(( I MADE MORE... I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS ))

a few planks of wood...

I got inspired to write a little bit of Killian pondering his true home after the return of the Jolly. Happy Once Day!

His ship changing hands a decision made, a necessity, a trading of his home so she could find her way back to hers. His love for her, overwhelming and seemingly unrequited, was strong enough for him to make that choice, the bean in his palm now a beacon of the next chapter of his long life. Knowing that he was adaptable, he hoped to find home wherever she was, however long it took for her to let him in. And gradually, she did, and he felt grounded in a way that he had never felt before. Being grounded for a sailor should be the opposite of what he would desire, but, alas, he couldn’t deny that he was content, happy even, a feeling he thought was lost to him forever.

And then the Jolly was back. Roaming her deck and his cabin again made him feel buoyant, giddy almost, like the youth he was when he first stepped foot on her those many years ago. But something was off. That first night back home in his cabin he laid wide awake for hours, unable to find comfort in the gentle rocking, the creaking of the enchanted wood loud in his ears instead of soothing. He chalked it up to his fear for Emma, the conversation with the sea witch weighing heavily on his mind, the need to see her, hold her itching underneath his skin like a wildfire. He can’t remember succumbing to sleep; only recalling the nightmares that plagued him, of black waters ripping Emma from his arms, hearing her cries as she disappeared into the darkness. He woke before dawn, tangled in his covers that now felt scratchy to the touch, his pillow soaked in sweat, panic running through his veins.

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bang bang bang | An Orphan Black fic

Friends don’t let friends become this invested in AUs. I am personally disappointed in all of you. It’s your fault I just wrote 8,000 words of The Switcheroo Two

Note that although this is based on those minifics, no prior knowledge of this AU is necessary to read this fic – all you need to know is the premise, which is Helena and Sarah being raised as the self-aware proclones instead of Rachel. This fic is more a loose collection of snapshots than something with a tight plot, anyways, so feel free to just dive in.

Thank you to everyone who helped me with this, whether you knew that’s what you were helping me with or not.

Also on AO3!

i.

They’re six years old when they are taken away from their – adoptive, a-dop-tive, adjective: not real – parents, shuffled into a cold clean bedroom that isn’t quite dark enough. They’re in two beds. They’ve been in two beds for years now, but Sarah isn’t surprised when partway through the night there’s the dip-creak of the bed when Helena climbs into hers. Sarah holds open the blankets and Helena crawls in, curls up with Sarah in the little space the bed allows.

“We don’t have a Mummy and Daddy anymore, do we,” Sarah whispers into the top of Helena’s head. Helena crawled into Sarah’s bed, but that doesn’t mean they’re both not scared. Helena’s just better at showing it, and Sarah’s just better at telling it.

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Hello taylorswift! I’m just gonna keep making these lists until you hate me honestly… You’ve made me so happy and I love you so much. I miss you and can’t wait to see you next month! Thank you for following everyone from my other lists! (especially Pete Wentz… I don’t know if you caught that or not lol) Anyways, if you’d like to check out some more rad people, you know the drill!

Soon I’m going to let my daughters in on the ‘soul mate’ secret. That it’s made up and dangerous and unrealistic. That their God loves them more than any man ever could and that no one will ever come along and complete them the way they long to be completed. Their longing isn’t of this world. But that isn’t to say I don’t want them to find amazing husbands one day. It’s something I pray about often, asking God to be molding those young men – wherever they are–to be good mates for my girls, to be strong men of God, to have character above everything else. But that they don’t look to complete a girl’s life, either. That they’re pretty good on their own and then they meet one of my amazing daughters and they’ll want to do life together. And serve God together. Because He’s their soul mate. He’s their whole.
—  My Husband Is Not My Soul Mate by Mary E. Graham

I had several discussions tonight on why humanity needs feminism and all of them left me feeling disappointed and ashamed. 
The ignorance I encountered and the ability to sideline the real issue with matters of semantics astounded me and it made me feel physically sick to know that people are so quick to dismiss an issue that they believe doesn’t effect them personally. Because they don’t sympathise, it shouldn’t matter.

I was told tonight that society doesn’t need feminism because by raising the issue of inequality, we are just “making it worse for ourselves.”
But we live in a society where women are afraid to dress certain ways because they don’t feel they’ll be safe. Where the easiest way to get someone to leave you alone is to say “I have a boyfriend,” because they respect a man more than you. Where women are taught ways to prevent rape rather than teaching others why rape and rape culture is wrong. Where there is still a 23% wage gap between men and women. 
This tells me we need feminism more than anything.

But the world seems stuck on the notion that feminism equates to women wanting superiority to men. We are stuck on the meaning of a word, when, in real time, women are facing the very real consequences of inequality. 

I never really understood what it was like to feel oppressed because of my gender. I didn’t think it applied to me, and I too thought feminists were crazy man-haters. 
Now I understand. 
What I don’t understand is how people would rather spend their time trying to dismantle your opinions and tell you you’re wrong about an issue they can’t possibly understand or experience. 

I wish I had better words to say how I’m feeling, but I don’t; and I wish I didn’t feel so afraid that by posting this, I’ll be laughed at, mocked, rebuked or told I’m ‘taking this too far’, but I do; so I’ll finish this with Joss Whedon, because he understands.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cYaczoJMRhs

(Also this because I feel it explains why modern feminism is essential: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/casey-cavanagh/why-we-still-need-feminism_b_5837366.html)

drippingbloodandgold asked:

Has she ever taken a quantifiable IQ test, or is she more along the lines of Gardner's theory of intelligence in terms of her intelligence? ^-^

While Vivian personally prefers Gardner’s theory of intelligence, she has in fact taken quantifiable IQ tests - both the WAIS and the WISC, given that she was at that indeterminate age of adolescence.  As of age 16, her quantifiable IQ score is 156 - technically a genius.  

Vivian doesn’t put much stock in the number, given her academic record; she places more value on results than on quantifiable numbers.  But she will pull it out when people challenge her intelligence, and subsequent testing has show little deviation from her original tests.

As Vivian is fond of saying, she only plays dumb, and she’s probably smarter than you.

EVery politician has made shitty choices and is under the thumb of the corporations/loves capitalism, so there is nothing different about Hilary Clinton in that respect. Check your sexism folks

Also: She hasn’t won the ticket yet

I stg Tumblr gets more stupid every time I log on

anonymous asked:

Yeah that might answer your timey-wimey photo question, they just looked older because of their different hair/outfit. Pearl little bun/pony-tail made her look like a middle-aged English woman haha. Amethyst's hair looked only about half-way down her back and I can believe she went back and forth between long and short before settling on the Greg inspired do.

It absolutely makes more sense now hahaha

So what do I do?  Flirt all evening with a boy who will never care for me as much as I once did for him, pretend that he likes me as much as his words convey, and drown my sorrows in the joy of his attention.

***

Seconds ago, he spoke a few words.  I didn’t expect any of this to happen.  I thought I could have what I wanted and he told me he couldn’t give.  I thought that the more that I gave, the more his desire to give would grow but it didn’t work like that.  I want to be the best for everyone else, which means I have to be the best for myself, too.

***

I sighed.  I told him it was in a good way but now I’m not so certain.  My friend told me it didn’t seem that way and as I reread his words, I could see the misunderstanding.  He’s always been the most respectful so my brief scan over his words about passionately pulling at me and dragging me under got lost under my rose-colored glasses.  Friends are nice to have but I always question the validity of what they’re saying when their goals don’t align with mine.  We have different desires and his are more personal than I’d like.

***

I’m a mess but I’m a free mess.  At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.  I want to dedicate myself to making the world a better place, one person at a time, but I’d rather not imagine doing so without a partner by my side.  I suppose I could live a decent and satisfying life alone but I want someone to grow and learn and share it with and I’m at that age where my friends are getting engaged and married and I thought I could keep building on what we had but he disagrees, at least for the time being.  I’m not sure if he ever plans on coming back, though he says he does.  I guess it’s up to me: I could wait and hope that he’ll come back around or I could live as I always have, exploring different avenues and maybe falling in love for another round or two.  It saddens me that I’ve had these thoughts and I’ve been faithful since the day he left but it’s tearing at me to keep flowing with this breakup/makeup/breakup pattern and I’m not even sure who I’m being faithful to if he’s not around.  Some people feel entitled to my body as if it’s their own and they control it.  They refuse to be with me and they refuse to acknowledge the idea that I could be with anyone else, too.  I feel trapped in letting those who pretend to care about me but seem to only use me physically and are jealous that others might be doing the same.  It’s all very strange.