Just my thoughts. I'm Marta She/her and I love reading, films, comics, cosplay, photography, food, games, travel and tumblr. Feel free to text me :) I'm here for you.
A female character who is a cold, relentless leader, always pragmatic, and able to make whatever hard decisions need to be made in order to ensure success and survival, tremendously skilled and devastatingly efficient at her job, tragically terrible at being overtly nice to people, who is also not evil and is still fundamentally a good person.
The Moral of This Post is: No matter how genius your idea is, Hiromu Arakawa probably already did it, and she did it better than you could ever hope to.
I know a lot of people can’t stand this stupid royal wedding nonsense, but for me this really is sickening to watch. Prince Harry gets to marry his Canadian finance while my partner and I have been separated by immigration laws for 4 years and counting. Never allowed to marry or even LIVE TOGETHER IN THE SAME COUNTRY.
What makes their situation any different from ours? Money.
In order for me to immigrate with my British partner he is required to me making an income of over £18,900 per year. (Which might seem reasonable to americans but Only 14% of British citizens make enough money to meet the spouse immigration requirements!)
Of course, because the royal family are wealthy nobility they can bypass any immigration requirements and live happily ever after, while tens of thousands of families are separated by the insane financial requirements of British marriage immigration visas.
I don’t mean to “reblog beg” but it would really help if you reblogged this to get this information out there. One of the reasons these visa restrictions are still in place is because people aren’t even aware they exist.
These restrictions were brought into place less than six months before ETD and I were due to be married (5 years ago now) and we were told our spousal visa would be denied because I didn’t make enough money to support him. We had to completely change our wedding plans, as well as our life plans.
At the time I was earning over 16k a year with over 10k in savings, well over the UK minimum wage. But that, I was told, was not a “living wage” therefore I could not sponsor my partner, whom I had been with for 7 years, regardless of him already having paying work lined up. I have friends and family in the UK whose entire families are expected to live in less than 9k a year, but the govt deems that acceptable.
They deem a lot of things acceptable. Provided they only happen to the vulnerable and poor.
My Scottish husband and I had to move to America because of these laws. He’d just graduated university, there was no way he was going to bring in that kind of money (and he’d have to be earning it for SIX MONTHS before he could APPLY for the visa. That’s a mandatory half a year’s separation for a married couple.)
Want to know the fun part?
The amount you must earn goes up for each kid you have together, making it harder for families with children to stay together.
People celebrated when Margaret Milk-Snatcher died. Similarly, I will survive to pee on Theresa May’s grave. That’s what keeps me going.
My pupper is in need of heartworm treatment and I would be sooo happy if you could share this post if you cannot help donate. I would be forever grateful. Thank you so much for your time. He is a good doggo and deserves the world and I hope you can help!!!!! https://www.gofundme.com/manage/5nmyyg8
My 26 yr old sister still says things out loud like ‘ermagerd’ and ’___ ALL the things!’ Like…is that what’s gonna happen to me?am I going to be 30 still saying stupid shit like O shit waddup! Are all the youngins gonna be embarrassed by my use of outdated memes….how long until I myself am not Hip With It….how long until I am no longer a trendy memer…
Listen, I am 40. I was around for the early internet of webrings and hamsterdance. Homestarrunner. Those little cats in the boat singing to Immigrant Song. Longcat. Ceiling cat. Radiskull. Powerthirst.
So to me anything that is funny on the internet is, and always will be, cutting-edge and hilarious. If it’s funny the first time, it’s funny the eleven thousandth time. No exceptions.
I accumulate memes. Social media sites form actual strata in my soul, revealing my geological age in layers: Geocities, Myspace, Livejournal, Tumblr. Memes encrust me, like jewels, just layer on layer of reaction gifs and shitposts, some of which I barely understand, but I refuse to let go of. I cling to them, they are ever-relevant, undying.
You callow youths, who think in your innocence that that memes come and go, you are tepid fools who still smell of milk.
I am where memes go to die. I am where memes go to live eternal.
Someday, if you are lucky, you will join me. Bring your breadsticks meme, your Spiders Georg, your Bode, your big mood, your Supernatural gifs, your oh worm. Come with me and rejoice in pointless in-jokes and long-forgotten references. Embrace your encyclopedic knowledge of comedy sites ca 2006 and come share the knowledge with us. Come with me and lik the bred.
The first time you see Sam Wilson shirtless was
when you were finishing your shower after training. He walked right past you –more like bumped into you—, with his
earphones well-secured in his ears and his mouth moving—he was most probably
lip-syncing to god knows what. He was sticky and sweaty, and as you fell
together, you realized he had been training very hard. You were starstruck and
your hands were still on his pecs; his lips were dangerously close to you and
you were damn sure you had the funniest and dorkiest face ever.
“My god—I—I’m so sorry!” You babbled once you
regained control of yourself and got up on your feet again and helped him up
too.
“No, I’m sorry,” he said in a careless manner,
“I was not looking and it was my fault. I’m Sam by the way, Sam Wilson…”
“Oh, you’re the new one. Steve’s friend,” you
nodded, “it’s good to see you’re accustomed to be here, you’re making your way
here and that’s good to see.”
“Well, this is not different from the army,
except that I can actually wake up when I want to,” he chuckled, “by the way,
you never told me your name.”
“I’m (Y/N), (Y/N) (Y/L/N),” you reached out
your hand to shake his, “I’ve been here with the team for a while now, I was
from SHIELD,” you explained.
“I think I saw you… when agent Hill took us to
that secret spot,” he narrowed his eyes as he tried to remember it. “You were
one of the doctors taking care of us.”
“Yes!” You squealed. “I was indeed, it’s great
to have you here as part of us; I’ve seen you in combat and… you’re
impressive,” you admitted feeling your cheeks warming up and tainting with a
hot pink flush. “Sam, I have to go, Natasha’s waiting for me upstairs. It was
very nice to meet you,” you smiled.
“I’ll try to be less distracted when I walk
around you,” he slyly said, “take care.”
The first time you see Sam Wilson shirtless,
you made a fool of yourself but he didn’t seem to care.
The second time you see Sam Wilson shirtless
was at one of Tony Stark’s parties. He was drunk, and golly you pitied him for
the hangover he was bound to have the next morning. You were sitting with
Natasha while the rest of the males tried to lift up the hammer.
“Oh come on girls!” Sam blurted. “Don’t you
wanna know if you’re worthy?”
“No thank you, bird brain,” Natasha replied and
turned her head to you, “stop staring at him or he’s gonna notice,” she took
the bottle to her lips and smiled knowingly before drinking.
“Notice what exactly?” You rose an eyebrow.
“That you like him, you dork,” the redhead said
as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“I don’t like him,” partially true, “I just
like to see him; he’s got some nice ass and a great front to look at,” you said.
“Can’t blame a girl for liking those assets,” you shrugged and leaned your head
on her shoulder. “What about you and Rogers?” You elbowed her. “That looks
steamy, aw!” You teased.
“Yeah, don’t change the topic,” she teased back,
“you like Wilson, and I like that; he’s a great guy and you deserve someone
like him; you’ve stumbled into too many assholes in the time we’ve known each
other—”
Out of a sudden, Tony started playing some
random playlist on Spotify, and the first song was Ed Sheran’s “Shape of You”.
You looked at Nat and you both started laughing at the two men approaching you;
one was Sam and the other was Steve who was not as drunk as his friend. Natasha
accepted without further argue; you on the other side, were a bit more
reluctant to dance with him, especially when he was shirtless and you were
drooling like a dog at Pavlov’s experiment.
“Come on, don’t say no to this song,” he held
your hands; they were rough and a bit dry, but his grip was quite gentle, “and
try not to say no to me too,” he added.
“Sam, go get dressed, dammit!” You scolded him.
“You’re gonna catch a cold!”
“Bullshit,” he clicked his tongue, “now come on,”
he tugged at your hands and you accepted to dance with him.
His hands, even though he was completely drunk,
were still very respectful and you had to give him a point for that. You held
on to his broad –and naked—shoulders and danced the night away. You two even
kissed a few times as the songs played and the dancing became a bit heated, but
he surely wouldn’t remember a thing of it.
The second time you see Sam Wilson shirtless
was not required and probably the most uncomfortable thing ever, but the man
had a body and you had functioning eyes, so why not?
The third time you see Sam Wilson shirtless was
after a mission. He refused to let his shirt go but you threatened to hit him
with some big ass dose of horse tranquilizer so you could rip the fabric away
and he reluctantly obliged. You had seen it before, but this was the very first
time you had such a close look at it. You could still see the marks of the suit
all over his chest and back, some of the scars; the old and the new ones, and
the laceration that was causing trouble.
“Sam, if you could please relax…” You sighed,
putting on your gloves. “Just a few stitches and you’ll be just fine.”
“It’s not that, (Y/N)… It’s just that it’s the
first time you’re voluntarily seeing me like this because I always go with
someone else, but they’re all busy today,” he sheepishly admitted, “and we’re
not drunk, or distracted,” he looked down at you and you felt a shiver running
down your spine; his eyes had never been this fixed on you before it was surely
making you a bit uncomfortable and very self-conscious.
“But not the first time I see you shirtless, so
suck it up,” you replied in an unfriendly voice. “Sit down and turn around
before that thing goes bad,” you ordered. It was the usual procedure: cleaning
and clearing, sewing and covering the wound with bandages. Sam winced and
tensed when you started the first part. “Sammy, I’m sorry but the sooner we get
this over with, the better, okay?” He breathed out heavily and nodded. “Alright,
here I go again,” you warned and started stitching him up. He endured the whole
process stoically and he didn’t grunt not even once. You softly patted his
shoulder to let him know that it was over. “Good boy, you deserve a lollipop,”
you giggled, “I’m sure I must have a candy somewhere—”
“Uhh, (Y/N)?” He nervously asked. “I was
wondering if you… I don’t know… maybe we could go out one day?” he scratched
the back of his neck; needless to say, he hadn’t put on his shirt yet.
“Are you… Are you asking me out?” You asked,
rolling all the dirty things you used into one great ball and heading for the
trash can. You pursed your lips trying to hold back a childish and nervous
titter.
“I mean—yeah, why not?”
“You promise there won’t be any nudity, alcohol
or anything that’s not PG-13?” you folded your arms over your chest and rose
your eyebrows. You wanted to say yes, of course, but he was not getting a
positive answer so fast. “Sam, promise me that,” you urged him.
“Some old Disney movies are going to be played
in the park one of these days, would that be okay with you? PG-13 enough?”
“That would be perfect,” you nodded happily. “I
like peanut butter sandwiches more than popcorn, and I tend to speak a lot
during movies, and if there are songs I know, which is really likely, you can
be well damn sure I’m going to sing the hell out of them, so consider yourself
warned. I’m the worst person to watch movies with,” you shrugged.
“Warned and taking the risk anyway, so stop
putting me off and just go out with me, okay?” He chuckled, sliding down his
chest the t-shirt that seemed a bit small, but perfect enough to hug him
tightly and reveal his chiseled torso. It was the first time you saw him under
such an attentive eye, and you were quite intrigued by the findings.
“You got it,” you breathily laughed, “I’ll
write our date down so I don’t forget about it, you happy?”
The third time you see Sam Wilson shirtless got
you a date.
The fourth time you see Sam Wilson shirtless
was after a great night of sleep. You rolled to the other side to find him
peacefully sleeping. He groaned and lazily started to stretch as he opened his
eyes; he looked at you and smiled.
“What up, naked woman?” He giggled as he saw
your uncovered torso; the night had been a long one and for a period it seemed
sleepless, but you two run out of energies after some passionate love making
and decided to go to sleep without any clothes at all.
“What up,” you replied in a whisper and leaning
forward to peck his lips. “Did you have a good night?”
“The best one in years,” he yawned, “and you?
Did I interrupt your night of sleep?”
“Not at all, Mr. Wilson,” you bit your bottom
lip and snuggled closer.
Things had gotten official between you two the
night before; Sam Wilson made the question publicly and you drank until very
late with the rest of the team. You hadn’t been this happy in years, and Sam
was doing everything in he could to keep you like that, but he didn’t need to
try that hard, just being himself was enough.
It was the very first time you asked someone to
move in with you, and even though Sam lived with you for a long time, you never
invited him to the privacy of your own sanctuary. He had invited you to his
room on countless occasions but it always ended up in the walk of shame.
“I just want you to know,” he said, placing a
hand on your jaw to cup your face. He stroke gently your cheek, “that I’m
really honored for this… I know you’re not the one to share your room,” his
nose bumped with yours, “and I hope this is the first night together from many
more to come, when we get a place on our own,”
“Is this getting serious, Sammy?” You chuckled.
“Because if it is, you could might as well propose to me right now,” you
pecked his lips and he helped you getting on top of him. “Oh, someone’s getting
excited?” You bit your bottom lip and started rolling your hips gently. Sam pulled
you closer for a heated kiss; it felt nice to have his skin so close to you
again.
The fourth time you see Sam Wilson shirtless
was the moment you realized you wanted to be with him for the rest of your
life.
The fifth time you see Sam Wilson shirtless was
on a mission; one that ended abruptly. He’s bleeding a lot and you’re damn sure
he won’t make it. Steve’s carrying him in his arms back to the quinjet and
you’re following his steps trying hard to keep yourself together. Natasha runs
behind you, calling your name to please go back and help her, but Sam is everything
you have in mind for now. You know you can’t abandon your job just like that,
but you can’t abandon him either.
Steve placed him on the quinjet’s floor and
started setting the medical equipment to keep him alive, but the wound was too
profound and he was losing a hell lot of blood.
“(Y/N), you either go back and fight, or you’re
useful here, but don’t stay there doing nothing,” Steve blurted, ripping you
from your thoughts. You kneeled next to him trying to ignore the gushing blood
coming out of Sam’s stomach.
You started cutting Sam’s shirt and Steve
hurried to press some gauze onto the wound to stop the flow. You took some more
fabric and pushed Steve’s hands away. “Don’t die on me, Sammy, don’t you dare,”
you threatened, with your voice breaking and your hands shaking. “Sammy talk to
me, now,” you cleaned your forehead with your arm while Steve changed the
gauze.
“This is gonna leave some big ass scar,” a weak
voice startled you. Sam tried to smile and so did you, but the laceration was
too big and too scary to even fake. “You know what’s funny?” you shook your
head, “I wanted to propose to you today… but I don’t think I can now,” he gulped
and winced from the pain. “Steve…may I have a moment?” Steve nodded silently;
he placed a heavy hand on your shoulder and squeezed it lightly. Then, with
loud steps he got out to meet the rest of the team; the fight was fortunately
won by the Avengers and they were all waiting for the diagnose on Wilson’s
state. Steve’s face said it all. “I don’t have much time here, gorgeous,” he
coughed, “so I’ll try to make it quick. You’re so—so fucking awesome and… I
love you, just that…”
“Don’t say it as a goodbye, Wilson—you can’t do
that! Not to me!”
“Kiss me as if it was the last time…” He
teased. You leaned in to feel him one last time, trying to make his last
minutes on earth the happiest ones. “You’ll be just fine without me, you’ve
always been anyway,” he smiled lightly and sighed deeply. He slowly closed his
eyes until you realized there was no life in that body.
“Sam… Sam, no. Dammit no!” You placed your
hands on his chest to shake him, but there was no answer. Loud steps stopped
just behind you and a warm hug took you away as you kicked and screamed to be
put again next to Sam’s lifeless body. Thor was dragging you back and trying to
keep your breaking self together.
The fifth time you see Sam Wilson shirtless was
also the last one.
a distant colleague of mine has LITERALLY DROPPED DEAD in our parking lot and my other colleague performed CPR on the guy while i hurled away all the nosy customers who came across the scene until the ambulance arrived and management didnt even have the decency to give us a simple "Thank you". The only ones who ACTUALLY took care of us after this was our branch manager and another colleague who came in from home to bring us food and comfort
disturbingelephanteyes