Hi everyone. So…..Teen Wolf is now over. I haven’t watched for a few seasons, but I’m still super-bummed. It’s over…it’s an era that has ended. I want to thank all of you who have read my stories, especially those who have reviewed it (you made me do a happy dance, you have no idea–there’s an actual dance that may or may not have broken a lamp).
I’m still doing my re-write of the story. I’m still in season one and will be writing all the way through season four. It might take a while but i am finishing it no matter what. I just wanted you guys to know that! That show I binge-watched a season of when i got the flu back in 2012 still resides in my heart and makes me so, so happy. I hope it continues to do the same for you too.
I took my father to see Rogue One today. I’ve wanted to take him for a while. I wanted my Mexican father, with his thick Mexican accent, to experience what it was like to see a hero in a blockbuster film, speak the way he does. And although I wasn’t sure if it was going to resonate with him, I took him anyway. When Diego Luna’s character came on screen and started speaking, my dad nudged me and said, “he has a heavy accent.” I was like, “Yup.” When the film was over and we were walking to the car, he turns to me and says, “did you notice that he had an accent?” And I said, “Yeah dad, just like yours.” Then my dad asked me if the film had made a lot of money. I told him it was the second highest grossing film of 2016 despite it only being out for 18 days in 2016 (since new year just came around). He then asked me if people liked the film, I told him that it had a huge following online and great reviews. He then asked me why Diego Luna hadn’t changed his accent and I told him that Diego has openly talked about keeping his accent and how proud he is of it. And my dad was silent for a while and then he said, “And he was a main character.” And I said, “He was.” And my dad was so happy. As we drove home he started telling me about other Mexican actors that he thinks should be in movies in America. Representation matters.
❀➹Daryl Dixon & Carol Peletier Parallels ❀➹ ↪ 3.11 “I Ain’t a Judas” (*deleted*) // 5.01 “No Sanctuary” // 5.06 “Consumed” // 2.07 “Pretty Much Dead Already” // 3.07 “When the Dead Come Knocking” // vs // 7.10 “New Best Friends”
this probably sounds stupid and way too sappy but like i am so incredibly proud of josh and tyler??? knowing that they started with almost nothing and have tirelessly worked their way up to the top- to the fucking grammys is so inspiring to me?? it gives me this sense of hope, almost. they’re living proof that you can dig yourself out of even the deepest hole and overcome what seems like the impossible. i don’t really know where i’m going with this, but all i really wanna say is that i’m so happy for tyler and josh. they’ve accomplished so much in such a short amount of time and that, in my opinion, is extremely admirable.
“Do you always understand everything you feel?” Cas asked, one day.
He thought, obscurely, that Spring was the right time for a question like this; or at least this Spring was - a Spring that felt fresh and light and hazy, still dazed by the wonder of Winter’s passing. Dean, sitting in the car beside him, looked washed out by it - or rather, washed clean, Cas supposed he meant. Softened, in any case.
“How d’you mean?” Dean said. He turned to Cas, the bright sun shrinking out the darkness in his eyes - turning them green. Green like go-lights, green like mazes - no, gentler than both of those; green like the water-full leaves of succulent plants. Green like book covers, like peppermint-flavour candies.
“I mean… do you ever feel something that you can’t explain? Something… ineffable?”
Dean pressed his lips together. Cas wondered if he needed to explain the word ‘ineffable’.
“Nah?” he said. “I guess most of what I feel, I know what to call it. I don’t always like it, but at least I know what it is.”
Cas nodded seriously. Dean let the silence rest for a while as they cruised down the Spring-morning road.
“What about you?” he said eventually.
Cas lifted a shoulder.
“I… have a thousand words for how things feel,” he said, “and a thousand things to feel within me. But I… I cannot make them match.”