Swing on a spiral of our divinity

I'm Megan. Living in Colorado by way of Texas and Brooklyn.
RAVENPUFF
{ wear }

kingcheddarxvii:

trevenants:

#iconic

There are children younger than this meme who wear trollface tee shirts we have really come full circle

(Source: humanstefan, via thedoctorknits)

(Source: meerareed, via fuckyeahjosswhedon)

shiraito:

Whenever Kevin or Steve Carlsberg talk to Cecil, this is legitimately the only thing I can think of.

shiraito:

Whenever Kevin or Steve Carlsberg talk to Cecil, this is legitimately the only thing I can think of.

(via ijusthavethesedamnfeels)

charli3b3tt:

withgreatpowercomesgreatcomics:

Harley Quinn #7, written by Amanda Conner & Jimmy Palmiotti, art by Chad Hardin, colors by Alex Sinclair & Paul Mounts

I love them so much

(via veevigil)

sellerslibteens:

Summer Reading starts next week! : O

sellerslibteens:

Summer Reading starts next week! : O

(via theofficialcitycouncil)

astradragon42:

pink-kitty-kela:

Reblogging again because of the HNNNGG

(Source: darkromanek, via kailette)

foxheartx:

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH.

foxheartx:

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH.

(Source: c0cainkeys, via allicat6)

(Source: totalparksandrec, via theerinpala)

“There’s like a million different ways to say “I love you.”

'Put your seat belt on.'
‘Watch your step.’
‘Get some rest.’

…you just gotta listen.”

—   (via regardingsarah)

(Source: meri-juana, via claudiaboleyn)

Two other women, also breast cancer survivors, said their husbands left them after they were diagnosed. Both had to have mastectomies (in case anyone doesn’t know, this is the surgical operation to remove one or both breasts).

The first woman said her husband told her that he would rather see her dead than see her lose her breasts. The second woman had her operation and waited all day to be picked up by her husband, who never arrived. By nightfall, one of the nurses offered to give her a ride, and she came home to find the house empty.

Obviously, these are extreme cases of a man’s reaction to his wife’s breast cancer, but this is what I see when I see the “I ♥ Boobies” bracelets. I see love of the body parts, not the person being treated—not the patient, not the victim, not the survivor.

Hey, White Americans. We Need to Talk.

postcardsfromspace:

According to a Pew Research survey, only 37% of white Americans think the events in #Ferguson raise important issues about race.

Okay, fellow white people. We need to talk.

Let me tell you a story: I was an angry punk teenager. Not violent, but I did a shitton of trespassing, and I got into a lot of screaming matches with cops.

I have never been arrested.

I have never been violently attacked by police. Hell, I have never been seriously threatened by police.

I am fully aware that I’ve survived to adulthood largely on the benefits of my race.

When you are white in America, you get away with all sorts of shit. Have you read this account from a white dude who actively tried to get himself arrested? You should. It’s telling.

So, if that’s your main frame of reference for dealing with law enforcement, it is really easy to assume that when someone else gets targeted by the police, they must have done something really bad. After all, you know the police aren’t that petty, right? They’re there to help: That’s what TV tells you, what your teachers told you, what your parents told you. “If you’re in trouble, find a police officer. They’ll help.” And, y’know, if you’re white, most of the time, that’s probably true.

When you’re white in America, it is awfully easy to pretend that you don’t live in a country where the nonviolent physical presence of black people, especially black men, is considered sufficient threat to justify use of lethal force. It’s really easy to pretend that laws are enforced equally; that arrest rate has any demographic resemblance to actual crime rates; that the police are there to protect us from the bad guys.

And, I mean, I get that. It’s a lot more comfortable to pretend that safety correlates to virtue than to confront the ugly truth that a system that benefits you very directly does so at the cost of other people’s lives; that what you were taught was the just reward for being a good person is, in fact, the privilege of your skin. That’s a big part of why we work so hard to retcon narratives about how the black people our police murder must have been dangerous, highlight every casual infraction like it’s a killing spree. We are so desperate to believe that the system that feeds us is just.

It doesn’t feel good to acknowledge that stuff. It feels gross. A system we trusted—one we should be able to trust, that should work for the benefit and protection of everyone has made us accomplice to some deeply horrifying shit.

But here’s the thing:

This happenedThis is happening. Not recognizing it; stonewalling and insulating ourselves in our little bubbles does not make it go away.

And not acknowledging it, not having asked for it, does not make us any less complicit, or any less responsible for owning and fixing this. We are actively benefitting from a fucked, corrupt, murderous system. That is on us. As it should be.

So educate yourself, get the tools, and start dismantling this fucker. You have the time: after all,  no one’s shooting at your kids.

Privilege is the bandwidth to speak up and dismantle because you’re not in fear for your life. And there is no conscionable excuse for failing to use it.

(via solvingpuzzles-savingtheday)

tastefullyoffensive:

[kelcier]

miwrighting:

kototyph:

leupagus:

killerville:

   

WOOED THE WORD YOU’RE LOOKING FOR IS WOOED

GUESS WHOSE TAGS ARE TOTALLY GETTING REBLOGGED

Star-struck Interviewer: “You must miss the good old days.”

Steve Rogers: “I grew up in a tenement slum. Rats, lice, bedbugs, one shared bathroom per floor with a bucket of water to flush, cast iron coal-burning stove for cooking and heat. Oh, and coal deliveries - and milk deliveries, if you could get it - were by horse-drawn cart. One summer I saw a workhorse collapse in the heat, and the driver started beating it with a stick to make it get up. We threw bricks at the guy until he ran away. Me and Bucky and our friends used to steal potatoes or apples from the shops. We’d stick them in tin cans with some hot ashes, tie the cans to some twine, and then swing ‘em around as long as we could to get the ashes really hot. Then we’d eat the potato. And there were the block fights. You don’t know what a block fight was? That’s when the Irish or German kids who lived on one block and the Jewish or Russian kids who lived on the next block would all get together into one big mob of ethnic violence and beat the crap out of each other. One time I tore a post out of a fence and used it on a Dutch kid who’d called Bucky a Mick. Smacked him in the head with the nails.”

Interviewer: “LET’S TALK ABOUT THE INTERNET.”

Steve Rogers: “I love cat pictures.”

(Many biographical details are taken from Streetwise, either from Jack Kirby’s autobiographical story or Nick Cardy’s contribution: http://twomorrows.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=52&products_id=513 )

(Source: forassgard, via fandomsandfeminism)