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I just read that Donald Trump and his circus took down a website called reproductiverights.gov

This was a website to help women learn about their reproductive rights in the US and to find health care.

This is absolutely disgusting so I’ll share in this post some resources in case you need them:

https://www.nichd.nih.gov/

Contraception and Birth Control Resources

Links to websites of groups that study or provide information about contraception and birth control.

Reproductive Freedom for All

Resources for Accessing Abortion Care

Browse resources for accessing abortion care: find providers, get information and advice, access abortion funds, legal advocacy and more.

plancpills.org

PLAN C: Abortion pills by mail in every state

Plan C is an information resource for self-managed, at-home abortion with pills. Learn how people in the U.S. are accessing abortion pill op

National Abortion Federation

Home - National Abortion Federation

The National Abortion Federation (NAF) is the professional association of abortion providers in North America. We believe that women should

https://www.plannedparenthood.org/learn

reblog if you hate nazis and don’t think they should speak on college campuses

You all pulled me back into this fic idea so now Im pulling all you with me into this WIP

Because y’all started reblogging my old fic idea post, I had to drag up a fic I never posted, read it, and then fall in love with the idea all over again. Without further ado, here’s the summary and first chapter I wrote like way back when:

Summary:

Tim has been Robin for about a year and a half now, and trust him, he’s seen some pretty wacked up stuff, but never this. There’s a man in a leather jacket and a red helmet that’s been following him around, almost acting as a kind of violent and disgruntled guardian angel. He’ll save Tim from a bullet, or maybe help end his fight sooner, and disappear before anyone is the wiser. But the thing that worries him the most is not that he has a stalker or that the leather jacket get-up is seriously screaming issues.

It’s the fact that this guy reminds him so much of Robin II.

But that can’t be right because Jason Todd is dead. Right?

OR

Jason comes back from the dead, and he’s still angry at Bruce and Dick and the world, but God knows he can’t be angry at a kid who gets thrown into the thick of it because of some stupid adult’s problems. He’s been that kid for most of his life, and afterlife. But goddamnit, the last ounce of goodness he has left in him is screaming at him to GET THE KID OUT OF THERE BEFORE HE ENDS UP LIKE YOU. So now Jason’s grand come-back plan has just been revised.

Step 1: Get revenge on Bruce Step 2: Kill the Joker Step 3?: SAVE THE KID

Keep reading

lol Alistair and Rhys out swinging swords at ghosts and looking like a couple of nutters to the untrained eye. Do you still have the fic or maybe it was an ask about chonklet deluxe being held by a horrifying wraith and screaming like the damned?

A little bit! And it was initially an ask. This fic is brand spanking new because I forgot how cool of an idea that shitpost actually was if I took it seriously. Please be warned that this fic is gory and involves child endangerment, a bastardization of mythological creatures and just general violence. Also here on ao3.

Rural Lancashire, 1590

Dusk draped heavily over the world as the last light of day darkened into a thick grey. Arthur had ducked out the door to catch the midwife as she crossed his property on foot. If he was quick, he could often walk her as far as the edge of the village and consult her on whatever it was Alfred had done now. Teething, his first words, the seizures that had gripped him last spring, croup, the rare occasion Alfred was ever colicky. She was a steely woman with hair to match and indulged him at least, giving the best advice she had after decades of bringing children into the world. He'd hardly paid attention to the labours of women, and children so often died that there was rarely time to pay them any heed as they went from the cradle to the casket so quickly.

He had turned back to make his usual beeline for the house, pushing past and between the square hedges and sprawling kitchen garden. Some of the stronger-smelling herbs must have been finally in season; there was a reek Arthur couldn't quite identify. He had hardly cleared the fence when he heard Alfred's usual cry, demanding attention. The baby was a social thing, as personable as Rhys or Brighid and twice as bold about his want of company. He didn't like waking alone, wrapped up cozy in the cradle or otherwise.

Another sound, shrill and high. This one sent a spike of anxiety through Arthur's spine. He paused for the shortest moment. Then he was moving. That was not the cry of a baby who was lonely or wanted to be picked up. That was a terrified howl from his boy. He shot into the house, through the atrium, up the stairs, and into the nursery. Heaving, he flung open the heavy oak door. The smell was there again. The figure of a woman stood in relief against the low fire, Alfred cradled in her arms and screaming. For a stupid, foolish moment, he hoped it was the scullery girl he had told to mind the baby should he begin crying. But the smell. He took a step forward. At a new angle, he could see rotten eyes staring at his son, a cheek missing to decay and teeth gleaming through the gap.

"Baby." Came the garbled sound from long-dead vocal cords.

"You do not belong in this realm," Arthur said, cooly gesturing for her to hand him the child. His guts churned, bile in his throat. The revenants were often as confused as they were disgusting, pulling themselves out of whatever corner they had died and remained undiscovered. "Give me the child."

The Revenant turned to him. "Mine."

"You do not belong in this realm," Arthur said again, gesturing to Alfred again. He was losing patience with fear, the ceaseless screaming from Alfred turning into a hopeless, frightened sob. She tilted her head, and it fell limply to her shoulder, tendons snapping on the other side. She lifted one hand to push it back onto her neck, and he saw her hand for a moment in the light. Her fingers were torn freshly away. Oh, good Christ, this one had crawled out of her grave as they sometimes did when there was an infant's ceaseless crying above them. But Alfred had never stepped foot in the churchyard, and it was nearly a mile and a half away in the village.

"Rhys!" Arthur screamed, praying to god his brother was in the house and not out in the lambing pens.

The woman transferred Alfred almost tenderly to one arm and lunged at him, hand outstretched and her rotting jaw open. It couldn't close and Arthur couldn't hit her; Alfred was a heavy child and would fall to the floor as a leaden weight, and his soft little body would smash. Arthur was cold. Alfred was still crying.

"Give me my fucking son." He lunged, snatching at her arm. A layer of grey slime came away, and he retched even as he got fingers wrapped into the swaddling nearest Alfred's feet. He was suddenly wrestling a corpse, each of them struggling to get their hands on the blanket. One of Alfred's arms had slipped free, and he flailed, a fresh rolling scream emitting from his tiny scarlet face. Arthur had never seen him so flushed. He tried to shove her away and kick at the rotting creature, but more of something wet disintegrated from her legs. His hand was suddenly slick with gore and a piece of her fell to the floor with a putrid plop, unseen under the half-rotten chemise she had been buried in. She almost looked to grin at him and pulled Alfred closer.

"Let go!" He commanded, trying to get a purchase, but his hands were too slippery. He lunged after her as she retreated towards the door. "Let him go!"

Then a sword was through her belly. Something degassed like fetid blacksmith's bellows. Arthur's senses nearly abandoned him at the smell, but his hands closed around Alfred and tugged him to his chest, and he shot back against the wall, as far from the thing as he could get.

"I know. I'm sorry." He gasped, a clean hand cradling Alfred's head. "I'm so sorry."

The creature groaned and collapsed to the floor on its knees, struggling as its guts dissolved around the blade. Rhys stood behind her, still in his lambing clothes and boots, mother's leaf-bladed sword in his hands. He lifted it, and her head fell from her shoulders. The rotting eyes followed Arthur across the room. He watched as Rhys found one of the seams of her skull with the tip, plunged the sword in, twisted like he was splitting a log, and this time, she lay still, dismembered.

"Are you all right?" Rhys said, stepping over the body to look at him. He approached close enough to pull the blanket away to look at Alfred. Arthur tried to meet his brother's eyes. "Arthur?"

He couldn't. He could only close his eyes, hold Alfred tighter and collapse down the wall. Alfred pressed as tight as he dared against his sternum, and Arthur tried to breathe. Alfred's crying had softened, terror fading to a heartbreaking relief, and Arthur kissed his head. To close. Too fucking close.

"He's fine," Rhys said; his voice was much softer this time. "You're both fine, I promise."

Since it's coming up on the first anniversary of FH: Junior Year, I've been thinking about that hypothetical (probably unlikely) fourth season, and I really think it should be set during the Bad Kids' High School Reunion. Especially after MisMag 2, I feel like the storytelling opportunities just compound if the Intrepid Heroes had the space to let the Bad Kids' circumstances change more drastically than they would if they did a Senior Year or even a Homecoming.

Like, you could totally still have the first episode set in their Senior Year, and have it be on their Graduation Day. The Bad Kids could have all of their sweet, sentimental moments that you'd want to see (while also setting up the season's Big Bad, ala The Seven) and have the six of them (Fig crashes the Grad Party) take a group picture photo.

All of them are filled with so much hope and aspirations before hard cutting to ten years later and meet all of them in their late twenties (thirty for Fabian), and they are doing... not horribly, but we've seen what Spyre's like for teen adventurers. What's it like for a bunch of adults who used to or still do adventure??

How much have the Bad Kids grown? How much have they backslid into their old ways? How much do they keep in touch, and who are the ones who are still closest after high school?

How does Fig feel about getting older and maybe losing some of that teenage rebellion? How does Kristen deal with actually having a congregation that's counting on her? How often does Gorgug think about killing his new boss, Arthur Aguefort? How exhausted is Adaine in the midst of the Wizard equivalent of a Doctorate (and her mother still evading her and Aelwen)? How badly does Riz need this reunion because adventuring without his best friends just isn't the same? AND most importantly...

How many divorces is Fabian Aramais Seacaster on, and why is it two?

This blogger has ZERO sympathy for Fascists, White Supremacists, Racists, and the so-called Alt Right.

Denver organizers and protestors like the one mentioned above were arrested for protesting and demanding justice for Elijah McClain. Many of them are being charged with 18 counts of kidnapping and rioting for surrounding the cops at a protest. Please share and consider donating to Denver legal and political funds. [link to twitter thread]

PSL

Donate to the legal and political support campaign for arrested Denver organizers

A realization I have had about Riz and Adaine living together; Adaine would probably be the last one to see Riz before he dies and then would probably have to go through his things afterwards.

Adaine was the one to go through most of her friends things in the end but Riz was for sure the first. She could never throw out all of it though, most of his stuff ended up in storage boxes then placed inside his briefcase that lived in the spare room of any house she ever lived in.

Her kitchen cupboards always had a good half-dozen mugs she never used because they were Riz's too and every time she moved his furniture would be put right back the way he liked it.

MADAM VICE PRESIDENT MADAM VICE PRESIDENT MADAM VICE PRESIDENT MADAM VICE PRESIDENT MADAM VICE PRESIDENT MADAM VICE PRESIDENT MADAM VICE PRESIDENT MADAM VICE PRESIDENT MADAM VICE PRESIDENT MADAM VICE PRESIDENT MADAM VICE PRESIDENT MADAM VICE PRESIDENT MADAM VICE PRESIDENT MADAM VICE PRESIDENT MADAM VICE PRESIDENT MADAM VICE PRESIDENT MADAM VICE PRESIDENT MADAM VICE PRESIDENT MADAM VICE PRESIDENT MADAM VICE PRESIDENT MADAM VICE PRESIDENT MADAM VICE PRESIDENT MADAM VICE PRESIDENT MADAM VICE PRESIDENT MADAM VICE PRESIDENT MADAM VICE PRESIDENT MADAM VI