don’t let yourself forget the huge contingent of middle class white feminists who think it’s totally fine to threaten to out, rape, and murder sex workers on the internet, because to them we’re just “fuckmeat” and they hate us even more than men do.
sex workers’ rights are human rights and if you find yourself following someone who doesn’t think so, know that what they post publicly is a tiny fraction of what they do and say anonymously to us, including threatening to out us to clients or cops in the hopes we get murdered.
white supremacy, imperialism, and misogyny don’t always look like richard spencer.
the policies swerfs promote actively result in the assault and murder of brown women in southeast asia as well as the houselessness, loss of day jobs, and murder of woc and white women in the western world.
they force us into sweatshops, to stay in violent relationships, out into the streets as a part of their imperialist vision of proper womanhood.
For those who wanted Tony n his friends to all have their own scooters,
Now with 100% more ridiculousness.
Tony, with his Iron Man scooter:
I think he wanted to do the ‘leaning on one knee pose’ with his legs, but there was only one area he could ‘lean’ his leg on, and he couldn’t lean so much as precariously lay his ankle on it.
It’s not a very safe pose.
Rhodey, with his own War Machine scooter:
You can’t see it, but he’s holding the scooter between his ankles and his thigh so it doesn’t fall over.
(not sure if I got him looking right, or if I’m offending anyone but it was one of the lame poses I found on google so)
It is also not a safe pose.
Pepper, with one special scooter Tony made because she doesn’t have her own merchandise, and another, cheaper scooter she bought in a store and painted her name on top of it so she can join the cheap merch quality Tony and Rhodey both has:
Important PSA 1: do not lean on your scooter, it may fold.
Important PSA 2: do not balance your scooter on the front wheel.
Each of the installments of the editorial series are must-read pieces. I urge you to read all six parts. In the event that you’ve missed any of the previous articles in the series from the Los Angeles Times, here are links to each part:
started with an accident. Just a coincidence. You were at the wrong place at
the wrong time. Or was it the right place and the right time? You are just
walking down the street after buying something at the grocery store when a
person dressed in all black brushes past you, ripping the plastic bag from your
fingers and spilling its contents all over the street. The person stops
abruptly and looks at you- and that’s a big mistake. Heavy footsteps are behind
you and you turn around to see who is apparently following him since he seems
to be running from someone, when you suddenly feel an arm wrap around your neck
and the cold metal of a gun pressing against your temple. Your pulse speeds up as
you look at two young, beautiful men. Almond eyes, one of them has dark hair
and one of them bleached blond hair. They are slim but don’t look fragile at
all in their black dress shirts and matching pants. “Oh come on” the blond one
says and cracks his knuckles “Pulling an innocent bystander into this? You know
Mr. Bang won’t like this” he says and pulls out a shiny black pistol. The other
man has a fox like face with a sharp jawline and his eyes are clear and his
hand is silently hovering over his pocket where you could see the shape of
another gun. The street is empty and you are currently in a relatively bad
neighborhood so even if you would scream people would probably just ignore it.
“Let this poor girl go and you will make it out of this alive. . maybe.” The
blond says and aims his gun at you. . Or the person behind you. You aren’t
quite sure. When the man behind you doesn’t let you go you hear a sigh and then
a loud bang followed by a sharp pain in your ankle and the hand around your
neck is gone immediately “Well done Dae you hit her.” You hear another voice
say. It has to be the brown haired man. You fall to your knees and look at your
ankle. There is blood. So. So much blood. You feel black creep in on you vision
but try to fight it – Unfortunately you aren’t strong enough and you feel your
body go limp before the darkness consumes you.
HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY! Thank you for being amazing and beautiful in everything you do!
It’s been forever since I’ve written and I apologize for that.
Thank you all for the love on Notebook! I was shocked to say the least:)
Summary: You’re the ‘mom’ of the team but what happens when you’re not Bucky’s fan?
Word Count: Could this have been written in 2 parts? Sure, but where’s the fun in that?! Just kidding, I didn’t want to stop.. So.. Lord knows…. (I’m so sorry I don’t know I don’t have Word so I can’t count them and I refuse to count them myself because it’s a lot.)
Warnings: Suicide mentions, suicide scene (NO ONE DIES), sad moments tbh, fluff, hugs (A TON OF HUGS), sign language (If that’s even a warning), annoyed Bucky, nightmares, and crying. Dang… It sounds really heavy but go with it.
Please let me know if you liked it! Thank you for reading, I hope you have a good day:)
You’ve been at the Avengers compound for almost 8 months because your cousin Tony requested you after the fallout between himself and none other than Captain America. Luckily between that time, Tony and Natasha have been speaking to Captain and the government finally expunged what James Barnes did while he was under mind-control by writing him off as ‘mentally unstable’.
You rubbed your hands together excitedly as you awaiting the arrival of the other half of the infamous team. To your knowledge they all knew who you were and understood your reasoning to be there for the team.
An Honorary Mother, everyone likes to say.
You’re a very affectionate person, you’ve always loved seeing people smile because of you and enjoyed helping them through issues and were very excited to help the coming members, especially James Barnes. You read his file and couldn’t stop the blush as you looked at all the pictures they had of him. He was incredibly handsome and you knew he needed someone other than Captain America to help.
“Hey, waiting for your new sons and daughters?” Natasha said lightly as she walked over to you at the entrance of the compound. You turn to her and gave her a hug, she laughs quietly and hugs you back before pulling away, “you do know you saw me an hour ago?” She asks with a quirked eyebrow, you shrug and watch the doors.
“Everyone needs hugs, it’s scientifically proven to help you mentally and physically, you know.” You note smiling at her, she rolls her eyes but smiles nonetheless.
“Are you excited to meet them?” She says after a few moments of silence, you nod quickly and look to the door, again rubbing your hands together.
“I hope they like me.” You say quietly looking at the floor briefly as though you’d just confessed to stealing cookies before dinner. Natasha puts an arm around your shoulder, grinning to reassure you.
“Don’t worry, they’ll love you. You’re our adopted mom.” You look at her and smile just as the doors open.
You wait for everyone to come up to you and Natasha, your heart pounding loudly in your ears and you stare up and Captain America and James Barnes, they have at least 8 inches on you. Natasha elbows you lightly and cocks her head towards them.
Captain puts his hand in front of you and smiles brightly, “Hello, my name is Steve Rogers, nice to meet you.” You glance at his hand then his face before hugging him around the waist tightly, he coughs awkwardly and hugs you back gently. You pull away and smile at everyone staring at you with wonder except James Barnes who stares at you with anxious eyes.
1. Saturn Devouring his Son, 1819-23, oil mural transferred to canvas, 143 x 81 cm, Museo del Prado, Madrid. Source
2.The Dog, 1819-23, oil mural transferred to canvas, 131.5 x 79.3 cm, Museo del Prado, Madrid. Source
3. Two Old Men Eating Soup, 1819-23, oil mural transferred to canvas, 49.3 x 83.4 cm, Museo del Prado, Madrid. Source
4. Judith and Holofernes, 1819-23, oil mural transferred to canvas, 143.5 x 81.4 cm, Museo del Prado, Madrid. Source
5. Two Old Men, 1819-23, oil mural transferred to canvas, 146 x 66 cm, Museo del Prado, Madrid. Source
6. The Fates, 1819-23, oil mural transferred to canvas, 123 x 266 cm, Museo del Prado, Madrid. Source
7. Fight with Cudgels, 1819-23, oil mural transferred to canvas, 123 x 266 cm, Museo del Prado, Madrid. Source
8. Witches’ Sabbath, 1819-23, oil mural transferred to canvas, 140 x 438 cm, Museo del Prado, Madrid. Source
9. Fantastic Vision, 1819-23, oil mural transferred to canvas, 125.4 x 65.4 cm, Museo del Prado, Madrid. Source
10. Man Mocked by Two Women, 1819-23, oil mural transferred to canvas, 125.4 x 65.4 cm, Museo del Prado, Madrid. Source
Here is a selection of works from Goya’s famous ‘Black Paintings’ series, which consists of fourteen murals that were painted directly onto the walls of the Quinta del Sordo house in Madrid, where the artist lived between 1819 and 1823. They have since been removed, transferred to canvases, and become part of the Museo del Prado’s collection.
The series is pretty dark, to say the least. It is rife with themes of witchcraft, insanity, violence and death’s inevitability. My personal favourite is Saturn Devouring his Son, which is based on the story of Saturn’s Greek counterpart, Cronus, and how he ate his sons after hearing that they would eventually overthrow him. However, Saturn/Cronus was tricked by Rhea into swallowing a stone instead of one of his children. This son, of whom Rhea was the mother, was Zeus, and he would eventually have Cronus and the other titans imprisoned. Goya’s depiction is deliciously gory and terrifying. Saturn’s face is enough to give you nightmares!
I might or might not make a series depending on how it goes but as a followup to my post kinda meandering about how certain folk react badly to protagonists in video games no matter what I’ll go into protagonists in games that are actually genuinely bad and I’ll attempt to explain why they don’t work, in my opinion.
As a general warning for this series, there will be spoilers for every game that I cover (of course) and content warnings for the specific games will apply, which I’ll tag to the best of my ability.
This one will be about
(with apologies to the gif maker)
Dante, from DmC: Devil May Cry, the intended reboot of Devil May Cry (aka Donte, aka YOUR PROM DATE YOU UGLY SACK OF SHIT)
More under the cut, cause this gon b a lonnnnnng one
Thor was excited to be home, excited to be back at the compound with all his friends. He had been gone for so long, dealing with Asgard and everything had gone so wrong so suddenly…
Well anyway, he was relieved to be away from Asgard. He was ready for Tony’s ridiculous movie nights, and Clint’s haphazard breakfast creations, and sparring with Captain, and trading war stories with Natasha. He was looking forward to spending time with Bruce, the quiet scientist with a wicked sense of humour that was matched only by Tony’s cutting wit.
He was even looking forward to the mission debriefings, where Tony and Steve inevitably fought and bickered, and Tony usually ended up storming off in some grand fashion, the color high in his cheeks, dark eyes sparking dangerously.
The genius was beautiful in something of a delicate way, and Thor had always had a hard time keeping himself from staring. Tony was not a large man by any means, but his passion for whichever cause he was engaged in was unparalleled. Thor loved to sit and watch him talk, to watch him work, to watch him—
Thor just liked to watch Tony, period. And if he were honest, it took most of his self control to only watch, because Thor would love to see Tony flushed and passionate spread out across a large bed and bathed in firelight. In fact, he was sure Tony would look more beautiful like that than any other way. Of course, they had never had any time to discuss or explore any of those things, but now that Thor was back again, perhaps in between missions he and the soft haired genius could spend real time together, and Thor would get the chance to tell him how he felt.
So when Thor landed in front of the Avengers compound with a crack of lightning and a ground shaking boom of thunder, burning the pattern of the bifrost into the lawn, he was caught up in his thoughts and didn’t notice that the grass was brown and dead, that there were no vehicles parked in the driveway.
Too intent on seeing Tony, on giving the man a hug, on hearing that light hearted laugh, it wasn’t even until he was striding through the halls towards the common area, holding Mjolnir lightly in one hand, and calling for the team that he realized that most of the lights weren’t even on. The rooms were locked up, the windows dirty, the few plants wilted from neglect.
The compound was…silent, and Thor stopped uneasily at the door to the common room, noting that even though the room had been repaired since the fight with Ultron, it looked like it hadn’t been touched in months.
“Hello?” he called, and his deep voice echoed through the empty building. “Hello?”
Request: Hello!!! So
I was wondering if you could do a little sister winchester fic where the sister
is having a bad day in terms of depression and Sam is at college so she calls
dean who’s on a hunt because she’s afraid of what she might do to herself…if
that’s too dark I understand if you don’t want to! Anyways I love your writing!
Sorry for the long message!
A/N: Hello there
love! Thank you for this daring request! I know this isn’t exactly like what
you and requested, but I thought it was interesting to play around with the
phone call concept, and the whole Sam off at college! If you dislike it, let me
know and I will totally write you something new, or edit this one to make it
the way you want it! I love you, and to all my boos ALWAYS KEEP FIGHTING! My
inbox and PMs are always open, and I am relatively active so please feel free
to talk to me about anything you need too, or if you just want to vent!
requests and the tag lists are open!
WARNING THIS CONTENT
COULD BE TRIGGERING SO PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION IF YOU STRUGGLE WITH SELF
HARM/SUICIDAL THOUGHTS/ DEPRESSION!
Also by no means am I implying all depression leads to suicide or self harm I am truly going with what I found the nature of the request to be! Everyone struggles differently, and I am so so so proud of you all for making it this far! Keep it up! You can do it!
“Y/N!” a brother screamed. Tears rushing down his cheeks,
wanting nothing more but to somehow heal you.
“D-D-Dean,” you sputtered out, just as the impala’s engine
had sputtered out that horrific noise early that morning.
“Baby girl hold on, hold on,” he cried, gripping you in his
lap, trying to reach for the phone all at once. His fingers moved over the
screen of the phone, hoping to somehow type in the unfamiliar number of his
lost brother without looking. His cheeks were red, tears scarring them with a new-found
color that shaded the skin even more.
Fumbling and holding onto his baby sister’s, your, form he
finally got the number correctly indented into the screen, and pressed the fold
up to his ear.
A groan answered before a small and breathy “Hello”.
“Sammy, Sam, she’s, it’s my,” Dean spat as he spoke, trying
not to choke on the air entering and exiting his throat at the same time.
“Dean? Slow down, what’s going on?” he still had the boyishly
charming voice, even when in the confusion of a cold night.
“Sam, it’s our little sister,” he cried out, “Its Y/N”.
With a panic lacing over the conversation, and agreement to
meet at the nearest hospital to Dean was made. A soft sense of comfort was
felt, knowing the two would be at the same place once again.
Dean gripped your unsteady form, and drove you to the
nearest hospital. Workers and unfamiliar hands gripped your bloodied wrists,
and a latex filled the nostrils of your unconscious form. Your brother followed
the stretcher that held your small body. He pushed past many of the same arms
that tried holding him back, stating they needed room to work.
You were his responsibility, it was always known he was to
look out for you. He had failed with Sam, and he was now off at some college,
learning how to live some white-picketed fenced job and partying with alcohol
instead of using it to clean wounds. He had now failed with you, letting a
darkness fill your mind and create a hostile environment through your veins. He
let your depression win.
You had called him earlier that morning. He had left your
fast food bagged breakfast on the hotel table. He had written the note as
always, stating his location and that he would be back in two days. He planned
on finishing a hunt, per his father’s orders, and then heading back to you.
The call had been crackled, and disoriented as you asked him
to come back. Without an actual reason for return Dean continued on, not
understanding that the demons that took shelter in your mind, the one tormenting
his baby, his little sister, had conjured up another torture of sadness, and a
feeling of an emptied vessel. With pure intention, he ignored your plead for
his return, and he moved on down the road, promising to be home later that
night instead of on a few days.
As he was gone, your mind played with you, and led you to
the bathroom. You had not known things were as far along as they were. You
wanted it to end, you were tired. Oh, so tired.
You found the razor blades, making thin lines appear red as you
prayed, wishing Dean would have listened to you. Everything you had feared you would do seeped through your tears and onto the counter.
But the thoughts kept playing with your soul, and the
thoughts of an absent father and two brothers made you feel w o r t h l e s s.
That’s when one line smeared into five, and then continued
on. Soon you were on the floor, leaving all behind, when your eldest brother
paced into the bathroom. He gripped your wrists, and pulled you into his lap.
This led to the current position of his stress, and a car
holding a slightly younger, but just as mature, man flying down highways.
Arriving at three in the morning, Sam rushed into the
emergency room, watching the hustle and bustle flow throughout the hallways. He
spotted his brother pacing outside a room, and just beyond his scruff form a
smaller, but not as small as he remembered, girl laying in the bed. Her eyes
shut, looking an eerie peaceful, almost as if this was not the peace she
His eyes fill with tears identical to those that his brother
had before. He moves in closer to his brother, Dean, who he hasn’t see in three
years. He stands awkwardly, hoping the tears will dry so the new memory his
brother will embed into his mind won’t be a distorted image of him crying. He’s
grown now, and needs to pull through emotions in order to help with this, is baby
sister laying on a hospital bed.
“Sammy,” a gruff, and broken voice calls out.
“It’s Sam,” he sighs, realizing this isn’t the time to
correct a childhood habit.
“So, she, uh, was having a rough day?” Sam asked, trying to
comprehend the sights and smells of the surrounding.
Dean looked at his younger brother. “No, she was having a
horrible day and we weren’t there!” he whisper yelled, tears forming again.
“I mean, I couldn’t really be there,” Sam replied.
Dean looked at him, wide eyed, “Oh, you couldn’t huh?” his
voice grew louder, “You couldn’t call in and check on the only beautiful thing
in this world? You couldn’t call in and ask her how she was doing, or better
yet ask her to come visit? You couldn’t be damn brother to the only important
thing this chaos has given us?” Dean started, catching his sobs.
Sam looked to the corner of his vision, fighting the tears,
“Damn it Sammy, or Sam, whoever the hell you are. You couldn’t be a damn
brother to your own baby sister and when I call asking for you to help me watch
her possibly die you come in saying you couldn’t get to her when you…we
both…could have been there,” Dean placed his hands on his head, swaying to the
“I’m saying-,” but Sam was cut off by a doctor.
“Excuse me? Are you the guardian of Y/N Winchester?” the man
asked. His clean-cut garments suggested he had not touched their sister’s
Both nodded, and Dean stepped forward, leaving Sam slightly
“Your sister is in a state of unconsciousness. She did not
do severe damage to any veins or arteries. Both the loss of blood and amount of
stress the body was trying to compensate for made her collapse. She will be
under surveillance until she wakes up, you both are welcome to stay with her,”
he smiled, and lightly touched the arm of Sam, “However, she may, and most
likely will need to undergo treatment for-,” but Dean interrupted him.
“Thanks doc, we’ll talk about that later”. The doctor
nodded, and headed off down the hall. “This discussion is not over,” Dean
pointed towards Sam, and then entered the room his little sister laid in.
Sam placed his head against the glassed window, and looked
up to the ceiling. He was lost in thought until he felt a slight vibration in
the pocket of his jeans. Hoping for an excuse to recede out of his own mind, he
flipped open the small device.
“Hey babe,” he sighed, “She’s unconscious, but we may have
Last night Stupid Idiot had the pleasure of having our homies in Basement play an intimate sold out gig at the Hardcore Stadium. Pretty crazy to see where they are now as a band because I remember seeing them at Rad Skatepark with Daylight in 2011 and their was maybe 30 people total their including band members. Now they sell out 1000+ cap venues and do arena tours…honestly pretty wild. But shoutouts to them for being the shit and wanting to play the Stadium.
So a little while back someone asked me to write a fic about the IW scarlet vision scenes. I’ve been pretty busy but it seems like there’s no better day to write this than Scarlet Vision Appreciation day. So here it is! Enjoy!
Wanda glanced nervously at the clock, the bubble of
anticipation in her chest too strong to ignore. She stood suddenly, unable to
sit placidly on the edge of the hotel bed any longer. She made her way to the
window, pulling the curtain back just the smallest bit to peer down into the
cobbled streets of Edinburgh.
He should’ve been here by now. She cast another look at the
clock, a frown line setting itself between her eyebrows.
It had been weeks since they’d last been able to see each
other and she always grew anxious when they were apart for too long.
The gentlest of knocks sounded on the door and Wanda felt
her heart skip a beat. She was across the room without even realizing it, her
hand hovered over the doorknob for just a moment before settling firmly on the
A man she had never seen before stood on the other side of
the door and she felt her sudden burst of hope fade; leaving a hollow ache
where it had been.
“I’m sorry, can I help you?” She asked, confusion coloring
her tone. The man looked down at her, meeting her eyes with his own startling
“Wanda..” He hesitated, unsure how to continue, but there
was no need. Wanda felt her mouth drop open in a comical O of surprise. She
would know that voice anywhere.
The man in the doorway gave her a small, awkward smile. One
she recognized instantly. For a long moment she stood paralyzed, mind running
through the possibilities. How could this be?
“May I come in?” The man….no, Vision, asked. Concern etched
itself in the lines of his face. Quite a handsome face actually.
Wanda started, realizing her rudeness and stepped aside to
let him in. She closed the door softly, mind still reeling. She cast another
look at Vision, taking in his full form, part of her still unable to believe
this man could be the android she loved.
He removed his coat, draping it over the nearest chair. He
worked slowly, as though giving her time to process what was happening. Wanda moved
away from the door, taking a stance by the window, as far from this stranger as
Finally, Vision turned to meet her gaze. Their eyes locked
and Wanda felt the bubble of hope begin to crawl its way back into her chest.
His eyes. They might be blue now, instead of grey, but the
expression within them was still the same. They were eyes haunted with the
endless knowledge that their owner seemed to possess. Eyes that, when they
looked at her, seemed to soften into gentle contemplation; as though she were
the greatest, most tantalizing mystery they had ever beheld. Eyes that held her
in their grip as though she was the only thing in the universe worth looking
“I did not intent to startle you with my appearance.” He
began, never breaking his gaze. “It is a precaution initiated only recently.”
“Precaution?” Wanda questioned, still unnerved by the sound
of Visions voice coming from this unfamiliar form. Vision took a hesitant
couple stepped toward her, closing the distance between them, careful not to
overstep her comfort zone.
“Thor has returned to Earth with some…unsettling news. It
would appear that there are those who seek the Mind Stone and other stones like
it in order to harness their power to claim dominion on this universe.”
Wanda felt her eyes automatically travel to Visions forehead,
but the stone was not visible on this human form. Vision noticed her gaze and
took another step forward.
“It is me, Wanda.” He said softly, blue eyes filled with the
urgent desire to have her believe. If this really was Vision, and she was
beginning to truly believe it was, then he could stand the distance between
them no more than she.
Wanda took a step toward him, unable to fight the urge to have
him near any longer. Vision took this as encouragement and gradually closed the
distance between them.
“Both Mr. Stark and Thor agreed the stone is no longer safe.
I learned that, as long as I focus my concentration, I am able to project this
illusion over my true form. Neither Tony nor Thor believed it wise that I leave
headquarters, but I could not stay away. I’ve missed you, Wanda.”
He took another step closer, gazing down on her with a
tenderness that filled her heart with a love beyond expression. Finally, she truly
“Oh Viz,” She whispered affectionately, reaching up to cup
his face between her palms.
Vision closed his eyes at her touch, letting his hand slide
up her arm to hold her hand in place against his cheek. He turned his head tenderly
to plant a gentle kiss upon her palm. Then just as gently he brought her hand
up to rest on his forehead.
Wanda could feel it, the soft hum of the stone. Beneath this
human appearance, was her Vision. She pulled her hand away, bending her fingers
in an intricate pattern until a fine red mist danced its way across his face,
pulling his true appearance forward.
There the stone sat, its yellow glow imbedded in the rich
purple tones of his skin. She laid her finger lightly against the stone and
watched it melt away at her touch, returning Visions appearance to that of a
She allowed her hand to fall back, cupping his neck for a
“How long can you stay?” She asked quietly, afraid of the
answer she knew must come.
“No more than the night.” He answered just as softly, his
eyes sliding slowly over her face, rememorizing each curve. “While this
appearance allows me some freedom, it is not enough to guarantee I will be not
be found.” This time it was he who reach up to cup her cheek with his hand. “It
is already extraordinarily selfish of me to put you at risk, even for this
Wanda slide her hand up his arm, curling her fingers lightly
around his wrist so that he would not withdraw his touch.
“I do not care about the risk.” She said boldly, scanning
his face just as longingly. “I love you, Vision.”
“And I love you.” He answered, bringing his lips down to
Wanda closed her eyes, allowing herself to sink into the
kiss, letting the heat to rise within her, stretching out into the very tips of
her fingers. His lips moved firm against her own and she wished the moment
would never end.
But end it did, as Vision pulled back the smallest bit,
gazing down on her with a light smile upon his lips.
“Just to be clear,” Wanda said, “I’ll always prefer your
Vision laughed, bending forward to capture her mouth in
another kiss. There was much they still had to discuss, but such things could
wait a few moments longer.
Following his beheading and immolation at the hands of Edward and Bella, Aro found himself in what he knew from the memories of countless humans as a ‘waiting room.’
The walls were painted a dull sea-green, the floor was faded linoleum tile, and rows of uncomfortable chairs filled the space (along with a few end tables piled haphazardly with magazines). At the front of the room was a desk where a bored middle aged woman sat.
Aro noted that several of his departed dear ones already occupied many of the chairs. Demetri was there, drumming his fingers on his leg impatiently. Alec was comforting a clearly incensed Jane. Caius looked equally enraged, while Marcus sat with a serene smile on his face. It was only then that he noticed, sitting in a chair near the front desk, the figure of his dear friend whom he had murdered not a half hour ago.