he's spoken

It started when, in his distress and desire to escape the Manor, his mother, and everything magical, Draco had started taking frequent, and increasingly random trips into Muggle London. At first, it was absolutely terrifying. He could write a comedy of errors on all his mishaps and faux pas.  But then, it became a thing that he did, just for his enjoyment. He’s never spoken to anyone about it, not even Greg.

On Friday nights he goes to the same gay club he practically stumbled into once when he was bored and looking for something to do. The first time he was there, he was overwhelmed. He didn’t know places existed where men like him could simply get drunk and fuck each other. He didn’t know about strobe lights, or DJs. He didn’t know how easy it was to get fucked. But he learned pretty fast.

On Wednesdays he goes to IKEA. He has no idea why, just that the place fascinates him. On Sundays he goes to the park. Any park. He wanders. He sits. He looks. Muggles still fascinate him. Occasionally they still frighten him. Not that he’d admit that to anyone.’
—  Just One of Those Things by Kedavranox

fatale-distraction  asked:

Fireplace: Writing wants, must have, must know, / is flesh, blood, and bone, / proof we are not made to be alone. (The Thing Written, Stanley Moss) Solavellan <3

Thank you @fatale-distraction and @ofclanlavellan and one other person gave me this prompt, but tumblr ate your name xD for @dadrunkwriting

Pairing: Solavellan

Prompt: Writing wants, must have, must know, / is flesh, blood, and bone, / proof we are not made to be alone. (The Thing Written, Stanley Moss) 

title: writing wants flesh

“How can they not expect my animosity?” She spat, rolling away from him and clutching her arms around her like a feral creature priming for the pounce.

Solas tried to keep from looking as stunned as he felt. Her change in demeanor had been abrupt - he had spoken the suggestion gently, meaning only to help prepare her for the meeting with the Northern Orlesian countrymen the following morning.

He frowned, opened his mouth to speak, and then reconsidered. Instead, he got his legs under him and stood to go.

“Your anger is reasonable,” he admitted, if with just a hint of reprobation.

And it was his surrender that prevailed upon her.

“Only… No, only… they’d be fools to expect anything else, wouldn’t they?” Pangara’s tone turned, now strangely pleading - an unusual desperation in it. “Josie has said we’re hardly more than myth to them. She told me some of them even speak as though we’re some long-dead people - a people they obliterated on the plains of Halamshiral.”

He should leave her with her righteous anger and with her convictions.

But had he ever been a man with that discretion?

“Think of what you represent, lethallin. Think of your position.” He needn’t remind her - nothing but her position had been consuming her for weeks, and he saw how the edges of it had already started to eat away at the parts of her that she called ‘herself.’ He had seen her disappearing. He’d fretted over what he had done to her, to her spirit, by giving her this burden.

She sneered and looked away from him. Taking up the poker - an iron rod topped with the roaring head of a griffon, some artifact of a long-gone age - she tended the fire with ferocious energy. The doors to the balcony were open. The fire complained; it sparked to be mussed and adjusted, the thick scent of pine burning off the bark. He paced to the desk and the bookshelves fat and dusty with their tomes, thinking of how young she was.

He thought of himself, and of the fireplace in this chamber roaring under a blast of his magic - furious, grieving - in an age the dust of which had long been consumed by blood-hungry stars.

Skyhold had survived worse tempers, he thought, wryly, as she flung the iron against the side of the fireplace. It was an unusual performance of pique. The iron clanged and clattered to the stone floor.

He heard her release a slow, intentional breath.

“I’m sorry if that startled you,” she said. And then she groaned, crouching back on her heels.

He picked a volume from the top shelf. “Better to get it out of your system now, undoubtedly.” He smiled softly when she shook her head, and he flipped through the pages. This volume had been added at some point in his centuries of sleep. He did not recognize it. “I know you are skilled at withholding your emotions. I had only mentioned it as a matter of good counsel. That you feel comfortable showing your frustration…” He shrugged. “As long as the poker does not come flying over here to crack me open.”

She gave a pained laugh. “It was childish.” And then she looked at the book in his hand, and looked away.

He brought it back over to where she held her knees against her chest, rolling her weight back and forth from her toes to her heels. He sat in the chair behind her, perched on the edge of the goatskin seat, leaning forward and pressing his toes into the warm fur of the rug.

“Are you familiar with the work?” He asked.

She shook her head, shrugged.

“Ah. This appears to be poetry. Exalted Age, if my conversations with Varric lend me any expertise on the subject. The obsession with shape verse serves as some clue. Although, the form’s popularity continued into the Steel Age. Remarkable condition. See, here, this one is shaped as a tower.”

She shifted closer to him, eyes scanning the whole of the page before she nodded.

“And this,” he continued, turning the page, “I believe is meant to make the shape of a bonfire. This tome is quite curious.”

“They aren’t good pictures,” she noted, and by her tone he knew her nervousness at being confronted in this way.

“This work is by one that the regime at the time would have called, “maleficarum.” In the Fade, I have watched the monstrous burning times: an empress wild with her rule, whose pining brought her brother to her bedroom. I’ve seen the spirits reenact the horrors of those smoke-fogged nights, when mage-mothers would sheath their mouths with cotton. That this work survived? And that it lives here? It is most remarkable.”

She smiled at him oddly. “I’ve told Dorian he can take all these to the rotunda if he wants.”

Their eyes met. He held the book and everything he’d denied her - tried to tell himself it was the Dalish, it was the Orlesians, it was the years of slavery under Tevinter that had taken this from her. And in the cities of Elvhenan, in those places of learning, had not reading been considered tedious when an easy lock of memories could be imbued within the flattened timber just as well?

But he had taken this from her. For all her learning, for all she carried fierce within her - she did not have this. Or, what she had of it was piecemeal and insufficient, and he had heard her crying - the sounds ugly and panicked - in private after the Commander had first asked for her reports. He had written them for her. It had been a silent agreement under the pretense, at first, of knowing how little time she had to bother with such trifles. He had slipped them beneath her door to pass on. He’d adopted a rougher hand to mimic her; he had hoped that the choice would not offend.

They’d never spoken of it.

And now there was so little pretense left between them.

A danger in itself.

The light of the fire was golden; the wintry night broken by this memory of summer, fluttering a heat into the chamber that was part fire, part her closeness at his knee.

“Why don’t you just read it to me,” she sighed, finally.

“If I might speak the words with you,” he said, carefully, “would you be opposed?”

Pangara put her hands over his hands and looked down at the book. A twist of sore rage he caught in her eyes and then… a thing he had not wanted to, had not meant to, elicit. Defeat.

“If this is what will make you stay tonight,” she lowered her lips to the insides of his wrists. She pressed a kiss to right and left - and his whole body plummeted into chills and shuddering yearning. As he quelled these palpitations, she eased herself up and onto his lap, taking the book from his loose grip and raising it to her gaze. She frowned at the first stanza. “Protect the flame…”

“Incendiary.”

“Incendiary, which remembers my fair Lad and Son. A…”

“A pyre. The spelling is archaic - ”

“Pyre of the souls. A pyre of the souls crown-reaching…”

The night ended with them both laid out on the pelt in front of the fireplace. She practiced the shapes of letters on his back and he guessed at each. Her touch flickered against him again, and again - and she spelled his name, and her name, and her clan’s name, and the names of everyone they knew and everywhere they’d been on his body. And sometimes he pretended to not know: “S-E-R…. The title of a noble, perhaps?” And she snorted and then spelled names he’d never heard before. And that was how she introduced him to her family, really - letters traced against his back, her loved ones pressing on his shoulders.

anonymous asked:

Do you have any idea if Chris is officially confirmed for season 3? His character gets so much unwarranted hate and it makes me sad. You only need to look at how olicity was handled to see how these show runners will bulldoze good, narratively sound stories to appease the vocal hate in the fandom. I'm worried! Supergirl would not be the same without his character!

i don’t know if it would count as official but all signs are pointing to mon-el in season 3:

  • he is a series regular and apparently a standard series regular contract is 3 years
  • he has spoken in a interview from january about mon-el’s arc towards being a hero going into next season
  • he’s dating the lead actress so from that alone i don’t think he’s going anywhere soon
  • general audience loves him and it’s just a vocal bunch on social media who trash him
  • Dad: You have to admire [character who is a fictional nazi]
  • Me: I really don't
  • Me: he deserves all his suffering
  • Dad: [as if I hadn't spoken] he's a real serious guy

anonymous asked:

For the school prompts can you do the school lockdown crammed under the desk one for JaredxEvan please and thank you?

Enjoy!

~

Evan panicked when the school announced a practice lockdown. Not only that but he was stuck in the same room as Jared Kleinman. He hadn’t spoken to Jared in three weeks due to fighting, and now here they were shoved under  desk in the dark. There was no space at all, Evan could feel Jared’s body heat and he was extremely nervous.

“Are we going to ever talk about what happened?” Jared whispered fiercely. His eyes were adjusting to dark and he could finally make out the outlining of Evan’s body. He could also see the boy shaking his head. “Evan, look I want to talk about it right now,” Jared’s hushed tone only made the situation worse.

“Now is not the time Jared okay?” Evan mumbled. Both of their heads snapped up, almost bumping the desk, when the door handle jiggled. They both held their breath even though they knew it was just a teacher. “Evan, I’m sorry about the fights, it was dumb,” Jared whispered his apology. Evan shook his head, he was not talking about this crammed under a desk.

“Evan please,” Jared sighed. Evan finally looked towards Jared. He could make out the shape of Jared and now he really didn’t want to talk about anything. “Look we can forget about our falling a-part f-family f-friendship,” Evan whispered back to him. Jared shot Evan an exasperated look through the darkness. The limited space between them was horrible, they both wanted to just jump away from each other.

“Evan, I don’t want to keep fighting about being friends and all that bullshit, I really fucking like you Evan, like a lot,” Jared admitted quietly. Evan turned his head towards Jared, confused by his words. “W-what do you mean?” Evan whispered. “I thought you ha-hated me, were just f-family friends,” 

“C’mon Evan, I just say that shit to push away my fucking feelings,” Jared whispered honestly. Evan’s mind exploded, why was Jared choosing now of all times to admit this. “This lockdown dr-drill i-is tak-taking too long,” Evan muttered, looking away from Jared. Jared just put his head in his hands a made small noise, he needed his space but they were stuck under this goddamn desk.

“Evan…” Jared whispered. Evan shook his head and took Jared’s hand, not sure if it was to calm them both down or not. Jared sucked in a quiet breath, not daring to look at Evan. “A-a loc-lockdown d-drill i-is not a go-good place to tal-talk about ou-our feelings,” Jared’s head turned, almost hitting the desk, when Evan said ‘our’.

“So-so when this i-is ov-over we-we can talk then,” Evan told him. Jared nodded, maybe a lockdown drill wasn’t the best place to have a conversation like this but hey at least it got him somewhere. 

Leap Of Faith - Thirteen

The rest of the morning had been spent talking with Seph and playing chess in the apartment. Spencer couldn’t help but feel excited about his plan to help her with her business. The contact he’d spoken with had been genuinely excited about the designs and depending on what happened in three days, this could have a huge impact and hopefully be enough for Seph to get the business started.

He’d been surprised to hear her singing, her voice not at all what he’d expected from talking to her. Her speaking voice changed dramatically depending on what she was talking about. Spencer had picked up that when she was happy, it was more bubbly, more tone and variance to it. If she was flirting or being sarcastic, it was a drier tone, more dead pan and drawn out, lazy sounding almost. And if she was sad or contemplative, it was quiet and soft, and she sounded very young and somehow more English. Her singing voice wasn’t like any of sounds he’d heard coming from her, it was strong and clear, powerful yet sweet. He’d asked her before they set about playing chess what plays she’d been in and who she’d played. And he hadn’t been surprised to discover that she’d had roles like Eponine and Elphaba in her schools productions, her voice clearly being able to handle the songs. The Flyleaf song had shocked him though. He wasn’t familiar with the song, and when it kicked in and he’d heard the scream, he’d jumped a little, wondering how someone so small could make that noise. She’d told him that it hurt, and that she could no longer do it, and he wasn’t surprised.

He’d messaged Penelope asking for a decent bar than ran open mic nights, her immediately pestering him for more information. When he’d told her it was for Seph, her immediate response had been, “The Damned Dead Queen sings too? Oh my sweet sweet genius, I am definitely coming to see that.” He wasn’t sure how Seph would feel about that piece of information, but he was sure he’d work something out.

Penelope messaged him again a few hours later, giving him the name of a bar that had an open mic night tomorrow and had a spot left. They had to go sign up in person though.

Eating a quick lunch together, they got ready and headed back out into the city. The bar was a fair few blocks away, taking them a good twenty five minutes to walk there.
They talked as they walked learning more things about each other and discovering that they had a similar taste in TV shows and films. Seph loved movies, all movies, and given her connections she’d been to a fair few film festivals, including Cannes. Spencer was jealous and expressed his feelings so, Seph laughing.

“I’ll tell you what, I’ll take you next year okay?”

Realising what she’d said a few seconds later, she clamped her hand over her mouth.

“Seph, it’s okay you know. You can make plans for the future.” He stopped in the street and tugged her hand away from her mouth, finding the gesture somewhat intimate in a way.

“But it’s a future I haven’t decided if I’m living yet…. ” she whispered quietly, continuing to walk on.

“You don’t have to decide yet, but make plans. Give yourself something to look forward to. Like Machu Picchu. We can do that together and we can do Cannes together, and you can take me to England to eat bacon.” He caught up with her, catching a look at her face and seeing her mouth set in a thin line, her eyes glazed over and her thoughts now somewhere else.

“I’m sorry,” he said gently, pulling her to the side of the pavement. They were at their destination although Seph had nearly walked past it.

She looked down at the ground for a moment, briefly closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, “It’s okay. Are we here?”

“Yep. Garcia says this is the place… Although, she erm… wants to come and watch.”

Seph shrugged her shoulders, “That doesn’t bother me. I’ve asked Helen to send a bag for her as well seeing as she actually follows my blog and knows the brand. So I need to see her again anyway.”

“You realise if she comes, she’ll end up dragging the rest of the team with her right?”

“Your Supervisor and Rossi will be discreet about who I am, I’m sure. And Agent Hotchner promised he wouldn’t repeat my conversation with him, unless it was with a coroner.”

“They’d be discreet. But Garcia is an Internet whiz….. She’ll have discovered who you actually are by now, now that she’s met you and knows you run that site.”

“Ah…. Okay. Well….. Hmmmm. Okay.”

“Pen can be discreet too if she has too.”

“Alright, let’s go sign me up.”

They entered the bar together, seeing that it was quite busy already even though it was only mid afternoon. They went straight to the bar, a young girl in a black polo shirt bearing the bars name coming over to greet you.

“Hi! What can I get you?” she asked, a grin plastered on her face.

“My friend called up earlier, has the spot for the open mic night tomorrow been filled?” Spencer spoke to her, leaning over the bar slightly to talk to her.

“Are you Penny’s friends?” the girl responded, grabbing a notepad from behind the bar.

“Er yes, we are.”

“She gave me a name on the phone…. Persephone Dawn. I presume that’s you?” she looked at Seph quizzically. Seph nodded.

“Awesome, great bag by the way.” She nodded to Seph’s bag where she’d placed it on the bar. “So I told Penny that y'all just needed to come down, and play us something first. We kinda pride ourselves on showcasing the best undiscovered artists.”

“I have to play for you now? Like live?” anxiety suddenly coated Persephone voice.

“We prefer live yes, just because recordings can be doctored. We’ll go into the back room, you don’t have to do it out here. I’m Ariadne by the way. I’m the entertainment manager here at The Blue Spark. Do you have something you can sing for me?”

“Erm…. I think so yes.” Spencer noticed a slight increase to Seph’s breathing, she was nervous.

“Okay, come round to the back,” Ariadne signalled to a door to the side of the bar, yelling to one of her colleagues to cover her. Seph walked around looking behind her to make sure Spencer was following her. He was.

She walked through the door, meeting Ariadne in the hallway and following her down the corridor and into a store room.

“Do you need any music? Something to accompany yourself with?” she asked her.

“Do you have a piano, or keyboard?” Seph looked around the room to see what she could spot.

“We have a keyboard, let me grab it and set it up.” She disappeared from the room for a few minutes.

“You okay?” Reid placed a hand on her shoulder, feeling how tense she was all of a sudden.

“Yeah…. It’s just been a while since I’ve actually done this in front of anyone.”

“Just breathe okay. I’ve heard you, you’ve got a fantastic voice,” Spencer rubbed her shoulder slightly, watching her lean into his grip and roll her neck, trying to relieve some of the tension.

Ariadne returned a few minutes later carrying a huge electric keyboard. She placed it on some crates and dragged them over to Seph, stronger than she looked. Disappearing again, she returned with an extension cord and plugged the instrument on.

“Sorry, most people bring their own instruments. We have this and a few guitars lying around for those who don’t realise they need to audition for us.”

“Yeah, I didn’t realise.. Sorry.”

“It’s fine… So, whenever you’re ready.”
Ariadne perched on another crate across the small room and Spencer stepped away too.
He watched as Seph ran her long fingers over the keys, testing them out first, before starting to form a melody, an opening to a song he didn’t recognise.

Clearing her throat, her eyes closed, she began to sing.

“I push all my problems to the back of my mind
Then they surface in my dreams, they come alive
I sweep all my issues to somewhere I can’t find
In hope that I’ll forget but there’s just so many times
Why can’t I be strong and just confront all my fears?
When my fear is hurting you by being sincere
But how many more days can I run? How many years?
Emotions flooding and now it’s all seeming so clear
Crying for no reason, feel the tears roll down
I felt strong but am I breaking now?
Crying for no reason ‘cause I buried it deep
I made promises I could not keep
‘Cause I never faced all the pain I caused
Now the pain is hitting me full force”

Spencer definitely didn’t recognise the song, wondering if it was one she’d written herself.

“Katy B, right? I love her…… My friend from London told me about her a few years ago,” Ariadne grinned at Seph.

Obviously not an original song, just an artist Reid hadn’t heard before. Very interesting song choice though. But more importantly, he wanted to know if she’d got the gig.

“Okay! You go on at ten tomorrow. You need four songs, preferably a mix. If you have backing music then you can drop it in tomorrow and we’ll check it plays. If you need instruments and don’t have your own with you then you can use ours. We have a dressing room too if you want to change here. Tables fill up by seven though, so if you have friends wanting to come then tell them to get here early okay.”

“Erm….. Erm…. ”

“Hun relax, you’ve got a great voice. They’ll love you okay. Everyone’s gotta start somewhere right. Paramore played here once when they were starting out, so did John Mayer.”

“Okay. Thanks. We’ll erm.. see you tomorrow,“ Seph stood and started leading Spencer to the door, stopping before she exited.

“Ariadne….. Is there a music shop that sells instruments anywhere nearby? I need to practice and I don’t have anything with me. I need somewhere I can get a keyboard and an acoustic guitar”

Ariadne thought for a moment, wrinkling her brow.

“All the other players tomorrow have their own instruments…. You’re friends of Penny’s and she’s a good friend of mine. You can take ours okay.”

Persephone looked taken aback, “Are you sure?”

“Yep yep… It’s fine. I know Penny’s good for it. I’ll grab the guitar for you now, just unplug the keyboard.”

She left the room again and Spencer unplugged the instrument, wrapping the cord around it and tucking it under his arm.

“We’ll get a cab home okay. I need to practice. And think of four songs.”

He nodded at Seph and Ariadne returned, handing Seph a guitar case.

“I look forward to seeing you again Persephone Dawn. And I’m interested to see what songs you choose.”

Spencer was too.

Why Otabek is the best.

Wasn’t there a saying that the people who are the most quiet notice the most/has the loudest thoughts?

Well in this case, meet Otabek.

Otabek is a character genuinely misunderstood by a lot of characters but adored by the fandom. 

Here, we have this:

Originally posted by rouge-cerise

He takes off his sunglasses when he is talking to people, even when that person is JJ (who no character really likes all that much tbh). This is so respectful. He removes his glasses and makes eye contact when he is spoken to, even if he is just declining a simple offer. He’s badass, but he’s very, very polite. 

At 18 years old and being the NATIONAL HERO of his country, he’s still very, very humble.

He positions his medal so that the media can get an easy shot of him. He’s making their lives easier. He’s looking out for them! And even though he just won gold, he doesn’t show any signs of being cocky. He simply, once again, makes solid eye contact with the camera, showing respect/care. 

We have him here again, giving the photographers a clear shot of him; looking straight into the camera. He’s standing upright, being very, very proper. Furthermore, I find it so sweet that he’d rather cover up his medal and show his country’s flag instead! He truly puts his country’s pride above his own and I find that beautiful. 

However, sometimes his elegant etiquette is misinterpreted as being perhaps too archaic for this generation of bubbly, emotional, and loud skating talents. 

(Notice that his entire body is facing towards the person speaking to him, even though he later verbally expressed no interest in hanging around JJ.)

And even after JJ mocks him, he doesn’t reply or shoot back some snarky remark. 

Instead, he politely declines JJ’s request in the most fucking formal way possible. Not breaking eye contact. What even.

Anyways, let’s move onto his adorable interest in Yuri. After meeting perhaps his inspiration ever, he gets called an asshole. BY HIS MUSE. BY HIS INSPIRATION. PROBABLY HIS ROLE MODEL.

What does he do? Otabae remains silent and simply walks away. He’s unconfrontational, unlike Yuri, but his silence is demanding.

And guess what, it immediately piques Yurio’s interest.

In the video, Yurio’s eyes trail after Otabek. Now Yurio’s curious about him.

Yurio has a weird tendency to look at Otabek this way. It’s almost as if Yurio somehwat reveres his presence. It makes sense because I’ve done a past meta on why Otabek is probably everything Yurio wants to be/likes (physically at least).

I think someone’s mentioned this before but Otabek arrives WAY TO COINCIDENTALLY FOR IT TO BE AN ACCIDENT. Like it or not, Otabek has always planned to talk to Yurio. Hell, he was probably driving around to try and find him…and of course, saves him instead.

AGAIN, OTABEK REMOVES HIS GLASSES WHEN HE’S TALKING TO SOMEONE. THIS BOY IS SO GENTLEMANLY.

And guess what? This cutie pie tosses YURIO a helmet. Because safety is cool kids.


TDLR: Otabek is fucking bomb.

3

The Baltimore police officer who shot Curtis Jamal Deal “had it out for him,” family says

  • Baltimore officials identified the 18-year-old city resident who was shot and killed by police on Tuesday as Curtis Jamal Deal, the Baltimore Sun reported.
  • Local community activist Kwame Rose, who was active in 2015 protests surrounding Freddie Gray’s death, tweeted that he’d spoken to Deal’s family and friends about the teen’s prior encounters with the yet-to-be identified officer who killed him.
  • The officer may have “had it out” for Deal, Rose tweeted. Read more (2/19/17 1:06 PM)

follow @the-movemnt

Jefferson was actually v soft-spoken. He didn’t like speaking in front of crowds, but when he did, no one could ever hear him and by the end of his speech no one even knew what he said. THEN you look at Daveed Diggs,,

Originally posted by alexander-hamiltunes

PSA for fellow binder-wearers *IMPORTANT*

So I was recently talking to my friend and we were talking about binding and he told me he was starting to experience chest pain because he’s been wearing his binder Every Day for /Months/. This obviously concerned me because you are NOT SUPPOSED TO BIND THAT OFTEN. IT IS A SERIOUS DANGER TO YOUR PHYSICAL HEALTH. When I told him this and that he should only really bind in public, he simply shrugged it off and said he was too dysphoric not to wear it constantly.
Guys, I get it. As a dude who binds myself, I know how nice it can be to have a flat chest, but it is not worth the risk. Honestly, you can only bind for 8 CONSECUTIVE HOURS at a time, so your body has a chance to heal and take a break.
For instance, I rarely, if at all, bind when I’m at home. Not only do my parents not know about my identity, but also it’s a lot more comfortable to wear my tighter sports bra than to worry about how long I’ve been binding and to make sure I’m stretching out my back muscles (IT IS REALLY IMPORTANT TO STRETCH YOUR BACK EVERY COUPLE HOURS WHEN BINDING). Now I know for some, the dysphoria is too much to handle, but your health is more important. I know a guy that bound so often that he ended up breaking a couple ribs, and he was using an actual binder, not tape or bandages or anything. Because of the injury, he can never bind again.
Basically, what I’m trying to say, is that binding isn’t meant to be used as a Constant curve to dysphoria. It literally is squeezing your torso to press down your breasts in a way that isn’t natural. If done right, you should have minimal to no side effects at all, but only if Done Right. If you’re just hanging out at home or with people you’re comfortable with, just wear a tight sports bra and a loose shirt. No one has ever broken a rib by doing something like that because they’re actually built to be worn 24+ hours at a time and aren’t putting your body at risk.
Be safe, y'all. Please drop an ask in my inbox if you have any questions or concerns and send to anyone you think needs this information.

Can we go back to romanticizing john green books? Like he is actually the chillest dude and other than being pretentious he hasnt done any bad shit.
Like him and his brother spend so much of their time actively trying to make the world a better place and we take this dude and make him the worst person online like seriously wtf?
He has spoken up about dozens of issues including environmental issues, world health, the treatment of women and he and his brother have a charity that many times a year they actively spend time and effort to raise awareness to our hundreds of issues as a planet.
Like fuck man he is a real good dude and all you need to do to see that is google his name and watch a few videos but u judge people off memes you read on the internet instead of making your own opinion

even saw isak on the first day of school and since he was always strategically placed in isak’s line of sight when isak started noticing him, even probably followed him around and sat close to him whenever he could. this means that he saw all the little things no one else noticed. he saw isak yawning and scratching his nose when it was too damn early for anyone to be fully awake. he saw isak stretch his arms above his head and make that high pitched whiny noise. he saw isak hum the postman pat theme song while waiting for the boy squad to show up at lunch. he saw isak struggle with his locker and completely destroy his books every single day. he saw all these stupid things people do when they think no one’s looking and he was completely mesmerized by it

Mike Pence deserved what he got at the Hamilton performance

The Hamilton cast handled the situation extremely well, I think that should be stated first.

It was the audience that decided to boo him, and whether or not you agree with their decision doesn’t matter to me, as long as you understand that the cast is not at fault here.

Now, Pence has said horrible things about LGBT+ youth, people of color, women, muslims, and immigrants. So his decision to attend a show about an immigrant with a cast of color some of whom are also part of the LGBT+ community was his choice. What did he expect after the things he has said? If you hit someone, you can’t expect to not be hit back. And that is what happened at the performance. It was backlash for his vile statements.

I will never understand those who defend him. I will never understand those who respect him after the hurtful words he has spoken. But I respect the cast of Hamilton for the way they handled everything.

I don’t think I’ll ever be over the blood donation scene in Fury Road. The way Furiosa’s dying, and she uses her last moments of consciousness to tell Max “get them home.” That she, ferocious warrior, imperator, stolen child, is, in her last moments of life, so loved, and so full of love and the selfless need to protect these women and get them home. The way Max’s hands are huge, rough and dirty - hands that have snapped necks and fired guns - but they are so gentle when he cradles her. The way he mutters “I’m so sorry, sorry” every time he has to hurt her to make it better. That he’s barely spoken all film but now he’s feverishly muttering to her, “there you go, okay” and stringing together as many syllables as he can muster because the silence is just unbearable. That his body has been abused and exploited and drained of blood without his consent so many times, but now at last he’s free, he has a choice and he chooses to give her his blood. The way his name - his identity - was the last thing he could call his own, but as he holds her in his arms and waits for his blood to run into her and fill her with life again, as he finally fixes what’s broken, he goes, here, you can have it, Max. My name is Max. That’s my name. And it’s yours. 

Because before he met her, he was a man reduced to a single instinct: survive. He was a muzzled animal, a raging feral, and treated as such. But then he got caught up in their escape and she gave him the tools to free himself. She asks him “what’s your name? What do I call you?” She treated him like a human being and in protecting and loving Furiosa and these abused women without asking for anything in return, he recovers his humanity, so of course, here, it’s yours, my name is Max, it’s the last thing I have and it belongs to you. 

It’s an extraordinarily beautiful scene visually too, and I honestly think it might be the most profound declaration of love that’s ever occurred in an action film.