intimidated by silence

Listen Shouto Todoroki had all the makings to be the suave dark mysterious popular solemn brooding character and I appreciate every single day how it turns out he’s literally just awkward.

I’m dead serious. It’s very easy to misinterpret him all cool and collected and smooth especially given his overwhelming power and his emotional distance but once he softens to people and does start trying to interact honestly you realize he’s just /bad at it/ and you look back and realize all his stoic intimidating silences were 100% just awkward silences and his solemn emotionless collected face was just doing a good job of hiding his internal monologue of “oh…people are talking. I should talk to? I don’t really know. I never had friends. Um. Hmm. No, I’ve got nothing. I’m just gonna stare down and not say much. That’s probably fine. I think this is how socializing works. Yes.”

anonymous asked:

Tell me, do you have any actual proof that "The FBI actively sabotaged and dismantled the American Indian Movement, the Chicano Movement, and the Black Power movement"? Because that just sounds like a bullshit conspiracy theory to me.

(TW murder) 

The FBI has a program called COINTELPRO short for counter intelligence program. It was started to sabotage communist parties in the U.S. but in the sixties the expanded it to spying on and sabotaging certain political groups often using illegal avenues. 

They murdered a prominent leader of the Black Panther Party Fred Hampton in his home via the Chicago police. They fired over 100 shots into his apartment and room where he was sleeping with his pregnant girlfriend who survived by the grace of god.  

Body of Fred Hampton, national spokesman for the Black Panther Party, who was killed by members of the Chicago Police Department, as part of a COINTELPRO operation” 

He was 21


In 1890 American Indians had form a group to protest against white colonizers who had stripped them of their land and unjustly killed millions of their people. The infamous Battle of Wounded Knee took place on December 29th, 1890. U.S. soldiers heard a tribe of Indians taking part in the Ghost Dance and that they surrender all of their weapons. After they refused they killed 150 Indians more than half were women and children. 

Some 200 AIM members and their supporters decided to occupy the symbolically significant hamlet of Wounded Knee, site of the 1890 massacre. During the 71 days of the siege, which began on February 27, 1973, federal officers and AIM members exchanged gunfire almost nightly. Hundreds of arrests were made, and two Native Americans were killed and a federal marshal was permanently paralyzed by a bullet wound. The leaders of AIM finally surrendered on May 8 after a negotiated settlement was reached. In a subsequent trial, the judge ordered their acquittal because of evidence that the FBI had manipulated key witnesses.

The FBI also went after the Chicano Movement, which became known as the Brown Berets and the Puerto Rican Liberation Movement. Carlos Montes was one of the original Brown Berets. Montes told RT “The FBI worked with the LAPD and the sheriffs to keep the Brown Berets and local Chicano movements under surveillance. We were victims of agent provocateurs, police infiltration. They tried to incite our members to commit violence, so they would get arrested, and they did and we found out after we got arrested.”

According to attorney Brian Glick in his book War at Home, the FBI used four main methods during COINTELPRO:

  1. Infiltration: Agents and informers did not merely spy on political activists. Their main purpose was to discredit and disrupt. Their very presence served to undermine trust and scare off potential supporters. The FBI and police exploited this fear to smear genuine activists as agents.
  2. Psychological warfare: The FBI and police used myriad “dirty tricks” to undermine progressive movements. They planted false media stories and published bogus leaflets and other publications in the name of targeted groups. They forged correspondence, sent anonymous letters, and made anonymous telephone calls. They spread misinformation about meetings and events, set up pseudo movement groups run by government agents, and manipulated or strong-armed parents, employers, landlords, school officials and others to cause trouble for activists. They used bad-jacketing to create suspicion about targeted activists, sometimes with lethal consequences.[55]
  3. Legal harassment: The FBI and police abused the legal system to harass dissidents and make them appear to be criminals. Officers of the law gave perjured testimony and presented fabricated evidence as a pretext for false arrests and wrongful imprisonment. They discriminatorily enforced tax laws and other government regulations and used conspicuous surveillance, “investigative” interviews, and grand jury subpoenas in an effort to intimidate activists and silence their supporters.[5][56]
  4. Illegal force: The FBI conspired with local police departments to threaten dissidents; to conduct illegal break-ins in order to search dissident homes; and to commit vandalism, assaults, beatings and assassinations.[5][6][7][57] The object was to frighten or eliminate dissidents and disrupt their movements.

They also: 

- Bugged Martin Luther King Jr’s home and hotel rooms on numerous occasions

- They also sent him a letter telling him to kill himself and that they would release proof that he was having extramarital affairs to the world and his wife, which they acquired by illegally taping his conversations. 

- Unjust arrest and imprisonment of Leonard Peltier who is a citizen of the Anishinabe & Dakota/Lakota Nations who has been unjustly imprisoned for nearly three decades.

No bullshit here babe just facts 

Shouji’s a pretty protective guy. 

The End of Trump

The question is no longer whether there are grounds to impeach Donald Trump. It is when enough Republicans will put their loyalty to America ahead of their loyalty to their party.

Trump’s statements last week about his firing of former FBI director James Comey provide ample evidence that Trump engaged in an obstruction of justice – a major charge in impeachment proceedings brought against Richard M. Nixon and Bill Clinton.

It’s worth recalling that the illegality underlying Nixon’s impeachment was a burglary at the Watergate complex, while the illegality underlying Clinton’s was lying to a grand jury about sex with an intern in the White House.

Trump’s obstruction is potentially far more serious. It involves an investigation about whether Trump or his aides colluded with Russia in rigging a presidential election – the most direct assault on American democracy in history,

Last Thursday, in an interview with NBC News’s Lester Holt about his firing of Comey, Trump said: “I was going to fire regardless of recommendation.” Trump also said that he had pressed Comey during a private dinner to tell him if he was under investigation.

Trump conceded that the ongoing investigation into Russian influence on the 2016 election, which includes a probe into the possibility that Moscow was coordinating with the Trump campaign, was one of the factors Trump considered before firing Comey.

“In fact, when I decided to just do it, I said to myself, I said, ‘You know, this Russia thing with Trump and Russia is a made-up story, it’s an excuse by the Democrats for having lost an election that they should have won,’ ” Trump said.

The law is reasonably clear. If Trump removed Comey to avoid being investigated, that’s an obstruction of justice – an impeachable offense.

On Friday, Trump tweeted that Comey “better hope that there are no ‘tapes’ of our conversations before he starts leaking to the press!”

Here, the law is also clear. Seeking to silence, intimidate or even influence someone who is likely to offer evidence in a congressional or criminal proceeding is also an obstruction of justice – and an impeachable offense.

As a practical matter, though, nothing will happen until a majority of the House decides on bringing a bill of impeachment. Which means, under the present congress, twenty-two Republicans would have to join with House Democrats to put enough pressure on the Speaker of the House to allow such a bill to be considered.

The odds of this occurring in this Congress, under present circumstances, are approximately zero.

So – barring a “smoking gun” that shows Trump’s complicity with Russian operatives in interfering in the 2016 election – Trump’s fate seems to hinge on the midterm elections of 2018.

Those elections are less than eighteen months away. That’s a long time in American politics. Under a Trump presidency, that’s an eternity.

But there’s another possibility.

In my experience, most elected politicians have two goals – to do what they consider to be the right things for the American public, and to be reelected (not necessarily in that order).

If Trump’s poll numbers continue to plummet – particularly among Republicans and Independents – twenty-two House Republicans may well decide their chances for being reelected are better if they abandon him before the 2018 midterms.

Paul Ryan and the House Republican leadership might make a similar calculation, at least enough to put a bill of impeachment on the table.

Most House Republicans prefer Vice President Mike Pence to Donald Trump anyway. As one said to me several months ago, “Pence is a predictable conservative. Trump is an unpredictable egomaniac. Most of us are more comfortable with the former.”

There’s a good chance Trump’s polls will continue to fall. First, he’s shown to be his own worst enemy. Even when things are going reasonably well, he seems bizarrely intent on stirring controversy – and saying or tweeting things that get him into trouble.

There’s also a matter of the economy. The expansion that began in 2009 is getting long in the tooth. If history is any guide, we’re due for a slowdown or recession. And justified or not, presidents get blamed when Americans lose jobs.

Donald Trump doesn’t have the character or the temperament to be president of the United States. But this obvious fact isn’t enough to get him fired.

He’ll be fired when enough Americans decide they can’t abide him anymore.

Then, maybe in an impeachment proceeding, it will come out that Trump did something incredibly stupid – like give a nod of approval to one of his campaign bottom feeders like Roger Stone to tell a Russian operative to go ahead with their plan to interfere in the 2016 election.

The House impeaches. The Senate convicts. That’s the end of Trump. 

6

Dept. of Magical Law Enforcement open to public as part of War Remembrance week

MoM | Department of Magical Law Enforcement

Visitors to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement (DMLE) on Level 2 of MoM’s Whitehall office will find that security is high here, even more so than in the spell-ridden lobby. This itself is unsurprising. However, one is soon distracted – even from the self-directed probity probes – by the large portraits that line all major corridors. 

MLE officers who have fallen in battle stare out at the visitors as they pass, some of them friendly and some less so. They do not move in and out of their frames, as is usually the case, but stay in their frames and keep a watchful eye on the Department. 

While the subjects often chat with each other as officers pass by, visitors are treated to the intimidating experience of their falling silence, and the piercing gaze of witches and wizards who have given their lives to defeat evil. Each portrait features a quote from its subject on the fight against dark magic.

Evil will not prevail for long. Good will have the last word. (Kingsley Shacklebolt, 1960-2022)

Dark wizards want to sow fear, uncertainty, and division among us. They will not succeed. (Frank Longbottom, 1957-2020)

There is nothing they can do to us that will break our spirits or erase what we have done, and will continue to do, for each other. (Alice Longbottom, 1958-2020)

Voldemort is a coward. It takes guts to be kind. (Nymphadora Tonks, 1973-1998)

More Ministry of Magic here, here, and here

More 21st century wizarding here

This is for everyone who wanted to see what the different MoM departments look like. Will be exploring more departments soon, so check back in for that!

You Make My Heart Beat

Park Jihoon is a mystery at your high school. He never talks to anyone, goes home in a super fancy black car, and rumor has it that he’s in a gang– or worse, the mafia. When you’re assigned to sit next to him, you start to realize that Park Jihoon isn’t the cold guy that everyone made him out to be

  • a written fic version of park jihoon’s mafia au scenario; read that here
  • for the aprox. 20 anons who asked for a written version of jihoon’s mafia au lmao
  • the tysm-to-the-lovely-angels-that-support-this-blog fic

“(y/n),” the teacher called, pointing to one of the desks before moving on. You obediently picked up your things, trudging over to the new desk that had been assigned to you. “Park Jihoon.” Your head jolted up in surprise—you would be sitting with Park Jihoon?

Jihoon had… and interesting reputation at your high school. He never talked to anyone, ever, and if he didn’t take the bus home from school, a fancy, shiny black car picked him up. At first, the rumor was that he was a chaebol, but when Kwon Soonyoung reported that he saw a tattoo on Jihoon’s chest when they were changing for gym, the rumors shifted into Jihoon’s participation in a gang, or worse, the 101, the organized crime group of the area.

You’d rolled your eyes at this, thinking it was stupid to judge someone based off of a bunch of high school rumors. If he didn’t want to talk to anyone, fine, but that didn’t give you or your classmates the right to be rude about it.

Granted, as Jihoon silently took the seat next to yours, you felt slightly intimidated by the deathly silence, your classmates all looking at you sympathetically. Jihoon had the seat by the window, and you had the one more towards the classroom, and as class finally started up, he just stared out the window, not paying attention.

This became a daily occurrence. When Jihoon showed up—if he did at all—he’d take his seat silently. Occasionally, if you were feeling particularly cheery, you’d say good morning, but he would just sit there, either playing a game on his phone, texting, or staring out of the window. You wondered about his confidence, how he could just waste away his time in school while you were desperate for more time, cramming as much information into your head as possible.

Your friends were all interested, however. Jihoon had the whole mysterious thing going on, and his incredibly good looks helped as well, and your friends pressed you to talk to him, or maybe introduce them to him. The guy hadn’t spoken one word to you—what made them think he would talk to you?

A few weeks after you had begun sitting next to Jihoon, you were rummaging around in your locker for your lunch, cursing to yourself that you’d somehow managed to lose it.

“(y/n),” someone said quietly from behind you, startling you. You stood up, and banged your head on the top of the locker, cursing as you clutched the top of your head. Jihoon tried to conceal a smile, which you didn’t notice, looking over at you. “Could you cover for me? Something came up.” He said stiffly, cheeks coloring a tad bit.

You were startled that he was talking to you, let alone that he even knew your name, but you nodded quickly. “No problem. I hope whatever happened works out.”

Jihoon just nodded, casually slinging his backpack over his shoulder and hurrying out. As you sat with your friends, eating your lunch, you watched the small figure that was Jihoon toss his backpack over the fence, easily climbing over it.

“So Park Jihoon has finally caught your eye?” One of your friends teased, following your gaze to where Jihoon was running up to a black car, getting into the back.

“What?” Your cheeks colored as you quickly shook your head, “no, no. He’s just… interesting.”

When class started up again, the teacher pinned you down with a piercing stare. “(y/n), where did Park Jihoon go?” She asked shrilly, glaring at you, “Is he skipping school again?”

“No, teacher,” you lied smoothly, “he threw up and had to go home from sickness.”

The next morning, you got to your seat, surprised to see something sitting on top. It was a freshly baked muffin from a bakery near your school, along with a Post-It note with Jihoon’s scrawl—

Thanks. –pjh

Keep reading

Gladly ; Tom Holland

WARNINGS: nsfw !!, themes of hate sex-ish, protected sex, slight oral (female receiving), things escalating v quickly, 

summary: professor!Tom au


A/N: i bet my dog you guys will want part two of this,, it was so weird never mentioning ‘tom’ but rather just ‘mr holland’

Hearing the bell ring as you sat on the floor and hidden between the shelves of books in the library indicated that the vacant period has ended. You peeked to see everyone pick up their books and drag themselves out the room; but of course knowing that the next subject was English, your impish behavior meant for you to stay a little longer and intentionally end up arriving behind schedule.

It wasn’t after twenty minutes when you finally ambled out the library in the direction to the scheduled room. You cautiously turned the door knob praying that Mr. Holland still hasn’t arrived shortly realizing that if he catches you tardy one more time he’d definitely send you in detention for a month, as what he intimidated.

Unluckily as you had opened the door you were greeted with the recognizable accent that echoed in the room. Mr. Holland stood across yards away listing down terms with a chalk on the blackboard however pausing his discussion one your presence had entered the room. “Now that is the perfect example of immoral behavior,” He pointed out in front, pushing back his glasses before giving a displeased look.

Although you were fucked you definitely were not intimidated by it –thinking it was just a month of detention, how worse can it get?

Mr. Holland had clearly drawn attention to as you made your way at the back where you were seated. You slumped into your seat and threw your bag in front and barely attending to Mr. Holland’s lecture. “Miss Y/L/N, care to explain?” With many pairs of eyes gazed at you, it lead you rather flustered and incapable of speaking.

The entire room was hushed as the intimidating silence was coercing you. “And that better not be another implausible excuse about your dog, god help me if so,” afterwards you blatantly rolling your eyes at Mr. Holland. “You never learn anything don’t you, Miss Y/L/N?” His false assertion irritating you more as he shook his head, expressing his annoyance.

But believe it or not it wasn’t always bickering between the two of you. For once you actually admired Mr. Holland’s intellect; he definitely was smart, hence why he got a degree at an early age and began teaching, making him the youngest out of all the professors in the campus –and who’s just two years older than you.

You were even one of the best students in his class, receiving multiple praises from him time to time; however he began disregarding you after catching you cut class –which wasn’t his class –with your former boyfriend, and for no reason he began failing you in class. Although you did try reasoning his unjust system, he barely gave a rationale still leaving you with nothing.

So rather than further protesting you decided to let him have it and by that means of reifying what he had been labeling you as, thus, the start of the pointless bickering and disagreements. 

Anyways you deliberately kept yawning whenever you caught Mr. Holland glancing at your area, knowing well how much he hates impudence. “Miss Y/L/N did you even have a hint of what we were discussing about today, or were you sat there unmindful like the little brat you are?” He coarsely publicized in the entire room as you remained silent. “I though so too,” he affirmed.

For the rest of the period you were speechless out of humiliation but finally, after a while of sitting tight, the bell finally rang. “Remember the essay is due on Monday and I expect everyone to pass,” he reminded followed by, “class is dismissed, everyone may go.” As he walked back to the teachers desk and took his seat while you hurriedly slung your bag over your shoulder. “I meant everyone except for Miss Y/L/N.”

You grumbled, “come on, really?” before falling back to your seat as you saw everyone exiting from the room. “Yes really, now please take a seat in front,” as Mr. Holland indicated for you to seat across from his desk, you sighed having no choice rather than to walk in front and take the seat athwart from him. 

He leaned towards you, pushing back his glasses before speaking up, “you do know I can get you suspended for the multiple tardiness,” he threatened with his face expressionless and his voice unsympathetic. Immediately you reacted, “I thought it was just a month of detention? That’s unfair, you never informed me about this shit.”

“Language, Miss Y/L/N,” he prompted but it only left you more enraged. “Oh kiss my ass. It wasn’t my fault in the first place you started this whole mess because you were failing me in your subject for no goddamn reason,” you argued. “You were cutting class in the middle of the day with your douche of a boyfriend!” 

A bewildering expression crossed upon your face, “that wasn’t even your class. I never skipped your subject and yet you attempted on failing me!” You dissented. “Yes but sooner you began purposely flunking your academics and performance leaving me no choice than to suspend you, love.” And shuddering instantly once you heard him call you by a nickname, you then stood up with your face leaning closer to his as you looked directly at him. “First of all don’t call me that, I have a last name. And second, all I can say is a big fuck you.”

“Gladly.” was all you heard from Mr. Holland and questioning what it meant but sooner finding out after feeling a pair of lips collide with yours. And as much as you did hate him, your actions seemed to not have any plans upon defying him. So rather than shoving him and halting this far-fetched scenario, your body decided to keep this ongoing –because you were definitely lying if you said you did not want this.

His hands yanks on the hem of our shirt pulling it over without any permissions and tossing it beside. Then he deepens into the kiss, harshly and slobbery bruising your lower lip whilst discards his blazer and unbuttons his polo. Meanwhile you unbuttoned your pants, sliding them off and pushing them aside on the floor leaving you only in your undergarments and exposed as ever.

As things were definitely escalating quickly, you felt Mr. Holland’s lips trail descending over to your neck. He hungrily bit onto the sensitive skin forcefully sucking and assuring he repeated those actions several times until the area exhibited the multiple red bruises. You hissed along the way as your hands stripped his polo revealing his perfectly toned body. 

Mr. Holland had unclasp your bra and throwing it aside before feeling a wave of cold air hit your perky breasts, which sent goosebumps over your skin. His fingers proceeded over your sensitively stiff nipples, pinching and tugging it making you stifle a moan. “God isn’t you body just breathtaking?” He attempted to compliment though you completed ignored it. “Shut up, we’re just horny.”

The next thing Mr. Holland had done was forcing you on his desk, pushing aside all the unwanted objects placed, as your body bent over it. Immediately he tugged over your lace panties that eventually dropped down around your ankles giving a magnificent view of your ass. He gave a nice firm smack over one cheek as his fingers ran over your folds behind, gradually titillating you, as your arms extended over the edge of the desk.

Since you were facing the opposite side, you were blinded with Mr. Hollands actions unbeknownst to what he could do next. You felt a pair of lips hungrily lick you from behind as a pair of hands spread your ass further. His lips lapped over your entrance increasing the wetness that was forming between your legs.

You felt Mr. Holland’s breaths brush against your core as his tongue delve into you. He hummed as you continued to take delight with his actions with your fingers gripping on the edge of the desk and attempting to conceal faint moans coming out from your lips. “Can’t believe you’re agreeing to all of this, Y/N,” it was weird enough you were fucking your professor but it was somehow weirder when you heard your first name roll from his mouth.

There was a pause between the two of you making you impatient and look back to see him fumbling on his wallet in search for something. Finally seeing as he pulled out a familiar packet of condom. “You’re seriously like those cocky douches who carry a condom in the wallet?” You retorted whilst he was in the process of tearing up the packet with his teeth, “I’m not being cocky, I heard it was a sign of luck.”

Then he unbuckled his pants, pulling it down with his briefs and a clear seeing a view of his length spring out. It was definitely erect and hurriedly, he had rolled the lubricated latex over his hard on.

And at most immediately he penetrated himself inside you, making you grasp tighter into the desk and instinctively clench around him as you were unprepared. Like before, you nevertheless kept choking in your moans unwilling to give in and indicate a sign of pleasure nor’ satisfaction –since you do both ‘hate’ each other. “Come on just fucking moan for me already.” Mr. Holland groaned.

He continued to ram into you as he yanked fistfuls of your hair with one hand making you throw your head back and finally moan aloud from the forceful actions “Oh f-fuck you,” you cussed as he leered in delight after finally hearing something leave from your lips that suggested a sense of pleasure. “But hell you’re so fucking tight,” he dug his fingers, with the other hand, onto the skin of your ass making you hiss at the pleasurable pain.

The room was filled with your screams, Mr. Holland’s pants, and the skin slapping that was created between the two of you –and it was quite a turn on per se. Though he paused again for a moment, panting before speaking up. “Turn around,” he ordered in which case you obeyed, shifting from your once upright position to a supine one. 

Again, he had spread your legs wide, inserting himself inside you and continuing to roughly pound into you.Your hands reached over on Mr. Holland’s waist and digging your nails onto his hips as he pulled his hips down harder. To add to your nearing climax that’s building up in your system, his fingers reached over to your clit giving a forceful knead on it. “Fuck,” you cursed under your breath.

“I t-think I’m close,” you cried out arching your back and clawing onto the desk. Then you began dissolving into euphoria as you neared an orgasm, feeling waves of explosions coarse through your veins. Your teeth sunken onto your lower lip as you clenched your walls around his dick afterwards hearing a loud groan from Mr. Holland. “God that was fucking tight.”

Gradually the rhythm Mr. Holland once had with his thrust began fading as time began slowing down. “Oh fuck you, I’m going to come.” You whimpered as the tension became unbearable with your attempts of holding down your climax. “You’re already doing it, darling,” he cockily winked as his propels became sloppier by the second.

And with no minute wasted, Mr. Holland began decelerating his pace though making sure to pound into you harder. You threw your head back as you finally released around him, giving a loud sigh before trying to catch your normal breaths –subsequently, after a few more thrusts, Mr. Holland came too. “Okay that was so wrong yet felt so right,” he pants before pulling himself out after having to unload.

“I still hate you and nothing has changed,” you reminded, helping your self down and off his desk searching for your clothes that was scattered in the room. “Yeah definitely. I still hate you and uh, nothing definitely has changed between the- you know, two of us.” He stammered whilst buttoning his pants up, “but even if we do hate each other, would you agree on a date?”

Without thinking twice you answered. “No,” before fixing your things and preparing to leave the room. “We shall never speak of this and god help me if we ever fall into a situation like this ever again, got it?” As he nodded in agreement. 

idk id this was crappy, sorry if so ):


tagging   (〃^▽^〃)

@your-local-fucked-up-kid-66

anonymous asked:

What are some good talking points to shut down the argument that antifa are just as fascist as fascists (literally had someone tell me this and I couldn't formulate a rebuttal other than antifa doesn't call for an ethnostate or the extermination of other races).

You can start with educating them on what a false equivalency is, for one.

And then you can explain to them to what fascism actually is. Fascism is an ideology that is inseparable from the violence it perpetuates. That is indisputable. Fascism cannot exist without violence against those who are vulnerable in society. The very core of fascism is violence expressed in as many forms as possible, as much as possible, against ideas and people who are designated as the “enemy.” This is how fascism sustains itself, and there is no getting around that fact at all, no matter what any fascist might say to convince people otherwise.

You can’t examine the violent tactics that antifascists use without looking at it within the context of what fascism is and does. Antifascists are just that–people who oppose fascism. You can oppose fascism in many, many ways, out of which violence is only one small part (that often gets disproportionately reported on by the media). Antifascists don’t oppose the use of violence, but you can’t argue that this makes them in any way equivalent to fascists, for whom violence is a means unto itself and an action as much as a goal. Fascists can’t imagine a world order that doesn’t rely on violence, because without violence, their entire ideology falls apart. Standing in opposition to this, and understanding the fact that nonviolent tactics don’t always work against a group of people who won’t think twice about hurting you is not the same as being a fascist in any way.

In addition to that, you have to also understand that the sorts of things fascists stand for, things like racism, imperialism and misogyny–these things are all inherently violent beliefs themselves. You can’t have a person who willfully supports a racist ideology insist that they are “not violent” and that the people who oppose them are the ones that are. Racism is violence. Saying that you support shutting out immigrants, that you want to build a wall, that you want to cap refugees at a certain number every year, that’s violence. Talking openly about sexually assaulting women, putting in place policies that are meant to intimidate them into silence, that’s violence. Talking about wanting to “bomb the shit” out of another country is violence. Just because a fascist wears a suit and combs their hair and speaks well and doesn’t actively participate in a fight on the street doesn’t mean that they aren’t engaging in perpetuating violence against minorities every day. They are. And opposing that, especially out of self-defense on the part of the minorities, is not equivalent at all. It’s not even close.

Tbh, a large part of the reason why people have become completely incapable of telling the difference is because the word “fascist” has become something you hurl at people without any care for it really means. Using it in this way has weakened its meaning to the point where people think it’s a stand-in for any old insult. It’s not. Being a “fascist,” especially in light of recent events in the world, is to espouse a very specific ideology, and the sooner people realize that, the better.

The Storm Within

Summary: How can you hope to move forward when the past won’t leave you alone?

Pairings: GabrielxReader,

Tags: smut, angst, fingering, unprotected sex, possessive!Gabriel (NSFW below the cut)

Word Count: 8447

Author’s Note: This was written for @girl-next-door-writes Celebration Challenge

My song was Accidentally in Love by Counting Crows with the gif below.  

Some of you are tagged because it’s noted in posts or blogs you are open to it.  If you’d rather not be, just let me know!

Special thanks to the wonderful @sumara62 for the beta and coming up with the title.  Your feedback has made this fic that much better!  I’m so excited and grateful for your help :)  

Forever tags: @wayward-mirage, @fand0maniac, @feelmyroarrrr, @omgreganlove

Gabe squad: @theblackenedsky

Blogs open to being tagged: @notnaturalanahi, @jensen-jarpad, @lucifer-in-leather





You weren’t exactly sure how you ended up playing hide and seek in the bunker on a Friday night with Gabriel.  Then again, you were pretty tipsy and the archangel had said he was rather fond of games.  

“How old are you again?” Came a peevish voice from out in the hallway.  

So maybe this wasn’t what he had in mind, but driving him mad for once had certainly been fun for you.  

Even in your inebriated state you recognized it was probably not wise to mess with him.  He was an infinite being, after all.  Then again, if he didn’t want to play along, he didn’t have to.  He probably could have heard you breathing from clear across the bunker, let alone picked up the giggles that slipped out despite your best efforts.  Yet, he continued to do a slow walk around the perimeter of the room, as if none the wiser to your whereabouts.  

He finally made it to the bookshelf on which you were hiding.  It was a miracle you had even made it up that high without breaking anything, structurally or physically.  He paused, coming to a stop directly beneath you, and your breath stilled. You tried to slide out of view as he turned in your direction, only to go toppling over the side as your hand missed the edge. Instead of connecting with the floor, a pair of sturdy arms broke your fall and you found yourself staring up into warm hazel depths.    

“My hero,” you sighed, throwing an arm across your forehead, your head dropping back in a theatrical swoon.  You could practically hear his eyes rolling as he carried you across the room.  While you expected him to find a spot to put you down, you were not anticipating the unceremonious way he dumped you on top of the nearest table.

Keep reading

Me, during literally the entire Diana/Ares fight scene: Okay but, au with cute sibling bonding and Diana going around being the peppy little buttercup she is, and everyone’s trying to be like “no honey, you can’t just pull a sword out on the streets of London” and Ares just looming up behind his baby sister, all terrifying, and intimidating the naysayers into silence and then the moment Diana turns around he’s all sunshine and daisies again and Diana’s just super excited to get to spend time with her big bro and is totally having the time of her life

anonymous asked:

Could you maybe do some fluffy angst with our favorite rat? I feel like Junkrat would have a lot of emotions and thoughts but he just finds it difficult to communicate properly, ya know?

((A/N - I need practice writing this comedy duo. He’s a sweetheart))

“Oi, (Y/N)! Heads up!”

You looked over to where Junkrat had shouted from, lowering your head in time to dodge whatever was flung at you, only for it to hit Roadhog. You gasped, a ball filled with what seemed like.. porridge? It had splattered over the junker’s mask, making him grunt.

“Sorry, Roadie! No hard feelin’s?”

You span round in your seat to face your friend who was now backing away slowly, hands up in front of him to show that they were now empty. Roadhog pushed the seat back from where he was sitting and started stalking towards Jamison.

You stifled back a giggle. You weren’t too worried about him as you knew Roadie wouldn’t do anything permanent . You resumed eating your breakfast, swearing that there never seemed to be a peaceful moment on the watchpoint.

Once they were out of earshot, Junkrat began whispering.
“Do you think I got their attention?”

Roadhog crossed his arms, breathing heavily and grunted in response.

“I need to get their attention Roadie, do something!”

His friend responded by smacking him upside the head, making Jamison cry out. You raised your eyebrows, peering round to see if he was ok. Apart from rubbing the side of his head he seemed fine. What you couldn’t see was him looking at you from under his lashes to make sure you had glanced over. He stumbled over to your table, Roadhog following closely behind. You had noticed other agents found his silence intimidating, but you found comfort in it.

Jamison sat down opposite you, plopping his chin in his hands and looking at you, while Roadhog resumed his seat next to you.

You had a spoonfull of cereal halfway to your mouth before realising you were being stared at.

“Yes, Jamison?”
“D'ya like me?”

You frowned and put your spoon down back into your bowl.

“Of course, why would you-”

Roadhog nudged you in your ribs, grabbing your attention. He nodded his head towards Junkrat as an explanation.

Oh.

Jamison was still looking at you intently with his caramel eyes. You pushed your bowl away from you slightly.

“You like me, don’t you, Fawkes?”

His eyes widened, caught in surprise of his last name being used.

“Er, well. I mean-” He used his hand to scratch the back of his mottled blonde hair. He desperately looked to his fellow junker for help. The mood had tensed. You could feel that Roadhog didn’t want to get involved with the two of you, almost seeing him roll his eyes behind his mask.

You reached your hand out towards Jamison across the metal table.

“It’s okay. I like you too.”

He smiled, but then it faultered.

“Ya not jus’ saying that are ya, (Y/N)?”

You frowned.

“Of course not. I’ve noticed what you try to do to get my attention. Its.. cute.” You offered a smile to him.

Pink dusted his cheeks at being caught. The thing was he really liked you, and could never tell if you felt the same way. He couldn’t just come out and tell you, that would be ridiculous.

He was jittering in his seat, now full on grinning at you.
“Cute? Sure. Cute. We’ll go for that. Hey! Roadie! I got myself a partner!”

You chuckled, glancing up at Roadhog who let out a snort. You couldn’t deny the butterflies that were fluttering in your stomach.

Partner? Sure. You could settle for partner, you giggled to yourself.

“A Soul for a Soul: a new hope”

Arrow Season 5 spec fic

Word count: 1414

gif source

Rating: Teen

Summary: Based on the new info released for episode 5x16, this fic involves what Helix may ask Felicity to do, and why she’s willing to do it. It also involves who I think may be responsible for leaking the cover up of Malone’s death, and it’s not who most think.

A Soul for a Soul: a new hope


“How did we get here?”

His words are loud and abrasive…meant to intimidate her, but the vacuumed silence that follows is so much more deafening.

She can hear his feet shuffle against the floor, perhaps taking a step closer. She doesn’t know. Her eyes have been closed for a while now, blocking the outside world. She’s not ready to open them and see the look of disdain on his face. By now the rest of the team has filled him in on what she did to stop the impeachment hearings, to clear his name.

The answer to his question is simple, but one she’s not sure he’s ready or willing to hear.

A deflated sigh breaks the silence before he asks her again, this time more softly, his voice desperate and laced with confusion.

“Felicity…how did we get here?”

Now that question is different. She’s not sure if she could ever fit the pieces back together and make sense of how things had unraveled so much. Their story is a complicated one.

Another minute passes before she turns her head, her cheek rubbing against the starchy fabric. She opens her eyes and the world is sideways. She sees him several feet away, his hands clinging to the metal bars separating the two of them.

She’s surprised to see fear and concern in his eyes…and sadness. But no disgust or loathing.

Sitting up slowly from the cot, she adjusts her glasses on her nose. Her following joke falls flat.

“Well, you know me. I binge watched every season of ‘Orange is the New Black’. Thought hey, let’s see what all the fuss is about.”

Keep reading

Collision Course - Part Eight

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven


They rode in silence, only the occasional directions to the horses or calls to break for food or water.

It surprised Claire that Frank was so quiet but she presumed it was because he found Murtagh intimidating and her own silence daunting. As Murtagh erected a small camp for the night, Claire left Frank to cope with being saddle sore and wandered off to gather kindling for their fire. In the woods she realized how different silence was from solitude.

Her heart was heavy and she knew why; she missed Jamie. With Frank riding behind her sharing a horse, it was impossible not to be reminded of those first days after she traveled through the stones and the solid, reassuring presence of Jamie at her back, sheltering her and keeping her warm. Had she ever felt quite that way with Frank? Or was she misremembering all of it? She had wanted to get back to the standing stones so she could get back to Frank since she’d arrived, she just hadn’t succeeded before he showed up there himself. During that first ride with Jamie, she had been in shock and denial about what had truly happened; she had been surrounded by a band of ruthless Highlanders who thought she was an English spy and easily could have killed her.

She should be relieved that this whole ordeal was ending. In a few days time she would be back in the twentieth century; she would be able to soak in a nice hot bath, wash her hair properly, even shave her legs; no more stays or layers of skirts to trip over; bedding with clean sheets and no lingering smell of a chamberpot tucked away under the bed.

And Frank would be the one lying beside her. His wounds would be tended in a proper hospital and then they would go back to Oxford and pick up where they’d left off before their holiday had been so abruptly derailed.

That’s what their holiday had been about in the first place––picking up where they’d left off before the war. Was it possible too much had happened? She tried to think of what Frank must have gone through since her disappearance, the trauma of traveling through the stones and to so quickly fall into Black Jack Randall’s clutches; she had come dangerously close to that herself.

She did understand Frank’s position and she felt for him but there was something more holding her back.

Jamie.

He would be all right without her… wouldn’t he? Did she want him to be?

She scolded herself for thinking something so selfish. Of course she wanted him to be happy… she would simply be happier if it was her making him happy.

But she couldn’t have things both ways; she couldn’t reconcile the vows she’d made to Frank all those years ago––the vows that had sent her searching for a way back to Craig na Dun in the first place––with whatever it was she felt for Jamie.

She carried the kindling back to their camp and started the fire. Murtagh disappeared to see about supplementing their provisions with some fresh meat and Claire took one of Frank’s bandage-wrapped wrists into her lap to inspect the state of the wounds. They were still redder and more swollen than she would like. Prodding gently, some puss squeezed from the edges of the scabbed over cuts. He needed antibiotics.

“You’re still wearing it,” Frank remarked flatly, surprising Claire.

She reached for a salve from her medical kit and began lightly applying it to the infected wound.

“Wearing what?”

With his other bandaged hand, Frank reached over and tapped Claire’s left hand.

Her thumb instinctively felt for the iron band of her wedding ring, her heart steadied by its reassuring warmth on her finger.

She looked back at Frank’s arm in her lap and shrugged.

“Don’t really notice it,” she said dismissively. “Slipped my mind.”

“You should give it to his friend there,” Frank nodded toward Murtagh who was nearly finished with their tents for the evening. “He can return it.”

Claire clenched her teeth and ignored Frank. She could not tell Frank that Jamie had said she could keep the ring because that would show that she had thought about it and she would also feel compelled to tell Frank that she had asked to keep it in the first place.

Luckily, Frank was perceptive enough to drop the subject and instead began expressing concerns about his arms.

“You’ll be fine,” Claire assured him. “Once you get back, it’s just a matter of getting antibiotics for the infection. You probably won’t want to roll up your sleeves too often because of the scars––those are probably unavoidable at this point.”

“Once we get back,” Frank emphasized quietly.

Claire felt her cheeks flush momentarily but continued applying the salve uninterrupted. “You know what I meant.”

Having finished with the salve, she turned to put the jar away in her medical kit and thought she might have heard Frank mutter, ‘Do I?’ under his breath. She ignored him and set about re-wrapping his wrists, the rest of the treatment performed in silence.

Murtagh insisted she and Frank take the makeshift tent for the night.

“I’ll stay by the fire and keep watch,” he told her.

“You’ll need to sleep eventually,” Claire reminded him but Murtagh shrugged off her concern.

“I dinna sleep deep on the moors. There’s not much as might happen that willna wake me wi’ no time to act.”

Claire didn’t bother to argue; she helped Frank settle onto the roll of bedding before stretching out beside him. It was closer than they’d been sleeping in the cave where she preferred to rest propped against the cave wall, afraid of disturbing his much needed rest. They didn’t speak but rolled towards each other. She felt Frank’s lips brush her forehead and turned her face up to his.

There was a moment of hesitation and she realized that she hadn’t kissed him since they’d rescued him; not once. She felt a twinge of shame. After all he’d been through, she hadn’t thought to embrace him or even offer him a loving caress. She had been too wrapped up in his medical care and how Jamie was handling everything.

She reached up now and ran her fingers lightly along the stubble on Frank’s cheek. It was rougher than she anticipated. Her thumb slipped down and traced the Frank’s lower lip before he brought his mouth to meet hers.

She remembered his kiss, the warmth of his lips on hers, and the sureness behind it. She let her eyes close so that when he pulled away, he couldn’t read what she was thinking. He lightly bumped her forehead with his chin, a question.

“We should get some rest,” she whispered, her hands drifting down and lightly rubbing his upper arms. “We still have a long few days before we get to the stones.”

He smiled against her forehead, satisfied for now, then shifted and brought his bandaged arm up to hold her close to him. Her head rested on his shoulder and she felt him relax beneath her cheek. Her body relaxed too but her mind refused to settle.

She lay there entirely awake but unmoving until she was sure he slept deeply. Then gingerly, she moved his arm from off of her and rolled away.

“Are you all right?” Frank whispered. She hadn’t been subtle enough.

“Of course,” she assured him, moving to rise. “I just need to go… you know.”

There was a muffled chuckle from where he shifted himself into a more comfortable position. “That’s something you must have missed––running water and proper lavatories.”

“You have no idea,” she murmured, ducking through the flap of the tent.

Murtagh sat up from his spot beside the low campfire, his dirk in his hand until he recognized that it was only Claire.

“Mistress,” he murmured before laying back.

Claire wandered off into the woods for a moment to keep up the pretense and prayed that Frank would be asleep again by the time she got back.

How was she going to do it? How was she supposed to go back with Frank and be his wife again when every time he touched her she felt the rising shame of betrayal? She wasn’t even sure which betrayal was behind the shame. She remembered how it had been to kiss Frank before, the way it built slowly, the way her body would arch towards him. She remembered but it hadn’t been like that tonight. He had kissed her and it had been lovely but it had been a kiss like any other. She had waited and searched for that deeper stirring but it didn’t come.

There were no visible flames left in the small circle of stones they’d used to contain the fire but the spot still gave off a reassuring heat. Claire found Murtagh sitting again when she returned a few moments later.

“Ye’re bad as Jamie when he’s something on his mind,” Murtagh said, nodding to an empty space next to him.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” she murmured, taking him up on the offer to put off going back in with Frank.

Claire stared into the embers of the fire. There weren’t any visible flames but a warm red color ebbed and flowed, pulsing with life. She didn’t notice but the fingers of her left hand were playing with the ring on her right, turning it in circles so the nub where the two ends had been joined orbited her middle knuckle, catching whenever she slightly bent the finger.

“Ye canna choose where yer affections lie,” Murtagh said quietly.

Claire’s fingers stilled but she wouldn’t look at Murtagh.

“But that doesna mean there isna a choice involved in what ye do about it… even if sometimes it doesna feel like it. Maybe… maybe it’s like yer stones.”

At that, Claire did look over at Murtagh, but with confusion.

“Ye didna choose to pass through them, no?” he asked.

“Of course not. I didn’t even know what had happened at first,” she agreed.

“Like falling in love,” Murtagh mused but this time there was something heavier in it, something more personal. A smile played on his lips and the way he stared into the glowing embers was like looking into a memory. He wasn’t talking about her but about someone he had loved once, maybe still did––perhaps that was why he seemed to have so much to say.

“By the time ye realize it, ye’re smack dab in the middle wi’out realizin’ how ye got there. Ye can trace yer path back and ye might come to ken the moment it happened, but ye canna always make yer way back out of it again… I dinna ken anyone tha’s chosen to go back to try to find their way out… at least, none tha’s succeeded.”

“You don’t think it will be possible to pass back through the stones?” Was it fear or hope that she heard in her voice.

Murtagh shrugged. “Dinna ken. Might depend on whether yer heart’s in it.” He looked over at her at last and she felt her face flush, grateful that the dying fire didn’t cast enough light for him to be able to see it.

“Who was she?” Claire asked, turning the conversation onto Murtagh. “The woman you couldn’t find your way out of loving.”

Murtagh looked away again and Claire was about to apologize for asking when he murmured, “Ellen MacKenzie. I doubt I was the first to love her––though, I loved her before Brian Fraser, having met her first… But he loved her the way she wanted… and needed.”

“Jamie told me about them,” Claire explained. “About the Gathering where they met.”

“Aye. Ye can see it, ye ken––no with yerself… no right away. But ye can see it in a man’s face if ye watch careful like… the moment it happens and he has to make a choice what to do next.”

“You saw it with Brian Fraser?”

Murtagh nodded. “Him… and others.” Murtagh reached forward with his dirk and poked at one of the larger pieces of wood, rolling it onto the other side. The smoldering bottom, exposed to the air but not the heat, faded to white ash even as smoke erupted from beneath as the untouched side began to burn.

“We’ve another two maybe three days till we reach the stones,” he informed her. “Best get what sleep ye can. We’ll be needin’ to keep a closer eye for Red Coats as we’re gettin’ nearer Fort William.”

Claire rose and left to join Frank in the tent. He was asleep on his side, his bandaged forearms laid gently one atop the other beside his head. She lay down and turned onto her side as well but with her back towards his.

The Bet (prequel)

‘The Bet’ here

Relationship: Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: The events leading up to Jason and Your relationship being revealed to the rest of the Batfam.

Key: Y/N= your name, E/C= your eye color


You woke up to a dark room. You knew it was morning because your alarm was blaring. You groaned and scratched you head while getting out of bed. You slapped your alarm and began to get ready. You walked through your hall to your bathroom and glanced out your window.

“What the hell?” You stared out the window at the night sky. You then darted to your kitchenette and found the clock flashing 2:43am. “Oh come on!” You began to slink back to your bed.

On your way back, you spotted a darkened figure on your balcony. You froze in your tracks. “No,” you whispered to yourself, “No, no, no! I will not be a chick in a horror flick!”

You quickly snatched a pan from your kitchenette. You quietly opened the door to your balcony. You tip-toed to the figure as quietly as you could, pan raised ready to do some serious wacking.

You began to swing and the figure turned and caught the pan before you finished swinging. “Don’t,” the figure’s deep voice declared.

“P-please tell me you aren’t here to kill me,” you stuttered. The man turned around and you saw he was wearing a helmet and almost all black. “Oh my god, you’re going to kill me.”


Jason had gone out on patrol that night as a favor to Bruce, so no killing. He ended up in a fight and the Batman was little to no help causing Jason to get out of the situation as fast as he could, without killing. He honestly couldn’t care less about what happened after he left. He kicked a little ass, raised a little hell, and made his way to the safety of a roof top.

Except, he didn’t grapple to a roof top. He accidentally grappled to a apartment balcony. Cursing himself, he watched the street, waiting for the brawling to clear up before making his escape.

As he stood, he heard the faint click of a doorknob turning and an almost inaudible squeak of a door-hinge. He stood perfectly still, watching best he could from the corner of his eye. He watched as a petite figure inched closer to him. It began to swing something and he made his move.

“Don’t,” he stated, catching what seemed to be a frying pan. He stared intensely as a girl began to freak out. She was beautiful, stunning. She had dazzling E/C eyes and an alluring essence about her. Wow, he thought, She’s amazing. 

“I’ll take your intimidating silence as a yes and I think I’ll start screaming now.”

“No,” Jason began as he broke free of his trance, “No I’m not here to kill you, I just had to get out of the heat.” He nodded down to the street below. 

She peaked over the edge of the balcony. “So, you’re a vigilante. Like Batman?”

Jason scoffed, “Not like Batman. Nothing like Batman. I’m Red Hood, I’m completely different!”

“Yeah, okay,” she mocked. They stood for a few moments, letting the dead air fall between them. She finally broke the silence. “Would it be weird to offer the guy I thought was here to murder me my apartment as a temporary place to crash?”

Jason chuckled, “It’d only be weird if I didn’t know who you are.”

“I’m such an idiot,” she face-palmed, “I’m Y/N. And is there a name behind the mask, or is a ‘secret identity’ a thing?”

“Well, Y/N, I don’t now if I can trust you with that just yet.”

“Fair enough.” Y/N ushered the hero inside.


Over the next couple weeks, Red Hood seemed to be popping up at your ‘door’ more often than not. He would tell you what was happening and you’d listen and give your advice. Jason loved hearing what you had to say on what was going on, you were a pretty clever girl and almost always had something insightful to say. If it wasn’t insightful, it was usually funny.

There had been a couple of times where you had to calm down Red Hood after he had a fight with Batman. You knew nothing about their relationship, but you had come to know Red Hood, except his actual name, so you were able to get him to chill and talk it over before making some irrational decision. Jason was thankful for this, especially when the problem was something Alfred couldn’t begin to understand. You found a way to figure it all out.

Because the vigilante became such a frequent visitor, you began to leave your balcony door unlocked for him. One night, Jason had hoped to talk to you about a fight he had with Bruce, but when he stepped into your living room, he found you dead asleep on the couch. He chuckled to himself, admiring you.

Then he discovered a small noise coming from the couch. Light and sweet, it was you. You were snoring. That was the tipping point, he could just watch you be adorable anymore. Jason took off his helmet and domino mask, discarding them to the floor. He tapped your shoulder. You jostled awake, rubbing your eyes to focus on what was in front of you.

“Red Hood,” you question sleepily. “Sorry, I must have dozed.”

He grinned, “Jason.”

“What was that?”

“Call me Jason,” he repeated, only smiling bigger.

You stared blankly for a second, processing the information at a snails pace. Finally, the light bulb click and you beamed at him. “Jason.”

In that moment, Jason would never be able to hear his name again, without thinking of your angelic voice.

Overwatch Cast Playing Dungeons and Dragons
  • Ana: first timer human rogue that takes levels in cleric
  • Bastion: first timer Warforged fighter
  • D.va: Was allowed to play as a homebrew race, caster class that flirts at every opportunity
  • Genji: 3rd or 5th time playing, shadow monk with levels in rogue and fighter
  • Hanzo: ranger who is salty about underpoweredness of ranger so he takes levels in draconic sorcerer
  • Junkrat: 2nd time playing but might as well be his first, halfling barbarian, constantly needs reminders of the rules
  • Lucio: bard is his favorite class hands down, only gets healing spells
  • McCree: cried cowboy tears of joy when he learned about the gunslinger archetype, secretly been playing since middleschool but quit for a long period of his life
  • Mercy: Hardcore cleric who likes playing Aasimar and tieflings
  • Mei: Goliath cleric bc she really likes the aesthetics of the Goliath, before she got Elemental Evil she liked to play silver and blue dragonborns
  • Pharah: Aarakocra paladin, first time player choosing purely off of the little pictures in the handbook because she's in a rush
  • Reinhardt: Veteran player who gets a little too in character sometimes, joins D. Va in furious flirting
  • Roadhog: when he heard about wereboars he demanded to make his level 1 character one, after a long intimidating silence it was allowed
  • Reaper: 2 edgy 4 U Tiefling warlock chaotic evil to the max
  • Soldier 76: vaguely remembers seeing the nerds play it in highschool and disgruntledly joins to bond with his kids. Human fighter lawful good
  • Symmetra: has only played a few times but knows the handbook inside and out, plays a half elf wizard
  • Torbjorn: minotaur fighter because füçk ÿøū
  • Tracer: 2nd or third time playing, weird stain on character sheet. Wood elf ranger.
  • Widomaker: also 2nd or 3rd time playing, rogue w levels in fighter for superiority dice, curses in french when she gets a critical fail
  • Winston: ecstatic DM who convinced everybody this was a "team bonding exercise" in some shape or fashion
  • Zarya: half orc bard-barian, sometimes the victim of PVP flirting, rolls the most nat 20's for pointless things
  • Zenyatta: Warforged monk, treats his character more like a self insert and refers to the characters by the names of their players

*unless that free speech is not preapproved and accepted by the radical leftists that run this Communist institution.
**if preapproval is not granted our liberal hounds, and their antifa friends, will threaten your personal safety in order to intimidate you into silence.
***if preapproval is not granted, and you decide to risk your own life, our university police will stand down and sit in their squad cars eating doughnuts and making jokes (at your expense) while our liberal army beats the ever-loving crap out of you.
****free speech is awesome!

There’s a difference between protesting a speaker and going out with the express purpose to cause so much havoc and violence that the speech has to be cancelled. People have the right to go out and protest whatever they want for whatever reason they want. They don’t have a right to use violence and intimidation to try and silence opinions that they don’t like.

Winwin- Fragile

Group: NCT- Winwin

Theme: Request-  Badboy au: comes off as intimidating due to his silence and his looks but he isn’t a bad person + his shy crush approaches him

Type: One shot- fluff

Plot: You went through just another ordinary day at school until you found Winwin alone at the library where you decided to go talk to him.

*this sounds kinda stupid tbh but like it much better I promise lol

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

lol so there are alot of fics calling Kieth a furry but like Uliro, so everyone knows Shiro is a furry too now.

(Paging @demenior.  Chugga chugga uwu uwu)

“Sooo,” Lance drawled, brows up.  “You and Ulaz, huh?  That’s very interesting.”

Shiro eyed him flatly, trying to intimidate him into silence with the sheer force of his scowl.

It didn’t work.

“Have you always been a furry?”

Sighing, Shiro closed his eyes.  “Ten laps.”

“I’ll do twenty if you answer.”

“Now you’re doing twenty anyway.”

anonymous asked:

Hiya I remember some time ago you referred to Hollywood as a 'cesspool', and given that it seems everyone knew about Harvey Weinstein being a predator, do you think that indicates that way shadier stuff is capable of being covered up too? And do you think that Bollywood female actors would ever have the option to stand up to a powerful man in that manner?

There are pedophile sex rings in Hollywood. Way shadier stuff has been covered up for decades. People have been murdered. The mob has been involved. Hollywood has literally always been dirty af, from the very beginning. The whole conception of the idea of “celebrities” as we know it began with drugs and alcohol, statutory rape, secret abortions, and murder. Studios realized that instead of these things ruining an actor or actress’s career, they could turn their personal lives into a matter of public interest and use it to their advantage. Voila, we have celebrity journalism. And it’s those lesser scandalous details that distract us from the ACTUAL terrible stuff that has been going on since the silent film era.

As far as Bollywood goes…there are strength in numbers. That’s how the Weinstein story broke, a powerful and persistent journalist (Ronan Farrow) managed to put together a thorough investigative article in which multiple women were willing to go on record. After that, more women stepped forward. When we all use our voices, we feel more secure and it suddenly becomes bad business to keep protecting the predators. It’s entirely possible that women in Bollywood could come together to bring down a powerful abuser, but you also have to take into account that these women have been traumatized and intimidated into silence. It took decades for Weinstein to go down, it might take a long while before that happens in Bollywood. But the responsibility for bringing them down doesn’t belong on any one victim’s shoulders; Bollywood needs more Ronan Farrows in the media who are willing to go after the truth and who can put together a compelling piece that amplifies these women’s voices.