so far awar

hey so i know i dont usually post about romanian things but i need to say this

so last night (yes, in the middle of the fucking night, like the filthy thieves they are) the romanian government passed a law that, basically, makes corruption legal (if its under 45k euros, which is a LOT) AND they’re going to let all the (few) people who (they barely) arrested for this out of prison… 

i know this isnt as important to america as trump, but this is HUGE to us. there were (as far as i know) 90 thousand people protesting last night (the last time there were protests this big was in 1989 when communism fell, just to give you a perspective) and there are going to be even more today

this country has had problems with corruption since the dawn of time but i dont reckon it ever being made LEGAL. i just figured id bring some awareness to this…

here and here are two sources


10 days into October/Anti-awareness Month and going strong (and that may change, just watch!)! Man, the amount of ink I’ve been using up. Going to need new pens soon XD

Anyway, consider all of this a late birthday gift for our glitchy son.

Happy birthday, Anti! Hope you had a good one! Can’t wait to see you soon!



(Part 2)


“Bucky had never been held responsible for what he’d done, but you, oh god, everything that had happened had been your fault, and Bucky knew it too.”

Word Count: 1677
Warnings: a lot of self-doubt, injury, angst

It’s dark. And cold. And wet.

In the distance you can hear the rush of cars, tires splashing in puddles formed by the rain. They sound so, so far away.

You’re vaguely aware of the blood dripping down the back of your neck, and spilling out your lips and coating your fingers and smeared across your face and– there’s so much blood. You choke back a sob.

You have to get out of here. You have to get out of here and get back to the tower before anyone notices you’re missing because you can’t let anyone see you like this. You’re supposed to be strong like the rest of them, to be able to fight like the rest of them and defend yourself and not get into situations like this and the only thing running through your head right now is the fact that you might even die and everyone’s going look at you like some sort of failure.

(The one person you genuinely cared about already does, anyway.)

You place your hands on the ground under you, trying to push yourself up off the ground, but a sharp, snapping pain runs up your arm, as if the bone’s splitting, and you fall, letting out a gasp of pain as your chest hits the ground. There are tears welling in your eyes, both of frustration and the immense pain your body is in, and you lie with your cheek against the wet pavement in the middle of some back alley.

How are you going to get back and pretend like nothing happened when you can’t even fucking get up? You want to scream, but even your voice is hoarse from begging them to stop as you endured hit after hit.

You think back to a few hours ago, to how Bucky had been avoiding you all day and when you’d finally confronted him about it he’d yelled at you for not being able to do one job you had – to save the two kids in the fucking building on the one mission they’d taken you to. He’d yelled and you’d yelled and maybe he’d let it slip that he thought you were a failure, and then you’d gotten angry and stormed out to a bar to get drunk. But he’d been right. The fact of the matter is that you are a failure, and now you can’t even prove yourself otherwise.

A painful sob wracks your body as your hands reach into your pocket, pulling out your phone. There are missed calls that you barely notice, fingers fumbling and tears blurring your eyes. It takes four attempts to call Steve, your hands wet and sticky because of the blood. As it rings, you can feel your heart constrict in your chest. What are they going to think of you? Weak? Pathetic?

Words flit through your head, as the phone rings. And rings. And rings.

“Hi, you’ve reached Steve Rogers–”

You hang up, then try again.

And again.

And again.

With each time it reaches voicemail, you cry harder. You can’t blame him – it’s four in the fucking morning and the mission was exhausting, so everyone’s probably turned their phone on silent and for the first time in days is getting some proper rest.

You try Nat next, then Sam, then Clint, then even Tony, but nobody picks up.

There’s one last name left on the list of people that’ll probably answer at four a.m. You hesitate, fingers hovering over his name, knowing his reaction if he picks up.

You press call. Your heart pounds against your chest and your blood rushes through your ears and your eyes feel kind of heavy. You can’t breathe. You can’t breathe.

As you gasp for air the phone rings. And rings. And rings. And ri–


Hearing his tired voice croak your name is like turning a switch, because suddenly there is air in your lungs and you can breathe again.

Until, “What the fuck do you want?”

Heaving in a gulp of air, you opened your mouth to speak, but before you can even get a word out, he continues.

“It’s four in the fuckin’ mornin’, an’ the few of us who worked hard on the mission are pretty damn tired.”

You feel the intended jab of his words, and shut your mouth, breathing heavily through your nose as the blood flow stems and begins to crust on your face. The tears well up in your eyes again. You know you shouldn’t have called him, that he was still mad at you and he would probably never forgive you for what you had done, because even as the Winter Soldier he’d never have hurt let an innocent child get hurt. But you’d let it happen, right in front of him, with full control over your actions. Bucky had never been held responsible for what he’d done, but you, oh god, everything that had happened had been your fault, and Bucky knew it too.

“Are you going to speak?” He prompts, an edge in his voice laced with annoyance.

There’s shuffling on the other end of the phone, before you hear a faint, feminine voice. “Bucky baby, come back to bed.” You don’t know who it is, and that makes it so much worse because you know he only picks up random girls when he’s stressed out, and the cause of stress is you, you know as much.

You’re trying to speak but you can’t find the words. Your head hurts and the pain is finally starting to catch up, ebbing away at the adrenaline that had been coursing through your body.

“I’m sorry – it's– it’s, I just –” But you don’t know what to say. Something’s clawing at the inside of your throat, like nails raking down your vocal chords and making it hard to speak. The only thing you can do is cry.

“I’m sorry,” you’re screeching, heaving in breaths of air any chance you can get. “Nobody else picked up – I – I didn’t know – I didn’t know who else to call.”

There’s silence on the other end of the phone. Or maybe you can’t hear Bucky speaking. You can’t hear anything over the sound of your sobs, disappearing behind the heavy patter of the rain.

“Y/N? Y/N!” His voice seems so far away, it almost sounds concerned. “Y/N, what happened?”

“He said he knew! He said he knew more about– that he could tell me– I’m sorry. I trusted him. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry. I’m sorry!”

“Shit.” There’s shuffling on the other end, then a quieter, “I gotta go, Babe.” Your heart clenches and the only thing that manages to leave your mouth is a string of apologies.

“Where are you?”

“I don’t know– I don’t know!” There’s a level of hysteria in your voice, and he can probably hear it too. He’s saying other stuff in a calmer voice, something about breathing and looking around but you can’t hear him over the sound of the blood rushing through your ears and the constant thought of you being an absolute failure swimming through your head.

“– okay?” You take gulps of air through your mouth, trying to subside the sobs resonating through your chest as you tune back into his voice. “Just breathe, Y/N. Look around and tell me what you see.”

“It’s dark, and there’s- there's–” You look around frantically, trying to find something, trying to see something, but it’s so dark and all you know is that you’re in some back alley and God, your lungs feel like they’re on fire but you can’t figure out how to get air down your throat. “An alley,” you gasp out. “Behind the bar. I’m behind the bar–”

And you break off into sobs again, praying to someone, anyone, that Bucky can understand you through the thickness of your voice and the croaking of your throat.

“Okay. Okay. Y/N? I’ll be there in ten, okay? Just give me ten minutes.”

You manage to scrape an “okay” up your throat without throwing up from the crying and the screaming. Bucky says something about hanging up, and suddenly your voice is making your ears bleed again. “No! No! Please, Bucky, stay on the line. Please.”

And then he’s saying something and you’re not sure what, because you can’t focus on anything anymore. You don’t know how long you sit there, leaning against the cold brick wall, soaking wet with a puddle of red tinged water surrounding you, chilling to the bone. Maybe it’s really ten minutes, maybe it’s a few hours, you can’t tell, but there’s nothing more warming than the sound of Bucky’s voice calling out your name, this time closer to you than through the phone.

“Y/N?” His voice resonates through the small alley, and you’re slightly more awake for a moment as a flashlight shines directly into your eyes, then down the rest of you.

He swears.

A lot.

“Hey, hey, Y/N.” You feel his hands, warm and soft and tender, on your cheek, slapping lightly to grab your attention. Your eyes are unfocused, you can barely make out his face through the tears and the haze grabbing at the edges of your vision.

An arm goes under your knees and your start screaming again, pain and fear coursing through every vein in your body. Someone’s saying something, your name and something else, and it’s calm and reassuring but all you can focus on is how much it hurts. You’re hoisted into the air and this time the scream doesn’t even make it past your lips, catching in your throat as the pain peaks into a numbness spreading to your toes.

“–wake! Y/N, hey, keep your eyes on me, okay?” But your eyes are challenging his voice, daring to shut for longer periods of time with each blink.

There’s a deep, ocean blue staring down at you when you do open your eyes, laced with disappointment and screaming the same word over and over at you.

Failure. Failure. Failure.

Your eyes close.

Keep reading


My mom’s cat had kittens and they’re sooooo cuuuteeee, they’re a week old in this pic and they try and hiss if you touch them without mom around, but all that comes out is this little KHCK sound and they jump a little bit.

Anti-awareness Month/Inktober
Day 11 - All Monsters Are Human

This is REALLY late, but I had been real busy with putting together my portfolio for one of my classes last week, plus I was working on Glitched so I didn’t have any time to draw.

I went with an angsty scene from Glitched for this one, given how the prompt only made me think of this part. Anyone who’s read the fic, you know what part this is. Anyone who hasn’t read Glitched, this is a scene from both Parts 9 and 10 when Anti is looking through all of the posts and comments we’ve made about him that he considers to be mean and hurtful, especially the ones involving the nickname he hates so much. It’s basically like cyber-bullying to him.

It can be viewed two different ways: that Anti is a monster with a human side, or that we, as the community, are the real monsters even though we’re human.

@vity-dream @golden-eyed-guardians @septic-obsessed

Hideo Kojima ships Hannigram/Madancy? oh what a beautiful world we live in

original tweet(x)

Punkcup (<3) belongs to @oh–you–pretty–things

forgive me for I have sinned

now to go dig myself a grave of shame


Requested: “ I was wondering if I could make a request for a Percival Graves fanfic, where the reader is keeping a secret from him, and he has to chase them down and try and make them talk! Make it as cute and as fluffy as you like, I love that kind of thing! :)”

Requested by: the wonderful @heyitsteash

Warnings: None 

Word Count: 2316

Percival Graves couldn’t stand it.

He couldn’t stand the idea of you keeping something from him.

Whether it was big or small, nothing drove him nuts like secrets did. Of course you knew this and you did your best to never keep secrets from him, but there wasn’t anything you could do this time. This time the secret you carried within you was too embarrassing for you to even comprehend. It was too embarrassing to tell him the truth.

Because the truth was you were in love with Percival Graves. You loved the Auror who’d help train you when you’d come to Macusa just five years ago. The man who’d helped you become the auror you are today. But it was because of that past that you feared you couldn’t tell him the truth. You felt like you couldn’t tell him that your days together meant the world to you. You couldn’t say a damn word and it drove you nuts.

It drove you as crazy as your secret drove him nuts.

You knew Percival Graves didn’t know that you liked him, but you knew that could see through you enough to know you were keeping something from him. You could see how it drove him crazy, you could see your secret chipping at him every day that you kept it from him.

It had gotten so bad that you taken to hiding in your office whenever he was looking for you. Hiding behind your walls for comfort.

It was the only place you knew you were safe. Safe from him, his handsome face, and being that made you want more every time you saw him. Every time you were near him.

But you could only hide behind your walls for so long, until you had to go face him. Even as you stood behind your door with shaking hands, your eyes peering behind the door when you open it. As if you could somehow avoid him if you caught sight of him before daring to take a step outside of your door. A feeling a relief washes over you when you don’t see him, your body daring to cross the threshold as you walk forward. As you try your best to play off any and all feelings pulsating within you.

You had a meeting today, a big one, but you’d spent the better part of your morning thinking of Percival and the million scenarios that you could make up. Scenarios that were enough to drive you made, enough to make you lose all control of your breathing. It’s almost unbearable as you walk towards the office meeting room.

You’re not late by any means, but when you walk into the office you’re met by a sea of eyes that stare back at you as if you’d interrupted something important. As if you’d intruded. But of all the eyes that look to you nothing gets under your skin the way his eyes do.

Even from across the room you could feel Percival Graves and the way his eyes pierce you from afar. You see the strain in his eyes and the sensation of him wanting to be close to you, him wanting to figure out what it was you were keeping from him.

But you do your best to ignore the questioning in his eyes. The look of desire tugging at his features. A look that drove you mad with every passing breath. A look that remains on his face the entire meeting, the look that consumes you so much that you can’t focus at all during the meeting. It was like everyone else was white noise, like they weren’t there.

Like it was just you two.

When the meeting ends you feel your heart ache, and your feet are itching to get moving before he has the chance to stop you. Before he has the chance to corner you, but when you try to exit the office your coworkers seem to have another plan in mind. Instead of moving they feel compelled to take their time leaving, so much so that Percival makes his way to you. So much so that he corners you just like you feared he would.

“(Y/N), we need to talk…”

His voice rasps behind you as you keep your eyes from his, your gaze finding the floor intently. You knew if you looked at him you’d be done for. You knew you’d cave. You knew you’d break into a thousand pieces right before him.

“… I know something is bugging you (Y/N) and you can talk to me about it. No matter what it is I’m always here for you.”

You feel your heart skip a beat at his kind words. The words that always managed to seep their way in and get under your skin in the best possible way.

“I’m fine Mr. Graves.”

You feel yourself whisper as you dare to look over your shoulder, your eyes meeting his for a moment before you walk away.

Your feet carry you a few feet before you feel his hands reaching out to stop your body. The sensation of him touching you feels so foreign, it had been months since he’d been close to you, since he’d  actually tried to touch you.

“You’re keeping something from me (Y/N) and I do not appreciate you keeping things from me.”

Keep reading


someone requested that i add a demiromantic pride flag to my set of romantic pride flags, but i decided to go ahead and make a separate aromantic spectrum pride set. there are more arospec orientations than these, obviously, but it’s a start.

note: none of the flag colors/designs are official in so far as i’m aware, but these seem to be the most common for their respective orientations.

edit: revised the demiromantic and gray (a)romantic flags. here’s why.


HELLO EVERYONE MEET MY WONDERFUL SPUNKY BOY BUBBLES. He is a pearl (?) veil tail who suffered from some fin rot when I first got him and I believe he is in the process of marbling. But his fins are healing up nicely and I love him lots ok thanks

Okay so here’s a long and probably rambling meta on Julian Bashir because I have a lot of opinions and emotions about the genetic engineering plotline and I want to sort them out

if any of you haven’t watched Star Trek: Deep Space Nine then you’ll have no idea what I’m talking about have a great day whoo

Keep reading

thetruthaboutlovecomesat3am  asked:

Weird headcanon thing for Blackhill (yes both of them if you want)?

NOkay, from the top:

  • What they smell like:


You know those un-perfumed, and allergen friendly soaps you can buy at most supermarkets? yeah, like that


Nice, in a sort of unspecific, and subtle manner.

  • How they sleep (sleeping position, schedule, etc):


Sometimes she allows herself to blink…

All jokes aside, Maria is chronically sleep deprived, and sleeping in a chair has practically become the norm.


She has 3 methods of sleeping: On the job, where she lies stiff as a board, not so much sleeping, as waiting. On her own, where she’s more often than not having one hand chained to  the bedpost, and the other running through Liho’s fur. And on top of Maria, which is where she finds Maria snoring in a weird position, and curls up in her lap, only for Maria to wrap her arms around her, in her sleep. 

  • What music they enjoy:


She doesn’t really have a lot of opinions on music, though if asked to pick, she would probably go with rap from the Chicago scene, cause it’s kinda the music she grew up listening to.


Indie pop, and cheesy Slavic love songs, preferably stuff like S.A.R.S. which is a mixture of the 2 

  • How much time they spend getting ready every morning:


Spends a few minutes getting ready, never more than 15 minutes, from pushing blankets aside to putting her jacket on. Make-up on point, and never a hair out of place (she has to because of her position, and she fucking hates it)


Races Maria in the morning for getting ready, even though she “needs” to apply 3 times as much makeup, not to mention hide weapons and god knows what more.

  • Their favorite thing to collect:


Guns, it’s practical hobby, she’s just prepared, you know in case she needs to go  rogue, or conquer a 3rd world country.


Does her web count? Cause she doesn’t really feel comfortable getting emotionally invested in inanimate objects, brings back unpleasant childhood memories.

  • Left or right-handed:





  • Religion (if any):


She was baptized as a catholic (comes with being Latina), but she not a member of any church any more (At this point she’s just sorta rolling with the punches, though if there is someone in charge, Maria have some choice words prepared for her!)


Russian orthodox, she’s not exactly devout, but it helps her sleep knowing that someone up there is keeping score (even if she’s never personally going to get out of the red)

  • Favorite sport:


Football, she was introduced to it on her tour of duty, of there’s just something about it, the grace, the violence, and the fact that the whole world, except the US is united by it (Natasha blames it on Maria being ¼th Brazilian)


Ballet, “shut up Maria, if being paid the GDP of a small country for kicking a ball around for an hour and a half is a sport, then so is Ballet, at least mine requires skill!”

  • Favorite touristy thing to do when traveling (museums, local food, sightseeing, etc):





  • Favorite kind of weather:


Windy, it reminds her of home, but in a good way, which feels really weird


Snowstorm, heavy rain, mist, she’s not picky so long as there’s poor visibility

  • A weird/obscure fear they have:


Having her friends step on a landmine, not just die/get maimed, but specifically step on an active landmine. A few days after she was first deployed, she saw a kid, no more than 12 years old get torn in half by a landmine and the image is forever seared into her brain.


Originally posted by haidaspicciare

  • The carnival/arcade game they always win without fail:


They’re both crazy competitive, and honestly Maria, Natasha was just trying to do that stupid romcom thing where she wins you an ugly teddybear, it’s been 6 hours, you’ve set the record for half the games at the fair, please just leave the owners just wanna close up and get some sleep


She’s about as apologetic as she looks


Okay, so I’ve seen quite a few concerns over what occurred in the most recent episode, where Star attempts to get Glossaryck back. I’ve seen some anger  and mixed feelings over his refusal to not come back with Star, and I can understand that - but just hear me out over what I have in mind. 

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