public grounds

For a thousand years you’ve been trapped inside of a magical sword. Warriors from every century have wielded you in glory. Now you only grace the battlefields of public parks and camping grounds as a novelty sword some L.A.R.P. enthusiast bought on craigslist.

anonymous asked:

no offence but r u straight bc that reply you gave to an anon saying the reason you're mostly here is because of the "chemistry" of d&p is kinda definitely akin to fetishising gay relationships. gay relationships that i might add, aren't even confirmed and are your speculation.....we don't exist for entertainment... but if you're not straight i apologise

I am not straight.

And even if I were what exactly do you think chemistry is? Enjoying chemistry between two human beings is not fetishising; chemistry is just two people having interactions onscreen that are pleasant to watch. Chemistry between actors is what gets people cast in tv shows together, romantic or platonic. Chemistry with an audience is what makes a popular youtuber.

Enjoying the chemistry of an onscreen duo means you find their interactions engaging. Rhett and Link are popular because of their chemistry onscreen, and they’re married men with kids. Zoe and Joe Sugg’s videos do well because they have chemistry, and they’re siblings. 

If you tell every single person who likes Dan and Phil’s chemistry together that they aren’t allowed to watch them strictly because they think Dan and Phil work well together on screen, you’re basically trying to tank their careers. I mean, you’ll fail, because you’re coming at people anonymous on the internet with a ridiculously ill-thought out accusation, but if somehow miraculously you sent this and everyone just went ‘Shock and horror! I have seen the error of my ways, I shall never watch again!’ Dan and Phil would be left with a few hundred people who genuinely enjoy watching mediocre gamers play app games twice a week. 

So yeah, uhhh, good luck with that? 

thetega  asked:

It is sad to see such vandalism. For the most part the ten commandments are literally common sense, don't steal, don't kill, don't covet your neighbors stuff, don't be dishonest... I don't understand why people have to be dicks about this.

George Carlin once did a whole thing on reducing the 10 commandments down to, basically, “don’t be a dick.” That’s good advice, and a good Law that someone should maybe codify.

But that monument does not belong at a courthouse, or in any property that contains public buildings that people of all faiths (or no faith at all) may have to use. The regressive right wing likes to scream and lie that America is a Christian nation, but it is not. America has no official religion, and putting a monument on public grounds that explicitly supports any religion should never be allowed.

But your point about following good common sense is taken.

Imagine finding Chris’ tattoo about you.

It was 1:48AM by the time you and your boyfriend got home from your cousin’s wedding reception. It had been an insane night filled with lots of booze and a ton of dancing. Both you and Chris had drunk and danced your way long into the night; there was no doubt your heads and feet were going to pay for it tomorrow. But it’d been a great night, the two of you- as always- had a lot of fun together. The two of you were so cute together that everyone- even the bride and groom- were a little jealous of your relationship.

Chris spent the entire wedding being a total sweetheart, there was an endless list of sweet things he did: he carried your purse for you while you went to the toilet, he accompanied you when you had to run around and greet family members you hadn’t seen or talked to since you were a little girl, he wrapped an arm around you and kissed your hair when you started getting emotional about the vows, he made sure you drank enough water and ate enough food to counteract the alcohol you were consuming because he knew you were a lightweight after two years of being together. Chris even gave you his too-big-for-you shoes towards the end of the night, carried your heels in his hand, and ruined his favorite socks- all because he knew your feet were killing and couldn’t bear to see you in pain. You’d lucked out with him, that was for sure.

Chris carefully stacked your heels onto the shoe rack before turning his attention to his shoes that you easily slipped off. He picked them up and slotted them into their respective spot on the rack before taking your hand and hauling your half-drunk ass upstairs. Your eyes fell on his favorite socks which were no longer a pretty cobalt blue considering he padded around on public grounds without his shoes protecting them. You felt terrible as you were responsible for murdering his socks; it was more than likely you could just soak and wash them, but your half-drunk ass didn’t think of that.

“I’m sorry,” you said and he glanced over his shoulder at you with a raised brow; he’d no idea what you were apologizing for. “I ruined your favorite socks,” you explained then pouted, making him laugh. “They’re all dirty and gross now, thanks to me.”

“They’re just socks, sweetheart.” He shrugged nonchalantly because he really didn’t care, “don’t worry about it.” He tucked your arm under his when you got upstairs, he chuckled when he saw that you were still beating yourself up over the socks. “You’re still a little drunk, aren’t you?” He squeezed your hand gently and led you to the bedroom.

“I’m very much sober,” you said with a lopsided grin that made him laugh.

“Okay, my love. Let’s put you to bed,” he pressed a kiss on the top of your head.

He sat you down in front of your dressing table while he went into the bathroom to get your makeup cleanser and cotton pads. “Think you can manage?” He quizzed when he held out the two items for you; you nodded and took it from him, turning to the mirror to start the tedious process of removing your makeup. “Now let’s get this off,” he said as he moved your long locks out of the way to take off your necklace for you.

“Hey, Chris?” You looked at him through the mirror.

“Hm?” He looked up at you after he successfully removed your necklace.

“Do you think we’ll ever get married?” You asked him and he immediately smiled.

“Of course I do.” He lowered your necklace in your jewelry box. “I’m just waiting for the right time to pop the question. I feel like now isn’t because of my contract with Marvel, I mean- I don’t want to have to leave you after just getting engaged. I kind of just want to jump into the whole wedding planning and post-engagement glow, I can’t really do that if I have to run off. So I thought I’d wait until after my contract with Marvel finishes, if that’s okay with you.”

“As long as I know you’re in it for the long haul,” you smiled, “I’m okay with anything you want.”

“Sweetheart,” he chuckled. “Of course I’m in it for the long haul, if I weren’t- I wouldn’t have asked you to move in with me and I definitely wouldn’t have added your name to the house’s legal documents.” You nodded in acknowledgement. “Are you sure you’re sober?” He chuckled again, lifting your hair over your shoulders and letting it cascade down your back.

“Yes, I’d be a lot worst if I were drunk. You should know that by now,” you said and he laughed. “The wedding’s just got me thinking about having one of my own. I know you’re in it for the long haul, but we just haven’t talked about getting married before so-” You stopped talking and began to mumble when you saw the smile he had on his face, “I don’t know, I guess I just wanted to hear you say it.”

“I’m going to marry you,” he bent over and whispered into your ear. “I am not going anywhere and neither are you.” He planted a kiss into your hair, “are we on the same page now?” You chuckled but nodded, and he smiled. “I’m going to change out of this, I’ll be right back to unzip you.”

“Okay,” you nodded and resumed cleaning off your makeup.

In the mirror, you caught Chris walking into the wardrobe. He stood half in, half out as he took off his blazer, tie, slacks, then shirt. You watched him with great appreciation for his amazing physique; he was a lot more than his body, but it didn’t mean you didn’t appreciate it. He caught you admiring him as he pulled a pair of track pants over his legs, he smirked as he walked over shirtless with his tee in his hand.

“Why don’t you take a picture,” he teased, “it lasts longer.”

“Don’t really need to take a picture if you’re here for the long haul,” you winked at him. He chuckled and started to pull his tee over his head when you caught a tattoo on the side of his ribcage that you’d never seen before. “Hold up,” you lowered your cotton pad and turned around, lifting his shirt to take a closer look at the unfamiliar tattoo. “When did you get a new tattoo?” You trailed your finger across it then laughed softly when you realized what the tattoo was; a date, 4/7/2015. “Aren’t you patriotic, Captain?”

“Not that patriotic,” he responded with a light chuckle. “This is actually for the first time you told me you loved me,” he explained and you felt your heart skip a beat as you lowered his shirt. “Remember? Fourth of July, you met my family for the first time?” You nodded, smiling; it was a good day. “We rented a place by the beach, my whole family came out and we had a huge barbecue bonfire type thing.”

“And we snuck away just before they let off the fireworks,” you continued and he nodded, smiling. “We went for a walk on the beach and I told you I loved you, a feeling you very easily reciprocated which was nice to know. I can’t believe you got that memory tattooed into your skin,” you gently poked the spot where the tattoo was, “you couldn’t just keep it in your brain?”

“Nope,” he shook his head with a smile that made your heart flutter. “Because that memory is far too important to me. Yes, it reminds me of the first time you told me you loved me, but it’s more than that.” You raised a brow for a more elaborate explanation. “It’s the day my life fell into place, Y/N. When you told me you loved me, it was like- all the stars aligned,” he admitted and you felt your eyes welled with tears of joy. “That was the day I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you.” He brought your hand to his lips and kissed it gently, then chuckled against your skin as he said. “And the day my mom said she’d disown me if I ever lost you.”

“Yeah, right,” you laughed. “Lisa loves you way too much to disown you, even if you did lose me.”

“You clearly don’t know how much she loves you,” he smiled. “About as much as I do,” he bopped your nose. You lifted his shirt to admire the tattoo again when he released your hand; an act to which he chuckled softly at. “If you’re wondering when I got it, let’s just say it’s been an inappropriate amount of time for you not to notice.”

“Okay,” you laughed softly as you pulled your hand away, letting his shirt fall back over his abdomen. “I’m sorry I don’t notice every single tattoo on you, you have too many.” He chuckled, turning you around to unzip your from your dress. “But I know about it now and I absolutely love it.” Your dressed dropped to the floor and pooled around your feet.

“Mm…” Chris brushed his lips against your bare shoulder as his hands ran up and down your sides. “Does this mean you’re going to get a matching one?” You turned around in his arms and wrapped yours around his neck, smiling. “Or you know,” he kissed your neck, “at least something that pays me and our love some form tribute?”

“You know me very well, Chris,” you began as he pulled back to look into your eyes, “so you should know what my answer is.” He chuckled softly when you smiled, the both of you simultaneously answered, “hell no.”

oopsnocturnal  asked:

hi! i'd love to hear what you think would have happened if wyldon hadn't let keladry stay after her first year!! love your writing :^)

“Mindelan, it may be that the best thing said of my tenure is that you were my student. Should that be the case, I am the wrong man for this post. I did all I could to get rid of you. Your probation was wrong. You know that, I know it. I was harder on you than any lad. Thank Mithros I remembered my honor and let you stay when you met the conditions—but it was a near thing. Next time, I might not heed the voice of honor.”

– Wyldon of Cavall (Squire)

Kel sat and thought about it all through the long summer– thought about joining the Riders when she turned sixteen, or going back to the Yamani Isles with her parents, or running away to become an unlawful bandit hunter. 

She drank tea with her mother and accepted her quiet sympathy. She wondered what was going to happen to Peachblossom. She did her morning glaive practice dances in the heady air of the tiny courtyard garden of her parents’ townhouse, where the cook grew herbs and spices in big overflowing boxes.

Summer rolled on. She sat, and she thought, and she did not tell her thoughts to anyone. On the first day of what would have been her second year of page training, she woke before the sun and had a quiet breakfast with her father, and then she jogged up the big dusty hill to the palace grounds.

When the pages trailed out of the building to the practice yards with dubious enthusiasm, she was waiting just outside their ground. Her chin was high, her shoulders loose while her hands gripped her weighted staff.

“Probationer,” Wyldon barked out her, when one of the boys went to fetch him. “Was I unclear in the spring?”

Kel stared him down, fingers white on her staff, and said, “I’m not a probationer anymore.”

“She’s a private citizen, just enjoying the fresh air,” Neal called from the other side of the practice yard fence. He got armor cleaning punishment for a week for his cheek and Kel lifted and lowered and struck with her staff to the call of the masters. Her staff hit thin air. The clack of the pages’ staves colliding hit her ears.

“That’s palace property,” Wyldon said ten minutes in, and plucked the staff out of her grip, so Kel followed the lesson with empty hands and brought her mother’s spare walking stick the next day.

They started calling her trespasser, after that, and Kel stood calm on the public grounds just on the other side of the practice yard fence, practicing her high blocks.

While the pages had riding practice, she sat in the dirt outside the riding yard and did the homework Neal smuggled out for her. He handed the finished assignments in for her, too, even though only Myles and the one Mithran priest who had never learned anyone’s names graded them. She took notes on what riding exercises the masters were assigning the pages and watched Neal where he sat on Peachblossom’s back like a sack of mulish peanuts.

“When I heard you weren’t t’ be coming back,” Stefan the hostler told her. “I wasn’t sure what would happen to the old lad.”

“Me, either,” said Kel, looking down at her math and trying to keep her face smooth and still.

When the pages went in for their seated classes, Stefan let her take out Peachblossom to try to exercises herself. Days the gelding was too tired, he found other mounts for her and Kel learned all their names– gentle Aubrey and fastidious Starfall and distractible, clever Redding and poor anxious Terence, who almost threw her more than once. “He comes by the fidgets honest,” Stefan told her and Kel brought extra apples for Terence when she could.

She still took on Lalasa when Gower found her feeding the sparrows in the courtyard beside her old rooms and asked her. Her parents’ townhouse had the funds to hire another maid, though Kel didn’t need or want a personal servant.

Lalasa pinched Kel’s torn clothes from her room all the same and returned them better hemmed and beautifully mended. Kel barely saw her, though she tried to leave a coin from her allowance on the piles of clothes she thought the young woman was most likely to steal away next.

She didn’t ask for the help and she told herself she didn’t want it, but she jogged up the big dusty hill to the palace grounds every day with her weighted harness weighing on her shoulders.

She stood just outside the low fence of the practice yards and ignored Joren’s comments and Zahir’s sneers and the rebukes of the swordfighting teachers– distraction, they said. Lump, waste, failure.

The sun beat down on her aching shoulders and she thought I could stand here forever, thought you are just noise and wind, I am a mountain. I will be here long after you cease howling.

Neal landed blows on Joren’s fingers, apologizing blandly to the masters for his clumsinesses, because Kel had ordered him to get in no fights for her honor. The sun beat down on the careful stitches of Kel’s cotton shirt, which fit as perfectly as Lalasa could manage from a shy distance.

She told herself she didn’t want the help, didn’t need it. Her harness weighed down her shoulders, her makeshift staff weighed down her arms, but the cotton laid light and kind on her back.

Read More (Ao3)

Keep reading

xedgehog  asked:

So...if a monument or display featuring The Ten Commandments doesn't belong on public grounds in the first place, that justifies vandalizing it? That's what you seemed to imply in a previous post.

When the monument was placed there, it was an explicitly political act, so I guess I consider destroying to also be a political act.

Like, vandalism without context isn’t great, right? The same could be said about blocking a bridge or freeway with a sit-in to protest an immoral government policy. 

Context is important, and context matters. So in this case? It’s an explicitly political act, in my opinion, not random vandalism.


Crown Princess Victoria mentioned the Stockholm terror attacks in a heartfelt speech during a visit to Järfälla for Sweden’s National Day, 6th June 2017

“Humanity can take different forms. But it always starts with the same question: “What can I do to help?" This, we were reminded of on April 7 this year, when terror struck Stockholm… (People) drove another home when public transport ground to a standstill. They picked up each other’s children from schools and kindergartens. And they opened their home to people they did not know.”

Burial. A Reference.

This is very western culture, and even then I couldn’t include everything. I didn’t want to make this post too long, so it’s just the basics. ‘Tis the season!

MAUSOLEUM: External, free-standing above ground monument enclosing an interment space a deceased person or people

- Monument without the interment = CENOTAPH

HYPOGEUM/HYPOGAEUM usually refers to an underground temple or tomb

- Catacombs and burial vaults are a type of hypogeum

CATACOMBS: Any human-made subterranean passageways used as a burial place

COLUMBARIUM: A place for the storage of urns containing cremated remains

- Columbariums be a type of mausoleum or hypogeum, depending whether it is above or below ground

OSSUARY/OSSUARIUM: First defined as a container for bones. Now describes a room in which bones are placed after being dug up from a temporary grave

- Thus synonymous with a CHARNEL HOUSE
- Ossuaries can sometimes be found in catacombs

BURIAL VAULT: Structural, underground tomb, originally vaulted and are often privately owned

- When placed beneath a church or in a churchyard it is a CRYPT

SEPULCHRE: The cavity beneath the altar slab for containing relics of martyrs or a recess in which the Eucharist was deposited and taken out at Easter in commemoration of the Resurrection

RELIQUARY: container for relics, as bones, or pieces of clothing, or object

LOCULUS/LOCULI: A compartment or niche that houses a body

CEMETERY: A large public ground for the dead

- Cemeteries are typically not one denomination and are not attached to a single place of worship

CHURCHYARD/GRAVEYARD: A patch of land adjoining or surrounding a church

Lucky Penny || Byun Baekhyun

Requested: No

Word Count: 745

Byun Baekhyun + Reader + FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF

A/N: I’ve had this saved in my drafts for sooo long. Here ya go! 

The digital clock on your night stand showed 2:35AM in bright red. It was so late, yet you didn’t feel a tad bit tired. Instead, you felt relaxed as you listened to your boyfriend’s voice on the other line. 

It may be late at night at your place, but it was 4 in the afternoon where Baekhyun was. Obviously, having an Idol boyfriend touring around the world isn’t just a walk in the park. Besides the distance, timezone can also be a pain in the ass. Some days you both had the same timezone, then after a few weeks there would be a 3-hour time difference, until it turned into 10 hours to 15. Text messages and Skype call were inconsistent, but you didn’t mind adjusting. As long as the two of you didn’t lose connection, you‘re willing to stay up a little later than the usual just to have a small chat with your boyfriend.

And now here you are, awake in the middle of the night. 

See, the thing about late night calls with Baekhyun is that it’s never a normal one. Instead of asking how his day was or if he had any updates on their tour, the two of you would end up talking about your neighbor’s dog or the time Baekhyun accidentally stepped on Kyungsoo’s foot during practice.

This time, you wanted to ask Baekhyun about something you’ve always been curious about.

“Have you ever found a penny on the ground in public before?” you whispered through the phone. You didn’t know, but from the other side of the line, Baekhyun sat with goosebumps forming on his skin. Just the sound of your voice made his stomach churn, missing you more and more. He couldn’t help but smile at your random question. 

“A penny?” Baekhyun chuckled. He knew this conversation would end in a weird conclusion, it made him excited about what tonight’s conversation would be.

“Yes, a penny. A quarter. Or any coin.” You replied. There was silence before you heard a few shuffling on the other end of the line. 

“Yes I have.” he finally answered, making you smile. “I bought ice cream.” He continued. Your smile faded, letting a small “Oh” leave your lips in a disappointed tone.

Baekhyun noticed the change of mood in your tone. His eyebrows scrunched in confusion, thinking he might have unintentionally said something to hurt your feelings. “Is there something wrong, (y/n)?”

Your lips formed a half smile “Next time you find a penny, don’t spend it on ice cream. O-or anything.“ 

Baekhyun smiled in amusement, knowing where this was going. "What should I do with it?”

“Save it. Keep it.” You answered. “It’s for good luck.” You suddenly heard Baekhyun’s light laugh from the other side, the laugh that never failed to send butterflies in your stomach, the laugh that sends electric shocks through your veins bursting with sparks, making you more and more in love. 

Your boyfriend knew how superstitious you were. Right from when you were still little, your family deeply believed in superstitious beliefs. Like avoiding black cats and breaking mirrors, being extra careful on Friday the 13th, leaving huge trees alone, there were hundreds. Although, you know most of these were just nonsense (and sometimes stupid, you never told your grandmother), there is one thing you loved following. And that is the lucky penny.

People say that when you find a penny on the ground while in public, it symbolizes that luck is following you. If you take the penny, you take the luck. If you spend the penny, you waste the luck.

“You and your beliefs.” Baekhyun teased. 

You gasped in shock. “It’s true.” You defended. “Remember the day we met?” 

Baekhyun smiles, “How could I forget?” He thought of how you looked that day.

“I found a penny that day. And when I took the penny, that was when you dropped your ice cream on me.” You laughed, remembering the day like it was yesterday. You leaned down to pick the penny up, and when you finally stood up straight, Baekhyun didn’t see where he was walking making him trip and fall, his ice cream falling on your favorite shirt.

“Well as you should know, I also found a penny that day.” He boasted. 

“Yeah you just said you bought it on..” You stopped, realizing everything. Everything suddenly made sense to you. 

“You bought it on ice cream." 

"I guess ground pennies are lucky.”

anonymous asked:

On the religion in public sphere-debate & secularism: I understand your argument, but how should "banning" religious symbols work? Like, where to draw the line? Also, a case could be made that religion is just an ideology, so one could also argue that shirts with political messages should be banned. Not meant as a criticism towards you, I am just not very versed in the debate & very curious!

I… reading this, honestly the first thing that comes to my mind is that you don’t really understand what secularism is and what being a secularist means. It’s not a criticism against you as I have found (while discussing this issue on here time and again) that many people seem to wholly misunderstand this concept. 

Pulling the definition of the word from the online oxford dictionaries, this is what you get: 



The principle of separation of the state from religious institutions.

That’s it, it has nothing to do with banning anything nor restricting civil liberties and everything to do with insuring that religious institutions do not come in between those liberties and the individual who should be able to enjoy them in safety and in peace. Being a secularist only means that you believe that state and religion should be kept separate. That’s all. 

And this is where the crux of the matter is when it comes to some (regressive) leftist circles and their vision of religions; they seem to have this inability to see religions as anything but harmless cultural oddities and therefore can’t see why such a simple concept is so important to defend and maintain if you believe in human rights. But religions are not only cultural oddities, and they certainly are not harmless: they’re also institutions. Institutions who yield an extremely high amount of power and influence over people and (in some cases which are unfortunately not rare) the states they belong to. 

I swear, for a group of people who will speak ad nauseum of institutional power and prejudice, there is this utter failure to recognise that religions have been, and still are in many cases, exactly that. This is especially the case when speaking of religions that they perceive as “oppressed”, such as Islam in the West, but really, I want to ask a question to those people; can an idea be oppressed? I don’t think it can, an idea is not a person, an idea does not have any rights, only people do. Muslims can be oppressed, but Islam itself can’t. Period. And therefore criticising it is not oppression.

I want to ask a second question, if I might; when two armed men storm the offices of a small french paper who was struggling to sell 30 000 copies a week, and shoot journalists, cartoonists and satirists for the only crime of doing their jobs, who is really oppressing who? Who’s voice is being suppressed and silenced? The answer should be obvious. 

The problem is that this defence of religions goes far beyond just “let them worship the god that they want”, this right is already guaranteed as secularism insures that they can do that freely and peacefully even if they pray to a deity that isn’t the one of the majority of their fellow countrymen… no, this defence also becomes “respect the rules from a book you don’t believe in” or “you are not allowed to criticise this book as it could offend somebody” and suddenly, religious feelings start to matter more than other people rights to think freely of an idea. 

This, by the way, is Zineb El Rhazoui’s talk which I was listening to and that prompted this first post of mine, and at 10:53 she says this:

“[…] so don’t think, please, that when you criticise this ideology you are racist; no you are not. Because there is people, in the Muslim world who think the same as you, who share the universal values of freedom, and those people no one defends them. When you defend the right of those people to impose their ideology, actually you are helping our oppressors, you are helping the oppressors of our freedoms and also of your freedoms […]”

Zineb El Rhazoui, by the way, is a French-Moroccan journalist who worked for Charlie Hebdo when the attacks took place and has since been living under heavy protection, so she would know a thing of two about freedom and oppression. And really, this is exactly it, when you defend the idea that religions should be made immune from criticism or scrutiny you are not helping the oppressed you are helping the oppressors instead, and throwing under the bus all of the innocent men and women, the free thinkers, the sexual minorities who are, every day, the victims of violent religious oppression in countries who live under theocratic rule. When religions as institutions are still oppressing this violently and in such impressive scales, how can anyone think of himself a defender of human rights and yet reject the only tool we have found to tame those institutions? We can’t, the fight for human rights and the fight for secularism are not separate, they’re the same, and they’ll remain the same until religion learns how to behave by itself. 

What is understood by public-sphere when speaking of secularism is not the street; it is not a Muslim woman wearing a hijab when doing her grocery for instance. What is understood by public-sphere is anything that represents the secular state. Because religion has no business being near power; it has no business near the law, healthcare, police work or children education, its opinion on those things is and should stay irrelevant. Religion is a private thing for the individual only, because it is when it starts becoming public that it becomes dangerous. Secularism is not the enemy of religion, secularism is only about keeping it far away from the state and insuring that everyone can coexist in peace, secularism is about balancing everyone’s rights to believe and not to believe without anyone imposing their vision on everyone else.

It is important to keep religion out of secular laws and secular grounds (public schools for instance, are secular grounds in France, I made a post which dealt with this issue more in depth here) to insure that this separation remains strong, because the moment this separation weakens, the moment we start letting religion erode our values and tell people what they should be allowed to draw, to do or even to think, is the moment where we are no longer free from it. And if we are not free from religion then we are not free at all. 

Charb once said this (paraphrasing): “I live under French law, I don’t live under quranic law so I don’t have to respect its tenants” and this is it. If a religion starts to tell me what I should and shouldn’t draw, what I should and shouldn’t criticise or what I should and shouldn’t think then I’m not the one threatening their freedom, on the contrary, they’re threatening mine. 

oleg at a world cup: A+ student, perfect score on GRE, has a study blog, runs a volunteering group, doesn’t drink coffee and is taking 18 hours

oleg at worlds: drop-out, shut down by the DEA for being an actual methlab, razed to the ground for public safety, barely exists on this astral plane 


Ignis x Raine
We Intertwined soulmate AU
Word Count: 3,432

I blame disheveled Iggy. Also! I’ve decided there will be a part two to this at some point, because why not. This one has a semi-public quickie, light oral, wall sex, all that fun stuff. Enjoy!

Tagging friends! @cupnoodle-queen @thefriendlytonberry @hypaalicious @louisvuittontrashbags

Raine checked the time on the wall clock in the living room. It was getting late, and she huffed out a sigh, barely audible over the chatter of all the children currently occupying her house. Cam and Gladio had stopped by for a visit at Raine’s invitation with their twin girls, Violet and Daisy, bouncing in tow.

Daisy and Aurora had pieces of paper sprawled out on the floor, the four year-olds laid out on their bellies as they scribbled out images to a made-up story they’d made up ten minutes prior. Violet was sitting cross-legged, her spine pin-straight as Lucas sat behind her, braiding her hair into a complicated plait that he’d practiced on his little sister many times before.

“Where’s Iggy?” Gladio asked from his position on the couch, an arm draped over his wife’s shoulders. Cam leaned into his embrace, resting her weight against Gladio’s chest as she craned her neck to glance at the clock.

“It’s getting late,” she agreed. “I thought you said he’d be back by now.”

Raine’s arms were crossed, and she tapped her index finger against her bicep anxiously. “He went to go train at the grounds by the power plant,” she said as she let out a worried sigh. “He said he wouldn’t be long, but maybe he lost track of time.”

Keep reading

Maison Martin Margiela spring—summer 1999.

6 rue Fèrou, a large abandoned private house at Place St Suplice in the 6th arrondissement of Paris. The official ‘calendar’ of shows, sent to journalists by the French Chambre Syndical of Haute Couture and Prêt a Porter is stamped and used an invitation. The invited public fill the first two floors of the house. All shutters on the windows and curtains are shut to the outside world. Only the existing light bulbs, hanging on a wire from each ceiling, light each room. The sound and conversations of the public on the first floor are broadcast to the public on the ground floor and vice versa. While the public waits for the show to begin, men in white coats, wearing ‘sandwich boards’, walk in procession through the rooms. Poster size photographs of garments from ‘6’ are printed on each sandwich board. Fifteen men wearing garments from ‘10’ follow them. When all twenty-five men leave the space, the lights go out, and the invited public stands in darkness. Forty women wearing the collection begin their procession, one at a time, through each room. As each woman enters a room they are lit by small lights hand-held by a team of fifty-four men spread throughout the house. As they move through the room their light follows them and goes out as they leave the room. Each woman smells of patchouli oil. A soundtrack of heavy rock music plays over the sound system. For the finale all of the forty women and twenty-five men, pass through the crowd.

The collection is now made up of groups: 0: Reworked garments for women; 0/10: Reworked garments for men; 1: A collection for women; 6: Garments for girls & women, 10: A wardrobe for men, 13: Publications – objects and 22: Shoes for women. All groups other than ‘1’ carries a label on which the numbers 0 to 23 are printed. In each case the relevant number for that piece is encircled on its label.
Flash mob of 200 spells out 'RESIST!' at Trump golf club
A flash mob of about 200 demonstrators descended upon the Trump National Golf Club near Los Angeles Saturday morning to express their disdain for Donald Trump and convey a message to Americans: Resist his presidency and his policies.
By ABC News

The protesters, part of the group “Indivisible San Pedro,” spelled out the word “RESIST!” in 30-foot-tall letters in a public park on the grounds of the golf club, located in Rancho Palos Verdes, reported ABC affiliate KABC.
The group has also been vocal about urging the president to release his tax returns.
It took the flash mob – which consisted of children – about 15 minutes to form the word, after which they sang “God Bless America,” according to The Los Angeles Times.
Los Angeles County Sheriff’s deputies were reportedly called to the scene and watched from clubhouse balcony, but they did not intervene or arrest anyone.

You know what I miss? The (kinda) edgy ps3 3rd person games. They were so fucking good, like inFamous 1&2, the Ezio Assassin’s Creed games, Prototype 1&2, Darksiders 1&2, the Uncharteds, fukin Metal Gear 4 and Rising; the list could go on if I bothered to try and remember the names.
They focused so much more on the gameplay than on whether it was pretty or not, I’m not saying that modern ones don’t have good gameplay I’m just saying that its more of a ‘look at this cliff, we put in so much effort, give us £50’ (don’t get me started on the skyrims as the memes tell it for me). The ps3 games had less power to look nice with and instead we got goofy face models (just replay AC 2 and wince at the weird textures of his face), NPCs with simpler models to help rendering, again look at AC or Prototype where you could take anybody’s form which was so FUCKING COOL, and more compact maps and worlds. Going back to prototype it was so fun cos you were jumping around the city as a tiny teenager and suddenly BAM! BLADE ARM and you’re in combat. InFamous felt as it could have been real to me because throughout the game, it was kinda tall buildings with lots of lamps, cars signs etc. to bounce off of and it felt realer cos the buildings were closer to the ground and public which you were either killing or helping so you had to avoid hitting them in a fight. Something that Second Son doesn’t have with the skyscrapers and ways to scale buildings at the touch of a button. What I’m trying to say is that in all of the glitter of ps4 and Xbox 1 and PC graphical enhancements have to offer, im often feeling that the gameplay is a little lack-luster. Looking back on recent years I haven’t really found a good single player game where I can simply turn it on and bounce through the air quickly across the map, and just have fun fighting or completing pop up quests that appear. When Horizon Zero Dawn was a announced I had hope, I haven’t played it yet but seeing gameplay and videos of it I don’t get the same feeling that I get from these games. Again with the faster traveling, in HZD you get mounts and stuff and it takes effort where as in Prototype or infamous you literally just jump and you can get a bit higher (I’m going to say usefully higher because it isnt too high and you can then do more moves once you’re in the air) Maybe im just being nostalgic for the 2000s games after replaying the Ezio collection but I miss this sense of fun instead of awe that companies are now pushing into their games. This is why I’m looking forward to the new Spiderman game so much as it looks like it has ps2 spiderman style webbing and popup events and other shit that I like like that.