throwing posts like this in the mix

trying to explain the basics like: 

•how the clips come out, 

•the way the episodes are compiled of said clips, 

•all of the social media accounts the characters have (no the characters aren’t real people),

•the way the main character changes every season, 

•all the different squad names and ships 

to people who have never heard of skam is actually close to impossible without looking like this:

 and then julie goes throwing hei briskeby into the mix 

Mixed Latinx positivity post

I saw a Latinx positivity post that throws mixed people under the bus so here’s my own to spread positivity for the mixed, coming from your local friendly multi-ethnic Latina who’s tired of ignorance!

Shoutout to the Latinx who grew up with their culture but feel like they don’t deserve to have it due to not being “Latin enough”, and those who grew up without their culture and are made to feel like they don’t have a right to call themselves Latin because of it

Shoutout to the Latinx who constantly get surprised reactions upon speaking Spanish/Portuguese because “I never would have guessed!”, and those who want to learn but are shunned because they can’t speak the language(s)

Shoutout to the dark-skinned/black Latinx who are told they look too dark to be Latin and have their Latin ethnicities invalidated because of it, and are constantly being demonized by both colorist and anti-Latin people

Shoutout to the white Latinx who are told they look too pale to be Latin and have their Latin ethnicities invalidated because of it, and are pitted against their own ethnic groups by being grouped with non-Latin racists

Shoutout to the pale Asian-coded Latinx who are told they look too Asian to be Latin and have their Latin ethnicities invalidated because of it, and are rarely represented in any type of media as actual Latin people who exist

Shoutout to the Latinx who don’t look like the stereotype and just generally have to suffer from people who act like Latinx have only one race

Shoutout to the Latinx who are black/white/Asian and have to decide which part of their identity to leave off of forms that group race and ethnicity together

Shoutout to the Latinx who are generally just sick and tired of having their Latin ethnicities erased in some way because of things they can’t control

I see you, you are enough. You are Latin.
Te veo, eres suficiente. Tú eres Latino.
Eu te vejo, você é o suficiente. Você é Latino.

becausemyfriendskeptasking  asked:

Mun I don't know if it's come up before or if you have but would you ever consider doing a nuzlocke comic?

Well, I’ve never done a nuzlocke challenge before but even if I did, no, I dont think I’ll ever do a whole huge comic. The small pokemon comics that I do are just a fun way for me to spend my free time inbetween projects! :D

However, they obviously do reflect my own experience with the games or show headcanons that I have of how I’d like the story to continue for certain characters (like with the latest comic with guzma). And I do have a fully fleshed out team that I didnt come to introduce yet, but would like to! So I guess you won’t ever see a full comic from me, but snippets of storytelling that may connect to each other and give you an idea of the personalities ect. of my own character / trainersona and her team! 

Or I do random comics that dont connect to ANYTHING
thats a very likely thing to happen too

pure relief

A story in which Harry and Ron talk about bisexuality and chat about who they fancy one rainy Friday night…

inspired by this post

It was their fourth year at Hogwarts, and Hermione was dating Viktor Krum. This, naturally, did not sit very well with Ron Weasley.

One rainy Friday afternoon, he was sat in the Great Hall next to Harry, who was pouring his eyes over that morning’s Daily Prophet. Across the hall, Hermione leaned in toward Viktor, pointing something out in the book that was open on the table in front of them. Their heads bumped slightly, and the two of them laughed. Then Viktor leaned in to kiss Hermione on the cheek.

Ron couldn’t look away.

It was as if his eyes were glued to the two of them, and a hole was burning in the bottom of his stomach.

Harry noticed, and nudged Ron’s arm with his elbow. “I’m sorry, mate.”

Ron snapped his head toward his best friend, swallowing the dread in his throat. “It’s fine,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. “It won’t last, anyway.” 

When Harry didn’t respond, Ron suddenly stood up, nearly knocking over the glass of water in front of him. “I’m gonna go upstairs,” he mumbled, clutching his stomach. “I’m not feeling good.”

“Okay,” Harry said, looking up at him. “I’ll come up soon.” 

Ron took one last look at the happy couple across the room before turning and shuffling out of the Great Hall.


When he finally reached the boys’ dormitories, Ron found his school bag and rifled through it until he found what he was looking for:

The Viktor Krum action figure he had gotten at the Quidditch World Cup, just months earlier. 

He snapped it in half and threw it on the floor.

Flopping down on his bed, he sighed deeply as his head made contact with his pillows. (They much more comfortable than the ones he had on his bed back home.) He looked over at the wall, where he had hung a small poster of Krum, as well.

He felt an urge to rip it down. But in all honestly, Ron was too tired to get up.

It was then that Harry entered the room. “Hey, how’re you feeling?” He sat down on his bed and looked across the room, at Ron. 

The red-headed boy sat up, clearing his throat. “All right. It’s my stomach again.” His stomach had been bothering him for about a week now. After letting go of the denial he had held onto for a few days, Ron had accepted that it was something more than just abdominal pain. He didn’t know what, exactly - anxiety, worry, stress - but it was not something he was enjoying.

And it was undoubtedly something to do with Hermione and Viktor.

George and Fred suddenly bursted in, laughing about something Ron couldn’t care less about. “Hey, guys,” said George, before bending to pick something up off the floor.

“What’s this, Ron?” he said, holding up the Krum figurine, which was now two separate pieces. “Finally broke up with your boyfriend, did you?”

“Ha!” Fred laughed, clapping his hands together. “Good one, George!” 

Ron groaned, ignoring the swirling feeling in his intestines. “Would you two bugger off?” 

“Fine,” George said, dramatically dropping the action figure pieces next to Ron and following Fred out of the room. He started a new conversation with his twin as they walked out the door, Ron and Harry already forgotten to them.

Ron could feel his skin burning with heat. He hated that about his complexion - his skin turned red when he was angry, or embarrassed, so people could always tell how he felt. It made him feel vulnerable.

He turned slightly on his bed, so that Harry couldn’t see his face. His cheeks were on fire, and Ron was pretty sure that was due to the fact that his brother had just referred to Viktor Krum as his boyfriend.

He had been confused about the whole thing for a while. It took him some time to realize that when he was looking at Viktor and Hermione together, he wasn’t just jealous of Krum.

He was jealous of Hermione, too. Or maybe their relationship altogether. 

That made his stomach churn. 

“Ron?” Harry said, from across the room. Ron squeezed his eyes shut. “Are you okay?”

After slowly exhaling and blinking his eyes open, Ron turned to face Harry again. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he said, shaking his head, and focusing his eyes on a spot on his bed quilt. “I’m used to it.”

Harry slowly stood up, and moved toward Ron’s bed. He stopped at the foot of it, as if he didn’t know if Ron wanted him so close. “Just so you know, it’s okay if you like Viktor like that,” he said, wrapping his hand around one of the posts on Ron’s bed.

Ron’s heart rate seemed to increase rapidly inside his chest.

“W-What?” he stuttered. He had never talked about this out loud with anyone - not even himself. To hear Harry say that was like someone shaking him out of a dream. 

“I’m just saying… there’s nothing wrong with fancying boys,” Harry continued. “In fact, I think Cedric is quite attractive.” 

The two boys finally locked eyes. “Really?” Ron said, a wave of relief crashing into his chest.

Harry moved to sit down on the edge of the bed, and Ron let him. “Yeah,” he answered, nodding his head slowly.

Ron processed this. He couldn’t fathom a better way for the two of them to be talking about this. He felt as though a blank page was open in front of him, and now he could say whatever he wanted. And someone would understand.

“That’s great, Harry,” was all he came up with, because he wasn’t ready to pour his entire heart out just yet.

A bit of pink rose to Harry’s cheeks. “Thanks,” he muttered, looking into his lap. And then, “And Draco’s not too bad either.”

“Okay,” Ron said, his eyes wide. “Now that’s crossing a line.” 

“I’m not gonna do anything about it!” Harry said, a hint of a laugh under his voice. “He’s just nice to look at,” he said, shrugging. 

“Blimey, Harry,” Ron said, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you just said that.” 

A small laugh escaped Harry’s lips. “Are you telling me that you’re more put off by the idea of me and Malfloy than the idea of me being with a boy in the first place?”

“Yes,” Ron said, immediately. The boys were silent for a moment after that. 

The rain knocked loudly against the window.

Ron took a big breath before admitting, “I think I might fancy Dean a bit, as well.” He had said it barely above a whisper, with the paralyzing fear that Dean was anywhere near their shared dorm.

Before Harry could respond, Ron added, “But I also still like Hermione… Is that okay?”

A warm smile spread across Harry’s face. “Of course that’s okay. You can like both, Ron.” 

One side of Ron’s mouth upturned into a grin. “I can?”

His heart was still pounding, just from talking about this.

“Yes,” Harry reassured, smiling again. “It’s called bisexuality. I think I’ve fully accepted it, in terms of myself.”

“Oh, that’s right. You and my sister.”

Harry suddenly looked flustered, and brought a hand to the back of his neck. “There’s nothing going on between me and Ginny!”

“Uh huh,” Ron replied, giving him a sarcastic smile. “And now you want to throw Malfoy into the mix too.”

“Merlin, Ron, would you let that go?” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “I fully regret telling you that.”

Ron laughed. A full, whole-hearted laugh. And for the first time in the entire week, he felt like he was going to be okay.

i don’t normally do tags,(and i’m not going to do them in the future), but a lot of people responded on the post with my idea for this, so i’m going to tag all of those lovely people :)

@someday-for-sure @fionathetrashcan @ronweasleydefensesquad @marvelfoodlover @stuckwith-harry @echoofhopecreations @atelophobish @awkward-little-turtleduck @harryjamesheadcanons @hermadnessmac @biquotes

Thank you for reading this! It includes two things that I think deserve way more attention than they get: bisexuality and Ron Weasley.

Things I picked up in the bonus Welcome to the Madness manga

Part 1:

Lilia and Yakov drinking together. And Yakov saying “my drinking with Lilia”

Christophe’s myterious man appearing to be having dinner with other coaches. And he seems to be talking with Chris’ coach. 

Yuri saying Otabek is “JUST” 18, which implies their age gap is almost non-existence to Yuri XD

Yuri, despite only meeting Otabek a few days ago, being comfortable enough to “bitch” with Otabek, and with him only :)) (Anddddd he almost friend breaking up with Otabek :))) Precious) 

Mila hanging out with Sara, Michele and Emil. Sara being precious and Michele being mean to Yuri. Sara planning to get Emil to throw Yuri down a pool :)))

Part 2:

Emil calling Yuri a “naughty kitty” :))))

Michele only having Emil’s number. #OTP 

And Georgi not even having Yuri’s number

Mila demanding Otabek’s email :)))

Seung-Gil dreaming about beating Yuri for the gold, how cute <3 

DJBeks (●♡∀♡) And that smirk he’s hiding behind his hand XD

Yuri jumping on Otabek’s DJ station, likely destroying every single pre-mixed DJ set of his :)))

Part 3:

Yuri asking Otabek to be on the ice with him MINUTES before his EX. Which means that glove scene is absolutely spontaneous and not practiced. OMG Bake is hella smooth  ♡✧( ु•⌄• )

like it like it is pt. 2

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | Follow on AO3

A series of drabbles counting down the six weeks from Iwaizumi’s birthday to Oikawa’s.

Tooru is talkative.

His default mode is chatty.

When they’re tucked away in their shared apartment, limbs sprawled haphazardly one over the other, breathing synced and the television on low, Tooru’s voice is what fills Hajime’s silences.

He knows how the silence eats away at him.

How it picks away at him, unraveling him; how hard it is.

How heavy.

Most people are turned off by the fact that Hajime doesn’t talk very much. They take his sharp looks and slow, contemplative silences as a signal that he doesn’t want to hear what they have to say; that he likes the silence.

Liking the silence. It’s almost an amusing thought.

“Hajime,” Tooru says, his voice quiet and heavy with fatigue. He nudges Hajime with his nose, nuzzling against his chest. Hajime moves his hand up Tooru’s arm, thumbs brushing across his shoulder lazily. He traces patterns, soft swirls moving into circles. He hums to show he’s listening, as always, so Tooru keeps going. “You were right, too, you know? About that guy in my class? I thought he was just an idiot, but turns out he was just nervous about the presentation, too…”

Hajime closes his eyes, focusing in on the sound of Tooru’s voice, on the rumble in his chest as he talks. Low, relaxed. Constant. He laughs, shifting his weight, and Hajime takes the opportunity to pull him a little closer.

“I wish you coulda seen him, Hajime. It was like watching a train wreck. I didn’t even know what to say - he just kept talking and talking and oh my god, even the prof was laughing his ass off by the end of it.” He snorts a little, trying to hide it behind his hand, embarrassed, but Hajime always sees it. He just smiles, pressing his nose into Tooru’s hair, leaving a small kiss there.

Tooru’s skin on his is warm and soft. The slide of their limbs together sends little shivers up his spine. He’s not wearing anything other than a pair of boxers, and Hajime appreciates the closeness, loves the skin-on-skin contact. Tooru keeps talking, warm and comforting and safe, each word breaking down Hajime’s walls. Slowly. At just a pace Hajime is comfortable with.

He starts leaning closer the more he talks, the later it gets; he sighs into Hajime’s touches, which get a little harder, more insistent. Hajime squeezes Tooru’s shoulder blades, sliding his hands down his back, feeling the strong muscles there from much hard work. Tooru inhales when Hajime massages his fingers in, working out the tension in his back. Hajime knows that he spends way too many hours hunched over his desk, pencil in hand, agonizing over every little piece of the puzzle of his work, delicately creating works of art, sometimes getting so into it he forgets to eat. 

Every day ends like this; sometimes earlier in the evening, other times not until three in the morning when they’re smelling of cheap beer and cigarette smoke, stumbling in and laughing as they catch each other in the doorway, hurried kisses shared as they try to navigate back to the bedroom.

“How was your day?” Tooru asks, not opening his eyes. He shifts a little to give Hajime better access, stretching out his toes when Hajime hits a spot just right. “Good?”

Hajime nods slowly, now comfortable. It’s just him and Tooru, alone and safe in their bedroom; the curtains drawn tight and their phones long forgotten, tucked away into backpacks. Everything else is forgotten and finally, at last, the Hajime that only Tooru knows comes to light.

“Yeah,” he says, digging his fingers into Tooru’s lower back, smiling when he keens a little, “It was good… my train was late in the morning, though, so I was almost late to class. And my pink lighter, you know, the one with the flowers on it?”

“Your favourite one?” Tooru asks lazily, lifting his head to throw Hajime a smirk.

Tooru may be talkative, but he also really knows how to listen.

Hajime smiles. “Yeah,” he responds, leaning down to kiss the smirk right off his face. “That one. Well, I’d left it on our patio table, so I couldn’t even have a smoke while I waited for it…”

  • tumblr: I wish there was more media with female protagonists
  • me: You know there's a great series called The Lunar Chronicles by Marissa Meyer
  • tumblr: I wish more sci-fi was marketed towards women
  • me: Well, the Lunar chronicles-
  • tumblr: I wish there was more media like Sailor Moon
  • me: The Lunar Chronicles are actually very inspired by-
  • tumblr: I wish there was more media with mixed-race couples
  • me: The main couple in the Lunar Chron-
  • tumblr: I wish that we had more woc princesses!
  • me: The princesses in the Lunar chronicles are-
  • tumblr: But, wait, get this. Cinderella...but with an amputee!
  • me: *throws the Lunar Chronicles at you* THIS IS FAVORITE BOOK AND YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW IT
Crisis of Confidence

I’m having the worst time writing. Like many of us writers, I think that my writing is shit. When this happens, I turn to fan fiction. But even now, I’m dying over this.

So here’s a snippet. I normally wouldn’t do this, but I I’m posting an unfinished piece to see what people think. This is my first attempt at a Reader narrator, and I think that’s throwing me off. Thoughts?

Seth RollinsXReader


You’re in the middle of a mixed tag team match. Your partner, Seth Rollins, currently had a choke hold on Chris Jericho. Charlotte glared at you from across the ring. You were the new number one contender to the women’s championship. The match was weeks away, but this would be the first time in months that you were paired against Charlotte. She was more than intimidating. You were determined not to let your fear show.

Jericho broke the choke hold, wiggling away from Seth quickly enough that he tagged in Charlotte. Because of the stupid rules, that meant you were in.

“You got this,” Seth said as you switched places.

You vaguely registered the fact that he was especially attractive when he was sweaty. The thought completely drifted away when you locked eyes with Charlotte.

Her smile was smug. And for good reason. You slowly circled each other. You felt like prey being stalked. The feeling didn’t sit well with you.

You attacked first.

In a blink, you were on the ground. Charlotte had the cover. You kicked out at two.

You scrambled away on your butt. You needed to focus. You needed this win.

“Get up, dammit,” Seth yelled.

You growled in general annoyance. Using the ropes as leverage, you pulled yourself to your feet.

You could do this.

You charged Charlotte, grabbing her around her middle. The crowd roared as you flipped her over your head in a suplex. You hooked her leg.

Jericho broke the cover by dragging you away by your leg. You flailed, kicking at him. Seth appeared, superkicking Jericho, who let you go as he fell.

Fuming, you started kicking Jericho’s middle.

“Whoa, whoa,” Seth grabbed you by your middle and dragged you, flailing, away from Jericho. His bare chest was slick and warm against your back. For a moment, you didn’t hate the skimpy sports bra you were wearing.

“Put me down!” You shrieked. You elbowed him in the stomach, rolling away when he dropped you. You turned on him, fuming. He was bent over, clutching his stomach. “I don’t need your help!”

When he straightened, his face was set in anger. He started to say something, but you pushed him as hard as you could. The crowd reacted with “oooh”s.

Seth barely budged. His jaw clenched as he glared at you.

Then an arm was around your middle and Charlotte pulled you into a small package. Surprised, you didn’t react in time.

One, two, three.

The bell clanged and Charlotte let you go.

You covered your face with your hands. Once more, you let your temper get the best of you.

When you opened your eyes, Seth was standing over you. His hands were clenched into fists.

“What was that?” He demanded.

You slowly climbed to your feet and ignored him. Charlotte and Jericho were already down the ramp, celebrating their victory. You watched them, angry and defeated.

“Hey, hey, hey. Y/N, I’m talking to you.” Seth’s voice suddenly came over the arena. You turned to find him with microphone in hand. “What’s wrong with you? You claim to be a fighter, huh? You’re the best thing to happening to the women’s division, huh?”

Without a microphone, you raise your chin, glaring at him the best you could.

“You’re nothing but a pain in the ass. A whiney little girl.”

Your anger boiled. You stomped over to Seth. He didn’t move when you pushed at him again. Damn his strength.

You grabbed the microphone out of his hand. “I’m a pain in the ass?! That’s rich, coming from the cockiest jerk in the company. Tell me, Seth, when was the last time you won a match when it mattered? Huh, ‘champ?’ When push comes to shove, at the end of the day, you can’t. Get. It. Up.” The crowd went crazy at that.

You dropped the mic at his feet. In your haze of hurt and anger, you made the stupid mistake of staring at him and taking a step closer. The look on his face was dangerous. You didn’t care. You weren’t going to take his brand of shit anymore.

That’s when he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you against him. Then his mouth was on yours and your head was spinning and the crowd was roaring or was that the blood in your ears?

You kissed him back because damn if you haven’t thought about it. And like everything else, he knew what he was doing.

He broke the kiss first. His self centered smirk turned your passion back into rage.

Two can play this game.

Bracing yourself with his shoulders, you jumped up, pulling his face back down to yours as you wrapped your legs around his waist. The bastard held you as if you weighed nothing.

Then you maneuvered so your legs were at his shoulders and your head was near the ground. And you threw him in a hurricanrana.

You left him, stunned, in the middle of the ring.

Everyone stared at you backstage but no one talked to you. You stormed into the women’s locker room and punched one of the metal lockers. The wrap around your knuckles numbed the pain.

“You ok?”

You looked up. Bayley, Nia, and Sasha were in the locker room. You didn’t even know that they were still here.

“Peachy.” Your cutting tone proved that you weren’t so peachy. You swung another punch at an open locker. It slammed shut with a satisfying bang.

The door to the locker room swung open. You glared at the entrant.

Seth FREAKIN Rollins. With his bare chest and his drying hair and his god damn arms.

“Get out,” he growled, casting a glance at the three other women.

You ignored everything around you as they left. You started unwrapping your knuckles, really pulling at the tape.

“What the fuck was that?”

You continued ignoring Seth, turning your back on him. One hand was free from the tape. You worked on the other hand.

“Don’t fucking turn your back to me.” His hand on your shoulder. It took all your effort to not flip him over your shoulder. Or try, anyway. You knew he only sold that hurricanarra because it would look cool, because the audience would pop, because his reputation could take it.

That pissed you off even more.

But you let him spin you around. You slapped his hands away.

“Don’t touch me, Rollins,” you said.

He grabbed a fistful of your hair, right at the root. “You don’t talk to me like that.”

“Let. Me. Go.”

He leaned in so that his mouth was right next to your ear. His hair tickled your cheek. “Make. Me.” He whispered, his breath hot against your neck.

You snaked your fingers into his hair, scratching at his scalp as you pulled tight, and tugged at his hair. Hard.

It surprised him enough that he released his hold.

You put a good five foot distance between the two of you. He was bigger, but you fought dirty. There was a reason most of the fans hated you.

“What is your problem?” You yelled.

“My problem?” He cackled there, that infuriating cackle. “Sweetheart, you’re the one with the problem.”

“Yeah, and that problem is named Seth Rollins.”

“Please.” He oozed attitude. “I’ve seen you look at me, babe. You’re just pissy because I won’t fuck you.”

Won’t. That one word hit you in the stomach like a bullet.


You weren’t like most of the women in the division. You didn’t care about looking sexy or being sexy or pretty or anything. You wore pants and boots, not cute bright ones like Bayley, but dark ones. You didn’t wear skimpy tops. You wore sports bras and a tank top. Your hair wasn’t long and curled. You kept it shoulder length and out of your face in two french braids. You were here to kick ass. To dominate. To show them that the women could be just as good as the men.

But it worked too well.

Because even Seth Rollins won’t look your way twice.

You felt tears prickle at the corners of your eyes but you refused to cry, especially not in front of him.

Instead, you ripped off the last of the tape from around your hands.

And somehow your anger grew even more.

“Why did you kiss me in the middle of the ring, then?” You asked. Calmly. Too calmly.

Smug. Egotistical. You needed a thesaurus to describe his smirk. “Because I needed to shut you up somehow.”

You smiled. But it was your crazy smile.

“So you’re a tease,” you said.

“I’m not a tease.”

You sigh. “Then I was right. You really can’t get it up.”

He laughed. “This is your plan? This is how you’re trying to seduce me?”

“Rollins, if I were trying to seduce you, you’d be on your back and I’d be sitting on your face.”

“I don’t think so.”

You stepped toward him. “Is that a challenge?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, stepping closer to you.


You were chest to chest now.

“Because,” his lips hovered over yours. “I’d have to be interested.”

Your breath hitched as his lips grazed yours, soft, barely there. More like a whisper than a kiss.

“And I’m not.” His heat was gone suddenly. You blinked, unable to focus for a moment. When you did, he was smirking again, across the room, arms folded, biceps bulging. Then he was turning, walking away, leaving.

“What?” You asked. Everything was confusing for a moment. He had that effect on you.

“I said,” he spelled it out slowly, as if your english wasn’t too good. “I’m not interested in you.”

And then he was gone. Final words and all.

You tugged at the last of the wrist wraps and pretended that your eyes weren’t blurry with tears.

Rant on Destiel.

Okay all this time I was happy shit posting my ship and all that nonsense and then came 12x19. SERIOUSLY??? Fam that shit is straight out of a fan fic that I had to watch it twice to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.

Getting angry when cas isn’t responding to his calls??
“Yes, dumbass. We.” Mix tape???
Throwing car keys???

ITS A LEGit angsty teen movie

Also like that last moment when cas was talking about saving Kelly’s baby and shit and saying good bye to the boys I legit thought that dean was going to get a lil kiss on the cheek BC IT FELT LIKE A ROM COM FAM.

Please let season 12 be the season where destiel is canon bc my shipper heart is sad and damaged now

anonymous asked:

Sorry to be obtuse but.. what is happening with taz????

oof, okay, so i dont really want to dive too far into it but

basically like a week ago this post got really popular in which a jewish person talked about how green skin on witches/wizards had antisemitic roots and that green taakos played into that

but then a few other jewish people disagreed with them saying there was no such association? but by that point people who were already against green taakos had latched onto that argument to support their stance

and while theres some really good points being made about people’s tendency to make the most popular character skinny blonde and white, thats a problem in every fanbase and isnt at all specific to taako? but people are acting like its the first time this has ever come up

so by now its all an ambiguous mess of whats okay and what isnt, and everybody seems to have a different opinion on where these lines begin and end

then of course you throw callout culture into the mix and youve got people essentially competing with each other over how outraged they can be about it all, harassing popular artists and posting strongly opinionated diatribes on subjects theyre not especially informed in

and its not quite boiled over yet but you can like. feel it coming. the fandoms gonna be a hellish pot of discourse over the next few weeks and who knows if well come out of this stronger or if its just gonna keep plunging into the abyss. im obviously not a fan of white taako myself, but its sure as hell not something you send threats over

at this point i personally plan on just keeping my head down, drawing shitty comics, and answering as few asks about it as possible


Pairing(s): Peter Parker x reader, Natasha Romanoff x teen sister!reader

Summary: This “Civil War” business is complicated enough for you, a Romanoff with powers over electricity. Throw a cute boy on the enemy’s side into the mix, and you’ve got one of the most ridiculous battles you’ve ever fought on your hands

Warnings: Violence, swearing

A/N:  I’ve written part 2 already, I’ll post it tomorrow or the day after, let me know if you’d like to be tagged :)

Originally posted by figma

Keep reading

My days

I approach every morning with a blank canvas in my mind… but even on nothing but white I still see the vanishing point. That spot at the end where the goal I am trying to get to exists. I place lighthouses along the way… beacons of hope and despair and greatly clouded clarity that all amalgamate into something that somehow shapes and forms my day.

Color slowly begins to fuse its way in… with good mornings and how did you sleeps… with agendas for the day, the tasks at hand, the new messages and questions and pleas for help… colors crash and melt and burn and fuse together.

I see music in color… its both an affliction and a luxury. Theres a term for it and those who are affected by it either end up losing their minds or embracing their inner being. And this last year of my life has been a great collision of both.

Shapes come together to factor my reasoning. When faced with an issue I dont see fires or calamity.. I see squares and circles, and little boxes with things and crumbs of what is to come.

And what is to come?

And what shall it become?

Colors run… bleed… spill across my day. Shapes and forms and circles and cracks in the armor. Its all the same really, depending on your lens. My lens is not rose colored nor deformed, but rather enlightened. thats what it seems anyhow… because I see… I see…

“…If you could see the you that I see when I see you seeing me, you would see yourself so differently… believe me.”

anchors exist for many reasons. Lighthouses exist for a few.

Hold me down. Hold me around…. give me a direction… hope… I dont know… i still believe… I do… I always will. 

My day is shaped by the next message… the immediate and post supposed thoughts. The projects and clients and deadlines… the words and reminders.. the regimented trips to be watched like a hawk as I put a tiny cup to my mouth.

People mistake silence for disinterest.

But…. I am the one to be chased in this great dance. theres always someone waiting. someone watching. someone making notes and throwing my heart to the side to stomp upon my mind. But they dont get very far… because my mind is expansive beyond its parameters.

“… now you see how you are, the wisdom mixed it with all the scars
go on out and watch all the fools pass themselves on by
they never knew, they never do, it was always up to you
you gotta go out and get it for yourself.”

Colors smear… across the page of my day… the skin of my day… the cracks and crevices of my brain filled with that which I cannot feasibly hold in my hands. Water takes the path of least resistance you know…

“this wisdom is sacred, Mister… you must always share it. Its been given to you as a gift for others. I am trusting you to not let it die within you.”

and so promises are kept. because promises were kept.

Sacrifices are kept. 

Solidarity is kept.

“..we only have what we remember”

Colors collide and crash and battle… the war… the worn… its the same sometimes. sometimes its the game we must play. The sound never ends.. never stops… it never will. Nothing nullifies the noise. Nothing satisfies the shapes. I simply close my eyes when I can… retrieve myself in another world.. 

and the canvas starts over again.

“.. I still believe in anchors”

Starcrushed aftermath

So here is a little thing I quickly threw together for a short possible series of what I like to call, the chronicles of Marco Diaz. This will not be a continuations story so don’t expect me to post these in order or to actually connect different point. There going to be like mini stories which I will write to overcome writers block so don’t expect to see them that frequently either … I hope that I don’t have to write them that frequently anyway. Now let’s just get right to it.

Keep reading

That whole meeting them before we usually see them as older men in their 50s is :/// for me because Holmes is 27 and Watson is 29 when they meet, and they’re only 60 and 62 in the chronologically final stories. So like most of the stories take place when Holmes and Watson are like. Young men. Thirties and forties. And frankly they have their shit together, for the most part. More so than. Some adapters have seen fit to portray anyway.

I do think there was a lot of pain and sorrow around Watson’s marriage, since years later, Holmes describes it as his only betrayal. But idfk there was plenty of dramatic potential there without throwing assassins and shit into the mix. Just my humble onion.

anonymous asked:

What do you think of spec about Emma taking the bartender home? Seems like a real possibility. I get Emma trying to move on and past the pain quickly and I get packing up his things if it happens, but idk if I'd be ok with the bartender. Mostly because it doesn't really fit with the show, that's something you'd expect from a teen drama. Do you think it's even a possibility?

A real possibility?? Naaaah, I don’t adhere with that at all! Like I understand Emma is going to be hurting and it seems like she wants to move on in what the promo showed us, but Emma isn’t gonna go have a one-night-stand with some random bartender. I just can’t ever see that happening and I’m a little concerned that people would question her commitment to Killian that much. 

JMo said in the interview that came out following 6.14 that Emma has her superpower and implied that Emma is gonna be able to tell something is wrong. How that is remains to be seen, but we do know from set spoilers that Killian does come back and Captain Swan are united once again (set pics outside the town hall - they were together, holding hands). We also know Killian does give her the ring back (probably reproposes) because she’s seen wearing it - and now we have set pics for the finale, which is post musical/wedding with them wearing their wedding rings… 

You really think, with all this coming, that they’re gonna throw a little ‘cheating drama’ into the mix? 

Sorry, just don’t see it happening. 

(Also, I’m really not sure where this theory became a thing or what possible ‘evidence’ people have outside of that one photo we know was taken with the actor playing the bartender… but it feels like such a disservice to Emma Swan to assume after spending all this time with Killian, fully taking in the Darkness to save him, killing him herself at his request, and then going to the Underworld to bring him back, that she’s gonna go out one night clearly not too long after he disappears and pick up some bartender?? That’s a bit insulting, IMO).

Season 1 Rewatch Notes

First season in the books for the 2017 rewatch from hell.

1x04 – I think this might be the first big time example of Dean as the emotional compass and Sam as Action Man? (Action Sam. I like Action Sam.)

1x05 – This building has been used SO MANY TIMES and I love it. Entrance to the hospital is also the entrance to Crowley’s throne room… and probably a billion other things. :3

1x08 – It’s been a while since I’ve seen this one. It’s still really terrible and results in a severe ‘WTF’ expression appearing on my face, but it’s stellar for character stuff and ramping up brother drama. 

Also, Dean watches Oprah.

1x10 – This is such a weird, absolutely awesome brothers episode. (So many people hate brother drama and I suppose I can understand that, but I fucking love it and will likely never not love it.)

1x14 – God, the music fake-out at the end is fucking AWESOME. You think everything is fine at first, but it suddenly cuts to silence and it is clearly NOT FINE. D:

1x17 – So I know it’s a word because it gets me results on Google, but I have never heard the word ‘persqueeter’ outside of this episode. This may be a regional thing?


This is where my Pyro/Explosions/FIRE!Dean headcanon originates, by the way.

1x18 – I like Hannah with black hair.

I wish they had re-used the piano theme they used in this episode; very pretty and eerie.

1x20 – Dude, I never noticed that Jammer from BSG was a vampire! :D (Seriously, how did I not notice this before? SEE, SOMETHING NEW EVERY TIME.)

Sam is almost… overly unreasonable in this episode. Stop drag racing your dad.

God, Deeeeean. He just wants his family together. YOU WANT DEAN SUMMED UP? WATCH THIS EPISODE.

1x21 – Is it my imagination, or were there a lot more slit throats in the first season?

Jesus christ, my blu-ray just froze on this fucking deer eyeball. (It fixed itself, yay)

I need to read some fucking Colt meta, like, now.

1x22 – Watching Dean question Meg is so eerie when you compare it to any of his question sessions post-4x16.

The sound mix looping of Meg’s yelling as she gets exorcised is still really terrible and it would have been SO EASY TO FIX. *throws SPN some retired LOST sound engineers* DO IT RIGHT

Dean has never listened to a single person ever when it comes to the Colt. (Or… yanno, any mega-weapons in general.)

The scene in the cabin is never not super intense, especially when John is on the ground yelling at Sam to shoot him while Dean is bleeding and begging Sam not to shoot him and JESUS FUCKING CHRIST.


Season 1: Dean was slammed into walls 14 times. Sam was hit on the head 9 times and was choked 4 times.