remember this article

you know, I remember, as a recently diagnosed autistic child, researching my condition and finding out that there were debates about whether people like me could feel love

I remember seeing an article about the autism every day video and actually asking my mother if she’d ever thought about killing me (she hadn’t and was understandably distressed by this question)

I remember as an adolescent, looking through literature from the national autistic society and noticing that almost everything was about younger children, and wondering why it seemed like I wasn’t expected to grow up

If you are one of the people involved in spreading these kinds of messages, I want you to use your infamous empathy and think about how painful that would be, and think twice before you do that again. If you are an autistic person, kid or adult, who is just finding out how some people view you, then please don’t despair. There are plenty of people in this world, autistic and otherwise, who realise how wrong such ideas are, and who will accept you for you. You’re not alone.

time to analyze the fucking trailer

Ok… so let’s go scene by scene…

Here we see the cuties talking about how fucking intense Steven’s life is…

And then we hear the bombshell… "Sadie… never came home last night?”

Onion’s gone missing too! But wait…


“Steven… do you know what you’re doing?”

So he’s probs gonna go and rescue everybody…

But here’s the kicker… remember this from that article that came out a couple of weeks ago?

“"Spending time with the Diamonds”

What if Steven doesn’t come back to Earth by the end of the season?

What if this is how we learn about the Diamonds? After all, this show is from his point of view, and it would make sense if we learn about them that way.

As for this, this is probably from “"I Am My Mom”. The Diamonds don’t know about Steven yet, as far as they know he’s just a kid.

What if in this episode they learn that’s the son of Rose Quartz? And then they take him to Homeworld… and that’s how this bomb ends?

And as for that voice at the end asking “"Are you… my dad?”… I really don’t know.

This is gonna be huge.

in this time of disney announcing its going to make like 20 live action movies of previously animated classics we must take solace in remembering that one article that predicted the destruction of blockbuster movies in 2018 bc too many big budget movies flopped

remember that Buzzfeed article released earlier last week that ripped into Taylor Swift for making her career off of playing the victim? at the bottom of the article it now says 

internet: Loki is good now and we’re SHOOK


me: You didn’t see that coming from like four years away?

me: Are you meaning to tell me this does not take up your entire life like it does mine?


me: What’s that like?

Never forget

Never forget that the Hollywood Reporter is responsible for spreading the misinformation that Ghostbusters was on track to lose money. They are solely responsible for everyone thinking this movie was a flop. It wasn’t, Sony said so, we know so, but all anyone remembers is the article the HR put out prematurely when the movie had yet to even open in several world markets. Every subsequent regurgitation of the HR’s article in the days after had to change the numbers of the quoted “loss” BECAUSE IT WAS STILL MAKING MONEY. They went down from $70mil to $50mil the NEXT DAY, and $30mil the day after that, etc.. They could have printed a retraction but the damage was done. I work in Hollywood and every time someone mentions that it was a flop I tell them it wasn’t and remind them of this article and they confirm that that’s where they heard it. Pen is legit mightier than the sword.

End of rant.

anonymous asked:

Do you think Neil has a binder (solely) for Andrew (and him) and one for his Foxes? What's inside the binder(s)? And ohh btw I just simply love your hc about the photos ((and i want more bec i love you and your hcs so much))

thanks bb <3

(neil only got the binders because he can’t cover every spare inch of the walls of their apartments in photos and articles - even he recognises that it would make it look like a serial stalker’s den. yes, andrew’s slightly judgmental expression did help him to reach that conclusion)

anyway, a list of some of the contents of neil’s post-graduation binders:

  • every photograph and article about kevin day neil can get his hands on - and there’s a lot of them. kevin holding trophies, kevin with his teams, kevin and thea in elegant clothes at big events, kevin smiling in a way that starts fake but gets more real as the years pass. kevin, alive. kevin, victorious. kevin with everything that riko tried to take from him. (enough of them that andrew made a dry comment or two about neil at least being predictable in his obsessions) (he’s quietly satisfied by the progression, too)
  • articles on robin, as both a fox and afterwards, concrete proof of neil’s work as a captain and andrew’s…something neil isn’t quite sure of sometimes, still. photos of her standing tall and proud, no trace of the mousey child who was nearly too afraid to be a fox
  • a collection of postcards addressed to them both in renee’s neat hand - pictures of mountain ranges and jungles and forests and deserts and cityscapes, ones that still make neil think about a different kind of travel than the frightened bolt he and his mother did across half the planet all those years ago with that vague kind of longing for something different
  • the entire photographic coverage of allison’s first fashion show (neil was there, which meant andrew was there. unsurprisingly, andrew ‘i wear designer clothes’ minyard found it more interesting than neil ‘the height of fashion is my partner’s oversized hoodie and these jeans that i’ve had for ten years’ josten)
  • a heavy piece of cream card inviting neil and andrew to the wedding of nicholas hemmick and erik klose (they went. neil had never seen nicky happier)
  • a picture of matt and neil hugging on the court after eschewing the more normal post-game handshake, wearing different colours and smiles
  • articles following dan’s career, from her first teams through to the foxes, including photos of her familiarly disapproving and determined and delighted expression on the sidelines or amongst her players
  • a collection of photos taken by various foxes at their ‘reunions’ - matt and dan curled in the same armchair, dan laughing because she’s getting squashed. renee braiding allison’s hair, her face all careful concentration, while allison sits on the floor between her knees drinking wine. aaron and kevin arguing, for old time’s sake. nicky and andrew making drinks while erik watches on in the background. all of them together in one mess, no one looking the right way, someone’s eyes closed, someone laughing a little bit too hard - perfect
  • a singular photo of jean moreau, helmet under his arm as he looks down at jeremy knox, the man he followed through the professional leagues post-college. he’s smiling in it, grey eyes crinkled in the corners. (neil can’t quite explain why he kept it - he doesn’t look at it much. when he does, he remembers)
  • a collection of articles about andrew on the court, from his first year pro all the way through. articles that still call him dangerous, but mean it in relation to the scoring percentages of his opposition. photos of him stretched out in goal, immortalised in brutal determination, beside total strangers calling him talented, even calling him revolutionary because of his style of play
  • more articles about andrew, off of the court - andrew as an icon, flat-faced beside LGBT campaigners for sports, speaking bluntly and truthfully and tactlessly at events as an invited guest. 
  • andrew, whose thesis on the treatment of mentally ill juveniles in the justice system was publicised by a psu student, who stared at everyone who questioned him about it in a way that unmistakably said i meant what i wrote
  • andrew, the survivor, who donates so much of his salary to a variety of causes, who did before anyone knew and who continued after it became public like he didn’t give a fuck because he didn’t
  • photos of the andrew that belong to neil, ones that make andrew curl his lip if neil pins them up - he and his brother standing shoulder to shoulder at the reception of aaron’s wedding, caught on camera by the official photographer in a very rare moment of understanding. him bathed in the light of a sunset on their balcony, all golden. he and neil together wearing red, white and blue in the locker room of a foreign stadium, ready to walk on the court for their country. him on the couch, asleep on his belly with one of the cats curled up in the cup of his lower back
  • (neil doesn’t mean to document his own history, only theirs - it happens by accident. there’s a photo of him beside kevin, medals around both of their necks at a world cup final. a photo him in the audience of an event where andrew is on the stage, photographed looking up from the crowd with a slight smile on his face included in an article on andrew. one from a reunion, taken from behind him and andrew with the sun turning them to silhouettes, including where their hands are curled together between them. a headshot of him from a where are they now-style article on the first ncaa champion fox team, scars on display and stare as bright and challenging as ever - still alive)
River was uncomfortable with the idea that he had been born with some kind of innate gift. He felt he had to work hard at what he achieved. Likewise, he was obsessed with trying to find a way to live with integrity, and terrified that all the praise over his acting was going to affect his identity. He told me that he had to get up every morning and fight to remain himself.
—  Reid Rosefelt (Remembering River - Elle / Feb, 1994)

I feel like second house placements are easily overlooked and misunderstood because people think they’re just about possession. I remember reading an article on the second house somewhere which said that our body is our greatest possession, and so were our thoughts and our minds. The things we value, the morals and values we hold, the ways we conduct ourselves and utilise our body and minds are all very much linked to the second house. This has to be understood in order to truly unlock the meaning of your second house.

I just have to say, I love Daisy Ridley so much!  I admire her because she is talented, kind, and incredibly positive.  I love how passionate she is about the role of Rey and Star Wars in general.  I love that she promotes the movie in funny videos and connects with her fans.  I love that she acknowledges Reylo and has liked Reylo fanarts on social media in the past.

What I love most is seeing a woman who has serious illnesses that only affect women starring in a lead action role.  PCOS and Endometriosis are no joke…they can be incredibly painful, exhausting, and can cause an imbalance of hormones which can affect your physical and mental health.  If you have never experienced it, you can’t understand the toll it can take on your body.  Women have different experiences with PCOS and Endometriosis, different symptoms can occur in one woman that does not in another.   

I remember reading an article about Daisy having to eat so much of the bread Rey eats in that one scene in the movie.  She stated how exhausted she felt after eating so much of the bread which is an effect of the PCOS.  People with PCOS tend to produce too much insulin which in turn causes extreme exhaustion.  I’m not talking about I’m tired and I could use a nap, I’m talking about I could stay in bed and sleep for days and still feel exhausted.

It is amazing watching Daisy overcome both of these illnesses and rock the role of Rey, which is intense both physically and mentally.  I appreciate her candidness about her illnesses in the past, it has helped her fans who have to deal with these illnesses greatly.  

Daisy, you rock and I love you!  Thank you for being an amazing role model and inspiration to women everywhere including us who have PCOS.


The Wrath of a short woman - Bruce Wayne x Reader

So it’s late and I’m quite tired but I really wanted to write this so…Yeah. Written in 7 minutes (in two part, like I started to wrote it late at night yesterday, finished this morning), by a very tired Ella (you know I’m tired when I’m referring to myself with the third person), I hope you’ll like it, especially you @homework-is-the-real-killer

Warning : tiny bit TINY bit NSFW 

Yes I know he’s more around 6′2″/6′3″ in the comics, changed it for a few reasons, the first one because I wanted the reader to really be average sized, cause I think it’s funny that they’d all call her “short” when she really isn’t HOWEVER I’ll write a story soon with his actual height and and actual really short reader, like around 5′0″ or under :-). Boom. 

My masterlist blog :


-You can’t fight me, you’re miniature. 

As soon as those words get out of his mouth, he regrets it. Oh and by the look on your face, he knows he’s right to…

-What did you say ? 

-I mean…You…I…Hum….

The Batman is nervous. You made the Batman nervous, with your glare and the hint of danger in your eyes. You approach him. Him and his damn giant frame. 

He’s not wrong, of course. You are miniature. At least compared to him. With his 6 foot 7, he’s towering quite high above you but…he’s not entirely right. 

You can totally fight him, and oh you will.


You know you’re short. 

Well…That’s not exactly true. 

You know you’re short compared to your husband and sons. 

Hell, even compared to Alfred. The butler was actually quite tall. You always had to twist your neck up to look at him in the eyes while talking to him.  

Your height is actually average for a woman, but your husband is a damn giant, and your sons are too. 

Bruce is over a good foot taller than you, and so is Jason. Dick is exactly 10 inches taller, and Tim around 7. But it’s really when your youngest son, Damian, your baby, your eleven years old little boy started to rise above you of almost 2 inches that you realized that…Well, yes. 

In this family, you were a short one.  

This spurred a few teasing, and some “you’re so cute my tiny mom/wife” but nothing more (mostly because your sons and husband were afraid of your sarcasm and wits), just nice little jokes that made you feel loved for your shortness…

But you had to admit that sometimes, them being so tall and you not being a supermodel sized woman…could make things a bit awkward. 

You were thinking about that, sitting in the Manor’s library. 

About how Bruce always had to bend down to kiss you, and you had to go on your tip toes to be able to reach when he bend down. 

How when paparazzis were taking pictures sometimes you wouldn’t even be on it because they only had Bruce’s back and he was somehow shielding you with his massive frame (that, was a good thing)…

How even when you had high heels on, you still wouldn’t be tall enough. 

Keep reading

Inopportune Moments

Originally posted by imcrystalmreed

There’s many ways I can draft up the perfect storyline that leads to this moment but I currently will not do that. Just understand that you’re in a pretty, excuse my French, shitty situation. In this situation, you are stuck with the whiny, intolerable Peter Hale in a room with no exit. Both of you were so caught up in your will to get it over that you both failed to see that it was a torture based room. The door knob was made of silver, the windows were there but was made of mountain ash. Near the ceiling was an intercom system and the voice coming from it was gruff and cynical. “In two hours, the air vent will filter wolfbane that will kill the both of you. Either have sex and give me both of your bodily fluids or die. The choice is yours.”

Peter looked at you making you gag.
“Don’t get any fresh ideas you disgusting dog”
“What the hell is a were-cat anyways?”
“For the last time, I’m a Bakeneko!”
“Oh, how could I forget? It’s the same thing, the only difference is you weren’t human to begin with, you’re not even Japanese”
“I am two seconds away from using these pretty little claws to rip your heart out and eat it”
“Such an animal”

You growled and marched over to the opposite side of the room and sat on the bed. Peter was the worst thing on the planet in your eyes. He had no respect for you or your feelings. The first day he met you he made a joke about not throwing up fur balls around him.

“Please stop, you already smell terrible, I don’t need your pheromones as well”
“Leave me alone, Peter”

You felt the bed sink, his presence closer than you would’ve liked.

“As much as I hate you, we will die here if we don’t work together”

You stayed quiet, hoping he would just go away but you had to admit, there was only an hour and thirty minutes left before the gas would be released.

“It’s just sex, you know”
You turned towards him with your eyebrows raised.
“You are familiar with that term, yes? I mean someone had to have tapped that”
Peter put his hands up when you narrowed your eyes at him, “I’m just saying, I mean some things about you could be labeled as sexy”
Just wait…
“If it weren’t for your big mouth”
There it is.
You got up from the bed to get away from him.
His fingers closed around your wrist and he pulled himself up, his body towering over yours.
“I’ll be gentle, Y/N. After this, you’ll be begging for more”
His cockiness should’ve made you feel sick to your stomach but between his confidence and his warm hand tightly wrapped around your wrist made you flutter just a bit.
Being the sassy girl you were, you made a quick quip.
“As if you could keep up with your little Hale,” you yanked out of his grip and made fierce eye contact with him.
“Little? I’m not the cat here. In fact…”
Peter’s eyes dangerously scanned your body, his heart and breathing was controlled.
He alerted your predator instinct as he lurched forward and pressed you up against the wall, trapping you under his body weight.
He used one hand to pin your hands into place then used the other to slide past your leggings, resting his palm on your heat.

“You’re the only pussy here, little girl”
A soft, ragged whimper escaped you, a smirk painted on Peter’s lips.
His fingers artfully slid along your slit in a steady motion.
The pleasure was delicious, his fingers not even exposed to your skin yet.
However, a man was touching you in an intimate place where most boys at your supposed age shied away from.
Peter took his time, working you up into a desire that could not be filled fully clothed.
He sensed that you were ready to move on and slipped your shirt over your head.
“You like the way I touch you, don’t you?”
Your lips dared not to move until he unclasped your bra and roughly groped them in his hands, a tiny, shrill yelp dribbled out of your mouth.
“Answer me, kitty”
“Yes Peter”
Peter gripped your throat in his hand and pulled you close to him.
“Call me, Master”
Through the tightness around your cords, you looked at him through your eyelashes and responded in a voice that made Peter growl, “yes, Master”
His tongue skimmed your trembling lips, his patience was slowly being stripped away.
“That’s a good girl,” he let go and forced you on your knees, “do as your Master says and suck him off”
You went for his belt, unbuckled it, then dropped everything, giving him a chance to step out of his clothes.
His cock, was far from little.
It may had to do with the fact that he was an alpha but you were sure that it wouldn’t fit inside you when it came time to put it in.
“What’s wrong? You don’t like little Hale? Suck it”
You stood on your knees, facing the monster before you.
You placed a kiss on his tip, a peck at first then tongue was initiated.
You used both your hands to stroke his length while you continued your make out session with his tip. The pre-cum leaking out served as a lubricant in which you spread by twisting your hands in opposite directions, sliding up and down his shaft. 

Peter looked down at the right moment to meet your eyes just as you attempted to slid a good portion of him into your mouth. He groaned at the sensation and the sight of this truly erotic scene. You took your eyes away to focus on giving him the blowjob of his dreams. You used your feline powers and slowly extended your jaw to take him fully. In surprise, Peter bucked his hips forward, almost cumming as you increased your speed. “Fuck, baby. You’re such a dirty fucking kitty, aren’t you?” Peter slapped one of your breasts making you moan in both pleasure and pain once he rubbed it afterwards. Between your legs, you could feel your juices seeping through the underwear. His muscles bulged in his shirt, rippling every time you fondled his balls in your hand. Tremors rose in his wake, threatening to shoot a load in her mouth. You remembered reading an article about a blow job and decided to take a risk. You slid a finger in his perineum, startling him. Peter groan out loud as he violently spasmed into your mouth. His hot, salty but sweet sperm swam down your mouth and you tried to gather as much as you could.

Peter pulled you off your knees and pulled you into a fervent, impatient kiss. He didn’t care that he could taste himself on your lips, in actuality, in turned him on even more.
He tossed you on the bed and practically ripped your leggings and underwear off your body.
“I can’t wait anymore, I need this wet pussy”
And he wasn’t kidding.
Peter hooked his arms under your legs and lined him towards your entrance.
“Wait, Peter, I don’t think–”
“What did you just call me?”
You realized your mistake and saw his glowing blue eyes.
“I mean, Mast–Ahhh!”
Peter rammed himself into you and you swore that you could feel your pussy shred in two halves. 

His hips moved in a sharp and steady rhythm making you gasp with each thrust. You naturally brought out your claws and scratched at his back, digging into his skin. “My kitty likes to be fucked hard, doesn’t she?” It was so good that all you could do was breathlessly say “yes” over and over. He watched as your chest rose and fell with each thrust and every lucid moan that spilled out your mouth.

Peter was so much better than all the school boys combined. He wasn’t close to a release, he wasn’t in it for himself. Peter was making you moan so much that you were surprised tour voice hasn’t cracked. But best of all, he filled you up and gave you pleasure in places where you didn’t even know existed. You shifted a bit and fell into trance your eyes rolling into the back of your head when he hit the perfect spot. “You gonna for me? Huh? Is my little kitty gonna cum all over me?“ 

You tried to speak but every time he slammed into you, the words got lost in translation. Your walls squeezed down on Peter so tight that he didn’t even care that you didn’t respond. He was contempt when he heard his name slip from your lips in a high pitch tone that almost did him in.

Peter slid out of you as he flipped you over so that your back was exposed to him. Even though you just came, you wiggled your ass to tempt him. He smacked both cheeks before wrapping his arms around you from behind and sliding himself in.

 "Oh, fuck me!” You moaned and pushed back onto him. “Does the little kitty want to me to fuck her?” He grabbed a fist full of your hair and pulled your head back so he could nibble on your neck, his other hand reached down to run his fingers over your clit.

“Yes Master, please, I need you…” You moaned at him between gasps, “Please…”

Peter’s thrusts grew frantic now, rubbing his cock along your walls, pushing himself harder into you. His fingers at your clit added to a euphoria you’d never known. “Such a good kitty, I’m going to – oh fuck” His moans stirred something inside of you. Your hips pushed back in an attempt to make him cum quicker. Peter began to lose his rhythm, knowing he was so close. An animalistic urge swarmed over his body and he stretched out his fangs, biting down on the part where you shoulder and neck connect while pulverizing your insides. Feeling his cock jerking inside you as you came mixed with his teeth in your shoulder pushed you over the edge, an overwhelming sense of pain and pleasure forced you to scream your release. Peter grew sloppy and moved his teeth, the blood in his system making him boil in arousing heat. He roared as he pumped his seed into you with a total of eight shots.

The mind blowing, toe-curling sex that the both of you had tired you out. Peter moaned as he slipped out of you then rolled over to the side. 

He didn’t get a chance to tell you how much he’d wanted to do that because a hissing sound went off. The both of you looked at the vent and panicked.
“What the fuck?!”
“Hey, we did what you asked!”
The cynical, gruff sound came on the intercom but instead of talking, the man was laughing.
Peter grabbed the sheets off the bed and tried to cover the both of you but it was too late, you had already passed out.
His body felt heavy crawling over to your limp figure.
“Y/N, wake up!”
His voice grew distorted, his vision blurry as the door opened.

As I watched River do his work, I was impressed by his generosity with the other actors. He was never competitive. In dailies, I would often notice that Jadrian Steele, the actor who played River’s younger brother, would try to place himself in a prominent position on-screen. River always seemed to hang back to the furthest recesses. But the more he stepped out of frame, the more your eyes were drawn to him.

There is a certain breed of actor who can show you everything they’re thinking without uttering a word. They are like emotional gladiators, nakedly putting themselves on the line so the audience can achieve a catharsis. But they’re more than thin-skinned - they almost have no outer coating at all. With their heightened sensitivity, they walk through the world like someone with a hearing disorder - everything is a clattering phantasmagoria to them because they feel too intensely to have a normal life.

—  Reid Rosefelt (Remembering River - Elle / Feb, 1994)