The Doghouse
This sentence has five words. Here are five more words. Five-word sentences are fine. But several together become monotonous. Listen to what is happening. The writing is getting boring. The sound of it drones. It’s like a stuck record. The ear demands some variety. Now listen. I vary the sentence length, and I create music. Music. The writing sings. It has a pleasant rhythm, a lilt, a harmony. I use short sentences. And I use sentences of medium length. And sometimes, when I am certain the reader is rested, I will engage him with a sentence of considerable length, a sentence that burns with energy and builds with all the impetus of a crescendo, the roll of the drums, the crash of the cymbals—sounds that say listen to this, it is important.

Gary Provost (via tuongexists)

Holy crap, what just happened there… (via cyrusgabriel)

Words, man. Words.

(via bookoisseur)

hyperlinktwink:

kittentitsvantass:

The original post is gaining at a rate of 1,000 notes in a minute

Before you reblog, comment, or send an ask always check the blog.

I do not want another person driven off of this site or get death threats because they were uneducated about a topic.

bringing this back :)

misandry-mermaid:

cpt-melarki:

misandry-mermaid:

It’s quite revealing that the only time MRAs ever mention male rape victims is to make a straw-man argument that feminists don’t care about them.

Well…do you care about them? All we see is the definition of rape changing to more…

sexselector:

protego-et-servio:

Can we signal boost this, please?

Or are men just going to cringe and whine about having to get one shot in their weenie?

Pretty sure male contraception would definitely lower abortion rates.  If both partners are protected, how likely do you think an accidental pregnancy will occur?  (In my experience, very few men would choose a condom over nothing, if they know their lover is protected.)

Friendly reminder: Women have gone through remembering to take a pill, daily; shots every three months; having an IUD shoved up their vagina; having an implant stuck under their skin; using a patch in order to keep their ability to conceive under rein.  And if that fails they either suffer pregnancy, miscarriage, or choose the highly stigmatized abortion.

indeed there is ZERO reason that the sex with internal gonads need be the ones to get sterilized. RISUG is even reversible.

tryingtolosemyfupa:

poesdaughter:

pastelmorgue:

IT’S BACK

OMFG

I will love this forever!!!

twinkletwinkleyoulittlefuck:

cell-mate:

crackerhell:

ethanwearsprada:

i think it’s a universal truth that everyone in our generation takes pluto’s losing its planetary status as a personal offense

yes

pluto is smaller than russia. why did we ever even consider it a planet?

BECAUSE IT’S A PART OF OUR SOLAR SYSTEM

OHANA MEANS FAMILY

FAMILY MEANS NO ONE IS LEFT BEHIND

stele3:

orionsnacks:

in the movie a little boy recognises steve at the captain america exhibit. it’s my headcanon that a little girl recognises bucky when he goes to the smithsonian exhibit to find out who he really is

because little girls have heroes too

"You should tie your hair back," a little girl with pitch-black hair says to the Winter Soldier. He stares down at her, silent, but she continues undeterred. "Mommy says that we need to have our hair tied back or we’ll trip over things because we can’t see. She makes me wear these—" She displays her wrist, which is encircled by a rainbow of different hair bands. "—because mine keep falling out. You can’t fight evil if you can’t see it. I want to be a police officer when I grow up. Are you a…"

She trails off, her eyes steadily getting bigger. They dart to the large digital image of James Buchanan Barnes, then back to his face. The Winter Soldier’s eyes dart, too, over the exits and the crowd and the girl’s distracted mother—attempting to corral three other black-haired children—before landing back on the girl’s face, where an improbable grin has begun to grow.

"I knew it," she whispers.

The Winter Soldier blinks down at her, thrown off by the delight in her expression. No one is ever happy to see the Soldier.

The girl reins in her wide grin and does her own scan of the crowd. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell. People can’t handle the truth. But I can.” She turns her shining eyes back to the Soldier.

Slowly, very slowly, the Soldier reaches out with hands that have broken, maimed, strangled, shot, stabbed, and ripped apart human flesh. His voice creaks out of him, rusty with disuse. “Can I have a hair tie?”

Without taking her eyes off him, the girl rolls a light blue one out of the rainbow and hands it over.

Sebastian and the Beast, Chapter 9, page 13

howlsmoving-asshole:

howllor:

oh my godddddd there is a new swedish reality tv show where they are tracking down internet trolls and confronting them about the death threats they’ve sent to people, since it’s actually illegal.

watching them try to explain how it’s not them is the best entertainment i’ve ever seen.

this episode ended with them fining him 5000 SEK to be paid to the victim!

guess what America should do

Here’s the other two main characters from Paradigm.  Only two more weeks until it starts posting!
Winona Absaroka
Ex-military, FBI agent. She’s Natsuko’s partner, though she’s a bit more laid back (and taller). She’s Plains Tribes (specifically Crow/Absaroka), and the feather indicates her military service. (Only Plains Tribes have this tradition - you wouldn’t see someone from other areas of the US doing this.)
Ohayashi Natsuko
Winona’s partner. FBI agent. She’s usually very upbeat and energetic.  Yes I’m keeping her name in the normal Japanese format - family name(Ohayashi) personal name(Natsuko).
antolovich:

thepandabaker:

adeyami:

Land of the free home of the rich

What really scares me is that they all have significantly cheaper health care AND education, which means Americans not only make they least, they pay the most.

…wait, what?

antolovich:

thepandabaker:

adeyami:

Land of the free home of the rich

What really scares me is that they all have significantly cheaper health care AND education, which means Americans not only make they least, they pay the most.

…wait, what?

nottonyharrison:

I asked my dad once, how he learned to sew. My father was born in 1952, so I kind of expected him to have some kind of borderline misogynist answer. Instead I got this pearl of wisdom:

Honey, when you’re five thousand feet in the air, and there’s only a bit of fabric between a fun ride down, and going splat, it’s important to know how to sew rips in your own fucking parachute.

lalondes:

tv show idea: “breaking good”

a murderous drug lord is miraculously cured of cancer and decides to turn his life around. he uses his extensive knowledge of meth cookery to become a chemistry teacher and help young people discover the wonder of science

Now this I’d watch.

Why the Winter Soldier is Less an Embodiment of Soviet Russia Than I Thought, or: Bucky Barnes, American Cold War Anxieties, and You

puelhathnofury:

wizzard890:

As you might imagine, I walked into Captain America 2 ready to get my Soviet Russia on. The Winter Soldier run is one of my favorites in—well, in any comic, really, and from what I’d seen in the trailers and whatnot, it looked like we were going to get a heaping dose of what makes that series so special and so sobering: the bloodstained underbelly of Soviet international politics, a glimpse at the way men and women were fed into the meat grinder of the State, pulped for the greater glory of their nation. In Bucky we’d see a drafted soldier kidnapped, brainwashed, and streamlined into the perfect machine. Not an ideal Soviet man, far from it; but a tool, utilitarian and dispassionate, with the five-pointed martial star on his shoulder; the awful triumph of the State over so-called human frailty.

And we did, we got all of that—insofar that you can’t have a Winter Soldier without those things. But as I watched, it became increasingly clear that this movie wasn’t looking to talk about the Soviet Union. There is a reason Bucky only speaks Russian once in the entire film. There’s a reason he’s never addressed in it. There’s a reason his code name is drawn from an investigation into one of the ugliest chapters of American history. And there is a reason that the movie takes this snarling, mechanized, indiscriminate killing machine and explicitly sets him up as Captain America’s other half. 

I’ve seen some reviews going after the film for pulling its punches, of holding up the Greatest Generation as America’s past, and a polluted security branch as its future, absolving it of responsibility for its actions in both cases. It’s HYDRA now and “sacrifices for freedom” then; why aren’t we interrogating ourselves a little harder?

My answer to that is: we did, and the movie is named after what we found.

The Winter Soldier is concerned with security and international supremacy, and the moral compromises America has made (and continues to make) in pursuit of both. It draws a straight line from WWII America to the modern day, where “we did some things we weren’t proud of” becomes drone warfare and Big Brother. Steve is at one end of this timeline, Nick Fury at the other. There’s a chasm of about fifty years between the two points. That’s where the Winter Soldier steps in. 

This film is haunted by an American war, yes. But not the one Steve fought in. The Cold War was “a battle for the soul of mankind”, waged across millions of hearts and minds, and it’s a patched-over burn in the American psyche, barely healed and still tender to the touch. We emerged on the other side of forty-four years as the world’s one and only superpower. And it fucking cost us.

McCarthyism saw Americans turning on one another, fueled by snarling, indiscriminate paranoia. Operation Paperclip recruited Nazi scientists to keep German technology out of Soviet hands. Vietnam, with its thousands dead, was fought to keep the dominoes of Communism from falling across Asia. America, augmented by an unimaginable weapon and ruthlessly militarized, spied, ordered assassinations, irradiated its own children, and dragged the world to the brink of nuclear holocaust. All for the sake of security.  

The Winter Soldier is that America.

Inhuman, bionic, unfeeling, unthinking, the perfect weapon: a creature of progress, powered by pure ideology. The mind wipes? Decades of propaganda in its purest, most undiluted form, administered directly to the brain. The arm? I know a nuclear metaphor when I see one.

If Cap is the potential of America, what we should never stop striving for, the Winter Soldier is what became of us when we fell desperately short. He is what we did to ourselves.

In many ways this film is a ghost story, and like all good ghost stories, it holds up the tragedy of our mistakes and begs us not to repeat them. What SHIELD proposes—Project Insight—is assured destruction, a level of control over a population not exercised since we were staring Russia down over a launch pad. And so the Winter Soldier appears, the long cold shadow of America’s past, and crashes into the hope for its future with the ring of a metal fist against a shield.

Cap can’t destroy him, what’s done is done. Bucky can’t be unwounded, or given back his stolen time; the blood on his hands won’t be scrubbed out. But they can walk slowly together, one helping the other stand. 

Steve can’t progress without Bucky, just as, the film seems to say, America itself is doomed to fester unless it looks to its past and acknowledges what it has done; the things it has ground into dust in the name of a higher cause. In the MCU, the only way Captain America’s country will move forward is if it swears to never, ever go back.

Leave it to Emily to knock this meta out of the park. <3 

Desmond/Alex, "I'll carry you, hold still or it'll hurt more."

Desmond leapt desperately over the gaping chasm of the alleyway, made even darker by night and weak lighting. Fumbling the landing, he came down hard on his shoulder as he rolled.  He staggered upright on his already twisted ankle and forced aching muscles to carry him forward.

Abstergo’s goons landed behind him, soft thuds on the roof’s gravel and he wasn’t even halfway to the next building.  Turning around, he got ready to make his last stand.  He should have done this at the beginning when he was fresh and unhurt, he reflected bitterly.  At least then he could have taken a few of them down.

"Come quietly, Mr. Miles, and this can all be over," one goon suggested.

"Fuck you," Desmond said, still trying to get his breath back.

Something landed behind the goons with a heavy crash, tremors shuddering through the roof.

"What, what is thaaarg!"

Blood and pulped flesh sprayed over the gravel as a dark, hulking monster rose up and roared, arms like coiling, shifting whips.  It struck out again and nailed two more goons, sending pieces of them tumbling off the roof.

Shrugging bullets off like they were nothing, the monster brought one arm-thing down on the last two Abstergo goons, leaving only a choked gurgle behind.

Now alone with the thing, Desmond unsheathed his hidden blade in pure defiance.  “Try it,” he said. He didn’t think it would do any good.

He was surprised then, when the monster only looked at him, bowing down or, shrinking?  Desmond blinked his eyes, but the monster had gone, leaving only a human figure in jeans and a dark jacket, a hoodie hiding the face in black shadows.

"You’re hurt," the thing observed in a low, gravelly voice.

Now that he’d been reminded, all the aches and pains came home with a vengeance. “Why do you care?”

The thing snorted.  “You’re in my city being chased by these assholes,” it kicked at a lump of flesh.  “I didn’t like the odds, so I decided to even them up.”

Feeling lightheaded, Desmond felt himself start to sway. “Are you going to kill me?”

"Hadn’t planned on it," the thing said, approaching.  "You’re bleeding."

Oh. That was the burning pain in his leg. “Not too bad. Didn’t hit any big blood vessels,” Desmond heard himself say, staring at the soggy, bloody patch on his jeans. Everything seemed to gray out and he felt himself falling.

"Ngh," Desmond mumbled as he came around, feeling groggy.  He was being carried bridal-style, pressed up against something warm.  Someone warm.

"Uh?"

"I’m getting you to a doctor, hold still or it’ll hurt more. I’m Alex by the way."

The monster that had turned five of Abstergo’s goons into so much paste was named Alex.  Desmond contemplated panicking for a moment, and drifted into a light doze, pressed up against the warmth of his monster.