Loving the Fandoms as YOU read this

Greetings. I reblog and talk about shiz that happens in my life for you to enjoy. I love various fandoms(especially Hobbit and LOTR), live in a shack, have too many feels, adore reading, and hate fingers. I have an opinion, not afriad to share it. Ya'll been warned G'day mate.


"You didn't even change your clothes.Then it's time to add a splash of colour."
"You didn't even change your clothes.
Then it's time to add a splash of colour."

(Source: hobbitbilbo, via johnfuckingwatson)

loveandchloroform:

the—brothad:

killbenedictcumberbatch:

drugdoer:

A hero’s journey

this gif is like 20 seconds but it was like watching an entire movie

The yellow man gives him a HIGH FIVE ON THE WAY OUT.

loveandchloroform:

the—brothad:

killbenedictcumberbatch:

drugdoer:

A hero’s journey

this gif is like 20 seconds but it was like watching an entire movie

The yellow man gives him a HIGH FIVE ON THE WAY OUT.

(Source: 4gifs)

musical-hipster-feed:

fullten:

Cornell West has degrees from Harvard, and Princeton. Taught at Harvard and the University of Paris, and was in the fucking Matrix… 
This never was about clothing, attitude, stature, or economic status, this is about black vs white. This is what the fuck racism is.

WOWOWOWOW

musical-hipster-feed:

fullten:

Cornell West has degrees from Harvard, and Princeton. Taught at Harvard and the University of Paris, and was in the fucking Matrix… 

This never was about clothing, attitude, stature, or economic status, this is about black vs white. This is what the fuck racism is.

WOWOWOWOW

(Source: theladyinthestripeddress, via thenightbathroomblogger)

thisblackwitch:

fandomcollector:

electrikmoonlight:

mildserendipity:

WTF I LIETERALLY THOUGHT IT WAS ABOUT DOGS UNTIL NOW I AM 20 YEARS OLD

of course it was, why would he actually sing about real dogs and why they got out

No it isn’t. It’s actually talking about the men who predate upon women in clubs, calling them dogs, not ‘ugly women’. Just look at the lyrics:
And tell the fellas stop the name callin’Yepee ah yoThen them girls respond to the callI hear a woman shout outWho let the dogs outWoof, woof, woof, woof, woof
Or if that isn’t clear enough for you that it’s women quite clearly calling the men dogs then read this next bit:
Get back gruffy, mash scruffyGet back you flea infested mongrelNow I tell meh self dem man go get angryAh yepee ah yoTo hear them girls calling them canine
It’s saying that men who attack women for being ‘ugly’ or refuse to leave them alone are worse than stray mongrels! It plainly points out that women do not want or appreciate the attention and so taunt them with the verse of ‘who let the dogs out’ because they are both unable to control themselves and vile little creatures. Learn to do some fucking research.

It’s about how cat calling guys are awful.

thisblackwitch:

fandomcollector:

electrikmoonlight:

mildserendipity:

WTF I LIETERALLY THOUGHT IT WAS ABOUT DOGS UNTIL NOW I AM 20 YEARS OLD

of course it was, why would he actually sing about real dogs and why they got out

No it isn’t. It’s actually talking about the men who predate upon women in clubs, calling them dogs, not ‘ugly women’. Just look at the lyrics:

And tell the fellas stop the name callin
Yepee ah yo
Then them girls respond to the call
I hear a woman shout out
Who let the dogs out
Woof, woof, woof, woof, woof

Or if that isn’t clear enough for you that it’s women quite clearly calling the men dogs then read this next bit:

Get back gruffy, mash scruffy
Get back you flea infested mongrel
Now I tell meh self dem man go get angry
Ah yepee ah yo
To hear them girls calling them canine

It’s saying that men who attack women for being ‘ugly’ or refuse to leave them alone are worse than stray mongrels! It plainly points out that women do not want or appreciate the attention and so taunt them with the verse of ‘who let the dogs out’ because they are both unable to control themselves and vile little creatures. Learn to do some fucking research.

It’s about how cat calling guys are awful.

(Source: ruinedchildhood, via zanetheaiden)

khoshekh-yourself:

catsuitmonarchy:

optimysticals:

vancity604778kid:

ultrafacts:




Source Click HERE to Follow the Ultrafacts Blog!




ALICE ROOSEVELT WAS HARDCORE. “She was known as a rule-breaker in an era when women were under great pressure to conform. The American public noticed many of her exploits. She smoked cigarettes in public, swore at officials, rode in cars with men, stayed out late partying, kept a pet snake named Emily Spinach (Emily as in her spinster aunt and Spinach for its green color) in the White House, and was seen placing bets with a bookie. 


So what I’m reading here is, she was a Roosevelt?

Well I have a new hero.

Her whole wikipedia article is gold
"When her father was governor of New York, he and his wife proposed that Alice attend a conservative school for girls in New York City. Pulling out all the stops, Alice wrote, ‘If you send me I will humiliate you. I will do something that will shame you. I tell you I will.’"
"Her father took office in 1901 following the assassination of President William McKinley, Jr. in Buffalo (an event that she greeted with "sheer rapture.")"
“During the cruise to Japan, Alice jumped into the ship’s pool fully clothed, and coaxed a congressman to join her in the water. (Years later Bobby Kennedy would chide her about the incident, saying it was outrageous for the time, to which the by-then-octogenarian Alice replied that it would only have been outrageous had she removed her clothes.”
"She was dressed in a blue wedding dress and dramatically cut the wedding cake with a sword (borrowed from a military aide attending the reception)"
"When it came time for the Roosevelt family to move out of the White House, Alice buried a Voodoo doll of the new First Lady, Nellie Taft, in the front yard."
"Later, the Taft White House banned her from her former residence—the first but not the last administration to do so. During Woodrow Wilson’s administration (from which she was banned in 1916 for a bawdy joke at Wilson’s expense)…"
"As an example of her attitudes on race, in 1965 her African-American chauffeur and one of her best friends, Turner, was driving Alice to an appointment. During the trip, he pulled out in front of a taxi, and the driver got out and demanded to know of him, "What do you think you’re doing, you black bastard?" Turner took the insult calmly, but Alice did not and told the taxi driver, "He’s taking me to my destination, you white son of a bitch!"
“To Senator Joseph McCarthy, who had jokingly remarked at a party “Here’s my blind date. I am going to call you Alice”, she sarcastically said “Senator McCarthy, you are not going to call me Alice. The trashman and the policeman on my block call me Alice, but you may not.”

khoshekh-yourself:

catsuitmonarchy:

optimysticals:

vancity604778kid:

ultrafacts:

Source Click HERE to Follow the Ultrafacts Blog!

ALICE ROOSEVELT WAS HARDCORE. “She was known as a rule-breaker in an era when women were under great pressure to conform. The American public noticed many of her exploits. She smoked cigarettes in public, swore at officials, rode in cars with men, stayed out late partying, kept a pet snake named Emily Spinach (Emily as in her spinster aunt and Spinach for its green color) in the White House, and was seen placing bets with a bookie. 

So what I’m reading here is, she was a Roosevelt?

Well I have a new hero.

Her whole wikipedia article is gold

"When her father was governor of New York, he and his wife proposed that Alice attend a conservative school for girls in New York City. Pulling out all the stops, Alice wrote, ‘If you send me I will humiliate you. I will do something that will shame you. I tell you I will.’"

"Her father took office in 1901 following the assassination of President William McKinley, Jr. in Buffalo (an event that she greeted with "sheer rapture.")"

During the cruise to Japan, Alice jumped into the ship’s pool fully clothed, and coaxed a congressman to join her in the water. (Years later Bobby Kennedy would chide her about the incident, saying it was outrageous for the time, to which the by-then-octogenarian Alice replied that it would only have been outrageous had she removed her clothes.”

"She was dressed in a blue wedding dress and dramatically cut the wedding cake with a sword (borrowed from a military aide attending the reception)"

"When it came time for the Roosevelt family to move out of the White House, Alice buried a Voodoo doll of the new First Lady, Nellie Taft, in the front yard."

"Later, the Taft White House banned her from her former residence—the first but not the last administration to do so. During Woodrow Wilson’s administration (from which she was banned in 1916 for a bawdy joke at Wilson’s expense)…"

"As an example of her attitudes on race, in 1965 her African-American chauffeur and one of her best friends, Turner, was driving Alice to an appointment. During the trip, he pulled out in front of a taxi, and the driver got out and demanded to know of him, "What do you think you’re doing, you black bastard?" Turner took the insult calmly, but Alice did not and told the taxi driver, "He’s taking me to my destination, you white son of a bitch!"

To Senator Joseph McCarthy, who had jokingly remarked at a party “Here’s my blind date. I am going to call you Alice”, she sarcastically said “Senator McCarthy, you are not going to call me Alice. The trashman and the policeman on my block call me Alice, but you may not.”

(via thenightbathroomblogger)

pistol-fingers:

i asked my friend to draw me kirby and

pistol-fingers:

i asked my friend to draw me kirby and

(Source: zerotwofucker64, via zanetheaiden)

the-laridian:

ink-splotch:

There comes a point where Susan, who was the older girl, is lost to Narnia because she becomes interested in lipstick. She’s become irreligious basically because she found sex. I have a big problem with that.” - JK Rowling

Can we talk about Susan’s fabulous adventures after Narnia? The ones where she wears nylons and elegant blouses when she wants to, and short skirts and bright lipstick when she wants to, and hiking boots and tough jeans and big men’s plaid shirts when she feels like backpacking out into the mountains and remembering what it was to be lost in a world full of terrific beauty— I know her siblings say she stops talking about it, that Susan walks away from the memories of Narnia, but I don’t think she ever really forgot.

I want to read about Susan finishing out boarding school as a grown queen reigning from a teenaged girl’s body. School bullies and peer pressure from children and teachers who treat you like you’re less than sentient wouldn’t have the same impact. C’mon, Susan of the Horn, Susan who bested the DLF at archery, and rode a lion, and won wars, sitting in a school uniform with her eyebrows rising higher and higher as some old goon at the front of the room slams his fist on the lectern. 

Susan living through WW2, huddling with her siblings, a young adult (again), a fighting queen and champion marksman kept from the action, until she finally storms out against screaming parents’ wishes and volunteers as a nurse on the front. She keeps a knife or two hidden under her clothes because when it comes down to it, they called her Gentle, but sometimes loving means fighting for what you care for. 

She’ll apply to a women’s college on the East Coast, because she fell in love with America when her parents took her there before the war. She goes in majoring in Literature (her ability to decipher High Diction in historical texts is uncanny), but checks out every book she can on history, philosophy, political science. She sneaks into the boys’ school across town and borrows their books too. She was once responsible for a kingdom, roads and taxes and widows and crops and war. She grew from child to woman with that mantle of duty wrapped around her shoulders. Now, tossed here on this mundane land, forever forbidden from her true kingdom, Susan finds that she can give up Narnia but she cannot give up that responsibility. She looks around and thinks I could do this better.

I want Susan sneaking out to drink at pubs with the girls, her friends giggling at the boys checking them out from across the way, until Susan walks over (with her nylons, with her lipstick, with her sovereignty written out in whatever language she damn well pleases) and beats them all at pool. Susan studying for tests and bemoaning Aristotle and trading a boy with freckles all over his nose shooting lessons so that he will teach her calculus. Susan kissing boys and writing home to Lucy and kissing girls and helping smuggle birth control to the ladies in her dorm because Susan Pevensie is a queen and she understands the right of a woman to rule over her own body. 

Susan losing them all to a train crash, Edmund and Peter and Lucy, Jill and Eustace, and Lucy and Lucy and Lucy, who Susan’s always felt the most responsible for. Because this is a girl who breathes responsibility, the little mother to her three siblings until a wardrobe whisked them away and she became High Queen to a whole land, ruled it for more than a decade, then came back centuries later as a legend. What it must do to you, to be a legend in the body of a young girl, to have that weight on your shoulders and have a lion tell you that you have to let it go. What it must do to you, to be left alone to decide whether to bury your family in separate ceremonies, or all at once, the same way they died, all at once and without you. What it must do to you, to stand there in black, with your nylons, and your lipstick, and feel responsible for these people who you will never be able to explain yourself to and who you can never save. 

Maybe she dreams sometimes they made it back to Narnia after all. Peter is a king again. Lucy walks with Aslan and all the dryads dance. Maybe Susan dreams that she went with them— the train jerks, a bright light, a roar calling you home. 

Maybe she doesn’t. 

Susan grows older and grows up. Sometimes she hears Lucy’s horrified voice in her head, “Nylons? Lipstick, Susan? Who wants to grow up?”  and Susan thinks, “Well you never did, Luce.” Susan finishes her degree, stays in America (England looks too much like Narnia, too much like her siblings, and too little, all at once). She starts writing for the local paper under the pseudonym Frank Tumnus, because she wants to write about politics and social policy and be listened to, because the name would have made Edmund laugh. 

She writes as Susan Pevensie, too, about nylons and lipstick, how to give a winning smiles and throw parties, because she knows there is a kind of power there and she respects it. She won wars with war sometimes, in Narnia, but sometimes she stopped them before they began.

Peter had always looked disapprovingly on the care with which Susan applied her makeup back home in England, called it vanity. And even then, Susan would smile at him, say “I use what weapons I have at hand,” and not explain any more than that. The boy ruled at her side for more than a decade. He should know better. 

Vain is not the proper word. This is about power. But maybe Peter wouldn’t have liked the word “ambition” any more than “vanity.”

Susan is a young woman in the 50s and 60s. Frank Tumnus has quite the following now. He’s written a few books, controversial, incendiary. Susan gets wrapped up in the civil rights movement, because of course she would. It’s not her first war. All the same, she almost misses the White Witch. Greed is a cleaner villain than senseless hate. She gets on the Freedom Rider bus, mails Mr. Tumnus articles back home whenever there’s a chance, those rare occasions they’re not locked up or immediately threatened. She is older now than she ever was in Narnia. Susan dreams about Telemarines killing fauns. 

Time rolls on. Maybe she falls in love with a young activist or an old cynic. Maybe she doesn’t. Maybe Frank Tumnus, controversial in the moment, brilliant in retrospect, gets offered an honorary title from a prestigious university. She declines and publishes an editorial revealing her identity. Her paper fires her. Three others mail her job offers. 

When Vietnam rolls around, she protests in the streets. Susan understands the costs of war. She has lived through not just the brutal wars of one life, but two. 

Maybe she has children now. Maybe she tells them stories about a magical place and a magical lion, the stories Lucy and Edmund brought home about how if you sail long enough you reach the place where the seas fall off the edge of the world. But maybe she tells them about Cinderella instead, Sleeping Beauty, Rapunzel, except Rapunzel cuts off her own hair and uses it to climb down the tower and escape. The damsel uses what tools she has at hand. 

A lion told her to walk away, and she did. He forbade her magic, he forbade her her own kingdom, so she made her own. 

Susan Pevensie did not lose faith. She found it. 

-

Companion to this piece

I love this

(Source: ifallelseperished, via urulokid)

morphinezombie:

blackwolf25:

damnyounick:

what

0 to 100

holy shit

morphinezombie:

blackwolf25:

damnyounick:

what

0 to 100

holy shit

(Source: emedemabri, via allteensrelate)

raizel-knights:

zettai-iya:

misfirevevo:

ACTUAL PROOF that there is NO SKELETON WAR

no this is how the government is trying to hide the truth

FUCKBOY PROPAGANDA

raizel-knights:

zettai-iya:

misfirevevo:

ACTUAL PROOF that there is NO SKELETON WAR

no this is how the government is trying to hide the truth

FUCKBOY PROPAGANDA

(via emilythegracefulyawkwardchild)

Reblog if you would be devastated if you found out one of your followers committed suicide.

honnouji-acedemist:

the-blue-typhoon:

torchwood-classfied-rp:

ask-an-annie-leonhardt:

fandomgirl-the-modblog:

rainbowflyer:

wheretheewildthingssaree:

moject-prayhem:

don’t you dare not reblog!!!!!!

image

If you don’t reblog this I’m judging you.

Just one.

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image

NEVER EVER EVER STOP REBLOGGING THIS EVER

(Source: ohhkthen, via famdomsaretheshit)