Next project has begun. I will be making the Lilium music box for my ex boyfriend’s graduation present. Wish me luck!
"My response to the “I am not a feminist” internet phenomenon….
First of all, it’s clear you don’t know what feminism is. But I’m not going to explain it to you. You can google it. To quote an old friend, “I’m not the feminist babysitter.”
But here is what I think you should know.
You’re insulting every woman who was forcibly restrained in a jail cell with a feeding tube down her throat for your right to vote, less than 100 years ago.
You’re degrading every woman who has accessed a rape crisis center, which wouldn’t exist without the feminist movement.
You’re undermining every woman who fought to make marital rape a crime (it was legal until 1993).
You’re spitting on the legacy of every woman who fought for women to be allowed to own property (1848). For the abolition of slavery and the rise of the labor union. For the right to divorce. For women to be allowed to have access to birth control (Comstock laws). For middle and upper class women to be allowed to work outside the home (poor women have always worked outside the home). To make domestic violence a crime in the US (It is very much legal in many parts of the world). To make workplace sexual harassment a crime.
In short, you know not what you speak of. You reap the rewards of these women’s sacrifices every day of your life. When you grin with your cutsey sign about how you’re not a feminist, you ignorantly spit on the sacred struggle of the past 200 years. You bite the hand that has fed you freedom, safety, and a voice.
In short, kiss my ass, you ignorant little jerks.”
do you ever get those pangs of anxiety where you feel like nobody likes you and nobody will ever like you and you will achieve nothing
AU where Dean and Cas are both cats.
Dean used to live in a house with a lovely family when he was younger, but a house fire took it all away. Dean was only able to carry out his little brother, who was nothing more than a kitten at the time, but his parents and owners were not so lucky.
So the brothers grew up in the streets, watching out for each other and, as far as Dean was concerned, needing nothing else. If Sammy would still occasionally throw longing looks in the direction of a warm home, Dean would try not to notice. They had survived fine on their own for years, traveling from street to street, town to town, without staying at one place for too long. So why would they want to change anything?
Then one day Sammy gets sick, not something life-threatening or dangerous, but he’s got a bad enough cold for Dean to decide they need to stick to one place for a bit, while his little brother regains his strength.
Dean’s out looking for food for the both of them when he first sees him through a window, a slim, black cat with — are those spots? They look like spots. Dean’s never seen a cat like him. His fur looks newly brushed and he’s half-turned away from Dean, so it comes as more of a surprise when the other cat finally takes notice of him, turning around to sit in front of his closed window. Now that he’s facing him, Dean can see that he was wrong — while his back is black, his front is an intriguing smokey silver. But most distracting of all are his eyes, which are of a richer shade of blue than Dean’s cat eyes are accustomed to seeing.