The Boston Globe reports that hundreds assembled in Copley Square to fight for the validity of science in today’s world of “alternative facts.” Rally participants ranged from Harvard and MIT professors to biomedical engineers to middle school teachers. One uniting factor: Their protest signs were pretty stellar.
On June 10th, Hajime wakes to a warm weight on his chest, and to a familiar scent all around him. It’s calm, and more comforting than Hajime would ever have imagined - it takes him a moment to orient himself, to place this moment in the context of here and now.
“Iwa-chan,” Tooru mumbles, pressing closer, exhaling against Hajime’s chest.
He becomes aware of the fact that they’re both naked, skin against skin, and immediately feels himself blushing, even as he reflexively tightens his grip to bring Tooru in closer. It’s an instinct, at this point, and waking up like this is routine, even though every morning still feels special. Exciting.
“Hey,” he whispers back, and he can’t even pretend to hide the soft happiness in his voice. He squeezes his arms around Tooru, presses his lips to his hair, and feels his heart soar as Tooru nuzzles into him with a contented sigh.
“…happy birthday,” he says, breath tickling Hajime’s neck.
Don’t plan anything for Saturday, Iwa-chan! You’re mine for the entire day, deal with it!
Like there’s any present he’d rather get than an entire day with Tooru.
Well. He’s sure Tooru knows that, anyway. And there’s no use asking what he’s got planned, because Tooru is big on surprises.
“You know,” Tooru whispers, lifting his head just a tiny bit so he can gaze at Hajime, “this is… I used to dream about this. Waking up with you.”
Hajime lets out a tiny chuckle, joy bubbling up inside him.
“Mmh. But this is…” he hesitates, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Then, after a moment’s pause, he cranes his neck and leans up. Hajime lifts a hand, cupping the back of his head as he pulls him closer and brings their lips together. It’s soft, lazy - even so, he can’t help but be reminded of the night before, when their kisses had been much more hurried and desperate. He really gets everything.
Tooru hums into his mouth, parting their lips.
“Hm - this is better,” Tooru finishes. “So much better.”
“…yeah? Sure I can live up to your standards…?” Hajime whispers.
Tooru scoffs, leaning in to kiss him again. “You’re already surpassing every- every fantasy, Hajime.”
“…fantasies, huh?” Hajime says with a smirk. “Really?”
Tooru has the decency to blush, just a little. “…’course,” he mumbles. “I’ve always been- you know. Thinking about you.”
The admission sparks definite interest in Hajime’s gut, sharp enough to break through the soft haze that waking up with Tooru always has him in. It’s unfair, really, that Tooru always has him wrapped around his finger that way, even after years of being together.
And of course Tooru hears the new roughness in his voice, then. Hajime can hear him smile, even as he rolls his hips down against Hajime’s, making him gasp.
“Mhm. Thinking about how it’d feel if- if you kissed me, touched me.”
“Tooru-” “…about all the things I wanna do to you,” Tooru says.
Hajime knows when the time for arguing has passed - Tooru’s fingers are brushing lower, feather-light and warm, and he shudders at the touch.
“…don’t- don’t we have places to be…?” he asks, a last attempt at keeping them on whatever schedule Tooru has planned out for them - but even as he asks this, his fingers are already digging into Tooru’s skin, nails leaving small half-moon prints in their wake.
“Later,” Tooru tells him, into the tiny space between their lips. “Planned for this, too, of course.”
Hajime lets out a laugh, brief and elated.
“Of course,” he echoes, tugging Tooru closer, one hand finding its way into his hair.
I had the honor and horror of explaining/proving today to my local comic book store owner, who is a born-and-raised Jewish dude, that the Black Widow is Jewish. I ended up making a drive home and grabbing my copy of the 83-87 run of her origin story and then going back in person to prove the point today (a week after the original argument)/sit there and watch him repeat, dumbfounded, again and again, “I thought she was Russian Orthodox or something.”
So then I had to explain that Marvel eventually retconned her into having had the Red Room rip out all her memories of life before her parents’ death and thus left her unaware of her heritage. He had a copy of the new version of her origin story. We went over it together in-store, curious, and left mutually disappointed. There’s not one hint of her original origin left other than her very Jewish patronymic still remaining part of her name.
As a Russian-descended person I find that kind of a fitting metaphor for how the Russian government has treated Russian Jews - Natasha can succeed, can be the best in her field, can be beautiful and praised for her moral fortitude, but only if she has all Jewishness forcibly removed from her. It’s sort of befitting the era in which her character would have grown up, especially if Marvel pushes forward with the idea they’ve hinted at that the Red Room’s treatments have stalled her aging and she might be nearly as old as Steve and Bucky.
Out of universe, though, please never forget that Marvel took out all the women from the Avengers except one for their cinematic adaptation initially, and the one they left, they made either atheist or secular enough to casually refer to Loki and Thor as gods. They had a chance to put the first Jewish superhero to the big screen and didn’t even consider it for a second.
Then they made the Scarlet Witch not only not Jewish but Christian in the sequel. Just to twist the knife a little deeper, they made her non-Rromani and went with a fake nationality to top it all off.
And thus I stood before a man whose job was (in part) to live and breathe Marvel and he had no idea Natasha Romanov was Jewish. This new and improved origin story that has no trace of her Jewish roots (in freaking Novosibirsk where there’s a large Jewish quarter of the city, are you kidding me with this Marvel) comes during the same year Marvel published a storyline headed by writer Nick Spencer where Captain America was a Nazi/HYDRA agent all along, a storyline that only got canceled because the fan protests and outcry was so great that between the petitions, boycotts and actual Marvel actors like Clark Gregg (who is Jewish and who Nick Spencer sent the issue personally) publicly stating disgust with it that Marvel realized they weren’t going to be able to sell overt antisemitism. Covert antisemitism, though, we’re still buying - the Iron Man anti-villain/anti-heroine The Mad Thinker/Rhona Clytemnestra Cohen had her surname changed to have always been Burchill and her backstory retconned into her family being the victims of ‘a criminal car bombing’. Not ‘an antisemitic car bombing motivated by the fact my mother was a brilliant Jewish scientist whose coworkers had it out for her’. Just ‘a criminal car bombing’. I have seen all of three people complain about that even though it takes her motivations as a Jewish woman who hates that superheroes don’t save or stand for people like her and turns her into another generic supervillain.
I see what you’re doing, Marvel. There’s a reason I go out of my way to buy my comics from a place that will let me leaf through comics before purchasing them. If you want to keep going down this path, please just be aware that one day, kids will be shown that Captain America panel of him saying ‘Hail HYDRA’ in history class as they learn about the 2016 antisemitic upswing. You are made of the same stuff videos labeled ‘crazy propaganda cartoons’ on YouTube are.
(And yes I know one person’s rants are another person’s no big deal but I am not merely out of fucks to give, I am deeply, deeply in the red right now.)
i know its asking for a lot, but consider dropping uber from your phone since they deliberately and willingly broke the new york cabbie strike today and proved themselves to be exactly what i worried they would be: a bunch of filthy scabs.
Characters: Dean Winchester, Sister!reader, John Winchester, Sam Winchester [mentioned]
Words: 3900+ (I’m really sorry about that, but there was no good place to split it)
Warnings: Can’t think of anything specific, really, maybe just that there’s going to be a verbal fight, I dunno. Maybe a bit of swearing, not too much.
A/N: This is the fic I was talking about! It’s a pre-series sister AU, that takes place in between around 2003. Dean is 24, Sam is 20 and at Stanford and you are 17 years old. It’ll also be a mini-series, so there’s more parts to come. It might be a bit all over the place, but I was trying to create a certain feeling. (I don’t know what I’m talking about, but I hope you like it!)
Hunting is hard, and that’s no surprise, really. It’s physically challenging, you have to be smart, have technique, and it’s just hard emotionally as well. And, not only is it hard, but you hate it as well.
Okay, hate is a strong word, but things about it, you really do hate. You hate the way you have to sacrifice what feels like everything for it. You hate the way you feel like you miss out on life. You hate the pain and the constant fear. You hate the way it forces you to see the world more black and white instead of with all the shades of grey. You hate the way you get shut down every time you question this. You hate the way your dad responds with ’because you have to’ when you ask ’why?’.
John Winchester used to be in the military and it shows, you could testify to that. All your life he has been hard on you and your brothers. But, despite this, you are not afraid to stand up to him, question him, call him out. Although it often comes with consequences.
Liam Payne completely slayed my existence as well as Wembley’s tonight. HIS FIRST LIVE PERFORMANCE SOLO AND HE LOOKED SO FUCKING COMFORTABLE, HE OWNED THE STAGE. His vocals and his ad libs on point as always, he was dressed so comfortably yet so stylish. But also, Liam’s moves??? Like I know there’s no dance break /yet/ but he’s much more fluid than GN and I am so fucking proud of my favourite boy. Liam definitely proved today that he was born to perform live and enchant the crowd, he was much more at easy and in his element in front of at least 80k people than in a studio. THAT’S A PERFORMER, THAT’S A MUSICIAN. Even the way he interacted with the crowd and he just proves everyday how he is not just a singer but an exemplary performer as well. AND Then the beautiful exuberant smile at the end accompanying “Thank you Wembley, I’ll see you soon” djskjddnd
Marichat "I really need you" writing prompt please
It had been a stupid decision really. An impulse. A chance to get back at Chloe while standing up for her partner.
At the time it had been incredibly satisfying, walking into the classroom dressed head to toe in what might as well have been a billboard for Chat Noir merchandise. Chloe had of course glowered preparing to cut in with some sort of scathing retort until she had been cut off by Adrien’s absolutely delight at seeing her. Unwilling to risk upsetting her precious ‘Adrikins’ Chloe had to settle for glaring at Marinette for the remainder of the day while both Adrien and Nino had fawned over her, asking her for her thoughts and opinions on all things Chat Noir.
It had been a lovely day, and worth the 6 hours of sewing and altering she had spent the night before. She had even officially getting Adrien’s phone number for her trouble.
What she had not expected was for Chat Noir to somehow get the memo.
She blamed Nino’s Instagram.
That very night her oversized kitten had shown up at her window looking for attention from his “biggest fan.”
Apparently he hadn’t forgotten her manufactured fawning from their minimal encounters together.
Figuring he would be satisfied with a little ego stroking she had once again fallen into the role of starstruck fangirl- swooning at his flirtations and posing for selfies. To be fair, it had been nice to get some photos with her partner that she could actually display in her room. So she had smiled and cooed and figured that was the end of it.
2007, age 17
-prove me wrong
-i’m a goner
2009, age 19
-march to the sea
2011, age 21
2013, age 23
-holding on to you
2015, age 25
-tear in my heart
While I support getting rid of fascists, the biggest problem I have with antifa is that they have no end goal. Sure, they can go through and punch every nazi they see, but they can't get rid of them permanently. The fact that nazism is still alive today proves that an ideology can't be destroyed by force. Even if every single nazi is killed, what's to stop someone down the line rediscovering it and spreading it on some imageboard?
Your critique of antifa is both fair and unfair. Some things to consider:
1) If you support getting rid of fascists and fascism then you are antifa! You’ve met the sole requirement to being an anti-fascist - an opposition to fascism. Welcome aboard!
2) It’s an inaccurate stereotype that antifa does nothing besides “punch nazis.” Punching nazis is something most anti-fascists will never get to do; but they will do a lot of other, less-glamorous work in their communities exposing, opposing, and confronting fascism and bigotry. Antifascists are active all over the world doing all manner of things to combat fascism both literally and figuratively. This very tumblr, with its 4000+ posts, chronicles a lot of these activities.
3) At the heart of your critique seems to be the point that anti-fascism doesn’t offer an alternative political ideology. Fair enough. Anti-fascism is the opposition to a bankrupt, utterly discredited, completely refuted political belief that isn’t worthy of being described as an ideology or even an opinion because fascism is simply indefensible.
That said, many anti-fascists believe in a wide range of political ideologies that are preferable to fascism (mind you, a rubbish bin full of rotting cockroaches is preferable to fascism, so the bar is a bit low here!). But if anti-fascists were to endorse one particular ideology then that would alienate anti-fascists that support other ideologies.
Anti-fascists don’t have to agree with each other on which political ideology is the best. Like we always say, anti-fascism is a big tent and people of all sorts of political ideologies are able to come together under it, united in their opposition to fascism. We don’t think there’s anything wrong or flawed with that, so long as we understand that anti-fascism is not, in and of itself, a political ideology.
4) You should keep in mind that fascism is a pretty new “flavor of the month” when it comes to political ideologies. It’s only been around since the late 19th century and was pretty thoroughly discredited by the mid-1940s. Sure, there will always be some people that support fascism but there will always be some people who think the Earth is flat or are just complete assholes. No one has come up with a way to completely destroy the belief in a flat Earth or general assholery, but no one takes flat Earthers very seriously and everyone does what they can to minimize assholery in their lives and in their communities.
The grass felt warm beneath your feet and the sun was warm against your skin. It was beautiful today, too nice to train but your master kept insisting. ‘Training’s important and you need to learn.’ That’s what he always said. He could be so stuck up sometimes. You were good enough and hell bent on proving it today by beating him.
Sword raised and feet firmly placed on the ground, you wait for his attack that shortly follows. Your swords crash, a noise interrupting the eerie silence all around. Maybe you’d get him to do something else with you once you’d won? God, there were a lot of things you’d like to do with the man. One reason you were always unconcentrated during training was because you stared, a lot. Thoughts kept wandering to places they shouldn’t. Your foot is pushed out under you, sword flying away. Distracted again. All you can manage to do is grab his shirt and pull him down as well. “Your mind is somewhere else.” He states, hovering above you with his elbows on the ground so his body isn’t crushing yours. “Maybe I’ve been thinking about you…” Your fingers brush against his arm as you start to talk in a flirty voice. He never reacted but you tried anyway and it was seeing him squirm a little because he had to keep his cool. “Then think about how I’ve beaten you the last time.” “You’re no fun, master!” You make a pouting face and purse your lips. His hand moves along your cheek for a moment, a familiar gesture that makes you lean into his touch. His brows are furrowed and he looks a bit sad, almost like he’s in pain. His head moves down, closer to your face. You blush when you feel his mouth against your earlobe and his breath tickling your skin. “I’m not supposed to be fun…I’m here to keep you alive and that’s the most important thing to me.”