Ask me what kind of porn I’m into,
and I will take you on a magical journey to
fanfiction.com/harrypotter/nc17—

What turns me on
is Ginny Weasley in the Restricted Section with her skirt hiked up,
Sirius Black in a secret passageway
solemnly swearing he is up to no good,
and Draco Malfoy
in the Room of Requirement
Slytherin in to my Chamber of Secrets,

I am an unapologetic consumer of
all things Potterotica,
and the sexiest part
is not the way
Cho Chang rides that broomstick,
or the sound of Myrtle moaning,
the sexiest part
is knowing they are part of a bigger story,
that they exist beyond eight minutes in
“Titty Titty Gang Bang,”
that their kegels
are not the strongest thing about them,
and still,
I am told that my porn is unrealistic.

Not quite as erotic
as flashing ads that say “JUST TURNED 18!”
so you can fantasize about fucking
the youngest girl you won’t go to jail for;

I’m told that my porn isn’t quite as lifelike
as a room full of lesbians begging for cock,
told that this
is what is supposed to turn me on,

Don’t you give me raw meat
and tell me it is nourishment,
I know a slaughterhouse when I see one.

It looks like 24/7 live streaming
reminding me
that men are going to fuck me
whether I like it or not,
that there is one use for my mouth
and it is not speaking,
that a man is his most powerful
when he’s got a woman by the hair;

The first time a man I loved
held me by the wrists and called me a whore,
I did not think, “RUN.”
I thought, “This is just like the movies,”
I know a slaughterhouse when I see one.

It looks like websites and seminars
teaching you how to fuck more bitches;
Looks like 15-year-old boys
bullied for being virgins;
It looks like the man who did not flinch
when I said “Stop,”
and he heard, “try harder,”

If you play-act at butchery long enough
you grow used to
the sounds of the screaming.

It is just a side effect of industry;
Everything gets cut
into small, marketable pieces,
you can almost forget
they were ever real bodies.

I will not practice bloody hands.
I will not make-believe dissected women.
My sex cannot be packaged,
my sex is magic,
it is part of a bigger story;
I am whole.
I exist when you are not fucking me,
and I will not be cut into pieces
anymore.

silentauroriamthereal:

nofreedomlove:

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Source

“Image Credit: Carol Rossetti

When Brazilian graphic designer Carol Rossetti began posting colorful illustrations of women and their stories to Facebook, she had no idea how popular they would become. 

Thousands of shares throughout the world later, the appeal of Rosetti’s work is clear. Much like the street art phenomenon Stop Telling Women To Smile, Rossetti’s empowering images are the kind you want to post on every street corner, as both a reminder and affirmation of women’s bodily autonomy. 

"It has always bothered me, the world’s attempts to control women’s bodies, behavior and identities,” Rossetti told Mic via email. “It’s a kind of oppression so deeply entangled in our culture that most people don’t even see it’s there, and how cruel it can be.”

Rossetti’s illustrations touch upon an impressive range of intersectional topics, including LGBTQ identity, body image, ageism, racism, sexism and ableism. Some characters are based on the experiences of friends or her own life, while others draw inspiration from the stories many women have shared across the Internet. 

“I see those situations I portray every day,” she wrote. “I lived some of them myself.”

Despite quickly garnering thousands of enthusiastic comments and shares on Facebook, the project started as something personal — so personal, in fact, that Rossetti is still figuring out what to call it. For now, the images reside in albums simply titled “WOMEN in english!“ or ”Mujeres en español!“ which is fitting: Rossetti’s illustrations encompass a vast set of experiences that together create a powerful picture of both women’s identity and oppression.

One of the most interesting aspects of the project is the way it has struck such a global chord. Rossetti originally wrote the text of the illustrations in Portuguese, and then worked with an Australian woman to translate them to English. A group of Israeli feminists also took it upon themselves to create versions of the illustrations in Hebrew. Now, more people have reached out to Rossetti through Facebook and offered to translate her work into even more languages. Next on the docket? Spanish, Russian, German and Lithuanian.

It’s an inspiring show of global solidarity, but the message of Rossetti’s art is clear in any language. Above all, her images celebrate being true to oneself, respecting others and questioning what society tells us is acceptable or beautiful.

"I can’t change the world by myself,” Rossetti said. “But I’d love to know that my work made people review their privileges and be more open to understanding and respecting one another.”

From the site: All images courtesy Carol Rossetti and used with permission. You can find more illustrations, as well as more languages, on her Facebook page.

Oooh. I reblogged a partial version of this recently but I didn’t know how many more there were! I LOVE these!

actuallyclintbarton:

baskauskas:

oh my god this guy messaged me on okcupid and he has a “don’t message me if” section and 

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jesus christ

Holy shitbears! I think he just excluded 99.9% of his potential dating pool, and the other .01% is probably gonna think he’s a controlling pretentious douche.

Jegus.

Okay, controlling or not, you guys are all missing one very glaring point here in the FLOOD of extraneous detail. You only need one dot point here to run away from this guy FAST.

– you think a person who has forceful paedophilic thoughts is evil, rather than ill

– you think a person who has forceful paedophilic thoughts is evil, rather than ill

‘Paederast apologist’ ranks pretty highly on the ‘do not want’ list, in my book.

Would you mind expanding a bit on your Howard Stark hulk rage feels? :)

ink-phoenix:

I’m gonna keep this to the MCU because thinking about 616 Howard Stark (who is a drunk, unpredictable, abusive asshole who belittles Tony and fucking threatens him with violence what the fuck) makes me foam at the mouth in rage.

Let’s pick this one quote from IM2:

He was cold, he was calculating. He never told me he loved me, he never told me he liked me so it’s a little tough for me to digest when you’re telling me he said the whole future was riding on me and he’s passing it down. I don’t get that. We’re talking about a guy whose happiest day was when he shipped me off to boarding school.

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This meta hits all the right notes for me. And I’d like to add that when Steve is on the table, about to undergo a procedure that will likely kill him, Howard doesn’t even say a single word to him, just looks him up and down with this cold, removed stare like Steve is just another component in a machine. And all props to Dominic Cooper for that look, too, because I find that moment the most chilling of all.

my problem is my mamma raised me far too nice
to ever wish death on somebody, regardless of how much
they’d harmed me so instead i’m compiling a list
of odd karmatic punishments
for the assholes of my existence like

i hope the girl who ruined my senior year of high school
by bullying the hope out of my bones
has a bad hair day on every first date. i hope
the words she said behind my back tangle around
her head so when people meet her for the first time
they can see how unkind
she really is.

my mother and my father were talking in public
and a policeman asked her if she wanted the
‘dirty hispanic’ to leave her alone
and i really hope that policeman goes home
to heat that never works properly and that
the cold makes his bones ache, i hope the
warmth of my daddy’s sun never kisses
the sweaty temples of men who use their
position of power as an excuse to be racist

the man who hit me until i bled from the
corners of my mouth and who kissed me no matter
how much i asked him to stop better constantly get
his dick stuck in his zipper and i hope a large rash
develops because of it because maybe being
in constant pain will make him learn
some empathy

i want the teacher who told my friend joe
‘you can’t be a boy just because you say so’
to spill overheated 99-cent coffee on her ironed skirt
every other thursday, i hope it stains because
her words never washed out of his ears either

i hope the boy who broke my heart is
doing well, because i’m doing well too, but i want
the boy who broke my sister by promising forever
when he really meant ‘just until you give me everything’
to get a tattoo with a misspelling
just because i think it would be funny
since he was so afraid of commitment

the man who told my friend to kill herself, to just get it over
should wake up to a leak in his roof
that has no particular origin and constantly drips
onto his face no matter where he moves his pillow to
because maybe then he’ll have some idea about
drowning

i hope the people who told my brother
he couldn’t succeed
solely based on his disability
constantly hit their heads when getting into the car,
i want them to blink back little black dots
and wonder what they’ve ever done wrong to deserve
this and then i want them to see my brother’s company
on a full-page spread because he’s twenty-four and
making more money than they ever did

my math teacher told me most girls are stupid
with numbers and i hope his wife is funneling large
sums of his money into an offshore account without
him noticing while my english teacher told me
he didn’t expect much because i’m not a native speaker
so i really hope in class one day
he unknowingly passes out one of my poems

and i hope if you’ve been hurt, your life has
turned around. keep your head up,
square your shoulders, trust that
the universe will find some way to sort things out. hold on
until your heart mends. regardless of what happens,
know that happiness
is the best revenge.

I can’t wish true evil or true evil will come back to me but that doesn’t mean I want assholes to go around happy /// r.i.d | inkskinned (via inkskinned)

yes

(via 10sirk)

this is a work of genius and no mistake.

(via jacquez45)

We Need All Voices in Comics (or, I Started the #FireRickRemender Twitter Tag and I’m Really Only Kind of Sorry About It)

weinersoldier:

I’d like to clear the air.

The past 96 hours have been some of the most stressful, anxious, and rewarding of my life.

Wednesday evening, following my first read of Rick Remender’s Captain America #22, I posted a series of entries to my blog reiterating my distaste for his work, and my renewed (and long-held) belief that he should no longer be writing it.

In my haste and anger, I asked other people who shared my opinion to tweet Marvel Comics, Rick Remender, and Captain America editor Tom Brevoort with their concerns, using the hashtag #FireRickRemender.

And I’m sorry.

I understand that the hashtag, and the arguments held under its banner, could have been (and were) seen as personal attacks. And for that, I apologize. I was coming from a place of upset, discomfort, disgust, and outrage, and I acted solely from that place.

I am genuinely sorry for any personal affront my actions may have caused.

What I am not sorry for is everything that came afterward.

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jabberwockypie:

weinersoldier:

weinersoldier:

so far (since wednesday, meaning the beginning of the #firerickremender push on twitter):

I have been called a moron, a slut, an ugly bitch, a dumb cunt, a racist, and every other colorful, cruel, and sexist insult in the playbook.

I’ve been threatened with rape, been told to shut up, and been told explicitly that my opinion doesn’t matter.

I’ve been accused of trying to ruin someone’s life.

I’ve been infantilized, condescended to, pat on the head and told that my money doesn’t matter, that I was hysterical and irrational, that I was making too much out of nothing, that I was a prude.

I’ve had to answer the question “did you actually read the book?” more times than I can count, and every time the question’s asked with that cruel, invisible “sweetheart” at the end.

I’ve lost an incredible amount of respect for creators whose art and writing I enjoyed.

all because I had the audacity to raise my voice, to hold an opinion that differs from the norm.  because I refused to be silent about the worrying, ever-increasing acceptance of violence against and violation of women in the media I pay to consume.

but – I can’t stop now.  I won’t.  Comic books taught me – Steve Rogers taught me to never, ever give up on the things that are important to you.  I am standing by my truth, and I am not moving.

Sam Wilson taught me to take care of my own, and Sharon Carter taught me to never, ever, ever let anyone else make your decisions for you.

I’m not going away.  #firerickremender is not going away.

Not until comics is a safe space.  Not until comics is a escape for everyone, not just for people whose ideal world is one where women are subservient, sexy, and silent.  Not until I can carry on a conversation with a creator I admire and not be treated like I know nothing, and like my opinion doesn’t count.

I am not going away.

edited to add:

Been sent unsolicited pictures of stranger’s genitalia (i.e. dicks) by direct message on Twitter

Received more than one offer to “cure” me – i.e. “fix” the fact that I’m queer

Had my personal and identifying information – including name, age, location, and photograph – posted without my consent or knowledge as the butt of a post insinuating that I’m “hysterical” and that I have a “vendetta”

Tell me again that the glorification and excusing of rape in comics doesn’t feed rape culture in real life.

Tell me again that it’s “fiction”.

Tell me fucking again.

Oh my fucking god.

EVERYTHING IS AWFUL.

I really love that Clint appears to be the one who does the most cooking in your fics, but it’s not something I’ve seen anywhere else (most people write him as a strictly pizza and take-out kind of guy until someone forces him to eat real food), so where does that come from? What’s your headcanon on where and why he learned to cook?

scifigrl47:

Childhood hunger haunts people.  It haunts people badly, and like a lot of other childhood traumas, it shapes the person’s whole life.  In my limited experience, people who grow up hungry have one of two reactions in life:

1. They do live off of pizza, take-out and convenience foods, because their relationship with food and how they get it is so irreparably broken.  They eat what they can get when they can get it, and there’s a desperate element to that consumption, because they cannot get past the ingrained thought that they do not know when they will next have access to food.  

2. They distance themselves from their childhood hunger by tightly controlling what they eat and drink, by developing an appreciation for food beyond what they learned growing up.  Their lives still, in many ways, fixate on food, but in a different way from the first group.  

Clint, for me, has a lot of control issues.  A lot of what he does boils down to control, what he maintains and what he’s able to give up.  It’s the control he did not have as a child, that he struggled to acquire, that puts him in the second group for me.  I do write him as being the survivor of childhood physical and emotional abuse.  Not to put too fine a point on it, but it’s body autonomy, it’s control over what he eats that scrapes against an eating disorder on occasion.  The only way to have (close to) complete control over what you eat is to cook it yourself.  

So it’s a couple of things:

-I do think that Clint had a good mother, who did the best she could to feed her children, as best she could with what limited funds she had.  What food he had was probably as good as she could manage, but there wasn’t much of it, and it wasn’t reliable.  But Clint does know what solid, home cooking was like, and he does equate it with what safety he had as a child.

-Cooking is a marketable skill, both in the job market and in personal life.  Someone who can cook has something to offer a group of people.  Food attracts people.  You have worth if you can feed people.  It’s necessary, but more than that, sharing a meal is something that connects people. 

-Cooking is a skill that rewards simple stubborn practice.  Sure, you can read a recipe, and follow it, and get something good.  But cooking works pretty well if you learn a few basics and then just do what you like.  You don’t have to have a lot of reference material.  You don’t need a formal education.  You can learn, little by little, here and there.  It’s an oral tradition in so many communities.  It’s done by eye and by taste, there’s no exact measurements, and no punishment is handed down if you add peppers instead of carrots or skip the caraway seeds if you don’t like them.  It might not taste as good.  Or it might taste better.  Or it might lead you to something else entirely.  Cooking rewards the brave, and the stubborn, and it can be made YOURS so easily.  A handful of secret ingredients and it’s now YOUR special recipe for spaghetti sauce.

 I like to make a lot of jokes about Clint living off of junk food, and the Avengers having bad eating habits, and I think, they do on some level.  But you don’t maintain that kind of musculature and that kind of strength and physical ability by living off of fast food. So I write Clint as someone who likes to cook, and more than that, who likes to cook for these people.  It’s his place, in this weird little family dynamic.  It’s what he can offer them, now that he doesn’t have to worry about money, about hunger, about being forced out.

I’ve also written Clint as having this kind of relationship with food. To date, the one fic I really focussed on it in is Lucky Pennies, and it’s something Coulson observes in the way Clint eats, but also, later, you’ve got Clint trying to feed Coulson, as this kind of apology/nurturing thing where he knows that Coulson’s mad at him and that him being there is probably making the situation worse, but his need to feed Coulson overrides it, and Coulson recognises that and lets Clint do it. I’ve also got a pretty intense thing to do with food between Clint and Bruce in my marvel bang fic, which will be getting published later this year, where Bruce and Clint talk to each other about how spending time in abusive households and care has affected their relationship with food.