in a week, and there was a truth to that. But how could she sleep when every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was Steve’s angry and betrayed face?

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Kriksa (derived from rus. крик (krik) - scream) aka nochnitsa (derived from rus. ночь (noch’) - night) — is an evil spirit in west-slavic mythology. It is believed that kriksa appears from a transformed soul of a witch, in case if she died childless. Apart from the image of long-armed woman in black, nochnitsa could turn into a bat, a worm or any kind of nocturnal birds. Their main trait is to crawl into a house at night and torture the children in various ways, which resulted in cries, insomnia and nightmares. To protect their children from nochnitsas, mothers avoided carrying a child out of the house after the sunset, washing diaper sheets in a water that stayed in a tub for a night and to rock an empty cradle.

Something Like Magic [2]

Summary: Jon tries to get himself together. Rhaegar and Sansa bond. Jon walks in on something he really wishes he hadn’t seen.

A/N: Given the scenario in this chapter.. Rhaegar in this story (unlike another fic of mine) is intended to be a good and upstanding citizen of Westeros and a good father and gaurdian to Sansa. So don’t read too much into things bc that’s not how it was intended. K enjoy!

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Blunders and (happy) Beginnings; CHAPTER 4; ~ 2, 200 words; FF.NET || AO3

It’s that Jane Austen CS AU you have (not) been reading *g* This chapter is from Killian’s POV, maybe a bit darker but it was time we got a glimpse of his inner workings as well. So hope you enjoy! 

Contrary to what most people throughout the ages have said, believed, set on paper or even, on occasion, experienced firsthand, Captain Killian Jones never believed nights to be time and place where loneliness lurks, bids its time and lunges at unsuspecting gentlemen and ladies alike, thinking themselves safe in the comfort of their library or bedchamber.

Killian, to his surprise as much as the reader’s we are sure, has rarely come to know this dark face of the later hours. No. Nights are too calm for all that – all light dimmed, all sound shushed, all conversation ceased and all social ‘graces’, that lacked the very essentials of grace (frankness and sincerity), stripped away.

Loneliness did not have time enough to sneak under his threadbare sleepshirt and sink into his weary heart when his bones were so heavy, when his head was already sunk so deep into the pillow and he was miles and miles from the overeagerness of his brother’s nudges, the overagreeableness of his friends’ conversation, the overrichness of ink on bills he still had little habit of dealing with and would probably never acquire any, the overheaviness of the contraption he strapped on his left forearm every morning with barely a shuffle and took off every night with an exhausted clang and a curled lip.

No, indeed, nights were somewhat safer for Killian Jones than most writers wrote them, with much softer tones than most painters painted them and much shallower sounds than most musicians played them. Safer in their being an end and not an unknown and unpredictable beginning, softer in their being dulled by tiredness and insensibility, shallower in their being too shrouded to need to dig deeper for even denser shadows.

For him, the evil was to be found in mornings. In their crispness, the sharp colours, the bright and painfully distinguishable forms, the strong and freshly unearthed smell, the rejuvenated and unrelenting birds’ songs.

For him, all the weight of all the loneliness in the world managed to squeeze itself into a couple of seconds, into two drops – if drops it had been – less than a spoonful of sorrow, into a sliver of semi-consciousness, into the place between sleep and awake, that place where you still remember dreaming.

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Ana Lily Amirpour Responds to Racism Charges — But Won’t Apologize For Making You Uncomfortable

Ana Lily Amirpour seems like the ultimate counterpunch to Hollywood’s diversity problem. She’s an Iranian woman director raised in America, directing inventive genre movies with an anarchic sensibility all her own. While much of the country celebrated the feminist leanings of “Wonder Woman,” Amirpour had already finished “The Bad Batch,” her horror-sci-fi-western hybrid about a dystopian world in which a young woman battles cannibals in a desolate wasteland. The movie, which premiered at the festivals last fall, confirmed Amirpour’s capacity for exploring marginalized figures through the empowering lens of ferocious female characters first seen in her acclaimed debut, “A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night.”

Which was why, eight months into her promotional tour for “The Bad Batch,” Amirpour was astonished to find herself accused of racism. During a post-screening Q&A for “The Bad Batch” in Chicago, Amirpour was confronted by a woman named Bianca Xiunse, who demanded to know why all the black characters in the movie were killed.

The complaint appeared to be a reaction to one scene in particular. In the film, which is set in a near future in which prisoners are unleashed into a lawless desert, Arlen (Suki Waterhouse) comes upon one of the cannibals who had kidnapped and mutilated her in the opening minutes.

Now armless, Arlen confronts Maria (Yolonda Ross), the wife of Cuban cannibal Miami Man (Jason Momoa), along with her young daughter. Arlen shoots Maria, but spares the child; later, Miami Man tracks Arlen down to exact revenge, but the pair end up falling in love as they face down a much scarier threat — a stone-faced tyrant named The Dream (Keanu Reeves), who lords over the nearby town of Comfort with an iron grip.

While one reading of “The Bad Batch” would find two outcasts (a one-armed woman and a vilified immigrant) joining forces to take down an evil white man, Xiunse wanted to know why Amirpour felt it was necessary for the black characters to perish.

“I found it offensive,” she said. “So I’m curious, what was your message for it?”

In video of the moment, Amirpour cocks her head, seemingly baffled by the response, and asks the moderator to repeat the question. (As she would later explain, the filmmaker is 30 percent deaf.) Finally, she offered a succinct response. “Just because I give you something to look at, doesn’t mean I’m telling you what to see.”

The audience cheered, and Xiunse turned to Twitter to further vent her frustrations. “I have never felt such an embarrassment in my life,” she wrote. Later that night, Amirpour checked her social media account, saw the complaints, and blocked Xiunse; when Xiunse called her out, Amirpour wrote, “How am I supposed to respond you calling my film anti black? It’s so crazy. It offended me. So I blocked you.”

So began a social media storm of vitriol on both sides, with Amirpour’s fans leaping to her defense and others lashing out against her; Xiunse herself even did an interview about the experience. Amirpour acknowledged that she reacted too quickly on Twitter, which she has since deleted from her phone, but she’s still aghast about the experience as a whole.

“I’m a brown woman immigrant, my family escaped the Iranian Revolution, I grew up on two continents, English wasn’t the first language in my home,” she said over lunch in New York a few days before the film’s release. “I know what it is to be the ‘other’ very, very well. My film and my filmmaking is all about asking questions about how the system pits us against each other. If anything, this movie is about how we are eating each other. It’s fine, I get it, some people don’t see those things or ask those questions. Cinema is a private, personal experience for individual. But this felt personal against me.”

She was also astonished about the complaints regarding the color of the character’s skin. “Why wouldn’t he be married to a black woman? Jason Momoa is married to a black woman. It’s how I see the world — it’s a modern relationship,” she said. “They have a mixed-race child. She’s the future, in this wonderful way.”

But Amirpour didn’t have the opportunity for that nuanced reaction at the time, and then came the second wave: Internet forums picked up on an old photo posted to social media in which Amirpour dressed up as Lil Wayne for Halloween. If she had been a white person wearing blackface, that would have been ever tougher to wriggle away from — but Amirpour’s not about to apologize for that one, either.

“What could I do?” She asks. “I feel nothing but joy about the fact that I dressed up like Lil Wayne for Halloween. I’m brown. I didn’t do anything wrong. That’s what I look like when I put my hat on and tattoos on my face. I love Weezy. I just have to believe in myself, that I’m a good person, having fun on planet Earth like anyone else.”

Amirpour’s experience may not permanently tarnish her reputation, but it’s indicative of a single-minded director who has been gradually forced to deal with the challenges associated with a rising profile. The last two years of her career were all about forward momentum, with support systems to sustain her vision on her own terms.

When she came to Sundance with “A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night” in 2014, she had no agent, and insisted on controlling every facet of her film — including its distribution deal, which she decided to avoid closing until after the festival. “I was going off instinct, but my instinct was, if you want to fuck me now, you have to want to fuck me four months from now,” she said. (The movie eventually sold to Kino Lorber, well after it opened New Directors/New Films in New York that March.) In the meantime, she had started writing “The Bad Batch,” and after Sundance she was approached by Vice creative director Danny Gabai. From there, a wealth of new resources came her way.

Next page: The creative wisdom of taking acid at Burning Man.

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tinyblakey-deactivated20171020  asked:

Okay okay okay okay okay okay! How about the first AU with Yang and whomever else (if ya still wanna do these)

“i came to the gym to work out but holy god i can’t stop watching you do one armed push ups that’s so hot” au

So, the fucking problem is that Coco came to work out, not stare.

She doesn’t get much time to do this kind of thing, and she likes to work herself hard when she does get the time. But there’s a blonde in the corner who is wearing basically a censor bar of a bra-and-bike-shorts combo, and has been doing one-armed pushups for the past twenty minutes. And she’s not going at a glacial pace, either– this woman is pumping them out.

It’s totally killing Coco’s vibe.

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Weapon(s) in question: