“Cas!” The name said very proudly by a four year old Dean Winchester, after he had struggled for several minutes with entirety of ‘Castiel.’

“Cas!” The name shouted by Dean Winchester everyday after that, from the play ground to middle school hall ways.

“Cas.” The name whispered softly as Dean stared into his eyes after a tussle over the TV remote led to Dean pinning him down, hands above his head. The kiss that followed was the first of many.

“Cas.” The name panted and moaned against neck every time they made love, tangled together in limbs and sheets.

“Cas!” The name screamed in fear and pain as they laid in the road, surrounds by broken glass, the car’s headlights shining over the wreckage of the other car.

“Cas.” The name sobbed in relief when Castiel finally opened his eyes three days later.

“Cas.” The name choked with tears as Dean Winchester dropped to one knee before him, hands shaking so badly that they couldn’t open the little black box that held the ring.

“Cas.” The name said proudly as Dean promised to love him for the rest of his life in front of everyone they knew.

“Dean.” The only name that mattered since the first day of preschool.

“Dean.” The first name on his lips every morning and the last at night.

“Dean!” The name he used as a curse and a praise.

“Dean.” The name his whole world revolved around.

“Winchester.” The name they shared.

today my grandmother brought me to visit her best friend, Amy, so i can teach Amy how to use the laptop for the first time, i told her to hold on while i went to the toilet and i came back to the living room to her frantically clicking on the TV remote, yelling, “I CAN’T SWITCH THE LAPTOP ON!”


sam & cait acting like adorable 5-year-olds while accepting their best. ever. tv. awards

The X-Files doesn’t have to worry about those relationship-threatening sex scenes. Not one remotely lustful glance has passed from Mulder to Scully (or vice-versa), but their bond is the most intimate thing on television. Consummate professionals, they rarely so much as touch, but the space between them is all spark, sexier than any grope-and-tumble cliche Aaron Spelling could ever produce.

Cosmopolitan, 1997

me as a dominatrix

*ties you down and forces you to watch adam sandler films on repeat with the TV remote just barely out of reach*

Attack the Light is coming very soon to the new Apple TV!!  

Featuring glorious HD graphics, re-designed controls created specifically for the Apple TV remote AND new gamepad controls supporting all MFI controllers! 

Also added to this version: DIAMOND MODE – an all new harder difficulty setting that makes enemies much meaner and also hides all bonus tap stars!

And finally: owners of the iOS version will be able to download the TV version for free!  Hope you’ll look forward to it! 

@cartoonnetwork @stevencrewniverse @ianjq @rebeccasugar

Dad things Bruce has said
  • “Whats an emoji?”
  • “Why can’t I wear jean shorts?”
  • “Whats a twerk?”
  • “How do you work skype?”
  • “What the hell is a sext?”
  • “Which remote turns on the tv?!”
  • “TIM, get in here I can’t figure out this TV.”
  • “that needs a coaster”
  • “I’m not throwing out my jean shorts, Jason”
  • “DICK, how do you twitter???”
  • “You’re having safe sex, right?”
  • “I can’t get off this website, how do you click off?”
  • “I AM pressing the red button, Tim, it doesn’t work!”
  • “How do you share a Facebook post???”
  • feel free to add more

female awesome meme: [6/20] female dynamics  ⇒  Sam and Brooke (Popular)

“Sam, we brought a life into this world. We are good together, we are a great team. And I refuse to let someone come between this relationship that practically we’ve killed ourselves creating.”

anonymous asked:

How can a blind person fight an able bodied person in a farmhouse, and still manage to get away?

They can’t.

Blind martial artists do exist. They’re something of a rarity, but blindness doesn’t mean you can’t learn martial arts. They can’t learn it the same way a sighted martial artist would; it requires an entirely different teaching method. Blindness also doesn’t mean they can’t win a fight. But, being able to see is a critical advantage.

It’s the difference between knowing there’s a knife on the kitchen table, and not. It’s the difference between knowing your opponent is going for that knife, or not. It’s the ability to transition stance and techniques to deal with a suddenly armed opponent.

If you’re sitting there thinking, “but, they’ll hear it.” Yes. But the sound itself is far less informative than the ability to see what your opponent is doing. Was that a knife? A loaded 1911? The TV remote? If you can see it, then you know. But, if you can’t…

In fact, of the two major sensory disabilities, a deaf fighter will be far better suited to deal with actual combat than a blind one. You can operate without being able to hear your opponent. You’re still at a serious disadvantage, but it is far less debilitating.

That’s the first problem, the second is escape. How does your character know it’s a farm house? More importantly, even once they find a way outside, how do they know what direction to run in?

If they know where they are, then that’s partially averted. If it’s their home, they can get around, and know where to go for safety. But, if it’s unfamiliar territory, then running won’t make things better.

Even in the best circumstances, without a disability, getting away from an attacker takes quick thinking, situational awareness, and some running. For someone who’s blind, that’s not impossible, but it is much more difficult. They need to know where they are, where they can find safety, and how to get between those two points without being harmed or killed in the process. Without using visual cues to establish or help with any of that.

We get variations on questions fairly frequently. But, disabilities mean there are things characters cannot do. Things a normal person could do easily become difficult. Things a normal person could do with difficulty become impossible. It doesn’t mean they can’t participate. Or that they don’t have value. But it does mean, for someone living with a disability, they can’t simply overcome it on a whim.

I say this, and I still love Daredevil. I’ll still argue he’s one of the most compelling characters Stan Lee ever created. You can have a character who finds strength in adversity. But, it never comes from disregarding his disability.

We get a lot of questions that run in a similar thread to this one. “My character lost an arm…” “Is deaf in one ear…” “Has PTSD…” “Is blind in one eye…” “Has no lower intestine…” And it follows to the inevitable, “how can they ignore that and do what I want?” They can’t. You shouldn’t. Ignoring it is incredibly disrespectful to people that actually live with those disabilities, and, to borrow a term from roleplaying games, being a munchkin. These are very different issues from the original question, but, let’s hit each one in turn.

The first is an extension of The Law of Conservation of Characters. This is a term that was coined (I think) by Roger Ebert. Basically, if you’re taking the time to put a character in your story, they need to be there for a reason. He would use it as a test to identify the traitor/killer/surprise lagoon monster, ahead of schedule by looking at the cast and identifying any character that did not serve a purpose.

The extension is to turn it around and be aware of this in your own writing. If you’re putting a character in your story, there needs to be a reason. Further, if they have a trait (any trait) it also needs to be there for a reason. If you’re adding a character with a disability because, “you want to,” then you’re going to (at best) be pandering or (at worst) pretending to be inclusive to make yourself feel better.

And, yes, actually talking about a disability is a legitimate reason to put it in your story. If you’re writing about the experiences of someone who has lost their sight, then that is a trait that needs to be there. If that’s the case, then you really need to do some in depth research on the subject before starting.

If you’re adding traits to a character because they add texture to the world or provide red herrings, that can certainly be legitimate. For example: if you’re writing a murder mystery, and one of the suspects was a soldier who fought against the victim’s side during “the war,” then that’s both. Also, in a good classic murder mystery or spy thriller, a few extra red herring characters aren’t necessarily a misstep.

But, at the same time, you do need to consider what those traits are, and if they’re appropriate for the story you’re trying to tell. If you’re writing about a character escaping from kidnappers, then blindness or being a paraplegic will throw a monkey wrench into the entire endeavor.

If you’re writing a murder mystery, and the character with the clear motive couldn’t be the killer, because they’re blind, and the victim was sniped… then that’s a piece of the puzzle.

I’m singling out mysteries here, because that’s one of few the genres that embraces red herrings as plot devices.

If you’re simply adding disabilities to a character because you want to be, “inclusive…” Please, for fuck sake; stop. It’s not inclusive, it is, at best, pandering, and frequently, insulting.

So, let’s talk about munchkins, and what they mean to you as a writer.

If you’re somehow not familiar with the term, a munchkin is an RPG player who aggressively builds their characters to be as powerful as possible, subverting the rules and common sense as needed. As far as I know, the term dates back to UseNet posts in the early 90s, though the word itself is borrowed from The Wizard of Oz books.

The closest literary relative would be a Mary Sue, but that’s not really an applicable analogy because of the methods a Munchkin uses to optimize their character. Munchkinism is heavily dependent on a game’s specific rules, but, in extremely broad strokes, a Munchkin will take penalties in something they don’t care about in order to boost the capabilities they’re using to exploit the system.

What does this mean? It goes back to what I was saying a minute ago. If you’re giving your character a trait, it needs to be there for a reason. The basic trade off mechanic that munchkins feed on is one that makes a lot of sense in building a character. If you have a character who is socially inept, but very intelligent, that makes sense as a basic design tradeoff. It is a quick reliable way to remind yourself that your characters are different people. One does this, another does that.

Frequently, in Munchkinism, you’re looking for ways to take penalties that won’t actually matter, because you can just work around them, or trade the penalties elsewhere. If you’re building a character as a combat piece, and nothing else, that’s not really a problem. But, in roleplaying, as with writing, the first goal is to tell a story, not to demonstrate your prowess as a rules lawyer.

You’ll see elements of this in some Mary Sues. The character, as written, has some horrible flaw that just… gets… ignored, by everyone. We’re told they’re socially awkward, but see no evidence of it in the actual text. We’re told they can’t drive, but we’re never shown any of day to day hindrance that causes. We’re told they’re pathologically afraid of violence… because they’re fantastic at it? That’s not how that works.

And, that’s the problem with a lot of these questions. They boil down to, “I slapped a penalty on my character, now how do I cheat my way around it?” You don’t. You shouldn’t. Embrace it.

When you’re writing, you create the world and set the rules. You might be borrowing those rules from some approximation of reality, but you set them. What makes characters interesting isn’t the things they can do, it’s the things that limit them. The things you put in front of your character that they can’t overcome without significant effort, or that they’re unwilling to yield against, even when it breaks them. In creating your world, you need to set those limits and work within them, rather than looking for ways to subvert them.

Characters who work against their limits are far more interesting and memorable than ones who slip the bounds and stomp off. Sometimes that means you’ve written a character who can’t fight. You can go two ways with that; they refuse to admit they’re not up for it, and keep getting beaten down, or they try to work their way around without resorting to violence.

How does a blind character get out of a rural farmhouse where they’re being held? By being smarter or more manipulative than their captors. By working out the weak links in the social fabric of their captors. By finding a way to contact someone in the outside world. By thinking, really, thinking about their situation, and making sure they have a plan for what they’ll do next. (Get a knife, stab the guy… what’s next?) That you’re asking, suggests you have no more of an idea than I do, and you have more information on the setting.

Does blindness give them access to any more information that a sighted character wouldn’t have? Maybe. But, if asked about a character with no prior history of violence, my final advice would be the same. You set up a situation where violence should be the last resort, and has the greatest risk of getting your character killed. Unless they want to die, their own ability in risk assessment should have pointed them somewhere else.