We all like to talk about that “Running like Naruto" phase that all dorky weaboo kids go trough, but what we don not talk enough about is the later “Sitting and eating like L" phase that all dorky weaboo teenagers go trough
attention passengers this is your pilot speaking, we’re going to be experiencing some heavy turbulence shortly so please strap in. this loser just bet that i couldn’t do a 360 barrel roll in this thing and let’s just say i’m about to be $20 richer real soon
ok but imagine harry giving teddy his invisibility cloak right before he leaves for hogwarts and telling him all about the mischief their dad’s used to get up to with it. teddy asking why he didn’t save it for james or albus or lily and harry just saying “well you’re the oldest it’s only fair” and for a second teddy forgets that he’s “just a godson” and really feels like a part of the weasley-potter family.
i always feel so bad when people leave me nice messages and they’re like “i’m so sorry if this is creepy” like no are you serious you’re not creepy at all have you seen my blog i’m the fucking creepiest person alive
What is 50 shades of grey about? And what's so bad about it?
50 Shades of Grey was originally fanfiction based on the Twilight series, which was then published as a novel (along with 2 subsequent books). It sold over 100 million copies around the world and topped best-seller lists everywhere. It’s about to be adapted into a film, set to come out early next year.
It follows a college student named Ana Steele, who enters a relationship with a man named Christian Grey and is then introduced to a bastardised and abusive parody of BDSM culture.
While the book is paraded as erotica, the relationship between Ana and Christian is far from healthy. The core mantra of the BDSM community is “safe, sane and consensual”, and 50 Shades is anything but. None of the rules of BDSM practices (which are put in place to protect those involved) are actually upheld. Christian is controlling, manipulative, abusive, takes complete advantage of Ana, ignores safe-words, ignores consent, keeps her uneducated about the sexual practices they’re taking part in, and a multitude of other terrible things. Their relationship is completely sickening and unhealthy.
Basically, “the book is a glaring glamorisation of violence against women,” as Amy Bonomi so perfectly put it.
It’s terrible enough that a book like this has been absorbed by people worldwide. Now, we have a film that is expected to be a huge box-office success, and will likely convince countless more young women that it’s okay not to have any autonomy in a relationship, that a man is allowed to control them entirely. It will also show many young men that women are theirs to play with and dominate, thus contributing to antiquated patriarchal values and rape culture.
prompts by a pair of awesome anons: can you make a soulmate!AU? // can you write a ficlet where dean/cas can’t see in color until they meet the other person?
read it here on AO3 (recommended if you’re on mobile)
It was raining heavily in the darkest hours of the night. Dean Winchester turned up his coat collar against the downpour and sent a quick glance up and down the wide, deserted street, before ducking into a smaller and grimier alley.
People were loitering in doorways, wearing coloured sashes over their clothes. Their whispers as Dean passed by seemed to mimic the steady patter of the rain on the cracked cement pavement. Dean hesitated, then approached a tall, auburn-haired woman glaring at him from her perch on a rickety wooden chair.
“You see red?” she snapped at him, irate, as he ducked under the cover of her porch. Above where the woman was sitting, there was a metal sign which said Naomi’s Place in rusting red letters. Beneath that was a dimly lit oil painting of a forest, mud-splattered and cracked.
“Lower spectrum, up to yellow,” Dean confirmed. He looked the woman over; her skin was smooth, her clothing neat and formal. Her eyes looked grey to Dean; he wondered if they were green, as he’d been told his own were. He looked down at the woman’s sash, which was also washed clean of colour to Dean’s eyes.
“You see blue?” he asked hopefully. The woman, Naomi, shook her head.
“Green,” she said. Dean shrugged. Blues were pretty rare; he hadn’t really expected to find one working here.
“I’ve only got thirty dollars,” he said, twisting the bills in his gloved hands.
Naomi pursed her lips.
“That will only be good for thirty seconds. One fingertip only,” she cautioned, and Dean nodded, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat. He hated this, hated it utterly, but could not keep away. He handed over his payment, and slid his white glove off his left hand. Naomi reached out one finger, and Dean paused before touching the tip of his index finger to hers. He closed his eyes, allowed the shudder of unfamiliar contact to pass. When he opened them, he looked straight at the oil painting behind Naomi.
As he watched, the grey of the trees in the scene started to change. Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, light strands of green started to bleed into the leaves; as Dean watched rapturously, they became more and more vibrant, until the whole forest was glowing like an emerald held up to the setting sun – a little dark, but green, definitely green, and so completely beautiful that it took Dean’s breath away –
“That’s all you get,” Naomi said, pulling back. Dean lifted his hand up to his eyes, ostensibly to rub away the slight afterglow that sharing colours often left. If Naomi noticed that his fingers came away wet, she didn’t comment on it.
“Thank you,” Dean said, pulling his glove back on. Naomi nodded curtly, and Dean turned away, disappeared into the rainwashed night.