XMen Days of Future Past stresses me out so fucking bad.
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Keni
No title available

blake kathryn
Mike Driver
I'd rather be in outer space đž
$LAYYYTER

Discoholic đȘ©

pixel skylines

Andulka

PR's Tumblrdome
đ©” avery cochrane đ©”
hello vonnie

Kiana Khansmith
No title available
Game of Thrones Daily

No title available

oozey mess
Cosimo Galluzzi

â
seen from Malaysia
seen from Belgium
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Malaysia
seen from TĂŒrkiye
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
@twentysixsense
XMen Days of Future Past stresses me out so fucking bad.
there was like a panic every 20-30 years tf 19th century get your shit together
I have a panic every 20-30 minutes so no judgement
Listen up, kids... (50 Shades of WTF)
Woke up this morning with a searing pain in my right shoulder because I slept in a position that aggravated an old injury. It took me about four hours to regain full mobility. I have a toddler daughter, and a job that can be physically intense. I donât have four hours to wait for this shit to settle.
Nine years ago, I began a relationship with a mysterious âbad boyâ who was ten years older than me, and claimed he wanted to teach me about the world of sex and BDSM. I was 18, and had never once been taught the phrase âsafe, sane, and consensualâ. I wanted to please him, wanted to prove I was 'adultâ enough, wanted to try something new, exciting, and a little dangerous.
It started off mildly â blindfolds, soft restraints, leashes/collars. Then he started choking me, with the understanding that two taps was a nonverbal safeword. Gradually over time, he went from respecting my safeword, to drawing it out for up to 30 seconds. 30 seconds is a long time when you canât breathe. He said he was turned on by the look of panic and fear in my eyes because I never knew if he would stop or not.
Eventually the soft Velcro restraints were replaced with coarse rope from the hardware store. When he damaged my shoulder, he left me hog-tied on a futon mattress with a dirty t-shirt over my head, and ball-gag in my mouth while he went to take a long shower. I didnât know what would happen first â dislocation of my limbs, or asphyxiation from the gag and shirt. When he came back, he shoved his dick down my throat and then fucked me rough without any prep or foreplay.
I would give blowjobs for hours on end with my wrists cuffed behind my back, until my jaw ached and my joints screamed from the restraints, and would still have to keep going. I was guilted into having sex without a condom, because he didnât like the way they felt. I was pressured into anal sex, and when I told him to stop because it hurt, he kept going because he was 'closeâ. The relationship ended with him raping me at my own birthday party, and threatening everyone there with a knife.
This is where naive girls who read 50 Shades of Grey are going to end up â not marrying the beautiful, broken billionaire, but haunted and damaged, even years later. This is not sexy. This is not love. This is not the BDSM lifestyle. This is abuse.
SAFE. SANE. CONSENSUAL. THAT is What It Is We Do. Educate yourself. Love yourself enough to know your limits, and run for the fucking hills if anyone goes beyond them. Safewords are law. If someone gets mad at you for safewording, get the fuck out. You should never, ever, be in a position where you are unable to indicate whether or not you are comfortable with what is going on. Your inner goddess will thank you.
Edward Herrmann
How great of a tribute would it be if Kelly Bishop, Lauren Graham, Alexis Bledel, etc. got back together for a Gilmore Girls short â or even webisode â in which Richard has recently passed away, and they (and other friends/family) are paying their last respects?
#winter
The problem is that even if Trump loses all of the people who support him still exist and are still out there creating the social climate that allowed him to get this far in the first place.
Someone put it into words. Itâs terrifying.
The best analogy for this situation that Iâve heard:
Imagine that you and four of your friends are trying to decide on something to do. Three of you vote to go to the movies, and the other two vote to kill a puppy. Even though you ultimately end up going to the movies, you still have to deal with the fact that two of your friends are 100% down with killing a puppy.
Damn. Well and terrifyingly put.
The fact that Sir Patrick Stewart and Sir Ian Mckellen are best friends in real life makes me so happy
x
HOW ARE THEY REAL
#squadgoals
Never stops making me smile. I want someone like this in my life. đ
Okay so the best thing,the best thing about Sirs Patrick & Ian being best friends is that they met because of the X-Men movie.
I saw Sir Patrick speak a year or so ago and someone asked him about their friendship. Â He told this story about how I think theyâd once or twice worked on the same production but had had very little interaction, and that when heâd been a kid, heâd utterly looked up to Sir Ian, who had had an established theater career at a very young age.Â
People assume that theyâve been friends since they were young, which makes sense given the sort of work theyâve done and their career trajectories, but no. Sir Patrick basically had a giant hero-crush-from-a-distance on Sir Ian for most of his life AND THEN on the set of X-Men, their trailers were put next to each other and they were significantly older than anyone else on the set, so they started spending their downtime together.Â
And became inseparable. Â And this is amazing.Â
So everyone who wants a friend like this, you have time. <3
âAll I want to say is that they donât really care about us.â
âThey say if youâre under 40, and youâre not a Democrat, you donât have a heart.
They say if youâre over 40, and you ARE a Democrat, you donât have a brain.â
Iâm in my late 20s, but I will take heart over brain any day. Registered independent, but my heart is singing with pride right now over #nobillnobreak.
It usually feels like activism for a progressive society is the younger generationâs battle, but we have grown ass adults sitting on the floor of the house, singing and chanting, and demanding a safer society⊠Iâm getting all stupid inside just thinking about it.
Pregnancy test turns blue, and Iâm scared that now adulting means being accountable for another human life and holy shit, Iâm barely accountable for myself.
Ultrasound upon ultrasound, because somethingâs not right, my blood isnât right, my uterus isnât right, something is wrong, and the doctors throw around words like âbloodworkâ and 'monitoringâ and 'miscarriageâ and 'stillbirthâ like darts at a target, that target being the dark little corner of my brain that says 'you never get anything you truly wantâ, and Iâm scared that I can lose this baby before itâs even a baby, just a bundle of cells wrapped up on amniotic fluid and growing, but maybe not enough.
And they tell me: Pack a bag; youâre having a baby TODAY. NOW. Somethingâs wrong with the heartbeat, and they drug me and poke me and prod me and cut me, and thenâŠ
And then everything is good. Everything is awesome and beautiful and they tell me the baby is healthy, and I can take it home, but make sure
Make sure I know that back is best and breast is best, and no raw honey, and rear-face my car seat, and no blankets in the crib, and SIDS, and SIDS, and SIDS, and just make it to three months, and the risk goes down considerably, and I hold my breath for 12 weeks, until we are singing 'happy ÂŒ birthdayâ, and I think I made it.
But the world is still full of bookshelves that want to fall on my baby, and cars that want to run over my baby, and strangers in Target who want to kidnap my baby, and diseases that want to infiltrate my babyâs helpless little body, and kids that want to tell my baby it should be this or that, and because it is not, it is less than, but I am prepared to anchor the bookshelves, stop the cars, ward off the strangers, vaccinate against diseases, and teach my baby to tell bullies to fuck off (in the nicest way possible), because Iâm almost 30, and life has prepared me to be on the defensive
But Iâm not prepared to bury my baby. I worked too damn hard to make this baby, to raise this baby, to teach this baby to love me and itself, and make the world a better place, and eat its vegetables, and be a person, but
But the sad reality is that we live in a world where it is too easy for an individual to decide that today is the day that my baby is taken from me,
At the movies. At the mall. At a grocery store. At a club. At school. At school. At school. And so on and so forth. 76 days out of 165. The odds are not in my favour.
I worked so hard to make this little life, but we make it too easy for an individual 'to kill a lot of people at one timeâ, and weâre too busy posting memes that 'spoons donât make a person fatâ to take a minute to really consider why a civilian would need to dispel 700 rounds a minute. What the hell kinds of deer do you think theyâre hunting
The pregnancy test turned blue, and I was scared Because I knew I was bringing life into a world where we are resigned to the fact That some day our babies will be a candle and a name on a list and balloons sent up to the sky While the rest of us down below post memes and pictures And shake our heads at our Facebook page For the 76th time this year.
Imagine if Dudley did have a magical child though.
He and Harry havenât spoken since âI donât think youâre a waste of spaceâ and heâs matured enough to realise his parents were not good to Harry, especially since the birth of his own little girls because God forbid anything happened to him and they were treated like Harry was.
On Daisy Dursleyâs eleventh birthday theres a knock on the door and his wife, Anita, just stares and he feels his stomach drop because the stern lady on the doorstep is wearing a cloak and pointed hat.
They listen to the woman - Professor McGonagall - explain and Anita is surprised but receptive, Daisy is excited and Dudley is terrified of what this means.
Itâs a surprise to his wife and little girl when at the end of her explanation, while Daisyâs flicking through a book with moving pictures and Anita peers over her shoulder, Dudley blurts out âitâs safe now then? Your world?â
Professor Mcgonagall gives a wry smile and assures him that the magical world is indeed safe. It dawns on him that she was expecting this, that sheâd perhaps researched him and was aware of his relation to Harry.
He then admits to Anita and Daisy that his cousin is a wizard, before turning to the Professor and asking if she by chance knows a Harry Potter. Looking amused, professor Mcgonagall acknowledges that she does.
âD'you know where he lives?â
That does surprise her a bit, and she tells him that yes, she knows and that though Daisyâs acceptance into the school has been confidential up until this point, Harry would likely not mind a visitor if he wanted a word.
Daisy begs to come along and he relents eventually, bringing Anita and their youngest, Poppy, along.
All four of them stand on the doorstep of a modest house that Dudley would call nice if there werenât squat little creatures snickering and running around the front garden.
The door is opened by a slouching boy with turquoise hair who arches a purple eyebrow at them. He yells over his shoulder for someone named Ginny and steps back to let them in, and, when he notices Daisy staring at his hair, he smirks and a second later itâs bubblegum pink.
Daisy squeals in delight and Dudley is still trying to get his head around that when young girl and boy around Daisyâs age with bright red hair and thick brown curls respectively, hurtle down the corridor.
âTeddy you promised youâd practice the sloth grip roll with us!â The girl yells in an accusatory tone.
A woman with hair the same shade of flaming red as the little girl appears with what Dudley recognises as a wand in her hand as the boy with blue hair flashes a grin at them before chasing the two younger children outside to a shout of âNo higher than the treetops Teddy!â
Harry is much like Dudley remembers him, lanky with a pointed face, straight nose and mess of untameable black hair. Itâs awkward, but, apparently forewarned, Harry greets him pleasantly and introduces his wife before Ginny goes outside to reign in a gaggle of children he assumes arenât all Harryâs.
A woman with thick, bushy hair pulled into a messy bun with a wand stuck in it smiles and makes an effort to talk to Anita. Sheâs not too strange, he thinks, and reassures them that her parents were just as baffled when they found out she was a witch.
âWhy donât you take Daisy outside to see the broomsticks, Al?â Harry suggests to Daisyâs obvious delight and Dudley swears Harryâs trying not to laugh.
By the end of the visit Dudley is more informed about the wizarding world than he ever thought he would or wanted to be. Daisy, with a bruise on her forehead and scraped knees, because despite both his and Harryâs warning she hadnât been able to resist trying to fly, is bouncing off the walls because âdaddy how could you not tell us?!â
They visit Harryâs a lot over summer and Daisy befriends Lily Luna Potter and Hugo Weasley. Dudley doesnât feel up to the trip to Diagon Alley but regrets his decision to not go when Daisy comes back with two owls, âuncle Harry bought the second one for me! So you can write without having to wait for me to send my owl!â
Petunia Dursley faints when she finds out, and Vernon spends a good half hour cursing and brandishing things aimlessly before retreating to his shed.
Dudley being introduced to what he calls âall those bloody gingersâ some of whom are only just on the right side of civil to him (one cheerfully introduces himself as someone who once visited his childhood home in a flying car and asks if heâs going to need to do the same for Daisy or will she be allowed to attend without punishment).
Daisy is shocked to find out Harryâs famous, and finds out as much as she can about him during her first term, which she relays to an increasingly guilty feeling Dudley, whoâs gradually coming around to the idea.
Itâs not as bad as his parents made out it was. Heâs learned to understand Daisyâs ramblings about her subjects and spells and is proud of her achievements at school. Heâs met a handful of witches and wizards through Harry and the world that heâs always been told is terrible doesnât seem too bad anymore, after all, how could it with his little girl in it? He is prepared come excitable little Poppyâs eleventh birthday, for her to join her sister at Hogwarts instead of standing jealously on the platform as she leaves.
Poppy Dursley never gets a letter.
I TRUSTED YOU
No, but imagine. Three generations later, this family FINALLY gets the one wizard kid/one Muggle kid thing right. Poppy is never made to feel less, even though sheâs disappointed. Daisy is never made to feel like a freak. Poppy is accepted by Harryâs kids, they play with her and she doesnât need magic to play wizard chess or toss gnomes and Teddy takes her flying sometimes (she becomes a hell of a Quidditch referee and strategist with Ginnyâs help, though she never plays).
Anita and Dudley talk to Poppy about what sheâd like to do for school and she goes to a prestigious Muggle school, and as it turns out she becomes really, really good at tech and coding. She takes lots of time off to visit Daisy at Hogwarts where she becomes a favorite of McGonagall (so many clever questions). Eventually she meets Luna and spends most of a summer with her, following Crumple-Horned Snorkacks with the help of some trackers Poppy built to work around magic. Everyone is terribly impressed, and although Poppy tries to be blasĂ© about it, sheâs actually really proud.
And soon enough Daisy is graduating and working at the Ministry in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office with Arthur Weasley, who has been working on loosening some of the legislation, and when Poppy graduates she has a marvelous idea. She and Daisy open a shop in Diagon Ally for all these Muggle technologies that Poppy has fixed to work around and with magic. Dursleyâs Muggle Magic, they call it.
And suddenly wizards are running around with iPhones and Kindles (Hermione made a digital copy of Hogwarts, a History RIGHT AWAY) and everyone is catching up on decades of video games and a century of movies. Scorpius Malfoy has an Apple Watch. And itâs all thanks the Poppy Dursley, the Muggle.
I am a huge believer that a person can raise a banner for more than one cause â just because you âPray for Parisâ doesnât mean your devotion to 'Black Lives Matterâ is lessened, just because you 'Stand With Planned Parenthoodâ doesnât mean you canât also want to help Syrian refugees, etc. They are all causes unto themselves, but there are some times when I have a quiet moment to think that I feel like my heart is stretched too thin.
What do you do when you care too much about too many things?
Why the Internet is a dangerous place.
Take a moment to analyze the difference between Black Pride and White Pride right now. Black students at Mizzou are protesting bc the administration continues to sweep racist shit that happens to them by white students under the rug. Black Pride is WE WANT RESPECT, WE WANT TO FEEL SAFE ON CAMPUS, WE WANT TO BE TREATED EQUALLY.
Now take a look at how white students are reacting now that these black students are making changes in the way their school handles racism. What are they doing? Threatening to hurt, threatening to kill under the chant of âWhite Prideâ. They are so dramatically different. One simply calls for respect, safety, and equality while the other calls for dominance, power, and hatredâŠ
Thereâs this fic on AO3 that, according to my history page, I have visited 176 times. Â Which means I alone am responsible for 176 hits on that fic. Â I commented on some of the chapters, but only a few, because I feel like a stalker when I comment every week. Â I gave it kudos, but I can only give it one, even though itâs one of my favorites.
So just remember, when youâre looking at that hit count and wondering why you donât have that same number of kudos (divided by the number of chapters, because each one of those also counts as a hit), it might be because some people out there love your fic. Â They read it when theyâre feeling down. Â They open it in the waiting room at the doctors office, or in the lonesome dark of night. Â They turn to it in celebration when they did something right. Â They open it over and over so they can send the link to their friends, or just to revisit the characters that they love. Â They checked it ten times in one day, hoping that you had updated.
A disparity between hits and kudos does not mean that your readers didnât like your fic, or that they were too lazy to hit the kudos button. Â It means that some of them came back, and thereâs nothing that makes me happier about my writing than that.
Publicity done right in an anti-rape campaign: double-page spread, pages glued to one another. After the reader forcefully separates them, the image above is revealed with the caption âif you have to use force, itâs rapeâ.
THIS IS BRILLIANT
I WANT THIS IN EVERY MAGAZINE