like me and you

call me a commie or whatever but i hate the fact that education has become a commodity like everything else in our society. when education is so radically expensive in the united states, it’s not a realistic expectation for people to learn things for the sake of learning anymore. when every university class i take costs literally thousands of dollars, i can’t afford to study things i find interesting. everything suddenly becomes a cost/benefit analysis of whether or not this will pay off financially in a hypothetical future career. all other benefits of education (joy, interest, the ability to make non obvious interdisciplinary connections, the benefit of applying a multitude of perspectives and experiences to a specific issue) get eclipsed by whether or not i can reduce this class down to a list of resume worthy skills.

5

This has been in my head for like a week. I like to think that Stan is ridiculously susceptible to genuine compliments, especially ones from his brother.

I Graduated! :D

I didn’t think I would get here because of anxiety and depression but I did it! I graduated it from uni/college (whatever you call it where you’re from) :D It just shows you that anything is possible. So if you guys have dreams, go chase ‘em because I believe in you! <3

I DID IT - LIKE A BOSS!! :D

@therealjacksepticeye and community, are you guys proud of me? :P

p.s yeah that’s a music dress you can see in the picture, got it made specially for the occasion :)

crowleysmoosesquirrelsangel  asked:

If God has no dominion over the Empty, how do you think Chuck resurrected Cas all those times? Did he put on a burglar outfit and sneak inside on his tippy toes or something?

what if–WHAT IF–

and the reason chuck said it would take time to resurrect archangels is because THE EMPTY WOULDN’T JUST LET HIM GET AWAY WITH IT AND HE’D HAVE TO CONVINCE IT AND IT’D TAKE TOO LONG BECAUSE HE HAS ANXIETY

I drew a boyfriend for my boy [x]

All the urban legends came true at once.

Of course, I was six pages deep in a tax audit at the time. Chewing a pen when a rash of mothers with broken backs were rushed to the hospital, courteousy of uncareful feet smashing on cracks. Doctors, unsure at the time, blamed osteoporosis.

It was watched pots that remained cool. Or salt thrown over a shoulder that - for a second - showed a devil’s eye. Or it was the alligators. Don’t get me started on the alligators.

But something was the first whisper of what we’d woken up. Nobody wanted to say it out loud, because it sounded so ridiculous. It was a secret that swelled in our cheeks. Phrases we had always said that went silent.

All the hauntings came true. We had photograpic evidence of spirits. That’s probably what started the mass hysteria.

Some things took longer. Rubbing a statue for luck or breaking a mirror. Delayed response. One bad day turns into a bad month. Then you’re at the local witch place begging for a respite - seven years of bad luck?! - and she’s shaking her head. Nothing to be done.

Oh, the witches. The funny thing is that when people have always called you a witch, they’re surprisingly needy when you turn out to be one. When the world shifted, little towns who avoided one woman for her witchiness were now flocking to her because their legend had made her become one.

Pens mightier than swords. Avoiding groups of certain numbers. When a knife drops, we all hold our breath for the fight. A fork means company will show up, confused how they arrived.

It got better for a moment, for a breath, while we figured out the rules of it. What was a legend and what was myth. What kind of faith was big enough and what was too big. Some legends only effected certain areas. Some only certain people. We sunk money into infrastructure for once to clear up cracks. Stepped over salt in every building. Sold amulets like trinkets. For a second, we almost got our feet under us.

And then it got worse. Sometimes the company you invited was strange, unhuman. You had to wear iron. We had loved our cryptids until they came down from the mountains, worse than we could have predicted. Bowls of milk were on every window sill but most of them rotted.

In the books, we had all read about the end of the old ones. The unspeakable ones, who went off into the hills one day. Who we cannot say the name of. Who did not exist in the land of buses or planes. Who can steal you if they know your name, who can never lie but do a good job of it anyway.

We were not ready. The Folk showed up through the thin veil, and they were already laughing.

And they were just the beginning.

8

malec + lips (requested by @ihaveabookishbrain )

when will jeff goldblum and jemaine clement be father and son in a film vying for the love and attention of the same man with said man played by taika waititi

Last names

Okay so yeah, of course I love the idea of Draco changing his last name to Potter once he and Harry get married. Of course I love the idea of them hyphenating, and all the drama that ensues when they argue about which name should go first. But you know what I really like? What doesn’t get nearly enough thought IMHO?


The mere concept of Harry Malfoy.


Harry Malfoy, nauseated by the fame that came in a package deal with the name “Potter,” fame he never asked for, changing his to that of the person he cares about most.


Harry Malfoy, searching his husband’s eyes for approval before signing the legal documents to have his last name changed and finding just that and so much more. Finding hope and adoration and love. Real love. The warding-off-killing-curses kind of love. Harry holding onto that moment as tightly as possible.


Harry Malfoy, practicing his new signature for hours on end with every spare piece of parchment he can find, and finding an innocent sort of joy in the way his “M” melted perfectly into his “a.”


Harry Malfoy, a reinvented version of himself, finding the strength to move on from his past and sleep through the night without being afraid something might come for him.


Harry Malfoy, being able to breathe in his own skin again because he’s finally been granted the fresh start he’s always wanted.


Harry Malfoy, a name that has never plastered newspapers, has never been on the wanted list, has never been hunted by Voldemort, has never been spat out of the mouth of his aunt and uncle, has never been.


Harry Malfoy, the first page of a journal that is yet to be filled with love poems and stories and happy memories.


Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived.


Harry Malfoy. Man.