like i'm so so so proud!!!!


“I just tried to represent people who felt kind of different or quirky. And I just really wanted to be myself.”
Congratulations on winning Big Brother Canada Season 3, Sarah Hanlon!

Random Thoughts about ‘We Are Not Things’

One of the reasons Mad Max is so good in terms of feminism isn’t because women dominate the entirety of the story or ‘vilify’ men as a whole, and I really, really love that it doesn’t — look at the message. “We are not things”. The story never once lowers the lead men beneath the women narratively. Not once. They work together, are incomplete without the other. Max would be dead if not for them. They would be in the salt flats fighting to survive, if not for Max. Everyone has a purpose, everyone has a strength and weakness.

Both Nux and Max’s story arcs parallel the one with the Wives, but in different ways: Max is not just a muzzled blood bag. He’s a human being who is utterly complex and lost, but he is not just some medical instrument to help top people off. The transition from Max as a ‘nameless’, animalistic IV drip strapped to a car, to serve no other purpose but to die for the War Boys, is a direct example of the overall theme of the movie. By the end of it, we see Max has a quiet compassion for the people he actually cares for, we see him cautiously look for hope and redemption alongside Furiosa, we see a man with a name. 

Nux is also not a thing. He’s not just a War Boy pawn mind-washed to serve Joe, not just some object to throw out there, to sacrifice alongside dozens and dozens of other War Boys for the sake of keeping women as objects. Nux is shown kindness and mercy, is told that he is worth more than just Joe’s role for him as a kamikaze pilot. At the end of the movie, he finds hope. Nux is not just a weapon. He is not just a thing.

That is why this movie is so good. Not because the women are risen above the men, not for a lady power-trip (though I do rather enjoy some of those, haha), but because both are treated with the respect they deserve in the story. All of them have a purpose and an arc, all of them fight and save each other, all of them have goals they’re striving towards, all of them have character growth that is wonderful to see side-by-side. Women rescue women, men rescue men, men rescue women, women rescue men — it’s so refreshing to watch everyone both grow and struggle together, as equals, fighting against a force that does not see a single one of them as its equals. 

That is why the movie is considered feminist. Because it does what feminism is supposed to do. It provides a refreshing sense of equality between four complicated and wonderful character arcs, between Furiosa, the Wives, Max, and Nux. People who just see a ratio of men vs. women, or who think the women overrun everything and there’s an explicitly women-only message, well, they didn’t quite give it the thought that it deserved. ‘We are not things’ has a deeply important message for a lot of ladies out there due to a number of factors, but it’s also above all a universal message that defies gender barriers.. The Wives are not sexual pawns for you to use. Furiosa is not some heartless War Rig operator robbed of her humanity. Max is not a wild, mindless bloodbag. Nux is not a timebomb. 

I just really love it okay.

He Would Always Remember

When Sam was 4 he used to curl up on Dean’s lap, latching his arms around his neck and breathing soft puffs against his pulse. Dean would read him stories about fairytales and falling in love.

Even when Sam was 4, he knew what love was. He knew he loved Dean.

When Sam was 6 he learned what it meant to be hated. He felt it in the sting of his palms as he fell hard against the pavement scraping the tops of his knees. He felt it In the solid punch that landed rough against his cheek.

He remembered waiting for Dean at the steps, cradling his sore face in his hands. He remembered Dean crouching down in front of him, running his thumbs over the lines in his battered palms, and pecking soft kitten like kisses to his cheek. He remembered Dean lifting him up by his armpits and carrying him to the car, whispering quiet, poetic things in his ear, telling him how incredible he was.

When Sam was 6 he knew he loved Dean. He knew he only wanted Dean.

When Sam was 8 he got his first kiss and it wasn’t with Dean. It was with Lexi Baxter, the prettiest most populorist girl in school. He swears he can still taste her cherry lip balm that she colored his lips with.

When Sam was 8 he knew he didn’t like girls. That was obvious.

When Sam was 11 he found himself in a cold hospital bed with an iv hugging the inside of his elbow and an oxygen mask covering his bloody and swollen face. Sam could still feel the sweat of Deans hands against his own, could still feel the thumb that ran over his knuckles and could still feel the tears from Dean when the doctors told him he probably wouldn’t wake up. He did

When Sam was 11 he vowed he’d never leave Dean’s side.

When Sam was 13 he lost the only thing that mattered to him. He lost Dean. He can still remember his brothers voice when he told him it was just college and that he’d come back. He can still remember the miskey nights when they talked for hours on the phone giggling about stupid things like the girl down the road who accidentally stuck her skirt inside her tights without realizing. He can still remember Dean telling him to not get with a girl that clumsy. Sam promised he wouldn’t.

When Sam was 13 he knew he was in love with Dean.

When Sam was 15 Dean came back home. He said it was just for the summer but Sam didn’t care. Dean was here. He jumped into his arms, calling his name over and over. Dean laughed. Told him how much he missed him.

Those were the shortest three months of Sam’s life but he knew he’d never forget them.

When Sam was 16 he showed up on Dean’s door with stained tear marks that camouflaged themselves with the rain. Dark velvet bags clutched below his eyes and Dean could tell he wasn’t sleeping. Anyone could.
Dean did the only thing he could think of. He pulled him into his arms, shushing him and reassuring him it would be alright. His palms finding their way through his thin curley locks.

When Sam was 16 he kissed Dean and Dean kissed back.

When Sam was 18 he could feel Deans fingers against his waist, it was mesmerizing; overpowering. He could feel the pulse in Dean’s thumbs as he urged for Sam to lift his body so he could slide his pants off. Sam did. He’d do anything for Dean. He could feel the wetness of Deans lips against belly. The love that was there was catastrophic. He could feel himself opening up as Dean drew his legs over his shoulders. Kissing the insides of his thighs. Leaving bruises just from his mouth. Telling him how much he loved him.

When Sam was 18 he lost his virginity to his brother curled up on some stupid motel bed but it was a day he knew he’d always remember.

Fic: You Are the Only Place (I Could Ever Be)

A/N: From my own prompt after this ep released: [Annie leaves her room and runs into Jeff as he’s leaving, they spend the night “on the town” instead of at Jeff’s house.] and for kiki’s post ep fic fest and thanks to thecloseryoulook-thelessyousee for the beta. 

word count: 1,493. 

Sort of a sequel to my previous fic “Where the Night Takes Us” 


Jeff is standing forlornly outside of Apartment 303; idly listening to the merriment inside, reluctant to leave. He’s just turning to exit the apartment complex when a sound gives him pause.

The door shudders open and Annie emerges hastily into the corridor. She seemingly doesn’t notice his presence until almost colliding into his chest.

“Whoa there, slow down, Tiger,” Jeff jokes. His hand is resting comfortably around her rib cage, and he likes it. He lets his touch linger until Annie manages a small smile.

Her expression slides into one of frustration as she shoots an annoyed glance back at the sounds of partying echoing from Casa Anbedrita. Sensing the unrest within her, Jeff asks,

“Are you okay, Annie?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” Annie replies, but her voice has lost its usual perk. “I mean, it’s just so great to have all this partying going on, at my house, when I need to study, and Britta is such a rebellious teenager who doesn’t listen…”

Jeff holds her gaze as she continues:

“But you know what? It’s all right. Britta is gonna learn, and school isn’t everything, and maybe I should really just relax.”

“I missed you,” Jeff murmurs under his breath, just vaguely enough that Annie shouldn’t have been able to hear, but it’s too late. Her blue eyes jerk towards his face and he’s cornered like a deer in the headlights. He shrugs it off, secretly a bit disappointed that she doesn’t have much of a reaction to his statement.

“I was just in my room,” Annie teases, bumping up against his chest playfully. “There was no reason to miss me, I was still there.”

“But you weren’t with us,” me, Jeff can fill the word on the tip of his tongue but he can’t formulate it. “And so the party was boring, so I was trying to cut and run but you found me. Busted.”  

Annie’s face broadens into a real grin. Her happiness is so palpable from hearing those words it warms him up, deep down inside. He can’t verbalise to her yet how he truly feels or tell her about the revelation in Borchert’s lab, but this is one step to getting there.

“Well, I have an idea,” Annie says, rising her eyebrows at him with that little quirk that only he sees, “since neither of us want to be here, why don’t we go ‘party like there’s no tomorrow’ on the town instead?”

“That’s actually preferable to the alternative, which is me going home alone to my apartment and you ignoring Britta’s party by staying in your room,” Jeff says, finding himself smiling at her. He extends his left arm to her.

Annie’s face blooms in a wide grin from hearing that word again. She’s missed it as much as I have, Jeff considers, again, staring at the happiness brightening her eyes and the roses on her cheeks.

“Milord,” Annie finally answers, taking his arm.

They walk together down to his Lexus in companionable silence, neither really needing to say anything, just treasuring the time with each other.

Once they reach the Lexus, Jeff holds open the car door for Annie to let her slip in before joining her in his own place at the driver’s seat.

“So, where do you want to go?” Jeff asks.

Annie leans back against her seat with a sigh, tilting her head to look at him as he puts the car in reverse.

“Well, I guess we could go see a movie, or do window-shopping, try out a new bar, maybe some window-shopping, something like that.” There’s a short pause and then Annie says, “Ooh, we could go to a bookstore!”

Jeff chuckles, encouraged by her happiness,  

“We can do anything you want,” he says.

Keep reading


I was in my local charity shop and LOOK WHAT I FOUND! Its a book about Jacque Cousteau, the real life Steve Zissou!! I think this is the best thrift I’ve ever had ahh

minty-minho asked:


More than you’d think.

Of course, Crutchie doesn’t get out to Brooklyn very often- it’s far and the journey isn’t exactly kind to his bum leg- so Spot only sees him when he visits Manhattan.  But Spot can see he’s a fighter, that he refuses to take pity even when it would be so easy to do so.  He knows that Crutchie’s home was even more messed up than his leg, and that’s why he chose to became a newsie.  Spot has an enormous amount of respect for the scrappy little fighter that kinda reminds him of himself.

Crutchie tends to pick up on the smaller things.  How Spot can use the slingshot with both hands equally as well, how he has just the tiniest remnant of a limp in his left leg, how he always walks like he’s got something to prove.  How he’s been pretty close to paranoid since he took over Brooklyn and how he has panic attacks almost every night because of it.  How he looks at Race when he doesn’t think anyone can see.  How he is just like Jack- forced to grow up to fast- and how he is the opposite- not forming close relationships easily- and just gets it. He sees the little boy inside still yearning for affirmation, for a clue that he did well, he sees someone begging for approval with every move he makes.


With the Valar came other spirits whose being also began before the World, of the same order as the Valar but of less degree. These are the Maiar, the people of the Valar, and their servants and helpers. Their number is not known to the Elves, and few have names in any of the tongues of the Children of Ilúvatar; for though it is otherwise in Aman, in Middle-earth the Maiar have seldom appeared in form visible to Elves and Men.


Tell me what you know. Tell me what you’ve gone and done now.


even if i end up nowhere

for ohmyneoshadows