IOF soldiers pushing and shoving journalists is nothing new. What is being reported here? Israeli settlers in Al-Khalil (Hebron) destroyed a historical landmark, and IOF is clearing out the area to protect them. Cultural genocide as well as regular, all in one go.
Zionists can’t just be evil. They have to be talentless corny as hell too. This is a ‘concert’ celebrating the invasion of the Aqsa mosque by settlers and IOF soldiers.
IOF soldiers shooting rubber bullets at the Palestinians besieged in the Aqsa mosque. I think this was yesterday. Just to be clear the Palestinians are locked in behind cage doors. They can’t be hit by these. The only purpose of this is psychological warfare because they hear the gun pop off and the bullet hit the walls and cage doors. This is what U.S. funding goes to.
Israelli settlers shileded by IOF soldiers shouting “Nakba” and “Abu Khdeir” at Palestinians getting kicked out of Al Aqsa by those same soldiers. “Al Nakba” refers to our genocide and the mass displacement in 1948. “Abu Khdeir” refers to the East Jerusalem Palestinian boy who was kidnapped, beaten, force-fed gasoline by Israeli settlers in East Jerusalem and then burned alive. This event sparked the 2014 invasion and bombings of Gaza.
They’re calling for our genocide again, and for the murders of our children.
One creepy f*cking IOF soldier keeps touching on this Palestinian girl with his body and she pushes him away and tells him to back up, so another one shoves her and then starts shoving and hitting other Palestinian women. F*cking disgusting really.
[tw: medical fatphobia, mention of disordered eating]
I have high blood pressure. I’ve had high blood pressure and have been on medication for it since I was in my late 20s, thanks to genetics: my mom and dad both have been hypertensive since their late 20s, all my grandparents were, and my brother too.
I’m also fat. I don’t look especially fat, but I’m obese according to the BMI charts.
Yesterday I saw a new doctor for the first time, and my blood pressure was elevated as it typically is in doctor’s offices, since I have white-coat syndrome, which means my blood pressure is usually higher in a doctor’s office. After a bit of discussion about that, and about the fact that when I check my blood pressure at home it’s typically within the normal range, the doctor said, “Well, first of all I would definitely recommend that you lose about 20 pounds, that would definitely bring your blood pressure down.”
This new doctor, who had known me for all of ten minutes, didn’t ask me about my eating or exercise habits, or see a single blood test result before recommending that I lose weight. For all she knew, I had a history of disordered eating and that suggestion would trigger me into resuming unhealthy patterns.
Aside from hypertension, I’m pretty healthy. I have consistently good blood sugar numbers, good cholesterol numbers, good thyroid numbers, all those other numbers that are actually indicators of one’s health. I eat lots of whole grains and nuts and fruit and vegetables, I’ve never smoked or done recreational drugs, and I rarely drink. I exercise regularly and try to get enough sleep.
As it happens, I did lose a significant amount of weight a few years back, after my younger daughter stopped nursing, and it had exactly zero effect on my blood pressure. For me, the high blood pressure seems to be entirely genetic.
The more I think about how casually and immediately this doctor who barely knew me suggested weight loss to me, the angrier I get about it.
Summary: Have you ever felt like you’re too far up your fandoms that you’re not really living your real life? Well, that. But more.
Word Count: 1,817
Pairings: Dean x reader, Sherlock x reader
Warnings: You’re not gonna like it. Sudden fandom changes, bit of smut which is not really smutty, lazy writing, suicidal attempt, usage of drugs and alcohol, OOC scenes.
Original A/N: Because of who I am, I like to exaggerate everything. With that being said, let me tell you that this is how I felt for many years, with multiple fandoms. I have lived a tortous life, therefore I was always seeking to live somewhere else. Almost all of my childhood and teenage years were an on-going loop between my fake life inside my fandoms and my real life. I barely remember anything now outside that make-pretend life I created for myself. Now I am living my life, in a way that I can no longer hide inside that fake life. Call it what you want. Anxiety is coming back to me, fyi, and I tried to hide there but I just can’t. This is my way of expressing it. The Girl, Interrupted theme is because I watched it yesterday after performing Lisa’s monologue at my acting class - a way of giving therapy to myself through art. Anyway, I hope you don’t read this fic. I didn’t like it at all, but I feel the need, nonetheless, to share it somewhere. To have evidence that I went through that. Probably, someone out there has too. Idk.
New A/N: I wrote this MONTHS ago, long before I got diagnosed, and I got scared of posting it because it could be too depressing. But I hate leaving drafts all alone so here goes nothing.
Have you ever confused a dream with life? Or stolen something when you have the cash? Have you ever been blue? Or thought you were moving while sitting still? Maybe I was just crazy… Maybe it was loneliness…
“Put her in restraints!” A woman yelled. “Withdraw blood… Give her five milligrams of Valium, IV”
“Turn her head so she doesn’t aspirate,” another woman advised. I felt my head being turned by a pair of terribly warm hands.
I was attacked. I had been attacked.
“You should check my hand. There’s no bones in it anymore…”
“What were you thinking?” The first woman asked.
“I was trying to save the world…” I replied, “Don’t worry, you’ll thank me later.”
Sometimes it’s hard for me to stay in one place.
“Hey,” I opened my eyes at the familiar voice. The image at first was blurry, but I could recognize the colors of their flannel shirts. My back was killing me, and my arms felt numb. “(Y/N) are you okay?”
“Yo, sweetheart! Wake up!” A rough voice called out. I could see his red flannel.
Red flannel. Dean was wearing a red flannel, and Sam had the green one. That could only mean one thing…
I looked down at my own clothes, I was wearing a brown flannel.
I smiled childishly, and my vision finally cleared. Both men were staring at me, worried. “I’m home,” is all I could say.
Dean sighed and rolled his eyes, Sam smiled back at me.
“Yes, you are,” he said, “you’re home with us. Where else would you be?”
“At a hospital or some shit,” I replied.
“We don’t do no hospitals, sweetheart,” Dean reminded me from afar.
“Did we get him? The djinn?” I inquired, with wide eyes.
“Yup,” Sam nodded.
Dean appeared back again, handing me a cold beer. It was closed. Sam took my hand and guided it to my forehead, so I could press the bottle to my forehead. I was probably wounded there too.
“We Jafar-ed the shit out of him,” Dean snorted. Sam inhaled profoundly, as an attempt to not slap his brother. “I Jas-min that we almost didn’t make it…” Dean continued, “but enough Abu me,” he giggled, “how was your daydream, sweetheart? Where’d Iago?”
“Please, stop,” Sam begged. Dean tried to argue but Sam was already looking back at me. “But do tell us where did you go?”
“I…”
“Where did you go?”
“(Y/N)” a strong light blinded me for a second. I suddenly felt something in my eyes, pulling them open. “(Y/N), we’re calling you!” The voice chanted. “Hello, Earth requires Ms (Y/N)…”
“Wha-what?” I stuttered, pulling away from the light.
The scenery had changed. I was no longer at a motel room with awful wallpaper, but instead at a very nice living room, though the wallpaper was still awful.
“Are you okay?” The man that had been calling my name asked. He kneeled in front of me.
“Are you real?” I tilted my head to the side, and he smiled tenderly.
“As real as your nose,” he said and booped my nose. His touch was soft and warm.
“What happened?”
“You fainted,” another voice answered. I looked back, only to see the familiar figure of Sherlock sitting on his desk, typing furiously on his computer. “I told you not to get too close to the evidence, but did you listen? No, why?” He gazed back, “Because ‘oh Sherlock, don’t be so stern, it’s just a flower bouquet!’ but I was right, as usual.”
“Let her breath,” Watson commanded. “We both smelled it too and nothing bad happened.”
“Yes, but so did the police officers… All male, I must remind you” Sherlock snapped. “The flowers were sent to a woman who, where is she now? Oh, yes, DEAD!”
“I don’t get it,” I interfered.
“I suspect the flowers are poisoned with some sort of chemical that only affects women, by reacting to their production of hormones.” Sherlock informed me.
“Right… And what does that have to do with your intoxication?” The female voice asked again.
I suddenly snapped back to the hospital. I was laying in a hospital bed, with lots of tubles connected to me. There was a woman in white, sitting by my side with a notepad on her lap.
“Well, obviously I’ve been affected… It’s the flowers, you see…” I spoke.
“Flowers? What flowers?” The nurse, she was a nurse, asked again.
“The poisoned flowers!”
“Do you see them now?” She inquired.
“Of course not!”
“No?”
The djinn stood behind her. “Say no,” he said with an ominous voice.
“No,” I obeyed.
The nurse looked behind her and the djinn disappeared instantly. “Are you seeing anything out of the ordinary at the moment?”
“No, why would I? I’m not crazy,”
“At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were…” Dean sighed. He was sitting by my side, in bed, and was connecting his phone to the charger. “I am a little crazy too, you know?”
“Oh, yeah?” I trembled.
“Yeah,” he muttered and finally let go off his phone. He turned to look at me for a second before cuddling me. I was the small spoon, he was shirtless. “I’m crazy about you.”
“Smooth,” I replied sheepishly. I could feel the ghost of his arms around me… Ghost, because I couldn’t really feel him. He was hot, yet cold as if air was blowing over my skin.
“Are you okay?” Dean asked.
“I am.”
I wasn’t. I’m not okay.
“Good night, sweetheart,” he whispered and pecked my shoulder. Again, I felt it but not quite.
“Dean?”
“Huh?” I closed my eyes, not wanting to see what would happen after I said what I wnated to say.
“I feel like I’m still inside the djinn’s daydream,” I confessed.
Dean sat up and fixed a lose strand of hair that was falling over my eyes.
“You’re not inside a djinn’s daydream…” He said, calmly.
“How can you tell?” I asked, still not opening my eyes.
“Because djinns don’t exist, that’s why,” he said.
I finally opened my eyes. Black locks and blue eyes were all I could see for a moment.
“Djinns are mythological, and that is all…” Sherlock continued. I could hear his voice turning from Dean’s to his own. “I understand that maybe the toxins from the flowers could affect your perception of life, but there is nothing to fear. The effects will pass and you’ll be good as new.”
“I don’t feel good as new.”
“Clearly,” he grunted.
Noticing my state, he decided to go a little further from his usual behaviour. He pressed his head to my arm… I was still laying on my side, as if I was still being the small spoon.
“I will be here, by your side, as long as you let me.”
My heart fluttered, but not in love but rather in pain.
“I can’t control that.”
“The pills are having a positive effect on her now, we can get her to be conscious for a bit longer than before…” I heard a voice coming from the hall.
“What is that?” I asked. Sherlock tilted his head.
“What?” He furrowed, “I don’t hear anything.”
“Well, I do.”
I got up from bed and opened the door. At the other side of it was a hospital hall rather than Sherlock’s. All white, with blinding white lights. The nurse was talking to what I assumed was a doctor.
I felt like I would faint again.
Sherlock got up as well and dragged me back to the bed, closing the door behind us.
“You know what could help?” He smirked. “I know… Because I know you.”
He got me back in bed, facing up to the ceiling. I was about to talk, when I felt him pulling down my pijama shorts. A sigh left my lips, as I felt his tongue rubbing my clit in circles. I closed my eyes, filled with pleasure, and tried to keep it quiet so neither Mrs Hudson nor Watson could hear us.
“Come here,” I begged after a while.
I opened my eyes and saw Dean crawling up to my face. His tattoo was covered in sweat and his hair was ruffled.
“You thought I would just leave it there, sweetheart?” He flirted and, without a warning, he thrust inside me. “You feel good today… Tight, and so wet for me…”
I moaned, getting lost in his green eyes. I wanted to kiss him, but I couldn’t.
I didn’t even feel his weight over me.
I blinked.
TARDIS.
I blinked again.
Dean was looking at me, dumbfounded as he made love to me.
I shook my head and closed my eyes again, letting my body fall back into the pillows as I succumbed to the pleasure he… they were giving me. I called both of their names in between whispers until I climaxed.
I sighed and opened my eyes.
I was in my room. Darkness surrounded me. I was alone, and my fingers were still between my legs.
I wiped them quickly with the bed sheets and took my phone to googled Dean Winchester’s name, only to find out that he was not being looked at by the US government, but rather a fictional character. Not only that, but I saw pictures of him in the most intimate moments… Moments I could recall from living them with him.
I clicked on one of his pictures.
Jensen Ackles… Married.
I clicked on Sam’s.
Married.
I clicked on Castiel’s.
Married.
They were all married. Click by click I undercovered the lie I was living in.
“But what about Sher?” I thought to myself.
I googled him. Fictional character, based on the books by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
There he was, my Sherlock, next to others who had also played him.
“I thought I was in a hospital,” I whispered.
“Maybe it’s just your unconscious mind asking to be treated by a professional.” Castiel’s voice spoke.
“Maybe it’s because that is where you’re going,” Sam gestured to the side of my bed. A bottle of vodka laid there empty, next to empty sets of aspirins.
“Is there an end to this?” I asked.
“I’m afraid not,” Jim Moriarty spoke from the darkness. “But aren’t you having fun?”
“What if I die?” I insisted.
“You won’t,” Sherlock said, “you still got enough energy to call an ambulance for yourself.”
“Please do,” Watson begged softly.
I grabbed my phone and dialed the number.
“I need an ambulance…”
“We’ll see you on the other side, sweetheart.” Dean smiled with a glimpse of sadness.
“I love you, guys.”
Have you ever confused a dream with life? Or stolen something when you have the cash? Have you ever been blue? Or thought you were moving while sitting still? Maybe I was just crazy… Maybe it was loneliness… Or maybe I was just a fangirl… Interrupted.
So, I’ve been thinking about Brett from inside job and one thing is confusing me big time that no one is talking about.
Bret has a sister. It’s very obvious that Bret had a sister, you can see her in this picture. But in the heart wrenching birthday scene that we all know he doesn’t mention her?
She’s clearly in the portrait behind him. But, he only asks the butler about his brothers? His parents are on a trip, his brothers are in military school and rehab, but what about his sister? What happened to her? WHY DOESN’T HE ASK ABOUT HER? Was she already there? Did she just leave? Did she die???? I don’t know. Does anyone know? Am I just stupid? Lmk what you guys think.
It seems like, out of all of his siblings, Brett was the only one to turn out relatively successful, since his older brothers got sent to military school and rehab. This leads me to think that the parents mistreated them, too, but instead of neglecting them like they did to Brett, they might have been victims of psychological or emotional abuse.
In a lot of abusive households, one of the kids is often mistreated to be set as an “example” of what the others will suffer if they disobey the parents. Maybe they were pressuring the older kids into success (especially since the dad said “all of my kids are champions… except for Brett”).
So, for the sister, part of me wonders if she was driven to self destructive behavior… and didn’t survive it. Perhaps drug usage led to an overdose? Maybe she suffered similar psychological problems to Brett and was led to something no worse?
1) Remember that body shaming is always wrong, because people can’t help the body they were born with. If someone disagrees with you on this or anything else in regards to feminism, it’s perfectly okay to suggest that they are a male with a small penis, or that they have a “neck beard”, both of which are totally gross.
2) Insist that everyone who disagrees with the tenets of feminism is a privileged white male who does not believe that women should be able to make their own choices in life. Either that, or they are women who have been brainwashed by the patriarchy, because feminism is the only right choice.
3) Understand that women should be able to wear anything they want in public, even if it’s a mini-skirt and a tight tank top that has the word “slut” emblazoned on it, without total strangers assuming something about their character. Don’t forget that any guy who wears a fedora is obviously a misogynistic douchebag, and most likely one of those MRA assholes.
4) Harp on the fact that women and girls are the only ones who have to be careful about walking alone at night, because men and boys NEVER have to worry about getting jumped, mugged, robbed, killed or molested by some criminal. Remember that if men do get victimized, it probably sucks for them, but it’s kind of their own fault anyway, because they’re part of the patriarchy and the patriarchy is the reason all crime exists. Just don’t ever blame the victim, because that would be wrong.
5) NEVER engage in actual debate with someone who is bringing up facts and statistical evidence that proves whatever you just said wrong. Instead, you can still win the argument by calling them “over-privileged”, saying that you “took some classes” on the subject and they are not worth debating because they hate women, throwing out a feminist catch phrase like “patriarchy”, “male tears” or “what about the menz” over and over, and then blocking them. If you have time before your brain starts making you think about the facts they just proved you wrong with, call them some worse names just to let them know you don’t tolerate misogynists. Then go read some feminists blogs to get those pesky facts out of your head, and maybe drop a comment or two about how you “just won an argument against an MRA”. Whew, that was a close one.
6) Realize that not only is it perfectly acceptable to lump ALL males into the same category as rich, conservative white males with unlimited political power who come from old money, but also that it’s actually harmful to feminist theory to make any distinction at all between some guy who is living in a trailer park in Idaho and say, Mitt Romney, so don’t do it, otherwise this whole “male privilege” theory might take a hit and that’s the last thing you want if you’re gonna keep spouting feminist rhetoric.
7) Constantly complain about the “over sexualization” of women in advertisements, television, and movies, and how that holds real women up to unattainable expectations as far as their bodies go. This is an especially good point to keep bringing up in defense of feminsism, because everyone knows that men aren’t expected to look a certain way in any of these areas. Nope, men in the entertainment industry can be fat, ugly trolls and still be successful actors and models. Just ask Brad Pitt, Channing Tatum, Johnny Depp, Robert Pattinson, or any male underwear model. Looks mean nothing where men are concerned in the entertainment and fashion industries, and it’s totally unfair for any industry that’s rooted in sex and fantasy to keep perpetuating sexual fantasies. It’s all because of the patriarchy.
8) Remember: it’s totally cool to assume that all men are rapists because one of them molested you in some way at some point. Also, all women are bad drivers, on the strength of that one dumb broad who turned left into oncoming traffic and totaled my car a few months ago. It’s just logic, people. If someone of a certain gender did something to you, then everyone of that same gender must by definition be EXACTLY LIKE THAT PERSON. Why is that so hard to understand?
9) Don’t forget to bring up advertisements, statistics, data, or political quotes from over 50 years ago or more to illustrate how bad all women have it in the year 2013, because clearly nothing has improved for them since the 1950’s. If you think that it logically follows from this that either your old statistics are deliberately misleading or that feminism itself is completely ineffective, well, just stop thinking about it because…..patriarchy.
10) If confronted by a skeptic on feminist theory who claims that real equality can only be attained by concentrating on the whole population of the human race and not just half of it, always bring up the fact that feminism is actually fighting for men too, because every unfair thing that happens to men is perpetuated by the patriarchy, which is run by men, so by actively working against men, feminism is actually helping men because men shouldn’t act like men in the first place. Or something like that. I admit this one doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, but hey, you’re fighting the good fight here, and it’s okay to bend the rules of logic as long as you think you’re right. If someone argues, just refer to step 5.
I have no fucking money my parents can’t take care of me cus they work all the time and I’m stuck here waiting for this bullshit to end I just wanna die
being mentally ill + suicidal at a young age (before 18) is. strange, because you grow up with this idea that one day you’ll finally snap, turn off, be brave enough to kill yourself, so you don’t really plan for the future. adulthood- further life, it isn’t for you, nor do you feel included within the future of it. it isn’t.. it isn’t part of your life plan.
and then before you know it you’re 18 and you’re an adult but you never thought you’d get this far and sure it’s great that you’re still alive you guess but also. you feel so alone + lost in a world you never expected or planned to be a part of.
Hey y’all did you know that just because you had a shitty childhood doesn’t mean you have to guilt trip and project your trauma and insecurities on other people? So when someone posts a funny video with their dad or talks about a nice gift their mother gave to them maybe instead of saying “wow imagine having parents that love you” or “haha my mom gave me nothing for Christmas after I turned 8” you can scroll past the video without being bitter and miserable.
People shouldn’t be your enemy for just having nice things. If they’re being spoiled, ungrateful brats that’s far different but someone being happy about something nice that happened within their family or a gift/experience they got? Yea, no one needs to know that you weren’t fortunate enough for that. Read the room. It’s not always about you and your trauma. And before you come at me, my life of far from perfect. I’m one of you.
Everyone who uses that “well 90% of rape is committed by men,” bullshit is forgetting that female rapists are rarely reported because male rape victims aren’t taken seriously and are made fun of and when they actually are reported it’s RARELY taken seriously and goes through court.
Women rape plenty. You’re not pure. You’re not the victim. Anyone, ANYONE, can be a victim, regardless of gender.
Women also rape other women, but a lot of people either outright ignore it, thinking that it’s “not real rape,” or they try to silence survivors because they think that reporting on female-on-female sexual abuse is homophobic.
Study after study has shown that lesbian relationships have the highest levels of abuse per capita. This can’t be ignored any longer.
I had no idea. That’s awful.
Lgbt people aren’t innocent and incapable of being abusive or rapists. f/f and m/m relationships aren’t inherently more pure and wholesome than m/f couples.
Rape isn’t a female issue caused by men and it’s FAR from exclusive to heterosexual couples.
not to sound like a boomer but i think millenials should stop giving 1 - 10 yearolds their own tablets/ipads or let them roam around the internet willy nilly
Also, needing daily internet access to do schoolwork, research, etc. is not the same thing as giving them 100% unfiltered access to the internet. Especially if you don’t even bother to teach or enforce basic internet safety like stranger danger, etc. Same thing applies if the school provides one for the purpose of doing schoolwork.
Not child under 13 years old should have unlimited internet access. This isn’t me being jealous of those who did, because I was one of them. This is me knowing that I’ve been in danger and have been in contact with several creepy people as a result, and it wasn’t even that bad for me. No child should have that. You are way too young to be on the Internet with no supervision at that age.
