Rise Up, Oh Heart, For There is Another Battle to Win

merin:

are you the person that kills the spider, makes someone else kill the spider, or catches and releases the spider outside

i’m the person other people make kill the spider

freed-fairy:

xabjectlessonsx:

barringtonhigh:

when channing tatum was 16 he dated a guy and he’s spoken about it in great length and referred to himself as not-straight so stop calling him part of straight culture lmao

CHANNING TATUM LOVES MEN and works really hard to remind everyone of that all the time and somehow it keeps getting rewritten and forgotten because queer erasure is WILD, support Channing Tatum, man, he’s the genuinely kind inoffensive white normy looking guy we all dream of existing but think can’t be real, Channing unicorn Tatum

I honestly did not know this and I’m so glad I do now!

amusewithaview:

beautifultoastdream:

willowwitchery:

thehoneybeewitch:

tharook:

pipistrellus:

I learned something new and horrifying today which is… that… no submarine is ever considered “lost” … there is apparently a tradition in the U.S. Navy that no submarine is ever lost. Those that go to sea and do not return are considered to be “still on patrol.”

?????

There is a monument about this along a canal near here its… the worst thing I have ever seen. it says “STILL ON PATROL” in huge letters and then goes on to specify exactly how many WWII submarine ghosts are STILL OUT THERE, ON PATROL (it is almost 2000 WWII submarine ghosts, ftr). Here is the text from it:

“U.S. Navy Submarines paid heavily for their success in WWII. A total of 374 officers and 3131 men are still on board these 52 U.S. submarines still on patrol.”

THANKS A LOT, U.S. NAVY, FOR HAVING THIS TOTALLY NORMAL AND NOT AT ALL HORRIFYING TRADITION, AND TELLING ALL OF US ABOUT IT. THANKS. THANK YOU

anyway now my mother and I cannot stop saying STILL ON PATROL to each other in ominous tones of voice

There’s definitely something ominous about that—the implication that, one day, they will return from patrol.

Actually, it’s rather sweet. I don’t know if this is common across the board, but my dad’s friend is a radio op for subs launched off the east coast, and he always is excited for Christmas, because they go through the list of SoP subs and hail them, wishing them a merry Christmas and telling them they’re remembered.

Imagine a country whose seamen never die, and whose submarines can’t be destroyed…because no ones sure if they exist or not.

No but imagine. It’s Christmas. A black, rotting corridor in a forgotten submarine. The sound of dripping water echoes coldly through the hull. You can’t see very far down the corridor but then, a man appears, he’s running, in a panic, but his footsteps make no noise. The spectral seaman dashes around the corner and slips through a rusty wall. He finds himself at the back of a crowd of his cadaverous crew-mates. They part to let him through. He feels the weight of their hollow gaze as he reaches the coms station. Even after all these years a sickly green light glistens in the dark. The captain’s skeleton lays a sharp hand on his shoulder and nods at him encouragingly, the light sliding over the bones of his skull. The ghost of the seaman steadies himself and slips his fingers into the dials of the radio, possessing it. It wails and screeches. A bombardment of static. And then silence. The deathly crew mates look at each other with worry, with sadness; could this be the year where there is no voice in the dark? No memory of home? The phantasm of the sailor pushes his hand deeper into the workings of the radio, the signal clears, and then a strong voice, distant with the static but warm and kind, echoes from the darkness; “Merry Christmas boys, we’re all thinking of you here at home, have a good one.”
A sepulchral tear wafts it’s way down the seaman’s face. The bony captain embraces him. The crew grin through rotten jaws, laughing silently in their joy. They haven’t forgotten us. They haven’t forgotten.

I am completely on board with this. It’s not horrifying, it’s heartwarming.

Personal story time: whenever I go to Field Museum’s Egypt exhibit, I stop by the plaque at the entrance to the underground rooms. It has an English translation of a prayer to feed the dead, and a list of all the names they know of the mummies on display there. I always recite the prayer and read aloud the list of names. They wanted to live forever, to always have their souls fed and their names spoken. How would they feel about being behind glass, among strangers? Every little thing you can do to give respect for the dead is warranted.

I love the idea of lost subs still being on patrol. Though if you really want something ominous, let me say that the superstitious part of me wonders: why are they still on patrol? If they haven’t been found, do they not consider their mission completed? What is it out there that they are protecting us from?

@boromir-queries-sean

roachpatrol:

so ok about ghostbusters i really feel like holtzmann was the realest part of the movie to me? like a lot of straight people might watch the movie and go ‘holtzmann was so over the top, too much, unrealistic, cartoonish’ but:

i’ve known women like that (and fallen in love with them) and done my best to be a woman like that  (and got my heart broken a lot) and you can watch holtzmann aggressively flirt with erin until the moment erin loses her shit over kevin and then you see holtzmann just kind of grin bitterly and stop. entirely stop. erin is insufficiently bi. erin wasn’t politely turning down holtzmann’s overtures, she was totally oblivious of them. erin prefers hotdogs to hamburgers. and holtzmann respects that completely even while her face is like aw, fuck. and i just nodded to myself. like yeah, yep, me too, same, yup.  

jillian’s actress is gay. jillian’s actress knows this situation, has lived this situation, grew up in this situation, she knows: most of the women you like will like men, and that sucks, but it’s no one’s fault, you can’t get mad. suck it up; laugh it off. you’re surrounded by brilliant, beautiful women all your life and you flirt and you dance and you preen and you have fun, but you have your honor, too, you also know what it’s like to be hit on by that creep at your job, to dodge innuendo and unwanted touches from that ‘friend’ who’s too friendly. you’re better than the men who get bitter about it. us weird girls, us girls who like girls and are girls, we all know.  

i didn’t really expect to see something that real in ghostbusters, but damn. damn. it felt good. it felt like representation. it felt like a pat on the back i’ve never gotten. we know you. you’re here too.

cijim:

sansanator:

geiszlerandgaila:

I still can’t believe that fanfiction is free

I sometimes have to pay for water, but with a phone and some wifi, I get to read whole novels about my favorite characters for exactly zero additional dollars

How goddamn rad is that

Thank you fic writers,The unsung heroes.

Thanks to all fanfiction writers out there

the-last-hair-bender:

Patron saint of laying in bed till noon on your day off.

purplelikeafreshbruise:

Ya'all
I am a 27 year old full grown ass adult.
My partner and I are reading Animorphs together (my first time he has had them since they came out)
We just finished 30 (it’s a Marco book- the reunion)
I can’t …
1. HOW ARE THESE BOOKS MENT FOR 7-12 YEAR OLDS?
2. I just ugly cried for the last half of the book, while reading outloud, nbd.
3. I have told my partner that I will no longer read Marco books… I have entirely too many mommy feels.
4. I am ruined ya’ll, I just can’t.
5. Animorphs fandom, someone comfort me? I have 27 books left to make it through and my poor feels are all going to break and make a mess all over arnt they?

meemzter:

i can’t believe it’s 2016 and there still hasn’t been an animated adaptation of animorphs

bringthebroken-back-to-life:

weepycat:

things that 15 year old me did sophomore year that my southern-bred god-fearing conservative christian teachers Did Not Like

• teacher refused to let me sit backwards in chairs. i made a point to sit backwards in chairs until she told me to stop, and then id manspread as much as possible. (semester one.)
  
• teacher got onto my friend and gave her a panic attack over her newly dyed hair. i told her my friend putting red streaks in her hair was no different than her removing the grey streaks from her hair. got sent outside. (semester one)
  
• teacher told me my bra strap was showing. took my bra off in class and put it in bag. was sent to principal’s office. mother was called, although she only muffled her laughter over the telephone. (semester two)
  
• [to homophobic teacher who disliked my mothers] “what language is gaelic from? gayland?” “that’s where my moms are from, ma’am.”
  
• teacher claimed i was lying about moving to uruguay and tried to force me into sitting in a personal meeting about my future classes and goals. told her to “sign me the fuck up for underwater basket weaving” and got sent outside. (semester two)
  
• was told by teacher that “ladies should not say they have to pee. try ‘can i use the restroom’ instead” replied with “alright. i gotta piss like a racehorse. can i use the restroom?“ (got sent outside. again. semester two)
  
• was told to “smile, you’ll look nicer” by a 6′0″ male coach i did not know. when he blocked my entrance out of the classroom until i smiled for him, i said “shove it straight up your ass,” before elbowing him in the ribcage, ducking under his arm, and running for it. skipped class in that building for a week. (semester two)
  
• hopped a fence to catch my bus and flipped off an ancient male history teacher when he shouted at me to come back. he threatened to find me again. he never found me. 
  

“Teacher told me my bra strap was showing. took my bra off in class and put it in bag.”

Oh my god that sounds amazing!! This is great haha

greenekangaroo:

petermorwood:

lyricwritesprose:

majingojira:

ohgodhesloose:

morebadbookcovers:

myurbandream:

jabberwockypie:

skeletonmug:

artiestroke:

splintercellconviction:

giraffepoliceforce:

I really want a science fiction story where aliens come to invade earth and effortlessly wipe out humanity, only to be fought off by the wildlife.

They were expecting military resistance. They weren’t counting on bears.

Imagine coming to a hostile alien world and being attacked by a horde of creatures that can weigh up to 3 tons, run at 30 km/h (19 mph), and bite with a force of 8,100 newtons (1,800 lbf).

By the time you realise that they can traverse water, it’s too late. The surviving members of your unit manage to make it back by shedding their excess gear and running for their lives; the slower ones were crushed to death within minutes.

You later describe the creature to one of the humans you captured, wanting to know the name of the monstrosity that will haunt your nightmares for cycles to come.

The human smiles as it speaks a single word, slowly and distinctly, in its barbaric tongue.

“Hippopotamus.”

This is giving me the biggest, creepiest grin I might have ever grinned 

Imagine being the next crew to go down to earth and thinking “it’s fine, we got this. We have the weapons and equipment necessary to deal with bears and *shudders* hippopotamuses. We’ll be fine.”

And at first you are, you’ve learned how to dodge. You’ve learned where their territories are. You know how to defend yourself.

But then one night you are sleeping in your shelter. You’re in a tree covered temperate part of earth. It seems benign. There are been no sightings of the dreaded “hippos” around. Not even any bears. But there is a slight rustle of the undergrowth. You try and ignore it telling yourself it is just the wind.

Then you hear the rustle again. closer this time.

You peer out into the darkness but see nothing amongst the trees.

The rustle again and now you realise you can smell something. It’s musky and slightly foul. It’s the smell of an omen, a warning. But what of? Where is this smell coming from.

You sit up, but it’s too late. The foul smelling creature is on you. You are hit with 17kg of coarse fur and vicious bites. Long dark claws tear in to you and you are pinned down white the striped creature tries to bite your throat.

It takes some doing but you manage to wrestle free. Blood drips from your wounds and already they itch with the sign of infection. The creature has a bloodied snout, rust rad, mingling with the black and white hairs. It lets out a terrifying growl from the back of its throat and looks to attack again. It’s between you and your knife, so your only choice is to back away.

Eventually the creature gives up and snuffles off in to the undergrowth, down a hole near your shelter you hadn’t noticed before.

When you make it back to your base you once again consult the captive human.

“Badger.” they say, with a solemn nod.

One word: Moose

“Our vehicles are far superior to the local human models, in range, speed, armament, and any other metric you care to name! Nothing could possibly-”

BAMrumblerumblethumpcrash!!!

“That’s called a moose.”

Wolverines.

Also.. dolphins.

The invasion is going slowly. The humans have caught on and are actively destroying information on the planet’s flora and fauna before Intelligence can capture and process it. All that they have are survivors’ accounts. Bears. Hippos. Badgers. Moose. It is becoming obvious this mudball planet is a full-on Death World to the unprepared, and you are so very unprepared.

You lost Jaxurn to a plant. Not even a mobile or carnivorous plant, just one that caused a vicious allergic reaction on contact that killed him in less than a rai'kor. Commander Vura'ko died to an insect bite, a tiny local pest that sucked a tiny bit of her blood and apparently replaced it with a bit of its last meal, which was full of disease. Backwash. She died to bug backwash. And yet you honestly envy them after that… thing you encountered…

When you got back to base the quarantine officer refused to let you inside. They had to roll a containment tank outside to put you in, because you all knew there would be no chance of eliminating the smell if it got into the ship’s air ducts. Smell. You wonder if your nasal slit will ever recover from this stench.

And the smell would. Not. Leave. After incinerating your gear the Q.O. had you use every cleansing agent they could think of, including a few janitorial ones, and still everyone fled the stench if they were downwind of your tank. Desperate to protect everyone’s nasal slits from the smell the quarantine officer interrogated the humans. From them, a glimmer of hope: there was a cure. Somehow the juice of a certain fruit on this mudball was the only thing that could break up the chemicals in the little horror’s spray. Immediately the Q.O. sent a team to recover buckets of the stuff and made you bathe in it. That was hours ago and it didn’t seem to be working, though. All it was doing was turning your blue skin an interesting shade of purple.

Sighing in frustration you wave the med-assist on duty over, who only approaches after checking the wind direction. Annoyed, you flip on the tank`s vox speaker.

“The humans did say it was “grape” juice that removed “skunk” stench, right?“

Every night. 

It came for someone almost every night. 

Any soldier alone was a viable target for this native monster that moved unseen by any but the security viewers, usually only spotted in hindsight.  They were taken as silently as this earth-monster moved.  Sometimes they’d find the remains in the morning taken up a tree and hung there, mostly eaten, as if it were a grisly reminder that the monster was still there, waiting unseen, to strike again. 

What little they saw of the monster on the vidfeed showed true horror.  Yellow eyes that shone with all the light it could gather.  It had fangs as long as his grasping digits.  Claws half that size formed curved hooks that allowed it to climb up their fortifications with impunity.  And in the underbrush, its spots made it almost impossible to see clearly in the undergrowth, if it could be seen at all.

Even the native sentients, the humans, had a healthy respect and fear for it. 

The earth natives called the monster a leopard.  

It was a constant fear that muddied the senses, and let the monster hunt even more effectively as the soldiers were always on edge.  Sleep deprived with fear, it made them even better targets for the monster. 

But rumor was that there was worse on this planet.  Rumors of a monster like a leopard but larger, and bigger in every imaginable sense. Stripped instead of spotted, which leaped from the underbrush with a sound.

A sound that burst eardrums, paralyzed entire units, and let the monster kill with impunity.  While the Leopard wrestled soldiers down and ripped their throats out.  This other monster, the Tiger, killed with its pounce alone.

“We’ve been through this,” Group Leader 455 snapped.  “The dissection of an Earth life form will help the scientists make weapons to combat the rest of this planet’s hellbeasts.  And these are domesticated.  Harmless.”

The troops were not-quite-looking at her in the way troops do when they don’t want to be seen to contradict a ranking officer, but can’t quite muster a correct Expression of Enthusiastic Assent.  “The name of this species,” she pointed out, “is synonymous with dullness and slowness in the language of the Earth barbarians.”  Well, one language out of several thousand—these creatures needed Imperial guidance more than any other world on record—but there was no point in confusing the rank and file.

More not-quite-looking.  455 bubbled a sigh and consulted her scanner.  “That one,” she decided.  “Alone in the separate pasture.  Scans suggest that it’s a male, which means it’s probably weaker.  Possibly it’s kept isolated so that the females don’t eat it before mating season.  And yes, I know some of you are here on punishment detail, but you’re still soldiers of the Imperium.  This squad is perfectly capable of handling a lone, helpless, pathetic male cow.”

I’m enjoying this immensely. Wait until the aliens try Australia for size…

I have one word, which I would speak with utter pleasure to invading alien forces.

And that one word 

is 

crocodilian. 

lydsmartini:

i think about the fact that eliot’s counterpart for the “anti leverage” team was a woman a lot. and by eliot’s counterpart, i mean their team’s brute. their hitter. the one who beats up and attacks anyone who threatens the team’s plan. and eliot isn’t like “oh she’s a woman” even tho hardison was like “u weren’t gonna hit a girl.” and he was like “she killed a man with a mop.” he was scared of her. he respected her. he never once thought he could get the upper hand just because she was a woman.

pilferingapples:

tenlittlebullets:

storytellerluna:

selenethedaydreamingwriter:

The real tragedy about the barricade is that we don’t know how much is true. Victor Hugo was there at the June Rebellion, so what is fact and what is fiction? That question gives me chills because we’ll never know. 

Charles Jeanne (who I think is probably actual real life Enjolras) wrote an in-detail account of the ACTUAL barricades in a letter to his sister after the fact

you can read it, tenlittlebullets translated it into English :)

it’s really graphic, he leaves no gory details out, just FYI if you’re gonna read it, keep TW: VIOLENCE  in mind

#how is he real-life enjolras if he survived (via metellus-cimber)

I’m so glad somebody asked this, because the answer is: when they finally ran out of ammunition, Charles Jeanne rounded up everyone who was still standing, went, “look, if we’re going to die, we might as well die fighting,” and led a suicidal ten-man charge against an entire flippin’ infantry column, armed with nothing but bayonets. The first few ranks of soldiers were so unprepared for such a spectacularly insane attack that they were too surprised to shoot. They crossed bayonets and tried to hold the insurgents off in hand-to-hand combat, but Jeanne’s swordsmanship was apparently aces, because he held off a bunch of them at once and covered his friends as they tried to breach the ranks. And once they were in, nobody could shoot them for fear of taking out their own guys.

So the last stand that the insurgents had intended as a noble suicide ended in them breaking through the ranks entirely and winding up in the next street over, outside the combat zone, going “well shit, what do we do now?” (I’m guessing the infantry column wasn’t very deep; central Paris at that point was a rabbit warren of narrow twisty streets, and assembling troops en masse for an organized attack was a logistical nightmare.) Unlike the National Guard, the army weren’t total chumps and got themselves turned around to give chase and start shooting once they weren’t at risk of friendly fire any longer… and that’s when all the civilians holed up in their houses went “no way, you’re not getting your hands on these crazy bastards” and started hurling furniture and crockery down on the soldiers’ heads. Jeanne was understandably distracted at the time, but afterwards somebody informed him that the barrage of unlikely projectiles included a piano. A piano. That is some straight-up Looney Tunes slapstick right there. No wonder Hugo went for the heroic death scene instead; if he’d stuck to real life, he probably would’ve gotten complaints that he’d wrecked his readers’ suspension of disbelief.

Anyway, someone opened an alley gate for them to shelter in and take stock of the casualties—most of them survived(!!!), but a few were pretty nastily wounded. Their host then had to lock Charles Jeanne in to keep him from charging right back out and taking on the whole goddamn army singlehanded. He probably would’ve broken down the door if the poor man hadn’t pointed out that going back out would give away his wounded comrades’ hiding place and the identities of the people sheltering them. They sat there listening to the gunfire gradually slow and go silent, and then in the middle of the night the ones who could still walk were allowed to slip away one by one at long intervals from each other. Charles Jeanne went straight home, slept like the dead for a few hours, was woken up at five in the morning with a warning that he’d been denounced and the building was surrounded, and then slipped out in disguise and managed to evade the police for four months before a former comrade ratted him out and he was arrested.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why Charles Jeanne’s letter is an absolute treasure that deserves to be available to anyone in Les Mis fandom who wants to read it. Incidentally, “how Actual Historical Enjolras survived the barricades by being too good at his suicide mission” is also one of the stories I tell when anyone asks me what the hell is so interesting about researching people nobody’s ever heard of from an obscure chapter of French history. 

#charles jeanne#what a BAMF#and then he managed to derail the whole trial with impassioned noble speeches and dramatic gestures worthy of a Hugo play#while visibly dying of consumption#seriously how was this dude even real#saint merry#june rebellion#à cinq heures nous serons tous morts#1832#history geeking ahoy

thepioden:

elf-kid2:

confessionsofbirthmothers:

onlyblackgirl:

If you’re adopted internationally into the United States, BY adoption LAWS you’re legally a citizen, but you still have to apply for documentation and if it’s not done by the age of 18 you have to pay over $500 and get a judge to reopen your adoption case. 

Even More Fun Fact: No one actually tells adoptive families, this so many find out after they’re 18 when their kid needs to get a passport, wants to apply for financial aid, get certain jobs, vote or some other shit that requires proof of citizenship and now it’s too late because they’re 18 or over. 

AND EVEN MORE FUN FACT! You can sometimes even be deported because you can be considered foreign-born, non-citizens! 

Oh and they won’t accept adoption papers or a birth certificate as proof. 

Adoption is FUN. 

Do it now! Seriously. Even if you think you are safe. Do it.

Many people are finding that even a birth certificate is not valid proof anymore. Texas birth certificates are notorious. So notorious that I have 3 friends who can’t use them to get passports! Don’t think everything is hunky dory. You must nail down your citizenship.

http://www.nolo.com/legal-encyclopedia/filling-out-form-n-600-application-certificate-citizenship.html

Plus the cost for your citizenship certificate is almost doubling this fall.

SIGNAL BOOST.

Some Naturalization/Citizenship Certificate tips from me, the person who front-end processes these forms for half the country: the passport people are absolute garbage at sending your Naturalization Certificate back to you. Unfortunately, they also require it for you to get a passport. If you don’t get it back, whine at them about it and they will probably cover the cost of the replacement.  

Also! It takes up to 12 months to get a replacement certificate. If you urgently need your Natz Cert to visit your dying relative in another country, the word you want to use is ‘Expedite’. Not ‘ASAP’. Not ‘rush’. Expedite. Write a letter explaining why you need it expedited, if you do. Otherwise the USCIS data-entry grunts (me!) aren’t allowed to throw it into the expedite line and it gets relegated to the Backlog Crypts. 

Also! You need to get a new Naturalization Certificate if your name and/or gender legally changes, because a lot of places want your proof of citizenship for things like Social Security and student loans and Medicaid/EBT/welfare benefits and drivers’ licenses. 

ALSO ALSO both the N600 ($600) that you use to apply for your Naturalization Certificate in the first place and N565 ($345) that you use to apply for a replacement certificate are eligible for FEE WAIVERS. It’s called an I912. Learn it, love it, use it. 

Please for your sake make sure you are using the current version of the form. The most common reason I have to reject an N565 is because someone sent me something that expired in 2013. The current one is seven pages long. Please send the government all seven of them. 

sparklygrl:

includes cis girls, trans girls, nb girls, lesbians, bi girls, pan girls, anyone who is a girl and likes girls! excludes terfs!

heatherings:

okay do me a favor and reblog this with your favorite song in the tags that’s really…soft. like, i’m talking “first day of my life” by bright eyes, “falling in love at a coffee shop” by landon pigg kind of stuff. i wanna make a playlist

continue-puh-leez:

hillary-for-president2016:

“Hillary is so good at delivering the good that when she was in the Senate Karl Rove literately sent out a memo forbidding republican senators from talking to her because she kept getting them to support progressive causes.

She’d get to know each individual senator as a person, find some area where they weren’t shitty human beings, and talk them across party lines.

Her partnerships were deemed so successful … that Karl Rove, according to a source close to him, sent word last year to halt Republican cooperation with her—an edict that has been ignored. 

As the atmosphere in Washington has deteriorated, Clinton has emerged within the Senate as the unlikeliest of figures: she, not George W. Bush, has turned out to be a uniter, not a divider.

She walks softly but carries the biggest sticks. This is going to be great”

x

Why I would pull my hair in frustration every time a Bernie voter pointed out that she was friendly with or supported by a bigot or republican. You do realize that Republicans are basically your -coworkers- when you’re in the senate, right?

That leaders of bigoted special interest groups have an impact on our country whether someone meets with them & tries to reel them in or just leaves them to their own hateful devices.

Hillary Clinton would AT LEAST meet up with these people to let them know she had her eye on them, and at most to get them to do the most progressive thing they were capable of.

keepyourhandsbusy:

hyena-butts:

everybodyilovedies:

thepioden:

roachpatrol:

joshnewberry:

people who complain about dinosaurs “not being scary anymore” because its been discovered they have feathers and are closely related to/ancestors of birds are so bizarre like

• its not about how scary they are, they are/were real life animals and what matters is learning more about them, not how well they fit into your science fiction horror film lol
  
• can you imagine a 13 foot chicken running at you with full intent to eat you??? thats fucking terrifying holy shit
  

peacocks are synonymous with vain, frivolous beauty and they will attack cars. they will attack you while you try to get to your car. they’re like six feet of useless feathers and they will destroy you. imagine if they were carnivorous and had functional spurs. 

a t-rex could look like a gay disco ball and i guarantee that you would fucking book it if it had a problem with you

listen

listen

have you ever met a swan

if anything the birdier they get the scarier they are

Australia literally fought a war against giant birds AND FUCKING LOST

@kidwithheadphones

Overheard in the student lounge:

“Oh man, I can’t deal with birds ‘cause they’re dinosaurs and sometimes it’s like they get this glint in their eyes and they remember.”

“Have you ever interacted with a goose? ‘Cause those things are dicks.”

manicsrealm:

Dear comic book fans,

With the casting of Zendaya as Mary-Jane Watson in the upcoming Spider-Man film, I’ve noticed some tension and controversy surrounding this topic, and I just want you all to know…

WE COMIN FOR ALL YOUR REDHEADS!
WE TOOK MARY JANE
WE TOOK IRIS WEST
WE TOOK WALLY WEST
WE TOOK JIMMY OLSEN
WE COMIN FOR JEAN GREY NEXT
WE’LL MAKE BLACK WIDOW A MUTHAFUCKIN BLACK WIDOW

All right hear me out here, this is coming from a DEVOTED X-men geek: Please do a POC Jean Grey.  South Indian Jean Grey.  Nigerian Jean Grey.  Latina Jean Grey.  YO YOU KNOW WHAT I COULD GET BEHIND?  MOTHERFUCKING IRANIAN JEAN GREY OR SOMETHING FROM THAT AREA, YES OR YES.

I mean the others are good too but I love Jean, I am obsessed and I can think of like five AMAZING actresses I would love to see crush it as Jean Grey.

boypositiveplace:

For some of the boys out there who are feeling insecure about their bodies, I want you to look at some Olympic athletes:

Mo Farah, 10000m gold medal winner. He’s quite small and doesn’t have huge muscles. But he’s still a champion

Lasha Talakhadze, weightlifting gold medal winner. He’s not skinny; he clearly has body fat and a rounded face. But he’s still a champion 

Kōhei Uchimura, gymnastics gold medal winner. He’s muscular, but is only 1.61m tall (5ft 3″). But he’s still a champion 

So what I’m trying to say is that men and boys are often given expectations to be muscular, thin and tall - the diversity in male Olympics athletes shows that you absolutely do not need to be all/any of those things to be valid. You and your body are valid no matter what.

lydiagalaxy:

gehayi:

bri-ecrit:

rbnhood:

colethewolf:

clairenovac:

undercoverangryangel:

brainstatic:

Look at me. Look me in the eye. On November the 8th, 2016, one of two things will happen: Hillary Clinton will become president, or Donald Trump will become president. These are the only two possibilities. The superdelegates aren’t going to switch. An indictment isn’t coming. There is no third possibility. There is no space between the spaces where you can hide. Every vote for Donald Trump requires two Hilary Clinton votes to overcome. A Hillary Clinton vote can only be overcome by two Donald Trump votes. If you stay home, a Donald Trump vote doubles its power. This is the real, actual reality of the situation. There is not one other option.

And there’s no ctrl-alt-del for the election. Read up on 2000 if you doubt this.

And to those of us who supported Bernie, he WANTS you to vote for Hillary. If you believe in him and his mission you will follow his advice. He knows that writing his name in, or voting for anyone else besides Clinton, is effectively voting for Trump.

Refusing to vote for Hillary is a vote for Trump, no matter how much you scream and say how it’s not. And if you’re standing by to do nothing in regards to taking down Trump, then you ARE grouped along with the rest of the people in this country that ruin things for everybody else.

No, seriously, go read about the presidential election in 2000.

If you weren’t old enough to remember and/or understand the ramifications of the 2000 election, I WILL TELL YOU.

Do not let Trump win. Please. I beg you. I went to grad school with people who voted for Nader in 2000 and my FB feed is full of them begging others not to make the same mistake they did. Bernie has his priorities straight, and the priority is stopping Trump.

And if that doesn’t do it for you, this is the Republican platform 2016. It calls for:

• Conversion therapy for queer kids. Let me repeat that. CONVERSION THERAPY FOR QUEER KIDS.  Some members of the RNC even wanted to endorse it more explicitly than they did.
• Zealous opposition to same-sex marriage. Here’s the quote:  “Our laws and our government’s regulations should recognize marriage as the union of one man and one woman and actively promote married family life as the basis of a stable and prosperous society. For that reason, as explained elsewhere In this platform, we do not accept the Supreme Court’s redefinition of marriage and we urge its reversal, whether through judicial reconsideration or a constitutional amendment returning control over marriage to the States.”
• Reversing the Obama administration’s order to grant trans students access to restrooms, locker rooms, etc. The Republicans feel that such things should be based on biological gender, not gender identity.
• Treating internet porn as “a public health crisis.” Quote: “Pornography, with his harmful effects, especially on children, has become a public health crisis that is destroying the life of millions. We encourage states to continue to fight this public menace and pledge our commitment to children’s safety and wellbeing[.]”
• Gender discrimination. To quote Time magazine: “[T]he platform committee voted against including the word “gender” in a list of types of discrimination that should be opposed.   On Tuesday, one member described the attempt to add that word to a list including qualities like race, sex and creed as a “sneak attack.”
  
• Repeal of the Johnson Amendment. The Johnson Amendment currently prevents churches and other tax-exempt organizations from organizing politically, endorsing political candidates, etc. Repealing it would throw separation of church and state out the window…not to mention that it would give evangelical churches and televangelist organizations much more power, driving the country further to the right. 

If you vote for Trump, these are some of the planks of  the platform you’re voting for. 

Please, PLEASE, register and make sure to keep track of where you can go to cast your vote as well. 

fieldbears:

sewingfrommagic:

thealternativeisburning:

i want spock to give someone the vulcan salute and have that person misunderstand and give him a jubilous high five and spock just stares at his hand in confusion as an awkward silence ensues

What if that’s part of the basic sexual harassment training Starfleet gives at the academy like “do not highfive the Vulcans. Don’t do it. They look like they want highfives. They do not want highfives.”

the professor looking directly at student!kirk like “are you listening to this lecture today sir? because you strike me as the person who is going to need to remember this”

yutaone:

thebookishwitch:

To the followers who don’t say much: having you there still means a lot. Even if you never send in an ask or anything, I don’t care. I appreciate that you still follow me anyways. And it’s nice to see you there liking and reblogging my stuff.

To the followers who buzz like bees: When you reblog 17 of my posts or send my multiple asks in a row, you aren’t being irritating. You’re making me feel like I’m doing something right as a blogger. Thank you.

To the shy anons: I don’t know if you follow me or not, but regardless of why you sent in that ask, I’m just happy to be hearing from you. You aren’t a bother. You make me feel awesome.

To all of my followers whoever you are: Thank you for hitting that button. Thank you for sticking with me. If you ever need a shoulder to cry on or someone to celebrate with you, I’m here for you! If you ever need something explained, I’ll answer as best I can.

Thank you all of you.

!!!!!

microcroft:

After cosette introduced her dad to them les amis de l'abc accepted jean valjean as their dad weirdly fast and as did valjean like over the course of a week Jean Valjean had unexpectedly adopted 11 college students and 1 ten year old and they all look up to him as a fatherly figure and randomly call him for advice and he is pretty sure that over half of them have him as their emergency contact now. Sometimes the call him and give him life updates like enjolras excitedly calling him one night: “GRANTAIRE ASKED ME OUT TO GET COFFEE TOMORROW!!! Wait what am i supposed to do?” Then proceeded to slightly panic while valjean gave him dating advice and told him to be himself (yesterday grantaire had called him for advice on how to ask out enjolras) and every time they tell him about one of their latest achievements in life he gets this swell of pride in his heart.

He goes to gavroches soccer/football games, grantaires art shows, courfeyracs plays or musicals, every protest he can go to, and every big event that matters to them because even though they arent actually his kids they practically are at this point

letsgostealafandom:

lonestorm:

suzukiblu:

mochiartemisa:

I just wanna take a vote, how many fanfic authors would actually enjoy someone live blogging their fics?

what kind of question is this I would COMMIT CRIMES for this. 

SAME AF

That sounds like literally the most validating and amazing experience ever. Like I am legit going to start doing this in fic comments for people because holy shit.

elvhenuris:

i just love how jillian holtzmann hit every queer girl like a fucking truck