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here’s to scott mccall, the boy who was bitten against his will, the boy who was manipulated by his assailant into nearly killing his friends and family, but chose to love and survived against all odds

here’s to scott mccall, the man who accepted his new form, grew into it and used his abilities to help people, to form alliances with those who previously sought to kill him despite all odds

here’s to scott mccall, the character who you hate, but would still save your life if you were in danger and tend to your wounds while you spit at him and claim that he is not worthy of your attention or love

(via misandryginny)

(Source: numenorss, via fireladymai)


Have you ever felt a potential love for someone?

Like, you don’t actually love them and you know you don’t, but you know you could. You realise that you could easily fall in love with them. It’s almost like the bud of a flower, ready to blossom but it’s just not quite there yet. And you like them a lot, you really do. You think about them often, but you don’t love them. You could, though. You know you could.

(via bibliophilebrittany)


I don’t know what asshole invented the idea that teenage girls are the cause for all evil, but I really hope that person never has to raise one. I don’t want him to see her dissolve in his fingers as society tells her to eat less, be thinner, be the damsel in distress, be something for a man to fix, be different but not too different, be special but never ever a special snowflake - I don’t want him to watch as she realizes that no matter what she loves, she’ll be made fun of for it. She can simply like her coffee from Starbucks and suddenly she’s vapid and thinks herself poetic. She’ll want to play video games but be called a fake nerd, particularly if she poses in any remotely flirtatious way because for some reason despite the entire community playing games with poorly dressed women they still hate it when a real girl wears less clothing, she will be seen as trespassing in a specifically male space - but when she falls in love with a female-based television show for children, she’ll watch as men step on themselves to sexualize it. If she wants old-fashion romance she’s seen as being naive but at the same time is told to keep herself ‘pure’ for some dude that might not hurt her. If she admits to being anything, she makes herself a target. She will be told her worth is based on how much a man values her. She might love to cook but she’ll hate being asked to stay in the kitchen, she might love to read but get told she’s too introverted by half the population and ‘not that special’ by the other. If she loves to go out and party, she’s ‘just another college co-ed,’ if she loves to spend her friday nights watching anime, she’s a shut-in. God forbid she be proud of something: the words “I’m different from other girls” are a death sentence because we live in a society that doesn’t want to see women like that, a society that doesn’t like the idea maybe we all are actually different and not carbon copies of each other, maybe we all would like to feel unique and loved and worth knowing - maybe the real problem is that she will be raised to believe being a girl means silicone and photoshop and dying as a way to move forwards a plot - and she doesn’t want to be seen as that. When she says “I’m not like other girls,” she means she’s not like the girls she sees on tv, these invented two-dimensional creatures that say one line and then get chased down by monsters.

She can try all she likes. She’ll be shut down at every single fucking turn. What she doesn’t know is that they’re getting her ready for when she’s grown up because she’ll be so used to being stepped on she’ll just give up. Why respect women when you don’t even respect little girls?

And when she is burning up, when she mentions that her insides are volcanoes and her skin is too thin to contain them: she will be told she is hysterical, that she’s doing it for attention.

I don’t want him to watch as she shuts down, as she learns to live as a paradox, I don’t want him to see her rip herself to shreds in order to be perfect, I don’t want him to realize that there’s no way she’ll get help because she’s only doing what she’s told.


Teenage girls aren’t the downfall of society, society is the downfall of teenage girls. /// r.i.d (via inkskinned)

(via fatfeministfetishist)


Look around your college classroom, spot the virgins.

See, this seems like a game until you skip over the girl with a short skirt and hair in front of her eyes because you heard last summer that she slept with like nineteen guys. You can’t see her hands, but they’re under the table, pulling a rosary through her fingers as she tries to wash the sin off her. She’s only ever kissed three people in her whole life and they’re all girls. She turned down the wrong guy and he told everyone she’s “a whore.” The label “slut” stuck to the bottom of her shoe and swallowed her up.

But that quiet girl who is always reading probably never touched someone else’s penis, you figure, because you don’t know that she goes home and strips down and pulls on tight black leather, you don’t know she’s got a set of whips that could make any set of knees quiver, you don’t know because she’s proud of what she does but she’s not going to let anyone know about it. She’s sexy, just not here, not where people judge.

See, the truth is: you have no idea who has lost their virginity, because it doesn’t change you. It doesn’t give you some kind of glow or superpower or stamp on your forehead. You know the feeling of waking up on your birthday and thinking “I don’t feel any older whatsoever”? That’s what maybe they’re all so afraid of you finding out: sex doesn’t change you. Sex doesn’t make you an animal, sex doesn’t suddenly make your relationship a million times more stable or intimate or romantic - it can’t fix what’s broken, although it can make the pain go away for a bit. Sex doesn’t really occur with eighty tea lights and a thick white rug. Sex is ugly and loud and frequently awkward, sex is excellent and breathtaking and when you wake up the next morning, you’re the exact same person. There’s not some magical connection with the person in bed beside you. Believe it or not, pregnancy isn’t some kind of punishment - but practice safe sex, get tested, don’t spread your germs around. They want to tell you, “Sex can ruin you” and I’ve heard that a lot as a little girl, that some boy would join me under my sheets and then dump me four days after, used, unhappy.

But I figured out that I’m not a fucking toy. Letting someone have sex with me is not letting them “use” me, because I’m not an object. My father said the issue lay in the fact “Men are insecure and need to know that they’re the best you ever had,” but I think that’s a steaming crock of absolute-wrong and if I didn’t tell the people I’m with how many others I’d slept beside, there would be literally no way for them to know my number, because I don’t rust, I don’t wear out, I don’t get bruised. I’m not a wilting fruit, I don’t go rotten.

But here’s the thing: some people connect sex and emotion. I don’t personally because I am probably secretly an ice storm in disguise, but I still respect my partner’s desires. If they’re the type to want love and sex to coincide, I let them. I don’t make fun, I don’t pull one-night-stands or friends-with-benefits, because it’s not their “reputation” I’m afraid for: it’s their heart I’m defending.

Here’s the thing: Instead of worrying about people’s “purity” and how it defines them as a person, worry instead about how you can protect other people’s emotions.

Because here’s the thing: look around your room and spot the virgins. Look harder. You can’t tell. Sex doesn’t alter people, it doesn’t make them act in a certain way nor dress in a certain manner. Sex and personality have nothing to do with each other. There’s a reason that virginity doesn’t show on someone’s face: because having sex doesn’t cause you to change.


"I lost my virginity to a boy I didn’t even love…" /// r.i.d  (via leftgreatperhapsless)

(via little-feminist-princess)




Before, depressed with an eating disorder.  Now, recovered caveman.

Re-blogging this cuz its from a guys perceptive!

I love seeing people all recovered and happy like yeah you kicked that illnesses ass you legend you rule ☺️




Before, depressed with an eating disorder.  Now, recovered caveman.

Re-blogging this cuz its from a guys perceptive!

I love seeing people all recovered and happy like yeah you kicked that illnesses ass you legend you rule ☺️

(via little-feminist-princess)


christopher john millington is a babe 

(Source: maiwyn, via little-feminist-princess)


Twenty Amazing Ladies (3/20) - Mary Lambert 

I am a big girl. A voluptuous, curvy, dress-wearing lesbian. I love my body; it’s the only one I’ll ever have. I eat a lot of greens and work out and drink gin martinis and put M&Ms in my froyo and sometimes I don’t do anything but watch Project Runway. 

I am allowed to look sexy, feel sexy, and be in love. I am worthy of all of those things, and so are you. Own your good and bad, and all the scary parts that you’ve been covering up because it is yours and no amount of judgement can tell you how to love your body. In the words of Sonya Renee, the body is not an apology. 
You are magic.

(via little-feminist-princess)

"Honestly, it’s quite astonishing how much misery this movie manages to pack into two hours of mostly action sequences and espionage subplots, particularly since Captain America is supposedly one of the “lighter” superheroes, compared to the unending grimdarkness of Batman. I guess this is the difference between “manpain” and “a man in legitimate emotional pain.”"

The Tragedy of Bucky Barnes

this was just maybe flat out my favorite part of this review because hi, true

(via defcontwo)

(via fireladymai)


This semester I went to the White Privilege Conference in Madison, WI for my honors seminar about examining privilege. I made a poster about the behaviors of particular white female musicians who appropriate other cultures as a means of identity and sexualize/objectify WOC as a means of displaying sexual agency and social power. All under the guise of “empowerment”.

This is my take on the knowledge I found through seminar and readings, (esp. online articles) so in no way do I claim these ideas or concepts as my own.

(via little-feminist-princess)


The lack of tattoos on my body is highly upsetting.

(via misandryginny)


Arcane Thought

Anonymous asked: Can I prompt you Sam/Bucky passive-aggressively competing for Steve's friendship and it ending with the two of them making out and Steve walking in like "oh. well. finally." and Bucky being sulky about it but Sam thinking it's hilarious


Steve offered Bucky his bed when he finally shows up and slept on the couch. Bucky doesn’t sleep much but the offer was nice and he closed the door so Steve could think he was sleeping.

The next morning, after Bucky finally managed to sleep for a couple hours sitting on the floor inside the door with his back up against it and a hunting knife next to his hand, he emerged to find Steve making pancakes with Sam.

Bucky frowned.

"Since when do you eat flapjacks?" he asked Steve, folding his arms.

Steve shrugged. “No rations,” he said like that explained why he liked a food Bucky definitely had a memory of him pushing away uneaten.

Sam tossed Bucky an apple. Bucky, who had idly brought the hunting knife tucked into his sweatpants, pulled it out and sliced the apple in half as it passed him by. He plucked one of the halves out of the air and bit into it.

"Apple a day keeps the doctor away," said Sam.

"Yeah, then make sure he’s getting enough,” said Bucky, pointing to Steve with the knife. Waste of time, throwing fruits his direction.

Steve rolled his eyes and threw an orange at Bucky. He sliced that one in thirds in midair just because.


Sam came over most mornings, it turned out. He always handed Steve the Sports section of the paper and read through all of the Arts.

Bucky didn’t care much about current events—regimes change and innocent blood gets spilled every day—but he liked to look over Sam’s shoulder sometimes at the paintings. The memory wasn’t solid yet, but he knew he had dreamed of museums and galleries for Steve once.

Then one morning, Sam handed him the Arts when he handed Steve the Sports.

"I’m not gonna take your—" Bucky said, appalled and a little annoyed.

Sam snorted. “You give it to me when you’re done, asshole.” He rolled his eyes. “We share.”

Bucky sighed. Sam was making such a mess of this, honestly. But there was a review of a new exhibit at MoMA and, yeah, he wanted to read that.


They went to a baseball game on Tony’s dime. Steve was enthusiastic but the crowds were bigger and louder than Bucky remembered. He hunched down in his seat and flinched each time the guy next to him bumped his arm.

Sam laughed at Steve a lot that day and threw cracker jacks at his face at least three different times. The last time emptied his box and even though there was a guy selling them walking the aisles, he insisted on going to find a concession stand.

"You’re gonna miss the game," Bucky pointed out. "I’ll go."

Sam shrugged his shoulders and looked vaguely innocent.

Bucky slipped over the side of the bleacher and scaled the column down. He snagged three boxes of cracker jacks while the concession stand guy wasn’t looking—though he never did look up—and then climbed back up the column. He took a minute nestled into the crook under the bleacher, feeling the rumble of feet and excitement above him.

He breathed in and out.

Sam took the cracker jacks knowingly. Steve pretended not to know anything.

Bucky was struck by how similar they were, his Steve and Steve’s Sam.

"Cute trick," he warned Sam in his ear later. "But save the head-shrinking for him, OK?”

Sam didn’t shrug, but he looked a little sadly at Bucky.


It came to a head when Sam came over to Steve’s apartment even though both he and Bucky knew Steve was on an assignment with Natasha somewhere top secret in Asia.

Bucky had perched in the window overlooking the crowds going in and out of Stark Tower and counting how many people looked like someone he had killed. It was an exercise that filled two purposes: it helped him remember things sharper and it made him feel things he shouldn’t forget.

"Man, you’re going to drive yourself mad doing that," said Sam quietly from behind him. He hadn’t noticed Sam come in, hadn’t registered the footsteps approaching his undefended back.

"None of your business," said Bucky mulishly. "Steve’s your business. That’s it."

Sam sighed and it sounded properly sad this time, not any of the bullshit empathy stuff he’d been throwing around recently.

"I don’t know how I can convince you that I have time for you and him,” said Sam finally.

"It’s not time I’m worried about," said Bucky. He looked back at Sam. "It’s space."

"You think there’s not room in this Tower for all three of us?" asked Sam, brow furrowed.

"Nah, not that kind of space."

He was more worried that trying to help Bucky—caring about Bucky with all his black hole of pain—might use up someone else’s heart. He’d sure as hell used up his own.

He didn’t say it out loud, but Sam seemed to understand anyway.

"More than enough space there too," he said. "Is it OK if I hug you?"

Bucky snorted.

Maybe if he was a black hole, Sam was whatever the opposite of that was. Maybe he spent heart the way Bucky spent his pain.

"Yeah, whatever," he said.


this is hands down the wildest post on this entire site


this is hands down the wildest post on this entire site

(Source: saddest69, via omfno)

Okay I actually think this little scene is hella important. We all know HYDRA did all kinds of experiments on him before Steve found him. Who’s to say they didn’t experiment with wiping memories as well ? They probably already started all kinds of experiments related to the Winter Soldier on him.

See how Bucky’s rambling at the beginning ? It’s like he’s trying really hard to remember who he is. He keeps repeating numbers and his name like it’s something he remembers but he doesn’t know what it means, he doesn’t know it’s him.

Then when Steve shows up he doesn’t recognise him at first. It actually takes him a good couple of seconds before he remembers who Steve is. And with remembering Steve, he also remembers himself because Steve is part of him. I’m going to curl up under the blankets and cry myself to sleep now.

(Source: buchanian, via fireladymai)