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Do I want to start posting again?

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The Lonely Hearts Dance

(Art by @thewilfling)

Steve Rogers has felt like he's been drifting through his life without any real connections ever since his mother died years earlier. He has friends in the Deaf community and a job that keeps him fed and clothed. He knows he shouldn't want for more, but he does. He wants closeness and a companionship that he can't quite describe. He certainly isn't expecting to find a man that fills that void being beaten senseless in a back alley.

Read it HERE

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Vintage on disability rights.

[murdocksassassin]

The treatment of Abbie Mills was criminal and killed an amazing show. I watched fellow white female fans do back flips to support a bland as oatmeal white female character and rip Abbie. It cost us all what could have been an awesome show and black girls a character that was on her way to being flat ass iconic. And you, my fellow white girls, wonder why we are not welcomed into the conversations on Black Panther's amazing female cast. Please read the above and fucking learn something.

I am done choosing between my womanhood and my blackness. 

Stop giving me fictional white female characters and telling me “these are the fictional women to admire, the ones that break the mold, the feminist icons, the representation you’ve been longing for.” 

Stop asking me to squint to see myself represented on screen. Stop telling me to “wait my turn”, to support shows with white female leads as though this was a rare occurrence, as though there haven’t been thousands of them through the years. As though white women haven’t been held as the pinnacle of progress and feminism on TV since Lucille Ball.

Stop telling me that a white woman playing a spy, is innovative and feminist when you’ve had Wonder Woman, Charlie’s Angels, Scarecrow & Mrs. King and Alias before Agent Carter.

Stop telling me that seeing Jessica Jones, a white female character with PTSD, on screen is a long time coming, a revolutionary feminist act, when Joss Carter, Abbie Mills, Olivia Pope, Sasha Williams and Michonne aren’t afforded the same treatment regarding theirs from writers, media and fandom alike.

Stop telling me that “romance is not part of the show” when said show is built on the loss of the White Male Lead’s love interest. Stop labeling black female characters as one half of a “brotp”, as the supportive friend, a mammy that does everything but wipe the white man’s ass or tuck him into bed, only to prop up the Random White Woman In The Background as the obvious choice for a new, better suited love interest.

Stop giving me Trojan Horses, those black female characters I’ve longed for, the ones I finally can see myself in, the ones that you’re praised for creating and writing, the ones you make money off of only to kill them later, once they’ve served their purpose.

We are not your first step towards success, we aren’t a tool to be used to avoid criticism, or appease higher ups afraid of losing money because of the lack of diversity and representation in their shows.

We are not either women or black, we are both and we deserve to be spies, the fated love interest, the damsel in distress, the selfish one, the vulnerable one, the pinnacle of feminism and progress, the one who’s turn has come, the one who was a long time coming.

Stop giving me a drop of water and calling it the sea.

[murdocksassassin]

Hard Pass On The BoP movie...

OK, I love that the new movie embraces women of color and is working to give Harley agency. I will not support it at the cost of erasing Barbara Gordon. DC has erased the legacy of a disabled hero in both the comics and now ignored her existence in the movie. FUCK DC. I am done.

[murdocksassassin]

Bucky Barnes: The Winter Soldier (vol 1)

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How did this happen to me ?

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Bucky’s Smile - 'Tis a Rare Thing

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My ever-growing collection of Daredevil...

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nothing but RESPECT for my agent

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@staff Not exactly the “welcome back to the app store” you were expecting huh

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the universe whispers “don’t fall in love with a dead man” and you can only reply “too late.”

[murdocksassassin]

12 Days of MattElektra: Day 11

Champagne/Like No One Else

For once, it’s Matt’s idea. “I know how much you like playing dress-up,” he says, and Elektra smiles in spite of herself, in spite of the crappy day she’s been having, in spite of everything. She does like playing dress-up, and she can’t wait to get on the phone with her tailor. In hurried French, she orders an outfit, and then obviously adds something for him. Matt can feel her eyes on him as she speaks, her heart thrumming against the blush rising in his neck.  

              The dress and suit arrive. Matt gets his clothes on so quickly so that he can put his hands on her. Elektra guides his fingers to the many features of her outfit: the tautness of the bodice, the elaborate beading on the neck and bust, the way the skirt falls away from her legs. “It’s see-through,” she tells him with a smile, smacking him on ass on her way past. Matt snatches her by the wrist before she gets too far, twirling her back for a kiss on their way out the door.

              He gives a false name and title at the door of the party. They aren’t on the list. Elektra stomps a heel and feigns a tantrum en francais; Matt reassures her, pulling out his phone and threatening to get on the phone with someone-or-other. The doorperson starts to dismiss them but enters into a hushed conversation over a headset that finally gets them into the party with a grudgingly-delivered apology.

              Elektra grabs glasses of champagne. She finishes one in a flourish, sips at the other while she scopes out a Scotch for him. Matt draws an arm around Elektra’s lower back, pulling her to him. “No, I want champagne tonight. It feels like a champagne night.”

              She scoops him another glass from a passing tray. “What are we celebrating?”               “Whatever the hell you want,” Matt says, clinking his glass with hers. “What should we celebrate?”               Elektra’s smile warms him. She presses her glass hard into his, presses herself hard into him. “This,” she says, “I want to celebrate this. You, me –“

              “Us.”               “Us,” Elektra agrees.

              They toss back their drinks. Matt grabs the empty glasses together in one hand before she can throw them aside. He puts them on a passing tray as Elektra plucks up two more glasses.

              They mix, they mingle, they wreck havoc. Matt spills a drink on a gentleman getting handsy with a woman at the bar. Elektra lifts a wallet from an aging CEO well-known for underpaying his employees. They steal a bottle of bubbly and abscond to an office, leaving the door unlocked, playing chicken with another couple looking for their own private room or a security guard on patrol.

              “There’s a window,” Elektra says, her heartbeat tearing off and running at the thought. She clears the desk with a sweep of her arms, items clattering to the floor. Matt dodges the chaos and steps to her, ending up between her legs as she sits on the newly cleared surface. One of her fingers hooks through his tie, and she draws him over her, laying back in front of the cityscape. The other hand uncaps the champagne. The pop sends her into peels of laughter. Matt kisses her quiet. Elektra pauses, drinking some into her mouth before kissing him back, pushing the liquor between his lips. They end up laughing, bubbles spilling from their lips.

              Elektra laps it up from Matt’s cheeks, wrapping her legs around his waist, riding their hips together. “You said this was see-through?” he asks, and Elektra scoots till the shorter, tighter skirt underneath comes up and over her ass.

              “And I’m not wearing underwear,” she adds.

              “You didn’t mention that.”               “Didn’t I?’

              “No,” Matt says, kissing her on the lips. On the chin. The neck. Her chest. Elektra draws a hand through his hair, guiding him down. With her other hand, she takes the bottle, and she pours a small amount of the champagne onto the edge of the desk, between her legs.

              “To us,” she says, tapping the bottle against his cheek.

              “To us,” Matt agrees, slurping the champagne up from the edge of the desk, following the trail of bubbly straight to her.

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I didn’t fall in love with you. I walked into love with you, with my eyes wide open, choosing to take every step along the way. I do believe in fate and destiny, but I also believe we are only fated to do the things that we’d choose anyway.

[murdocksassassin]

12 days of mattelektra ★ day 9: ‘It was worth it.’

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clairedevil + otp names (insp)