there are 7 black kids in my school



This is my tribute to the black cartoon characters I grew up watching. Happy Black History Month.

1. Gerald - Hey Arnold
2. Keesha - The Magic School Bus
3. Huey & Riley Freeman - The Boondocks
4. Fillmore - Fillmore
5. Storm - X-Men
6. Sunny Bridges - Class of 3000
7. C Bear and Jamal - C Bear and Jamal
8. The Browns - The Cleveland Show
9. Kwame - Captain Planet
10. Brock - Pokemon
11. Susie - The Rugrats
12. Franklin - Peanuts
13. Little Bill - Little Bill
14. The Junkyard Gang - Fat Albert & The Cosby Kids
15. John Stewart - Justice League
16. Gary Coleman - The Gary Coleman Show
17. Static Shock - Static Shock
18. Skeeter - Doug (yes Skeeter is black… Don’t question it)
19. Chef - South Park
20. The Harlem Globetrotters - The Super Globetrotters
21. Miranda - As Told By Ginger
22. Vince - Recess
23. The Prouds - The Proud Family
24. Uniqua - The Backyardigans (her name is Uniqua… Don’t question it)
25. The Tenants of the Lawrence Hilton-Jacobs Projects - The Pjs
26. Afro Samurai - Afro Samurai
27. Damey Wayne - Waynehead
28. Cyborg - Teen Titans
29. Mr. Popo - Dragonball Z (let me have this one)
30. Numbuh 5 - Kids Next Door

souyo au where yosuke is blind and souji is very quiet and prefers not to talk but he falls in love with the blind kid who cant seem to shut up

teddie is yosuke’s neighbor and for the longest time they’ve been together! teddie doesnt mind at all with helping yosuke get to places, they’re practically together 24/7

souji is the new kid who finds yosuke rolling around in a trash can on his way to school because teddie got sick and wasnt able to go with yosuke. souji helps him out and yosuke’s all “hey man, thanks for that. also, im kind of disoriented, can u help me to school?”

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Steve Rogers crochets

Bear with me here… this is unnecessarily long and detailed, and really some weird mix between and headcanon and actual fic because I couldn’t figure out how to write it as a story… But just a headcanon was not enough for me. But it warms my heart, so… Here’s whatever it is.


Steve was a sickly kid, probably rendered unable to leave the house quite often. And Bucky wasn’t around 24/7. He tried to be, but sometimes his mom made him go to school even when Steve couldn’t, and he had to do some odd side jobs for old, widowed Mrs. Abbott in the apartment downstairs because Steve and Sarah needed all the money he could make.

It stands to reason that sometimes, Steve was alone with Sarah, who couldn’t go to work because her son was wheezing in the too-hot apartment, and his fever hadn’t broken yet. So, ever patient, Sarah would sit beside Steve in that old, squeaking rocking chair until he was well. She almost always spent that time crocheting something or another - cloths and blankets and hats and scarves - with the yarn scraps the kind old lady next door provided to the poor single mother. 

When he felt well enough, Steve would sit up against thin pillows in bed and crochet next to her. At first, he just chain stitched, over and over until he had three and four foot longs strings of multicolored yarn. And when he started actually attempting to make things, he had trouble with the consistency of his gauge, and remembering what row he was on, so most things ended up shapeless and awkward rather than usable. So, he’d unravel his work and start again.

Eventually, though, Steve started making thick, warm hats for Bucky to wear in the winter (he wore the red, grey, and black one with the awkward color changes even while camped out in the blustering Russian winters with the Commandos, after Steve’s transformation) and soft, tightly stitched socks for the kid downstairs who always had holes in his. He made strange quilt/afghan hybrids by sewing whatever fabric scraps he could find to the back of his holey crocheted rectangles. His knobby fingers ached with the work, but he had to keep his mom warm, especially after she got sick and her form shivered in the unheated apartment.

He enjoyed the hobby, despite the fact that it became mindless, repetitive activity after awhile. It’s one of the first self-serving things he does after he gets out of the ice, and is glad to see that it no longer makes his fingers ache like before, so he can sit and do it for hours, with soft swing music playing in the background. He asks Phil Coulson if, in the various belongings SHIELD had accumulated of his, if there is a well-worn red, black, and grey hat or a scrappy afghan. 

“There isn’t,” Phil says apologetically. He knows for sure because he catalogued everything they have that’s related to Steve or Bucky or the Howling Commandos when SHIELD switched to digital filing. There is an old rocking chair in storage at the Triskelion, though, if Steve is interested. Steve says he is, and despite his protests and insistence that he can drive to D.C. to pick it up himself, Coulson makes getting Steve that rocking chair a top priority. He sends Natasha Romanoff with it on a quintet, a major misuse of resources that has Steve embarrassed and the Black Widow severely underutilized.

He meets her on the roof of Headquarters just an hour later. She raises an eyebrow when he apologizes for the inconvenience, and says he doesn’t know why Coulson sent her of all people for a menial delivery.

“Coulson trusts me.” She says, as if that was an explanation at all. And then, “I had to be in New York today anyways for a debriefing, Captain. Don’t feel too special." 

Honestly, he just feels too undeservedly privileged, but he doesn’t say so. "Thanks, Romanoff.”

“Sure Rogers. Let’s drop it off in your room. I think you have to be in the same debriefing I do. You can walk me there afterwards.” He nods once, smiles a little at her, and picks up the rocking chair

His quarters are still fairly standard issue. White walls and white linens, a clock on a bedside table, and a chair in the corner that he’ll replace with his mom’s. There’s a plastic tote filled with varying colors of yarn, with several sizes of crochet hooks thrown haphazardly on top. Some patterns are on the bedside table, the ones that Agent Phillips had been nice enough to teach him to look up and print out. Natasha raises that eyebrow again.

“You crochet?” She says, with curiosity in her voice. “Can’t say I expected that one.”

“My mom taught me.” Steve says, a little defensively despite the fact Natasha didn’t seem to be teasing him at all. Then calmer, “That was the chair she did it in." 

He looks at it, probably too hard. His eyes prickle, because the wood is peeling and it’s chipped in places, and he wonders how that scorch mark on the right arm rest got there… It wasn’t there when his mom died. The chair seems to be leaning to one side too much and Steve doesn’t think it’ll hold his weight, so he doesn’t sit in it no matter how much he wants to. He can feel Natasha staring at him.

"Barton knows how to woodwork.” She says, matter of fact despite how his face must look, wishing for the past to somehow come back. Wishing that the rocking chair held his mom, or Bucky, or Peggy. Someone he knew. Someone he loved.

Steve looks at Natasha, and she looks no different than usual. Still standing stick straight, hands behind her back. Her eyes aren’t cold exactly, but steely and unemotional. Probably how he looks when he’s not heartbroken like he is now. 

“If I can take a picture of it, make note of its issues, I can ask him how we can fix it." 

"Sure.” He says, and as she takes to wiggling and running her fingers across 80 year old wood, it hits him what she’s said. “We?”

She doesn’t look back at him, just hums a noise that sounds like an affirmative, and Steve is confused. Despite having saved New York together, him and Natasha don’t really know each other. She owes him nothing, he expects nothing from her. He asks why.

“I know what it’s like to have a past.” She responds, by way of explanation, and returns to his side with a note on her phone with several pictures of different angles of the chair and bullet points reading its damage. “I’ll talk to Clint about this after the debriefing. I’m in town for about a week. We’ll start working tomorrow?" 

"Yes, ma'am.” Steve returns, still confused, but grateful all the same. “I can teach you how to crochet in return.”

“I’d be delighted to learn.” She says, and she’s not mocking him, but smiling more genuinely than he’d seen from her before. He hadn’t know how he felt about Natasha before… He decides he likes her.

Side note: I didn’t mean for that to turn into the slight Romanogers-esque thing that it did. It just kind of happened.

anonymous asked:

Black and yellow

Black: 1 fact about the person I like

Already answered, and there’s really no way to expand on it, haha.

Yellow: 7 facts about my childhood

  1. I was quite an outgoing kid until I hit junior high (that’s when the bullying started, around when I was 13).
  2. I stopped the bullying when I was 15 by writing and reading an essay about my bullying in class, to which my bully actually hugged me and did not bother me ever since. It wasn’t until I was 17 that I started to get my confidence back; by then, I stood up to other people’s bullies for them.
  3. In high school, my favourite classes were drama, writing, and psychology.
  4. In elementary school, there was a contest to decide our class mascot. I designed a poster with a dingo on it and wrote, “Like a pack, we stay togather.” The spelling error still haunts me even today.
  5. I used to catch frogs on a golf course and then release them at a boat dock.
  6. I hated math (and still do).
  7. I was the only kid I knew with hearing impairment.
No. Just no.

I can’t deal and most other people can’t either.
People had to leave work to pick up their children being harassed about being deported.
At my school, I broke up 7 fights today.
The other teachers look like their soul has been sucked out.
Some of my kids came in with dark circles and puffy eyes because of being up all night crying.
Some needed extra hugs because they said they didn’t feel safe.
All because this country’s true colors were shown.

My whole family voted for Trump, both the white and black sides, so there is no support there. Just hate and arrogance.

Not only am I the only openly non-straight one in the family, but also the only admitted rape victim. So it’s been effing tough to say the least. I’m not accepted for my sexuality, not believed when I tell my assault story, and not accepted for my political beliefs.

There has to be a silver lining somewhere, I’m just going to keep praying.

Mama’s Boy (Part 10)

Requested: Yes! (I’m sorry)

A/N: I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m soooooo Sorry! I feel horrible for how long this took. I was just hating this chapter so much and then Gabby helped me fix this. So go send her thousands of thank yous to her!!! I really hope you guys enjoy this. I’m really happy with it now ~Cel

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

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my 7 yr old baby cousin came over for some homework help and when I asked her why she was having so much trouble with school when she was such a smart girl  she then told me a “secret” about her teacher being racist and overlooking the black kids so because of that she doesnt learn much in school  and she gets in trouble for talking when she tries to get help from her friends.

im so tired.

Which Bat Family Member Are You? Quiz

This is influenced a lot by fandom and is just designed to be in good fun. Some answers I made up on the fly, so let me know if you have a better suggestion for an answer choice. Inspired by this cartoon and too many Buzzfeed quizzes.

1) Someone tells you the following joke: “two men walked into a bar. The third one ducked.” How do you react?

a) Silence.

b) “Diggity dank! I can’t wait to tell my friends and family!”

c) “That’s very droll, sir.”

d) Curses.

e) Polite laughter. The joke is terrible, but you really like the person who said it and you don’t want to hurt his/her/their feelings.

f) Threats of bodily harm because the teller has wasted your time and lowered your intelligence.

g) Eye roll.

h) English makes no sense at times.

i) Delighted laughter.

j) Punch the teller of the joke in the face.

2) How do you feel about hugs?

a) They are best reserved for special occasions such as coming back from “the dead” or losing custody of your ward.

b) They’re awesome!

c) Not too many hugs - I’m British.

d) I wish my jerkface mom had hugged me more.

e) They’re okay.

f) Do not defile me with your expressions of sentimentality!

g) Dads give the best hugs.

h) They are an excellent form of body-language-based communication (and they feel good!).

i) I’m a fan.

j) No hugs; only justice.

3) Who was/is the best male Robin?

a) No comment.

b) Tim.

c) All the young masters had their own special strengths. It’s impossible to compare them.

d) Bruce probably thinks it’s Dick (stupid golden boy!) but the Replacement is a close second in his mind.

e) Dick.

f) Damian.

g) Well, Dick was the cutest …

h) I haven’t seen them all in action so I cannot decide.

i) Why is Steph not even a choice?!

j) None of them. They all possess glaring weaknesses and should be fired.

4) What is your food or drink of choice?

a) Something expensive.

b) Cereal.

c) Tea.

d) Chili dogs (and bread).

e) Whatever’s being served.

f) Something nutritious that will help me to become Batman when I’m older.

g) Pasta or soup.

h) Ice cream.

i) Waffles.

j) Rats.

5) When fighting crime, pants/trousers are __________.

a) Better with the underwear on the outside.

b) Unnecessary.

c) Clean and pressed.

d) Nice but if the hand-me-downs don’t include pants, I won’t complain.

e) Necessary and a much-needed upgrade!

f) Practical and match my sweet hoodie.

g) Better than a skirt. What was Bette thinking?

h) There. I don’t overthink it because I can kick butt in anything.

i) A part of all my outfits.

j) Fully armored to enhance my unnaturally ripped thigh muscles.

6) My parents are ________.

a) Mind-bogglingly rich, civic-minded pillars of the community.

b) Loving, working-class people who do more with less.

c) British.

d) Pieces of shit.

e) Wealthy, well-meaning, but a tad distant.

f) Complicated.

g) Police officers.

h) Assassins and martial artists.

i) A doctor and a low-level criminal.

j) DEAD!!!!!!

7) What is your ideal pet?

a) I guess I could handle a crime-solving dog.

b) An elephant!

c) None. Pets ruin the gardens.

d) A dog that attacks drug dealers and other lowlifes.

e) A robin.

f) A cat.

g) A black canary.

h) A puppy that was given to me by Superboy.

i) Whatever I could smuggle back from Africa.

j) Orphans.

8) Who are your friends?

a) Aliens, princesses, the usual.

b) Everyone.

c) A kind-hearted physician.

d) Whoever I can lure away from my older brother’s posse.

e) My big bro, my teammates, some kids at school.

f) My older “brother” and an orphan.

g) Ass-kicking ladies.

h) Steph.

i) Cass.

j) I spit in the face of friendship.

9) What is your level of education?

a) Undergraduate at an Ivy League.

b) One semester of college that taught me nothing.

c) Acting school, butler school, secret-agent school, medic school, etc.

d) School of hard knocks.

e) I think I stopped going to high school because I had better things to do.

f) Private tutoring.

g) PhD in library studies and a law degree.

h) Whatever I can pick up.

i) Still in college.

j) Seven years of punishing my brain and body.

10) What’s your favorite color?

a) Charcoal.

b) Blue.

c) Clean, crisp white linen.

d) Red! And I called it first!

e) Red and black.

f) Grey.

g) Green.

h) Black.

i) Purple.

j) Yellow (*evil laugh*)

11) What’s your weapon of choice?

a) Gadgets.

b) Escrima sticks and acrobatic moves.

c) Rapier wit.

d) Guns.

e) A staff.

f) Swords and knives.

g) Computers and intellect.

h) Every fiber of my being is a finely-honed weapon that I use to support the forces of good.

i) Martial arts and a can-do attitude.

j) Fists and general assholery.

12) What’s your romantic type?

a) Morally-ambiguous ass-kickers.

b) Strong, principled people (red hair a plus)

c) I’ve been largely asexual and aromantic since the 1980s.

d) My dad’s ex.

e) Not sure.

f) Tt. I am above such carnal matters.

g) Ridiculously-attractive people.

h) Sweeties from the MidWest.

i) Earnest, intelligent, hard-working sidekicks.

j) Whoever I can get my hands on.

13) My greatest quality is _______________.

a) My money.

b) My ass.

c) My wisdom and house-keeping skills.

d) My ability to cheat death.

e) My intelligence.

f) My everything - I am genetic perfection.

g) My inner strength.

h) My strong personal code of conduct.

i) My perseverance.

j) I have no redeeming qualities.

14) What is your preferred mode of transportation?

a) A luxury car from my fleet.

b) A motorcycle or a VW Bus.

c) Alf-cycle.

d) A Harley Davidson.

e) Redbird.

f) Flying car.

g) Customized van.

h) Plane.

i) Public transportation.

j) A goddamned Batmobile - and don’t you dare mock the name.

15) What do you like to wear?

a) Designer duds.

b) Garish shirts that represent the worst of 20th-century fashion.

c) A tux.

d) Combat boots.

e) Suits, workout clothes, jeans - I rock them all.

f) Converse and an iPod.

g) Glasses.

h) Comfy yet chic clothes.

i) Typical college-student wear.

j) Warm clothing while my ward shivers in a cold, dank cave/basement.

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made a playlist consisting of songs that reminded me of 5sos. x

1. the cops - the front bottoms

2. i’m just a kid - simple plan

3. after midnight - blink 182

4. high school never ends - bowling for soup

5. skeleton - the front bottoms

6. dance floor anthem - good charlotte

7. welcome to the black parade - my chemical romance

8. if these sheets were states - all time low

9. in too deep - sum 41

10. damned if i do ya (damned if i don’t) - all time low

11. judas decapitation - say anything

12. pretty little girl - blink 182

13. the phrase that pays - the academy is…

14. psycho killer - talking heads

15. heros - all time low

16. the nights - avicii

17. holiday - green day

18. robbers - the 1975

19. glowing eyes - twenty one pilots

20. wow i can get sexual too - say anything

  • The teacher of 5SOS' when they were still in school comes out on the stage during their interview.
  • Interviewer: Were they good students?
  • Teacher: They were fantastic students.
  • Ashton: I wasn't even at their school, I was the black sheep. Where's my teacher?! Is she gonna come out? *looks backstage*

When I was 14, I moved to a town that was maybe 95% white. Racism was palpable and I and the few other black students felt very uncomfortable. The height of our discomfort came around February, when our school did absolutely NOTHING to even acknowledge the fact that it was black history month. When I asked a teacher (a white man) why the school made no mention of it, he shrugged and said, “why would they?” The message we took from this was, hey, you guys aren’t welcome here, so why would we accommodate you?

Then, one day while I was walking toward the bus stop after school, I was called a nigger by one of the redneck dudes at our school. It was the first time that had ever happened to me, and I was shocked. Hurt. Angry. I felt a huge weight that somehow transcended my own experience—like it triggered a painful memory that was wired into my DNA, one I had carried with me without ever realizing. I yelled and cursed the dude as his friends and other kids watched. Some laughed. Most people just…avoided looking. The other black kids (there were maybe 7 others in a school of 1000) weren’t there. No one backed me up or defended me. I felt like I was yelling at blank space, but I remember being proud of myself for not crying.

The next day, my parents called the administration, and I was brought in for meetings with the principal, who apologized profusely. The kid who called me the N word was suspended. They assured me they had a zero tolerance policy for “intolerance”. I wasn’t truly concerned with that, to be honest. I told the principal that as long as the school continued to ignore the presence and need of its black students, it created an environment that allowed racism to thrive. That I was tired of watching my friends get into fights instigated by white kids who knew they wouldn’t be blamed.

He asked me how they could fix it, and I told him I wanted to start a black history month program. That even something as small as taking the time out to remind our peers what black people have contributed to this country for five minutes a day, would help us feel more included. He said okay, they could do that…as long as I ran it. So I did. I went home that night and created an outline of announcements to be read every morning for the remainder of that February. I was fourteen and doing a job the adults around me should have done, because none of them wanted to do it. I went to the front office every morning and read the facts and bios of black inventors, artists, doctors etc that I’d compiled. I don’t know how well it was received, and sometimes felt like I was being pandered to by the adults around me, but it still made me feel better. And the other black students agreed.

I continued the program all through high school, with it growing bigger each year. I joined student council (kind of a political decision tbh, as this way I could streamline the program into their agenda, so it could live on after I graduated), made more friends who helped create bulletin boards and flyers. I was interviewed by a local newspaper and had a phone interview with CNN. I got letters and cards from black students and even people on the board of education thanking me for my work. A lot of those were really touching, and it was just crazy to me that they even thought enough to write me, and honestly, i was a little unnerved. I never set out to impress people or fluff my resume. I literally was just trying to belong. To feel safe.

Anyway, this is a poorly written, error-ridden iphone message to say: Happy black history month. For many of us, it’s so much more than just spouting names and facts—it’s about reminding ourselves and our communities that we are here. We’ve BEEN here. And we deserve the right to feel celebrated and valued just like anyone else.


maddnessi  asked:

We're talking about kids saying racist things? When I was 7, I had a birthday party and could only invite 5 people. One of the girls who wasn't invited asked why I didn't choose her, and 7 year old me thought saying she wasn't my bff was awful so I told her "My parents don't let black people in the house". My parents were called to the school and lectured not to teach me to be racist, and they were mortified. It's been 10 years and they haven't let me live it down

oh my god

Deaf 090 (For Writers)

It’s been a while since I posted anything informative about Deaf and Deaf culture, so here is some (verybasic culture stuff.

But here is my warning: the information below is enough to be dangerous.  Just because you read this little list doesn’t mean you know everything about Deaf people or their cultural practices.  It is merely a primer for you to use as you write to make your characters more realistic, and it’s certainly not comprehensive.  The best way to learn is to willingly put yourself among Deaf people and see how we  interact.

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