hat throw


When people ask why I love Curtis McKenzie, I always say how nice he is but today blew me away. Last week I gave him his birthday present (2 hats, chocolate and a letter) and I was very happy to give it to him. Today he came out wearing one of the hats I gave him and that had me freaking out so much. Then he came to me and he thanked me very personally for the nice words of the letter and said it was one of the nicest things someone has done for him. Then, he handed me this stick. We had a great conversation. I didn’t realize it was signed until someone asked what it said because I was so caught up in the hat and him thanking me. I just wanted to share how absolutely incredible Curtis is. I’ve never felt more appreciated as a fan as I have today. Thank you Curtis McKenzie


Since everyone is posting vines I thought I might as well throw my hat into the ring for some of my favorites.

I’ve seen many differing opinions on the finale of SKAM and thought I’d throw my hat in the opinion ring.

First thing you should know is that Even is my favorite character. That doesn’t mean I don’t love and adore Isak too (I really really do) but I connect with Even on such a deep personal level. But this post is me defending my smol butter bean Isak because people are coming for him and Mama Bear ain’t having it.

People are upset with what Isak said in his conversation with Eva about him and Even. There are claims that Isak doesn’t love Even as much as Even loves him. I’ve seen anon after anon harping on the fact that it sounded like Isak has accepted that his relationship won’t last. 

Well that is not what I took from it at all.

Eva: “So is he the man of your life?”

Isak: “I don’t know.”

Eva: “He’s not?”

Isak: “Is it important?”

Ironically, I think this is a really important. Isak is not saying that Even is not the man of his life or they are not meant to be together forever. Isak is saying that all that matters, is right now. And right now Isak is deeply in love and committed to Even and their relationship. Isak is doing everything in his power to make sure that him and Even are together and that they are okay. Isak acknowledging that it might not be forever and that it could end at any moment doesn’t take away from that. He’s realising that’s what makes every part of it, good and bad, so beautiful and real. It makes the good great and the bad terrible but it’s worth it.

Pretty words and fluff are great, I am here for it but give me real tangible action any damn day. And that’s what Isak is doing. He’s showing his love and commitment every minute of every day that he is in this with Even. That to me means everything. They are building a beautiful strong foundation for a relationship that could last the distance. So I don’t understand people questioning or doubting Isak’s feelings for Even. 

Ummmm, did we watch the same show? Did you see how devastated Isak was when Even called things off and then kissed Sonja? Did you see Isak not sleeping properly? Did you see how depressed he was when Sonja told him Even’s feelings were because of his mania? Did you see Isak crying on the phone to his Dad telling him that things between him and Even were over? Yes, Even told Isak he loved him (via text) and that was amazing but maybe Isak isn’t ready to say it back just yet. And it’s okay if he isn’t. But he sure as shit is showing Even he loves him no matter what, no matter how big the challenge. He’s in it. If that ain’t love, I dont know what is. 

I’ve also seen people talking about Isak being controlling when it comes telling Even he can’t have any of his weed because it isn’t good for him. Again I didn’t see it that way, I didn’t see it as controlling behaviour. Isak is acting on what Sonja told him about weed being bad for Even so I understand why he did it. It wasn’t about controlling Even, it was about protecting him. There is definitely a conversation that needs to happen which they couldn’t have at the time because they were in the middle of a party. Maybe neither of them smoke or maybe Even can handle smoking a small amount recreationally. Again, it’s a conversation they need to have. 

I did appreciate that Isak used humor to break the tension in the moment. It reminded me a lot of Even earlier in the season when things would get too real or heavy and Isak shut off, Even would break through that Isak’s walls with humor. Never would have thought sucking dicks in the dark and aluminum legs could make me so nostalgic but here we are. Now Isak throws in Even’s Mom hiring him to be Even’s caretaker/boyfriend to break the tension. I thought it was a great throwback/parallel moment.

The reason I think that they are going to be fine is because they fit so perfectly together. Even is the romantic. Everything is big, cinematic and epic. He’s the artist. The filmmaker. The storyteller. Then you have Isak who is the realist. The producer. He loves the concept/story but he’s trying to figure out how to make it a reality. Being with Even forever is a beautiful concept but how do they realistically achieve that? And for Isak that means not thinking/worrying about where they are going to be at the end up in twenty years. For Isak it’s taking everything day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute and dealing with things as they happen. That is extremely smart and mature way to look at a relationship. 

And in return Even makes Isak want to be part of that epic story. Whether they get their happily ever after or not. Even makes Isak want to live and love and experience the entire human range of emotions and experiences that Isak has suppressed and avoided for so long trying to hide who he is. They balance each other out so well. They save each other. What a gift. I actually physically hugged my laptop screen after watching the final clip because I was so happy, content and emotional. It may not be everyone’s cup of tea but to me it was the epic love story and ending just solidified everything I had felt over the course of the season. I can’t wait for season 4.

Throwing My Hat into the “Humans Are Weird” Thing

So what if all the other alien species evolved from Prey Species? Like, humans show up on the galactic scene and everyone is weirded out by the appearance of this species with eyes on the front of their heads and binocular vision, and crazy good senses of hearing and smell compared to everyone else.

And then it hits them.

They just made first contact with a race of sapient, intelligent Apex Predators. Eventually, after the panic dies down and the other races realize that humans aren’t going to eat them, they realize how good they are under pressure. They can hear and smell things before anyone else, are capable of going days without food if they have to, weeks with very little food. Or, they can pull off these insane feats of accuracy with their binocular vision. Or smell what dinner is from three rooms away, or hear a ship’s system failure before the alarm sounds.

Me, 15 seconds ago: There is a fourth episode! All the evidences are there! *wears tinfoil hat with proud*

Me, 10 seconds ago: Fuck. There is no fourth episode. They are the biggest queerbaiters ever, bad writers and they hate us. Fuck them. *throws tinfoil hat away*

Me, 5 seconds ago: BUT LOOK AT ALL THE EVIDENCES! *crafts a tinfoil deerstalker*

I’ve seen the 2006 / 2016 meme going around for peoples faces mostly, and occasionally for their art- so I thought I’d throw my hat in the ring ;)
It’s been a long journey- technically the smaller image on the right may be from a little earlier than 2006- but I remember it distinctly as An Early and Only Full Color Attempt To Draw A Human Woman.

As a boy growing up on boy-things of the late 90s and early 2000s, I always had a blind spot for drawing women (see also: children, smiling, and the color pink)- and I’ve spent years trying to understand that better. Some of it has required a fair amount of mental reprogramming to embrace conventional and non-conventional aspects of femininity in my work, seek it out and study it in the work of others.
I can say my understanding was vastly improved by getting to know talented women and observing how they draw other women- i’m still learning a lot, and I still always feel more at ease designing nuanced male characters, but I’m excited that my skillset has improved and that practice over time has given me more to work with. It should be hard, but there it is- anyone else struggle with similar blind spots?

The base design is just hopelessly 90’s (you can bet those overalls are full of HELLA unnecessary pouches), but I think my teen self would be excited to see this…character from a friend’s fan fiction? I can’t even recall xD


Female stories and female voices are very often missed out on, completely. Very often in every section of culture women are lost. Every actress will say the exact same thing to you. We’re all looking for these interesting, inspiring, complex creatures, but they’re very difficult to find. It’s got to come from female writers, from female producers, from female directors – they’re the ones with the passion to tell stories and go out and get the money. Possibly I should be throwing my hat in that ring. It means putting the producer’s hat on, not just the actor’s. Maybe that’s something I should do.

Plane Stupid

Sherlock: There’s a girl on a plane about to crash and we need to identify the plane and the location. Hmm… I’ll ask her to look out the window.

Douglas Richardson: Ah, yes. As per the ACME school of aeronautical navigation. She’ll be able to see the comically swirly dotted line and various enlarged landmarks.  

Martin Crieff: Or, you could ask her to just read you any plane details from the safety information located helpfully in each seat pocket, and to check her mother’s handbag for the tickets and passports. ALSO- What Child that age calls a pilot a driver!? He’s clearly a captain- Look at his hat! 

Eurus: *Throwing hands up* IT’S A METAPHOR.  

Okay, so let’s talk about a few things here.

1) See Chuuya’s face right there? Yeah. Look at how his face is wiped clean of blood. I wonder if Dazai looked at his face affectionately while wiping his face

With this, we can at least assume he touched his face.

2) Chuuya’s coat is neatly folded beside him. Dazai didn’t throw his hat away.

Let us mention how that day, Dazai was feeling unmotivated, that peeling a banana was too much for him. He can’t even say kunikida’s name, settling for a “kuniki-whatever-kun”. So, “unmotivated” as he is, he still found himself gathering chuuya’s coat and hat, tucking it beside him so NEATLY. Like, do you think Dazai is the type to do that bothersome thing?

3) And let us never forget how Dazai left Chuuya all spread out. Hmm, did something R-18 happen before you left him?




Female stories and female voices are very often missed out on, completely. Very often in every section of culture women are lost. Every actress will say the exact same thing to you. We’re all looking for these interesting, inspiring, complex creatures, but they’re very difficult to find. It’s got to come from female writers, from female producers, from female directors –  they’re the ones with the passion to tell stories and go out and get the money. Possibly I should be throwing my hat in that ring. It means putting the producer’s hat on, not just the actor’s. Maybe that’s something I should do.

Fanfiction - Outlander Secret Santa 2016

Dear @lenny9987,

It turns out I am your Secret Santa. I’m curious to know if you had any suspicions about it. It has been truly a pleasure to do this for you – someone I admired even before I came on Tumblr, such a talented lady and insightful soul. I’m honestly so in awe of you that am a bit shy about it. 

In your latest response, you told me about how you would like Outlander to end – and talked about legacy. Serendipity, because it turns out I was finishing writing for you a story that is just about that (on many levels).

I hope you enjoy it. Wishing you a Merry Christmas - filled with love, laugh and Outlander. <3 And thank you @moghraidhjamie for the brilliant plan and doing this for all of us!

Tales of Us

“Jules!” Henry called upon entering the house, smiling as he aimed to throw his hat in the direction of the heavy hanger standing by the door.

“There you are!” Julia Beauchamp marched into the hall to greet him, touching his face in passing, going to help him out of his day coat. “Dinner won’t keep much longer – the chicken is probably twice dead by now, from all the waiting. What happened?”

“Quite the story, my dear! I’ll tell you all about it while we eat – I’m famished. I’ll go and wash while you ask Mrs. Florence to serve. Where is my sweet girl?”

“Sweet, hmmpf.” Julia snorted, giving him a one eyed look with honeyed eyes, an amused smile gracing her soft mouth. “You only say that because you come home when she is already fed and clean, not looking like the devilish thing she is all day. Claire is already asleep, it’s past her bedtime in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Oh.” He seemed to deflate like an empty balloon – he was always fairly eager for the moments he got to spend with their daughter, after working all day. “Alright, then. I’ll go and kiss her after dinner.”

They eventually sat down for the evening meal, Henry enthusiastically launching himself on the complex tale of the events that had led to his delay.

“…The poor woman – Emma – in labour in the middle of the street, huffing and puffing like a wildcat – I’m so fortunate to have seen you so before, my darling, or I’d been running for the hills!”

“Aren’t you brave, sir?” She smiled to him with a glint in her eye, mocking. “What then?”

“Well,” He shrugged, slightly embarrassed. “The Royal London Hospital was quite near. So I carried her there. End up staying to make sure everything was well - her husband was away from the city, in Scotland to visit some family.”

“You did?” She shook her head, visibly impressed. “And the child?”

“A boy.” He smiled, raising his glass of dark and rich wine. “Red as a plump tomato, but incredibly fair, the poor chap. The most beautiful creature in the world to his mother, nonetheless.”

“Yes, I’m sure of that.” Julia agreed with tenderness in her voice, her mind wandering to the first glimpse she had had of her daughter, glowing like an opal amidst the haze of childbearing. The strangeness of knowing an entire person had lived inside her for months – sharing dreams, cravings and anxieties - yet capable of being so singularly unique.

“Emma was so grateful for my assistance she offered me that book.” He pointed to an old volume, which he had previously rescued from his coat’s pocket, now laying on the coffee table. “She said it was a favourite of her and her husband, an antique he had purchased from a bookseller because he and the author shared the same family name – Mackenzie.”

“That’s lovely, Henry. I think I’ll forgive you for being terribly late, just this time.” Julia squeezed his hand. “Shall we drink to this new life you helped into this world?”

“Yes!” He laughed and filled both of their glasses to the brim with liquid happiness. “Long may live Jeremiah Walter Mackenzie!”


“How did we manage to make such a perfect thing?” Henry heard Julia’s voice and looked above his shoulder, seeing her standing steps away from him in the hallway, her arms crossed and the smile – that smile! – that she always wore so well.

“I don’t know.” He sighed and his eyes softened at once when he looked at the sleeping form of their daughter. He had been lost in contemplation of her – again. “I wasn’t thinking much when we made her. Maybe it was beginner’s luck.”

She snorted and came to hug him from behind, her warm and small hands folding around his chest.

“What were you thinking just now, when I interrupted you?” Julia felt him stir and kissed the back of his neck. “You looked puzzled and a tad concerned. What is it?”

He hesitated – she could feel the battle inside him and the moment he decided to speak freely, his muscles tightening bellow her fingertips. He turned and caught her, hugging her with his long arms. She sighed blissfully, her head coming to rest on that special place on the curve of his neck.

“Once Claire is grown,” He started, moistening his lips. “What will we tell her about how we met?” Henry slid his fingers on her face and tilted her chin to meet his gaze. “About how you came?”

“I reckon we should tell her the easiest thing, really.” Julia squeezed his hand. “The truth.”

“Are you sure?” He pressed on, agitated. “Maybe it’s too much for her to bear. She will have questions and I don’t want her to feel in any way different.”

“She is different, darling.” Julia smiled tenderly and caressed the shadow of his stubble. “Claire is the daughter of a time traveller and a lawyer - deception is a second nature for the both of us. And yet our daughter is incapable of lying even to save her bum from a good smacking; and when she does try, she fails miserably. There isn’t a dishonest bone in her body.”

“You’re right.” He murmured. Henry took her hand and guided her back to the living room, where he collapsed on his favourite armchair, pushing her to sit on his lap.

“Besides,” Julia resumed. “She might be able to travel herself. You wouldn’t want her to go someday to see the Stonehenge and end up thrown back in time, completely unprepared.”

“I never thought of that.” He conceded, looking even more alarmed than before. “My God, she could get in all kinds of trouble!”

“Yes.” Julia slowly nodded. “As I did, before I found you.”

Silence fell between them, as both their memories were flooded with images from their now distant past – the strange girl with dangerous ideas; the turmoil of accusations – from mentally insane to Hungarian spy; the bold words and scandalous clothes; and the respected yet lovely man that saw through it all, decided to love her against all opinions and wise words of advice.

“Do you ever regret it?” Henry whispered, after he passionately kissed her lips. “Your decision to never return to the future? I know what you lost, Jules.” He said in a husky voice. “It seems the Great War just ended and yet we know soon enough the world will be upside down again. You lost the privileges and rights you were used to - and have to live with the burden of knowing such things to come.”

“Someone has to battle for women’s suffrage.” She winked. “Maybe I was meant to come and make the future happen as I knew it. Perhaps it only happened because I came.”

“I’m afraid for Claire.” He admitted, brushing her temple with his lips. “It’s only good she has at least one brave parent.”

“We’ll tell her the truth, Henry.” Julia said with finality, her fingers combing his dark hair. “And one day she can decide for herself. But if she was to find a love like ours in another time and place – I can only pray that she’d be wise enough to make the same choice I did. To live it well, no matter the cost.”

“Mama.” A small voice came from the door. They turned their necks and watched three-year-old Claire, curly hair spiked in every direction, marching in with her small white nightgown, bringing Raymond – the teddy bear – in tow. “Bad dream. Read me a story?”

“Alright, sweetie.” Julia gave Henry a final peck on the lips and moved to grab the book from the table. “Daddy brought in a new book, shall we give it a try?”

“Is it a boing book?” The toddler asked, suspicious.

“Boring?” Julia smiled, knowing that Claire was always disappointed to discover her father’s legal tomes. “I don’t think so – this one has stories in it. Shall we go?”

Claire nodded ecstatically – a new book was an event well worthy of celebration.

“Let’s see.” Julia started, after tucking Claire in – a hard task that ended with a tickle battle, both of them blushed and puffing, breathless. She opened the book, her finger tracing the faded black ink from the yellow and fragile pages, a sudden chill prickling her skin like a whisper.

Tales of Us

A story by Roger J.W.Mackenzie

Once upon a time, in a cabin amongst the wilderness, lived a healer and a red man whose heart belonged to her the moment they met…”


Jamie came in late that night, his hands stiff and cold after a long day at the fields. I was already nestled in bed, the blissful feeling of warmth enveloping me - basking in the singular comfort of knowing myself snug when the world around me was filled with the threat of winter.

I had been waiting for him, concern eating away inside my chest, and my heart leapt as soon as I heard him coughing downstairs. He was just starting to compose himself after the swooping pneumonia that had hit him a few weeks ago; I had pleaded for him to stay home a while longer, but at the redeeming age of seventy five he wasn’t about to become less stubborn – and so in spite of my strong looks of reprimand, he had strolled out of the house to oversee the harvest. At least he wasn’t doing any actual physical labour – was he?

This time things had been touch and go for a while – fever had consumed him for days, and even my best batch of penicillin in a long time had seemed only to slow down the progress of the disease. I had been almost powerless, knowing that the battle was being fought somewhere inside him, far away from my eager hands. That hadn’t prevented me from standing watch to him, denying with alacrity any attempt of replacement or soft words that urged me to rest - there was no rest away from Jamie; there were no possible distractions when the man that was my entire life was struggling to come back to me once more.

But Jamie had prevailed again and everyone in Fraser’s Ridge would say that he was the same man as before – it was only on the confessional of our bedroom that he felt safe enough to be weak. To surrender himself to a healing sleep, much deeper than usual. To feel the pain in his joints and allow me to massage his fingers with my special ointment. To be scared with me of how little time we had left.  

“Are ye still awake then?” He asked upon entering the room. Jamie had freed his hair from the ribbon, now almost entirely grey, like a fire vanishing in a dark cloud of ash. His face was carved with lines, more from tiredness than from age, as he still maintained a grace about his high cheeks and full mouth.

“My hip is troubling me.” I answered. It wasn’t a lie per se – my hip had taken the bad habit of throbbing with pain in the most inappropriate circumstances, and Jamie knew it better than anyone.

But what kept me awake was a longing that ran bone deep – the sudden realization that our next meeting might never come. The thought of losing him was asphyxiating, so much so I feared my heart would forget how to beat – I couldn’t bear the idea that he wouldn’t be in my arms when it happened.

“Ye should spare yerself, Sassenach.” He gave me a concerned look, while he slowly bent to rid himself of his boots. “Stay inside more instead of wandering about, tending the sick.”

“The pot calling the kettle black.” I said cheerfully, giving him a narrow look. Well most of my looks were narrow by then – my eyesight wasn’t that great anymore due to a combination of cataracts and presbyopia. “I’ll stay dutifully inside by the fire when you join me, alright?”

He rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched in a smile.

“I brought ye a wee gift.” He sat on my side of the bed, next to me, and presented me with a parcel folded in cream paper.

“Oh.” I blurted, surprised. “What’s this about?”

He looked embarrassed but a tad defiant, his blue eyes shining bright.

“Well, thirty years ago ye came back to me and became my wife again.” He noticed my surprised look and laughed. “A man seldom forgets the day he was born again, Sassenach.” Jamie said softly, smiling more widely, his eyes limpid as summer’s oceans.

Tales of Us.” I squinted to read on the first page of the book I now possessed. “You put wee Roger up to this?”

“Aye, mostly. Roger Mac has a real knack for storytelling, ye ken? And he was willing – said he might as well write some of our wickedness down, so that Jemmy and Mandy can accurately tell our greatgrandchildren our story. I think wee Roger is becoming melancholic in his auld age.”

“If you find Roger old, what are you?” I snorted and rolled my eyes.

“Wise, of course.” He raised an eyebrow and stretched himself to lay down closer to me.

I giggled, thinking of little Claire Faith and Jamie Ellis listening to the more interesting parts of our shared history. I perused the small volume and ended on the final page, noticing it blank – unfinished.

“He promised he will finish it, afterwards.” Jamie said in a low tone, his voice husky. I understood what he meant – Roger would write the ending of our story after we were gone.

I kissed him on the lips, wordless. Thirty years ago I had entered that Printshop with mixed hope and fear – not knowing what would come, but willing to start again with the man that was my soul - if he wanted me back. And he had wanted me everyday ever since – proved it to me with kisses, words and actions each day of our shared lives.

“One day I promised ye’d be the last lass I kissed.” He whispered against my white hair, sheltering his words against me, like freshly fallen snow that covers the last green things on the meadow. “And perhaps that kiss is not sae far away now. So I shall kiss ye until I’m out of breath, to make sure I fulfil my promise. I’ll gladly go into the afterlife with the taste of ye still on my lips, mo ghraidh.”

I caressed the lines on his face, which I knew so well. Ahead of us lay a separation that nothing could conquer, a threatening storm forming on the horizon. We could both feel it, the distant thunder that crashed our bones, the ripples of pain to come.

But we were together. And we had faced a lifetime of defying the odds – I had lived a life thinking I would never see him again, only to be given a second chance. Somewhere in the future I would be born and our story would start again.

Jamie grabbed my hand and kissed the ring that was his, entwining our shrivelled fingers afterwards. I reached for some writing tools I kept close to me on the nightstand and managed to scrawl on the bottom of the final page.

“And they kissed, until there were no more kisses left, and even then their lips went on touching, whispering to each other of a thousand kisses shared and a hundred more to come.”