1st August, 2014

Anonymous asks:

That end of the Dorito in her mouth, she's either up to performing some fellatio or anilingus. More power to her!

Okay, this needs to go in a fic somwhere. Tony teasing her as she eats doritos and Steve being somewhere in the room. I need this. Stat!

1st August, 2014

Found out that I can connect my old keyboard to my tablet with this little adapter I have. Took only a couple minutes to write a message that would have originally taken ten.

Bwahahahahahahahahaha….ha…ha…*cough*

I’m just excited because now I can WRITE!

1st August, 2014

stuffmomnevertoldyou:

thereconstructionists:

Astronomer Maria Mitchell (August 1, 1818 — June 28, 1889) was born the third in a Quaker family of ten children, in an age when parents still considered the physical sciences better-suited for girls than boys. Her formative years, however, coincided with the unfortunate reversal of gender norms that made women in science not only a rarity, but also a discouraged deviation from social standards. She would eventually lament in an 1881 report, “At what time did scientific associations close to women?” Even so, Mitchell went on to become the first recognized female astronomer in America and contributed significantly to the evolution of both astronomy and women’s science education.
In a testament to the fact that equality isn’t merely a “women’s problem” but requires equal investment from all, Mitchell owed her early scientific education to her father’s consistent encouragement and his refusal to treat his daughters as inferior to his sons. William Mitchell was an astronomer himself and a teacher at a small school, which Maria attended as a young girl — the birthplace of her fascination with nature and science. At seventeen, she founded her own school dedicated to teaching girls the essential skills of science and mathematics.
In 1836, Mitchell became a librarian at the Atheneum in her hometown of Nantucket, where she, like Ray Bradbury, would educate herself by reading through the library’s collection every day. Meanwhile, she continued to observe the night sky with her father.
On October 1, 1947, shortly after her 29th birthday, Mitchell discovered the first comet in American science, which went on to be named “Miss Mitchell’s Comet.” Even more extraordinary than her gender in the historical context of the discovery was that she achieved it with a modest telescope only two inches long, further evidencing her exceptional mastery of astronomy. Mitchell was awarded a prestigious international medal for the discovery and, at only thirty, became the first woman elected to the American Academy of Arts and Sciences. No other woman would be afforded this invitation for the remainder of Mitchell’s lifetime.
At a time when women were employed by the government primarily as seamstresses, cooks, and other domestic-arts occupations, Mitchell is believed to be the first American woman employed for a non-domestic specialized skill by the federal government. Working for the United States Nautical Almanac as one of only eleven astronomers and mathematicians in that role, she was paid $300 a year for her job as a “computer of Venus” — a mathematically heavy endeavor requiring she synthesize complex calculations into charts that predicted Venus’s position in the sky for years ahead, which sailors all over the world would use for critical celestial navigation.
Mitchell’s reputation soon spilled into the ranks of other influential women and they eventually pooled together, led by legendary publisher Elizabeth Peabody, to help Mitchell use tools on par with her extraordinary scientific drive. Emerson’s United States Magazine ran an editorial urging school girls and women to donate however much they could afford to help buy the beloved astronomer a telescope worthy of her mind. And they did, to a poetic effect — Mitchell was soon the owner of one of the most sophisticated telescopes in the country, a gift from “the women of America.”
An embodiment of the tragically and consistently overlooked fact that science and the humanities need each other, Mitchell was also keenly interested in the social sciences and became the vice president of the American Social Science Association. But her great love remained the cosmos, which she saw not only as scientifically fascinating but also as the height of aesthetic beauty. In a diary entry from February 12, 1855, she marveled:

I swept around for comets about an hour, and then I amused myself with noticing the varieties of color. I wonder that I have so long been insensible to this charm in the skies, the tints of the different stars are so delicate in their variety…. What a pity that some of our manufacturers shouldn’t be able to steal the secret of dyestuffs from the stars, and astonish the feminine taste by new brilliancy in fashion.

Bespeaking the idea that equality begets equality, Mitchell carried forward her father’s respect for equal dignity in her own convictions, not only in actively championing women’s empowerment and education, but also by becoming deeply invested in the anti-slavery plight and the quest for freedom for all. She even famously refused to wear garments made of cotton grown by Southern slaves, one of the earliest recorded acts of wearable political convictions.
After the Civil War swung open the doors to women’s education, Mitchell was invited to teach astronomy at Vassar, one of the most prestigious newly established colleges helming the higher education revolution, where she’d have an alluring twelve-inch telescope at her disposal. She was the only woman on the faculty. But despite the college’s progressive-by-the-era’s-standards decision to hire Mitchell, she still faced — and tirelessly opposed — the antiquated and often contradictory gender norms of the time: For instance, she taught astronomy to young women, and yet the original college handbook of rules stated that it was forbidden for female students to go outside after dark.
By 1861, Mitchell had reached celebrity status and was one of the most famous women in the world — so much so, Renee Bergland tells us in the altogether excellent Maria Mitchell and the Sexing of Science: An Astronomer Among the American Romantics, that “people who sat next to her at a meal or glimpsed her across a train platform often wrote to their hometown newspapers to report the sightings.”
But the greatest complement to her scientific brilliance was her enormous kindness and her unrelenting humility. Like fellow reconstructionist Marie Curie, she was unmoved by accolades and preferred, instead, to help cultivate the talents of other budding female scientists — even if it meant overcoming her excruciating shyness in order to teach and serve as a role model. In fact, in what Bergland calls “the scholarly dignity of the quiet Quaker woman in the simple black dress,” Mitchell’s parallels Curie’s famous pragmatic humility. And yet, as Bergland poignantly puts it, “Maria Mitchell crackled and sparkled somehow, even when the rest of [Nantucket] was torpid and sleepy in the sunshine.” One woman, who in her childhood had befriended Mitchell in her librarian capacity, recalled the “warmth and depth of Maria Mitchell’s affectionate nature” and extolled her “whole-souled generosity.”
Mitchell died in 1889 of brain disease, leaving behind an inextinguishable torch of hope for women in science at a time of oppressive darkness. She was posthumously inducted into the National Women’s Hall of Fame and the Hall of Fame for Great Americans. The Maria Mitchell Association in Nantucket preserves her legacy and houses the Maria Mitchell Observatory.
Learn more: Maria Mitchell and the Sexing of Science | Maria Mitchell: The Soul of an Astronomer | Wikipedia

Happy birthday to America’s first female astronomer, Maria Mitchell!

stuffmomnevertoldyou:

thereconstructionists:

Astronomer Maria Mitchell (August 1, 1818 — June 28, 1889) was born the third in a Quaker family of ten children, in an age when parents still considered the physical sciences better-suited for girls than boys. Her formative years, however, coincided with the unfortunate reversal of gender norms that made women in science not only a rarity, but also a discouraged deviation from social standards. She would eventually lament in an 1881 report, “At what time did scientific associations close to women?” Even so, Mitchell went on to become the first recognized female astronomer in America and contributed significantly to the evolution of both astronomy and women’s science education.

In a testament to the fact that equality isn’t merely a “women’s problem” but requires equal investment from all, Mitchell owed her early scientific education to her father’s consistent encouragement and his refusal to treat his daughters as inferior to his sons. William Mitchell was an astronomer himself and a teacher at a small school, which Maria attended as a young girl — the birthplace of her fascination with nature and science. At seventeen, she founded her own school dedicated to teaching girls the essential skills of science and mathematics.

In 1836, Mitchell became a librarian at the Atheneum in her hometown of Nantucket, where she, like Ray Bradbury, would educate herself by reading through the library’s collection every day. Meanwhile, she continued to observe the night sky with her father.

On October 1, 1947, shortly after her 29th birthday, Mitchell discovered the first comet in American science, which went on to be named “Miss Mitchell’s Comet.” Even more extraordinary than her gender in the historical context of the discovery was that she achieved it with a modest telescope only two inches long, further evidencing her exceptional mastery of astronomy. Mitchell was awarded a prestigious international medal for the discovery and, at only thirty, became the first woman elected to the American Academy of Arts and Sciences. No other woman would be afforded this invitation for the remainder of Mitchell’s lifetime.

At a time when women were employed by the government primarily as seamstresses, cooks, and other domestic-arts occupations, Mitchell is believed to be the first American woman employed for a non-domestic specialized skill by the federal government. Working for the United States Nautical Almanac as one of only eleven astronomers and mathematicians in that role, she was paid $300 a year for her job as a “computer of Venus” — a mathematically heavy endeavor requiring she synthesize complex calculations into charts that predicted Venus’s position in the sky for years ahead, which sailors all over the world would use for critical celestial navigation.

Mitchell’s reputation soon spilled into the ranks of other influential women and they eventually pooled together, led by legendary publisher Elizabeth Peabody, to help Mitchell use tools on par with her extraordinary scientific drive. Emerson’s United States Magazine ran an editorial urging school girls and women to donate however much they could afford to help buy the beloved astronomer a telescope worthy of her mind. And they did, to a poetic effect — Mitchell was soon the owner of one of the most sophisticated telescopes in the country, a gift from “the women of America.”

An embodiment of the tragically and consistently overlooked fact that science and the humanities need each other, Mitchell was also keenly interested in the social sciences and became the vice president of the American Social Science Association. But her great love remained the cosmos, which she saw not only as scientifically fascinating but also as the height of aesthetic beauty. In a diary entry from February 12, 1855, she marveled:

I swept around for comets about an hour, and then I amused myself with noticing the varieties of color. I wonder that I have so long been insensible to this charm in the skies, the tints of the different stars are so delicate in their variety…. What a pity that some of our manufacturers shouldn’t be able to steal the secret of dyestuffs from the stars, and astonish the feminine taste by new brilliancy in fashion.

Bespeaking the idea that equality begets equality, Mitchell carried forward her father’s respect for equal dignity in her own convictions, not only in actively championing women’s empowerment and education, but also by becoming deeply invested in the anti-slavery plight and the quest for freedom for all. She even famously refused to wear garments made of cotton grown by Southern slaves, one of the earliest recorded acts of wearable political convictions.

After the Civil War swung open the doors to women’s education, Mitchell was invited to teach astronomy at Vassar, one of the most prestigious newly established colleges helming the higher education revolution, where she’d have an alluring twelve-inch telescope at her disposal. She was the only woman on the faculty. But despite the college’s progressive-by-the-era’s-standards decision to hire Mitchell, she still faced — and tirelessly opposed — the antiquated and often contradictory gender norms of the time: For instance, she taught astronomy to young women, and yet the original college handbook of rules stated that it was forbidden for female students to go outside after dark.

By 1861, Mitchell had reached celebrity status and was one of the most famous women in the world — so much so, Renee Bergland tells us in the altogether excellent Maria Mitchell and the Sexing of Science: An Astronomer Among the American Romantics, that “people who sat next to her at a meal or glimpsed her across a train platform often wrote to their hometown newspapers to report the sightings.”

But the greatest complement to her scientific brilliance was her enormous kindness and her unrelenting humility. Like fellow reconstructionist Marie Curie, she was unmoved by accolades and preferred, instead, to help cultivate the talents of other budding female scientists — even if it meant overcoming her excruciating shyness in order to teach and serve as a role model. In fact, in what Bergland calls “the scholarly dignity of the quiet Quaker woman in the simple black dress,” Mitchell’s parallels Curie’s famous pragmatic humility. And yet, as Bergland poignantly puts it, “Maria Mitchell crackled and sparkled somehow, even when the rest of [Nantucket] was torpid and sleepy in the sunshine.” One woman, who in her childhood had befriended Mitchell in her librarian capacity, recalled the “warmth and depth of Maria Mitchell’s affectionate nature” and extolled her “whole-souled generosity.”

Mitchell died in 1889 of brain disease, leaving behind an inextinguishable torch of hope for women in science at a time of oppressive darkness. She was posthumously inducted into the National Women’s Hall of Fame and the Hall of Fame for Great Americans. The Maria Mitchell Association in Nantucket preserves her legacy and houses the Maria Mitchell Observatory.

Happy birthday to America’s first female astronomer, Maria Mitchell!

(via Stuff Mom Never Told You)

31st July, 2014

Anonymous asks:

This is a tumblr hug. Pass this to at least 10 of your favourite tumblr followers to show how much you love them as best buddies. Happy tumblr hugs ~! (◕‿◕✿) (◕‿◕)

Awe, thank you so much Nonny. As it is unreasonably late right now I won’t be passing it along just yet, but I may try tomorrow.

25th July, 2014

i-eat-men-like-air:

rashaka:

hockpock:

qualiachameleon:

rocketumbl:

Theo Jansen  Strandbeest

Side note: These don’t have motors. They’re completely momentum/wind-powered and literally just wander around beaches unsupervised like giant abstract monsters.

these are both amazing and COMPLETELY TERRIFYING

i’m unreasonably freaked out and disturbed by these

did i wander into a dali painting or what 
i-eat-men-like-air:

rashaka:

hockpock:

qualiachameleon:

rocketumbl:

Theo Jansen  Strandbeest

Side note: These don’t have motors. They’re completely momentum/wind-powered and literally just wander around beaches unsupervised like giant abstract monsters.

these are both amazing and COMPLETELY TERRIFYING

i’m unreasonably freaked out and disturbed by these

did i wander into a dali painting or what 
i-eat-men-like-air:

rashaka:

hockpock:

qualiachameleon:

rocketumbl:

Theo Jansen  Strandbeest

Side note: These don’t have motors. They’re completely momentum/wind-powered and literally just wander around beaches unsupervised like giant abstract monsters.

these are both amazing and COMPLETELY TERRIFYING

i’m unreasonably freaked out and disturbed by these

did i wander into a dali painting or what 
i-eat-men-like-air:

rashaka:

hockpock:

qualiachameleon:

rocketumbl:

Theo Jansen  Strandbeest

Side note: These don’t have motors. They’re completely momentum/wind-powered and literally just wander around beaches unsupervised like giant abstract monsters.

these are both amazing and COMPLETELY TERRIFYING

i’m unreasonably freaked out and disturbed by these

did i wander into a dali painting or what 
i-eat-men-like-air:

rashaka:

hockpock:

qualiachameleon:

rocketumbl:

Theo Jansen  Strandbeest

Side note: These don’t have motors. They’re completely momentum/wind-powered and literally just wander around beaches unsupervised like giant abstract monsters.

these are both amazing and COMPLETELY TERRIFYING

i’m unreasonably freaked out and disturbed by these

did i wander into a dali painting or what 

i-eat-men-like-air:

rashaka:

hockpock:

qualiachameleon:

rocketumbl:

Theo Jansen  Strandbeest

Side note: These don’t have motors. They’re completely momentum/wind-powered and literally just wander around beaches unsupervised like giant abstract monsters.

these are both amazing and COMPLETELY TERRIFYING

i’m unreasonably freaked out and disturbed by these

did i wander into a dali painting or what 

(via I've got ink on my hands.)

22nd July, 2014

typhoidmeri:

I’ve seen the paths that your eyes wander down
A coffee shop/college AU for thewriterchick
….
The coffee shop is not a place Darcy would have normally worked, if she had the choice and didn’t desperately need the money.  The place was too full of hipsters and students for her liking, even though she was one of them. She loves working there anyway.
Mismatched wooden tables and chairs vied with three ancient couches for floorspace. The couches were her favorite despite the possibility of sinking into them and never climbing out of again. Behind the counter, the wall was covered in chalkboard paint, her boss’ relatively legible handwriting and Darcy’s own geometric doodles.
One wall of the cafe is papered in pages from a vintage astronomy book, with a single ornately framed reproduction star chart. The Star Huntress was the sort of place you wanted to curl up in and spend a day, or two reading one of the books stacked haphazardly in the bookcase covered back wall, or while away the hours using the free wifi. Today’s password was ‘adalovelace’, yesterday’s was ‘murielwheldaleonslow’.
The bell on the door jingles merrily and two boys shuffle in. The blonde is sporting a bloody lip and a swollen eye, the one with the dark hair is wiping a drop of blood from his nose with a bit of tissue, a smirk plastered across his face. 

“Ten minutes till closing, guys,” Darcy says, barely looking up from her notebook. What she should be doing is working on her paper on animal stories for her mythology course. What she was actually doing was drawing a butterfly over her notes while she hummed along to the radio. What she was being paid to do was to make coffee and glower at her fellow students, something she excelled at if you asked her. Most people rarely did.
“We can go somewhere else, Bucky,” says the blonde, breathing raggedly.
“Girl said ten minutes,” Bucky grins, shoving the crumpled tissue into his pocket. “Two lattes and whatever cake you’ve got left, sweetheart.”
“Jerk,” mutters the blonde sticking his hands into the pockets of his jacket and pulling out an inhaler, giving it a quick shake before taking a puff.
“Watch the name callin’, I’m not the asshole that started a bar fight,” Bucky grins, wide and reckless.
Darcy narrows her eyes, tilting her her head to the side, “Weren’t you two in here the other day? Art student, Mercuriade sandwich with extra cheese and latte bowl? Steve, right?” 

“Uh, yeah, that was me,” Steve says, reaching his hand up to run through his messy hair. He winces and shakes his hand out. The knuckles of both hands are red and swollen.
“Idiot.”
“And you,” she said pointing at Bucky, “Raspberry mocha, struck out with the redhead with the iced brownie latte with whip, no sprinkles, right?”
“No,” Bucky scowls.
“I don’t forget orders,” Darcy says, which isn’t even really true, but it’s close enough. “You can argue with me but it won’t get you cake.”
“S’fine,” Bucky says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. Steve bursts out laughing clutching at his chest with his right hand. “Knock it off.” Bucky elbows Steve in the side  and pulls a wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans.
“Eight-fifty.”
“keep the change,” Bucky says, handing over a ten dollar bill.
So, tell me about this bar fight?” Darcy asks, plating up the last two slices of chocolate cake and setting the on the counter. She glances out the window but the street is empty in the halo of light from the nearest streetlight.
“Nothin’ to do with me, sweetheart, ask the idiot with the fat lip,”  Bucky shrugs, leaning casually against the countertop. Darcy looks between Steve and Bucky and back again.
Steve looks at her with wide blue eyes, eyebrows raised in  the picture of angelic innocence. Or it would have been if his eyes didn’t skate off to the right and the left corner of his mouth didn’t tick up. He winces and presses the pads of his fingers below the swelling of his lip, the movement shifts the sleeve of his t-shirt and she is given a tantalising glimpse of ink on his upper arm.
“A girl at the bar said no and some fuck had less sense that a damn dog,” Steve says, eyes bright and defiant.
“Did your Lois thank you for your amature heroics?”
“Uh, we didn’t really hang around to see,” Steve says sheepishly.
“What loverboy means is we got thrown out on our asses first,” Bucky says, pinching a bit of cake off one of the plates and popping it into his mouth.
“Yeah, that too,” Steve mutters, the tips of his ears turning red. “I didn’t catch your name,” Steve says, and Darcy snorts, and jerks her head to the little gold framed chalkboard perched on the counter. ‘Today your Barista is: Darcy. Be nice, because she won’t be.’  is scrawled in blue chalk with an angry face with jagged teeth doodled in the bottom left corner. “Darcy.” 
“That’s me.”
“So, how’d you know I was an arts major?”
“You had oil paint on your shirt, and spent two hours sketching before your friend walked in,” Darcy says, focusing on pulling shot after shot of espresso. She can feel both of them watching her and rolls her lips between her teeth, willing her face not to turn red. “S’my job,” she shrugs, and sets their lattes down on the counter. 

WHY DO YOU DO THESE THINGS TO ME? Really love it, Meri.

typhoidmeri:

I’ve seen the paths that your eyes wander down

A coffee shop/college AU
for thewriterchick

….

The coffee shop is not a place Darcy would have normally worked, if she had the choice and didn’t desperately need the money.  The place was too full of hipsters and students for her liking, even though she was one of them. She loves working there anyway.

Mismatched wooden tables and chairs vied with three ancient couches for floorspace. The couches were her favorite despite the possibility of sinking into them and never climbing out of again. Behind the counter, the wall was covered in chalkboard paint, her boss’ relatively legible handwriting and Darcy’s own geometric doodles.

One wall of the cafe is papered in pages from a vintage astronomy book, with a single ornately framed reproduction star chart. The Star Huntress was the sort of place you wanted to curl up in and spend a day, or two reading one of the books stacked haphazardly in the bookcase covered back wall, or while away the hours using the free wifi. Today’s password was adalovelace’, yesterday’s was murielwheldaleonslow’.

The bell on the door jingles merrily and two boys shuffle in. The blonde is sporting a bloody lip and a swollen eye, the one with the dark hair is wiping a drop of blood from his nose with a bit of tissue, a smirk plastered across his face.

“Ten minutes till closing, guys,” Darcy says, barely looking up from her notebook. What she should be doing is working on her paper on animal stories for her mythology course. What she was actually doing was drawing a butterfly over her notes while she hummed along to the radio. What she was being paid to do was to make coffee and glower at her fellow students, something she excelled at if you asked her. Most people rarely did.

“We can go somewhere else, Bucky,” says the blonde, breathing raggedly.

“Girl said ten minutes,” Bucky grins, shoving the crumpled tissue into his pocket. “Two lattes and whatever cake you’ve got left, sweetheart.”

“Jerk,” mutters the blonde sticking his hands into the pockets of his jacket and pulling out an inhaler, giving it a quick shake before taking a puff.

“Watch the name callin’, I’m not the asshole that started a bar fight,” Bucky grins, wide and reckless.

Darcy narrows her eyes, tilting her her head to the side, “Weren’t you two in here the other day? Art student, Mercuriade sandwich with extra cheese and latte bowl? Steve, right?”

“Uh, yeah, that was me,” Steve says, reaching his hand up to run through his messy hair. He winces and shakes his hand out. The knuckles of both hands are red and swollen.

“Idiot.”

“And you,” she said pointing at Bucky, “Raspberry mocha, struck out with the redhead with the iced brownie latte with whip, no sprinkles, right?”

“No,” Bucky scowls.

“I don’t forget orders,” Darcy says, which isn’t even really true, but it’s close enough. “You can argue with me but it won’t get you cake.”

“S’fine,” Bucky says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. Steve bursts out laughing clutching at his chest with his right hand. “Knock it off.” Bucky elbows Steve in the side  and pulls a wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans.

“Eight-fifty.”

“keep the change,” Bucky says, handing over a ten dollar bill.

So, tell me about this bar fight?” Darcy asks, plating up the last two slices of chocolate cake and setting the on the counter. She glances out the window but the street is empty in the halo of light from the nearest streetlight.

“Nothin’ to do with me, sweetheart, ask the idiot with the fat lip,”  Bucky shrugs, leaning casually against the countertop. Darcy looks between Steve and Bucky and back again.

Steve looks at her with wide blue eyes, eyebrows raised in  the picture of angelic innocence. Or it would have been if his eyes didn’t skate off to the right and the left corner of his mouth didn’t tick up. He winces and presses the pads of his fingers below the swelling of his lip, the movement shifts the sleeve of his t-shirt and she is given a tantalising glimpse of ink on his upper arm.

“A girl at the bar said no and some fuck had less sense that a damn dog,” Steve says, eyes bright and defiant.

“Did your Lois thank you for your amature heroics?”

“Uh, we didn’t really hang around to see,” Steve says sheepishly.

“What loverboy means is we got thrown out on our asses first,” Bucky says, pinching a bit of cake off one of the plates and popping it into his mouth.

“Yeah, that too,” Steve mutters, the tips of his ears turning red. “I didn’t catch your name,” Steve says, and Darcy snorts, and jerks her head to the little gold framed chalkboard perched on the counter. ‘Today your Barista is: Darcy. Be nice, because she won’t be.’  is scrawled in blue chalk with an angry face with jagged teeth doodled in the bottom left corner. “Darcy.”

“That’s me.”

“So, how’d you know I was an arts major?”

“You had oil paint on your shirt, and spent two hours sketching before your friend walked in,” Darcy says, focusing on pulling shot after shot of espresso. She can feel both of them watching her and rolls her lips between her teeth, willing her face not to turn red. “S’my job,” she shrugs, and sets their lattes down on the counter.

WHY DO YOU DO THESE THINGS TO ME? Really love it, Meri.

(via I've got ink on my hands.)