subsequent

White people have this thing where they want to tell you to forget the past, but they don’t actually know what the past is. Being white in this country means being told from day one that your opinions and feelings always matter even when you’re blatantly wrong. The reality is that the Confederate flag resurged in popularity only during the civil rights movement (that my father was a part of) in the 60s. Additionally, in case you don’t understand this yet… the confederate flag represents the Confederate States of America that seceded from this country and subsequently started the civil war. The Confederate Flag exists as a representation of anti-American sentiments. There’s a great cognitive dissonance that a lot of people supporting this flag have. I implore all of you to pick up a book and read about the history of this country. Even completely unbiased, this isn’t a flag you should protect and slavery didn’t end that long ago (152 years to be exact.)

3

“We live, we die, we live again!” 

Finally finished my fanart piece for Nux from Fury Road. Turned into a full on illustration. I like how in my first layout sketch he looks more like a tubby old man.  Glad I fixed that, along with the arm angle, in the subsequent revisions.

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My new life goal is an image a day!

[Patreon] [Tapastic]

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9

okay and this is the part that i think is just a little bit obvious

it would have made sense for Zack to remind Cloud to protect his honor as SOLDIER, or better yet, to not waste the life he’s been given, but this “living legacy” thing is pretty on-the-nose, considering what happens to Cloud shortly after this, it’s all a bit too anime for me

then again, i guess you could interpret Cloud’s mental collapse and the subsequent construction of his false self to be his mako-addled brain completely misunderstanding what Zack meant when he said “my dreams and honor are yours now”

John George Haigh, also known as the “Acid Bath Murderer” was a British serial killer active during the 1940s. He was convicted of the murders of 6 people but claimed to kill a further 3. As a professional conman, Haigh targetted wealthy individuals and charmed them into believing he was a businessman. He then took his victims to a warehouse before shooting them dead and dissolving their bodies in sulphuric acid. He then forged papers in order to collect their life savings and sell their possessions. In 1949, Haigh was sentenced to death, and was subsequently hanged at Wandsworth Prison.


                                               ( art credit . giveaway post  )



        
cue sad music played on the world’s smallest violin in the background as i read off of this script. ( don’t worry guys the link is ACTUALLY a song on violin &. not some poor attempt to rickroll you. ) but first &. foremost, i just wanna say: WOW!! i never expected to reach this amount of followers friends, especially considering how this blog is only 6 months old ( 3 months if you count the fact that i had to restart ). it’s been one hectic ride that i never wanna get off of, really. from starting off as a tentative, insecure lil cygnet, to tumblr breaking my blog, to having to make a new one because i could never abandon my treasure of a muse, to making a bunch of other accounts that i subsequently left for dead after the span of one day, to learning the wonderful blessing that is textures because GOD FORBID my mac ever allow me to get actual GOOD programs to make graphics with, to the rest of my team family being created by talented people, to crying over drafts &. coding &. themes &...

&. you guys have been here this entire time. sure, a lot of you are new, or we have yet to interact, but i hope you’ve been having fun, as well. even if i never reply or i take 50 years to do so. even if i’m unable to go on the computer on sundays. even if i post a bunch of random doodles. even if i send odd ic asks. &. i think to myself, wow. i have so many people that i love &. who love me back. what more could someone like me ask for? not much, to be honest. &. for a tiny girl standing at 4′9″ whose confidence probably weighed at something much less, it’s a wonderful feeling. &. for a muse whose happiness is but this fabrication built from insecurity, it’s something even more than that. because maybe roleplay has less to do with how good your graphics are, or the ability to code a theme by scratch, or even the amount of followers/drafts you have. maybe it’s about finding a sense of belonging, finding a place that you can situate yourself in &. go, “i never want to leave. maybe it’s less to do with competition &. mean posts shaming others &. themes &. promos &. more to do with this concept called ‘family’.

       so i want to thank you. all of you, even the ones i’ve never talked to for staying here. i want to thank you all for giving me that very sense of belonging. because, quite frankly? i think i’m going to be staying for a long, long time.

this is actually the first ( &. most likely only ) time i’ve ever done a bias list. the reason why is because i’m really forgetful so i’ll probably not even remember anyone. either that, or my entire followed list will show up because i followed you for a reason?? &. i don’t unfollow very easily. that’s why the list is so short tbh. it’s only the people that i talk to daily or those that i’ve known for some time. i’d write a sappy message for all of you guys but knowing me this post is gonna be like 50k words after that so i’m gonna be lazy &. just list you all.

                                                        { dhampyrite}

{ lacxrtus | incertxs | prxmum | drakorte | gratiavol | xxlittlegiant+ the other 30 blogs u have jfc ) | ushiwakachan ( get on ur damn blog reffie ) | bokuutos ( hoot hoot ) | silenciis ( control your boyf ) | yamatoos | koushiisms | koushiwaras | shxnraithunderouxcrane | libercs | makkiro | straightspike ( my fave leg )  | hotazu  ( barney reject ) | thanpride ( yaoi ) | nekurooma | kuroomata | malakism | settobio | poiised | gxldencat | caelxstis | nishinoyuuuh | oikawinakashouri ( ur last bc ur a meme ) }
                               &.
probably more but i missed them bc im gay &. lame

{ swancows | kaiju-suisoku | zeppoueita | swankyuseishu | mutehaliaetus  | hinikuru | spiker-with-wings​ }

                                                                                                            + blogroll

2

If This Be Sin, by SVA graduate Hazel Newlevant, is about Gladys Bentley, a butch lesbian singer and pianist who performed in drag during the Harlem Renaissance. She was a successful and spirited entertainer who later underwent hormone treatment and claimed to have been saved from her “strange affliction.” She died at age 52 in ladylike dress and very much in the closet.

White Comanche, by underground cartoonist Jaxon, is about Cynthia Ann Parker, a white woman who as a child was kidnapped by a Comanche tribe and subsequently embraced their culture, eventually marrying a chief and having a family of her own. Later in life she was repossessed against her will by her white family and died from a broken heart at age 45.

Fresh Comics #3: Remarkable Histories by Monica Johnson.

Took Portraits at the studio the whole day, exploring my own emotional and psychological capabilities of getting closer to people and, secondary, experimenting with new ways to light, which subsequently led to a little side project i cannot wait to push further. 

The house moving situation got worse today, which brings us closer to the fear of being temporary homeless. Still optimistic though. 

We found 4 prospective tenants that cannot wait to move in and we have to present them tomorrow to the current landlord without having spoken once or signed a contract with the new one. That makes it quite a shaky poker game on our side now. 

On the plus side: the heat is cooling down a bit which makes it bearable a little to work in the studio or edit pictures without taking off pants or feet in ice cubes. 

anonymous asked:

Do you think fenharel would wait for his Isii or would he take advantage of the fact he knows no matter how many people he sleeps with he has Isii waiting for him?

The thought of waiting for her wouldn’t even cross his mind. Even though part of him recognizes that she isn’t like any of the lovers he’s had before, he still sees their time together as having been a dalliance, a passing curiosity, something that he’s certain he’ll move on from until they cross paths again. 

He’s wrong, of course. He doesn’t ever really stop thinking about her and he finds many of his subsequent lovers less satisfactory because they do not behave as she did. They’re too submissive, too quick to give into his demands. While not to the point of obsession or fixation, he will continue to fantasize about her and what he’ll do when he sees her again. 

Strategies to defend our unions

The Tories’ election victory has provoked moves towards ‘doing politics differently’. Shaun Doherty stresses how workers’ confidence to fight back lies in industrial struggle.

In April 1974 I attended my first union meeting at a north London comprehensive school. The NUT rep, a member of the Communist Party, read out a request for support for a demonstration in work time protesting at the jailing of Ricky Tomlinson and Des Warren — the Shrewsbury Two building workers. More in hope than expectation I suggested we support it. To my surprise there was a near unanimous vote to take unofficial solidarity strike action in support of the demonstration. I thought, “Yes, this is what unions are about.”

In subsequent years teachers, particularly in London, working through semi-informal organisation of school reps, had the ability to take different forms of action on conditions, pay and support for other workers independently of the official structure of the union. This was during a period of right wing domination of the union’s leadership. Similar forms of action were not restricted to teachers, but replicated in many industries and workplaces.

Today, in the wake of the Tory election victory, we face further anti-union legislation that would seriously impair the ability of unions to take any form of strike action in their own interest, let alone solidarity strikes in support of other workers. The proposals are for a 50 percent turnout threshold for ballots on industrial action, and in essential services (defined as health, education, transport and fire services) 40 percent of those eligible to vote must vote yes.

In addition, the ban on using temporary workers to cover for strikers will be lifted and the mandate for a strike ballot being activated will be shortened. These rules will apply to the unions with the highest density of members and the ones most likely to consider strike action. Compare this to the election of the current Tory government. The Conservatives won 37 percent of the votes cast and only 26 percent of all those eligible to vote.

The principal effect of any more draconian legislation is political rather than judicial — deterring unions from even contemplating action, with the courts acting as a back-up if strikes are actually called.

Source:- http://socialistreview.org.uk/404/strategies-defend-our-unions

Asarum caudatum “Wild Ginger” Aristolochiaceae

Weir Hot Springs, Clearwater National Forest, ID
June 8, 2015
Robert Niese

The leaves of Asarum caudatum (a PNW endemic) smell like ginger when you rub them, but apparently contain carcinogens and may or may not be good in your tea. Their flowers grow on the ground beneath the leaves and are pollinated by beetles, flies, and even rodents. Pollinated flowers produce seeds with a fatty elaiosomes that are collected by ants and subsequently planted in the colony. 

Delete? Yes or No

Here it is in all it’s completed glory. oldpinghai thinks it’s lovely as is, so if you see any errors let me know.

John hated his life. It had been four months since he found out the child wasn’t his and his subsequent divorce. He had gotten only one text from Sherlock in that entire time. A simple, “I’m sorry.”

He was on his way home from a night with the rugby mates, when he passed a crime scene. He looked on, longingly. He missed those days of reckless chase and abandon. He started.

“Sherlock?” There was no way that that silhouette was anything but the Consulting Detective.

The silhouette stiffened and slowly turned around. The face was still cast in shadow, but yes, that was Sherlock.

“John?” the voice cracked with pent up emotion.

It appeared that the detective wasn’t doing well either.

“Hey, it’s so good to see you,” John said heartily.

“Yes.” Was the only reply.

“What are you doing in the shadows? Come on, I want to see you properly.”

Sherlock shook his head, but John pulled him, stumbling into the light. His left eye was awash in purples and yellows, the evidence of a fading bruise.

“What happened?”

“Apparently, the new Detective Sargent didn’t take a shine to me,” Sherlock murmured, shrugging one shoulder.

“More like a shiner,” John joked.

“Yes, well. I deduced that he had recently broke up with his girlfriend because she found out he was sleeping with his very male boss.”

“Not…” he waved vaguely behind Sherlock.

“No, not Lestrade.”

“Oh. Well, that’s good. So this DS hit you for that?”

Sherlock shook his head. “I also may have deduced that his homophobic brother is a member of a very exclusive gay club in London.”

John’s eyebrows shot up. “Christ. That would do it, yeah.”

“I didn’t have a John Watson to keep me from spouting off when I should keep my mouth shut.”

John clenched his left fist. “Then why didn’t you say something?” He reached up to touch Sherlock’s bruised cheek.

Sherlock closed his eyes, and muttered, “Please, don’t.”

John’s hand froze.

“If you touch me, my walls will tumble to the ground. And I’m not sure I’ll be able to build them back up. Every time I let you in, you leave. If I let you touch me now, afterwards you’ll just turn around and go back to your life and I’ll be left with the ashes.”

“Sherlock…” John breathed, his heart breaking. “If you missed me so much then why have been so silent?”

“I tried to send you messages. But they always sound so needy, weak, pathetic.” He spat the last word with such vitriol. He pulled out his phone and thumbed through, before handing it to John.

“Here they are, you judge for yourself why I didn’t send them. Well, all but one. I deleted that one. Thank you.”

Come home. -SH

Mrs Hudson made your favorite scones.
I think she misses you. -SH

I walked by Angelo’s today.
Couldn’t bring myself to go inside.
Not without you. -SH

Nice double murder.
Might have a military angle. -SH

Mrs Hudson brought up your favorite biscuits.
I think she did it for me.
Come home. -SH

I don’t think I’ve missed anyone the way I miss you.
I dream about you, you know. -SH

The texts continued on and finally John frowned. “I don’t think you deleted that one like you thought.” He held up the screen to reveal “Delete? Yes or No.”

Sherlock closed his eyes. “Please, just delete it. If you value our friendship…please.”

John turned the phone back around. He fumbled with it for a moment and then shrill ring sounded in the night.

“John…” Sherlock moaned.

John handed over the phone and Sherlock saw that yes, his best friend had sent the message to himself.

“Why?” was Sherlock’s plaintive cry. He cradled the phone in his hands, suddenly frightened.

“So I could do this,” John said. Sherlock looked up to see him punch his phone with his thumb.

Sherlock’s phone rumbled in his hand, as he received an incoming message. He looked down at it and then back to John, who gave him an encouraging smile.

He went to his inbox and immediately his hand flew up to his mouth to stifle a cry.

I love you too.
Of course I’ll come home.

“Do you mean it? You’re coming home? To stay?” his voice trembled.

“Yes, Sherlock. I meant all of it.”

Tears streamed down Sherlock’s face and John cupped his cheek gently. He ran his thumb over those ridiculous cheekbone and wiped away those tears.

Suddenly Sherlock surged forward, wrapping his arms around the love of his life and kissed him firmly on the lips.

John squeaked in surprise before he returned the kiss with fervor. He wrapped his arms around his detective’s thin frame and just held him tight.

“Let’s go home,” he murmured into that massive Belstaff of Sherlock’s.

Sherlock’s head jerked up. “Oh! I just solved it.” He looked back down at John, torn.

“Go, you mad man. I’ll be here when you’re done.”

Sherlock kissed him soundly again and dashed off, leaving behind a chuckling doctor.

John was just starting to get bored Sherlock showed up, looking flushed and more than a little breathless.

“How did you get away so fast?” John asked after Sherlock swept him up in large embrace.

“I told Lestrade that you were coming home today.”

“And he just let you go?” John asked, raising an eyebrow.

“He encouraged it, in fact,” Sherlock said with sly smile.

“Of course he did. You are more tolerable to be around when I’m with you,” John said, shaking his head.

“Yes I am.” Sherlock took John’s face in his hands and placed the gentlest kiss on John’s lips.

“Let’s go home.”

John nodded emphatically.

Sherlock hailed a cab, and they spent the cab curled up together, unable to have even the barest distance between them now.

They were half way up the stairs when they heard Mrs Hudson call out.

“Sherlock?”

Go! Sherlock mouthed.

John raised a questioning eyebrow but did as he was bid, scrambling up the stairs and avoiding the fourteenth step so it wouldn’t squeak. He made it to the landing when Mrs Hudson came out.

“Oh, Sherlock, what are you doing home so early?” she asked, wiping her hands on her apron. “I thought you had a case.”

“Oh, it was easy, not even a three.”

“Sherlock…” she warned. “You haven’t been out of this house in weeks.”

Sherlock’s cheeks burned from the scrutiny of both of their gazes. Mrs Hudson’s pitying, and John’s accusing.

“I’ll be better, I promise,” Sherlock muttered, ducking his head.

“You either need to call him, or text or whatever it is you people do these days or move on, Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s head shot back up, a big grin on his face. “I don’t have to, he’s coming home.”

Mrs Hudson squealed. “When?”

“As soon as he can, I promise,” Sherlock said, softly.

“Alright, you’ll probably want some time to yourself, to get use to the thought of having him home again. Spend some time in your mind palace, I’d imagine.”

Sherlock just grinned and dashed up the stairs, into the sitting room where John had moved into while Sherlock and Mrs Hudson finished up their conversation.

John was in the middle of the room. “I left most of my things here when I moved out. Couldn’t bear to think of leaving it half-empty. Left it all as a shrine to you.”

Sherlock pulled off his scarf and coat to toss them over the arm of the sofa. He came up behind John and wrapped his arms around his chest and leaned down to put his chin on John’s good shoulder. “I know. You’ll find your books are far more worn then when you last saw them.”

John turned around and buried his head in Sherlock’s chest. “This is where I belong. I’m never leaving you again.”

“Please don’t,” Sherlock whispered. “I don’t think I’d survive.”

John held him tightly to his chest. “I feel the same about you, you know.”

“I do now.”

Their lips touched and the world melted away.

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. As they should be. Together.

azuresquirrel said: Well, dear lemedy, and average (note: AVERAGE) day in January in Massachusetts rages between 30 and 20 degrees US temperature (or -1 to -7 in Celsius). Those aren’t even considered the COLD days. That’s when we get to single digits fahrenheit.

I kid you not, this cold weather we’re predicted for next week? This is considered record cold weather. We pretty much never get this cold. Hence all the subsequent freaking out over jumpers and heaters next week.

And look, I won’t lie. I’m strongly considering putting in a request to work at home next week just so that I can stay in my pjs, all rugged up with a blanket and not have to brave this incredibly cold weather we’re getting.

And yet to you, it’s apparently summer.

Let’s face it: you’d die in our summer, I’d die in your winter.

i was reading some study on how eventually with california being on a fault it’ll split from the mainland and be completely destroyed which could subsequently collapse our economy because the hollywood movie industry makes up like 15% of the national revenue

anonymous asked:

hi! your last poem was wonderful, but would you mind explaining the lines with "velvet" and "steel shouts"? thank you :)

poem: “<uncharted>”, link here.

to be raised, to be sharp and not quite
Natural—are You
the world or its atmosphere?
nature and nurture inextricably
Entwined—there is pain
I would forsake
if only to know that I am my own.
Live velvet opens on a new age, one filled
With steel shouts, punctuated by prayer.

Ours are like drawbridges as we open,
Bid our Retreat—there is much
I would believe in, if you asked.
My debt is butterknife heavy and
Pyrite in my champagne; I sit with the false idols
as the earth vivisects the sky
And find that what I thought was the Horizon
Was the marrow of my bones, and you.

this poem was about a particular moment of understanding and subsequent transition (among other things).  the line you’re referring to is in the middle of the poem and marks the cutoff between the realization itself and its aftermath.  

that symbolic divide is reflected by the “live velvet” metaphor.  the velvet of theatre curtains is pulled back not by any outside force but by itself (”[a]live”).  it, like the person experiencing their epiphany, is both the driving force and the primary subject of its creation. 

thus the curtains open and the subject (and the audience) are drawn into the post-realization “new age.” the revolution is upon us and the new world is under construction (”steel shouts” // industrial revolution, construction workers, etc…) but this new world, “steel[y]” as it is, is not devoid of feeling.  feeling “punctuate[s]” rather than dominates the new era, but it is still a formidable presence, as it is necessary in order for coherent (sentence/world) structure.  

lastly, the choice of “prayer” over any other expression of feeling comes from the association of prayer with both resignation and hope.  

Stefan Askenase was born in Lemberg. At the age of five he began playing the piano with his mother, a pianist and pupil of Karol Mikuli (himself pupil of Chopin). He studied with Theodor Pollak, a professor and director of the Ludwik Marek School of Music in Lemberg, then with Emil von Sauer, a pupil of Liszt, at the Vienna Academy of Music. In 1919 he made his debut in Vienna, and subsequently toured throughout the world.