ok but at the start, they seriously told us with visuals who would pilot the lions, other than their designated pilots………………….
pidge and hunk are the only ones for green and yellow….
we don’t see a mini blue lion or learn anything about what it looks for in a paladin because lance interrupts, but we only get shots of allura and lance while the blue lion is being discussed….. allura goes on to pilot blue.
the red lion is in between keith and lance…. lance pilots red at the current time. this makes the shot of the black lion and who is shown with it very intriguing….
shiro is there, of course… then keith, his head completely in the frame. he’s now piloting black.then — barely there but there, nonetheless — there’s lance.
Malfoy looked up from his desk, quill poised over the parchment as his son hovered by the study door. Aware that he was frowning, Draco lifted his expression into something more neutral. He was vaguely aware of his own father always frowning whenever he’d tried to talk to him as a boy, and he didn’t want Scorpius to one day think the same about him.
“Come in, come in. Shut the door, you’ll let the heat out.”
The Greengrass estate was a crumbling ruin compared to Malfoy Manner, with only half the library and none of the artifacts Draco had spent the last few years archiving and putting safely away behind spelled glass. But for now it was home, chilly stone walls and all.
“Did you want something?”
“Yes.” Scorpius replied, pausing to tug at the hem of his dark shirt. There’s still a bruise under his eye, faded to be sure, but the mere presence of it made Draco’s heart skip a beat. When he’d seen Severus Potter crawling out of the rubble, face covered in blood and no sign of his own son, he’d known terror like no other.
And Draco Malfoy was intimately familiar with the machinations of terror. He’d been hugged by it once.
“Well,” he prompted, setting aside his work entirely and giving his full attention to his son. “What is it?”
“I want my friends to come visit.”
Draco blinked. Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t that. “Your…friends?”
“Albus Potter and Rosie Granger-Weasley. I would like them to come stay.”
Draco blinked again. Later he’d laugh—somewhat despairingly into a decanter of fire brandy—at the absurdity of the notion that his boy, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, was best friends with a Potter and the hybrid off-spring of a Granger Weasley, but the threat of impeding hysterics was quelled under the defiant gaze of his son, narrow chin lifting at some unspoken challenge.
“I see. For how long?”
“A…a week…maybe two…They’re going to France for the Quiditch Cup Primaries…” he glanced down and Draco spied the curled up parchment hidden up his sleeve. “So it wouldn’t be for long.”
Draco glanced at his desk, to the fireplace, then back to his son. “I don’t…”
I want my friends…friends…how often had Astoria lamented his lack of playmates as a child, how often had she fretted that Scorpius’ only interaction had been with adults—or books, or enchanting his own toys for someone to play with. And how quickly had Scorpius’ face crumpled at the utterance of two simple syllables.
“…know if two weeks would be wise, given your mother’s health. She’s still recovering from the move. But I shall discuss it with her, and see what can be done.”
Scorpius stilled, the beaming smile on his face reigned in to something calmer, even now, not wanting to get his hopes up too much. “Thank you. For what it’s worth, we will be good.”
Draco snorted at that, remembering the last time a Malfoy, a Potter and a Granger and a Weasley had been together at their age. “Somehow I doubt it. Go on off you go, go see what your mother is up to. She’s enjoying having you home.”
“And I am enjoying being here,” Scorpius replied, in that curiously courteous and stiff way of speaking he’d always had, even as an infant learning his words. “I am happy to be here, with you, and mother.”
“I’m…very glad to hear it.” Draco replied, unsure what else he was supposed to say to such an open admission said so politely like one was discussing the weather. “Now go on, off you go, I need to finish this manuscript before I lose the thought.”
“You’ll talk to mother though, wont you?” Scorpius pressed from his space by the door. “You’ll ask…”
“Yes, yes.” Draco waved a hand, “I’ll ask if the Potter spawn can come stay with us. Just for a little bit. To say thank you for…everything.”
Reassured, Scorpius left, closing the door behind himself with a firm click.
Draco waited several more moments, counting to a hundred before opening up the top desk of his drawer and pulling out his correspondence folder, flipping through them until he found the appropriate manila envelope, writing the address of the Ministry Neatly to the front.
Clearing his throat politely, he composed himself, then tapped it to life with his wand.
“Hello Potter,” he spat with a vicious familiar glee, unable to keep from laughing, “I’m not sure which one of us is going to be more surprised by this turn of events, but I swear to gods if you break my son’s heart by saying no, I will personally send you a red Howler on the hour every hour till the day one of us dies. Now, about dates, the last week in June works well for us…”
So I think it’s time this fandom had a sit-down and talked some things out. Today’s topic: ableism. Before all of y’all start jumping on me and dismissing me and trying to say I have no right to talk about this, let me tell you a bit about myself.
I was born with spina bifida. For those of you that don’t know that is, it’s when a baby’s spinal chord and nerves don’t develop properly. I had my first surgery to help this condition when I was eight days old. The excess amount of scar tissue in my lower back had begun to wrap around my spinal chord, which for obvious reasons is dangerous. I had the same surgery when I was four years old, and that’s when my life changed forever. I’d been able to walk before using a leg brace, but due to a mistake by the surgeon, my left leg was left paralyzed. I was a normal (and I hate using the word normal here, normal is an absolutely useless construct of society, but for lack of a better word at the moment, bear with me) kid, mobile and able to move around as I pleased, and then I couldn’t. I’ve been using a wheelchair since then. I’m not telling you guys this because I want pity. I don’t. I’ve accepted it as part of my life, and I love myself just the way I am. This little explanation is here so you guys can understand exactly where I’m coming from when you read the rest of this post. So with all this in mind, here goes my not-so-little rant.
DISCLAIMER: I will be calling people out in this post and tagging them because I am done. 1000%, completely fucking done with this fandom. And if this causes a shitstorm, fuck it, because this needs to be said and this fandom needs to learn to stop being hypocritical pieces of crap.
I love these books. I love Sarah’s writing in general, and I would read literally anything she wrote. These books, Aelin’s story, Feyre’s story, are so important to me. I don’t have words to describe how much they mean to me. I love talking about them and healthy and constructive conversations about them. And some of the jokes that have been made by the fandom are some of favorites. I’ve made some of them myself. I’ll joke alongside all of you about wingspans and gold nightgowns for as long as you want.
I want to make something perfectly clear: this rant is in no way a reflection of my thoughts about her books. This post is exclusively about the fandom’s disgusting behavior.
So let’s start with this post that I saw earlier.
Disability is not kinky.
For those of you that can’t understand that, let me repeat it.
Disability is not kinky.
DISABILITY. IS. NOT. KINKY.
This whole post is horrifyingly ableist. And before you guys start claiming that “I have disabled relatives, I can’t be ableist!” (@rowan-stole-my-heart, I’m looking at you. Remember that conversation last year? Nice to know you’re still disgusting), that’s like saying “I have African-American friends, therefore I can’t be racist!”, which is such an inherently flawed line of arguing that it would require a whole other post to address, so I’ll just say don’t try it. I can’t even begin to fathom the mental process all of these people went through to think that this was even remotely acceptable in any way, shape, or form, so let me break this down and explain to you why this isn’t.
This, my horrifyingly inconsiderate friends, is a form of fetishism. According to the Merriam-Webster dictionary, fetishism is the pathological displacement of erotic interest and satisfaction to a fetish. Now that you know what that is, let’s move on.
This whole fandom has been complaining about a lack of diversity in Sarah’s books since I joined the fandom. Diversity doesn’t just mean POC, which is exactly what this fandom conveniently forgets. Diversity includes POC, people with mental illness, people with physical disability, LGBT+ people, and so much more. And when Sarah finally adds someone who embodies a slice of that diversity, you all have the gall to reduce his situation to sex jokes. All I can say is how dare you.How dare you reduce someone’s life and reality to a kink, to something to be made fun of, to something that spices up your dash and makes it NSFW just because you wanted to make fun of a book cover you probably weren’t satisfied with. In doing so you are insulting the thousands upon thousands of people that are in the same situation. You’re reducing them – reducing me – to a fantasy that you can use and then dismiss the next moment, without regard for anyone’s feelings. Do you have any idea how difficult of a topic sex is for people with disabilities? We are laughed at for wanting sex. Our anxiety when it comes to that is ten times that of any able-bodied person, simply because we don’t fit into the box that society wants to shove everyone into. And you’re making it that much worse because you have the audacity to think the fact that someone can’t move their legs is funny.
It hurts. Reading that post hurt like hell. Because in your eyes – in society’s eyes – people like me aren’t human. We’re just something to ride, right? Yeah, I didn’t miss that little gem of a comment, @readinglikewildfire.
And because I know this is coming, no, Chaol isn’t just a character.
But you know what, I get it. It’s just sex, right? A small joke made, no harm done.
You’re perpetuating yet another harmful concept cooked up by a disgustingly ableist society. Sorry, but your privilege and utter ignorance are showing. I will concede a bit and agree that we can treat fiction for what it is – something that isn’t real – up to a certain point. But you guys just crossed a line. For those of you saying that you feel guilty for laughing, you absolutely fucking should, because this shit isn’t funny.
The fact is if that post had been making fun of race or mental illness, then the fandom would have ripped these people to shreds and they would have been reported many, many times over. But it’s not, and instead I can count on my fingers the number of people that stood up to say this was wrong, because it’s just another wheelchair joke, right? Who cares? To those that did, I thank you from the bottom of my heart, especially @throne-of-omg-the-feels and @midnight-wonder. It’s nice to know there’s still some hope for humanity left. And to @nerdperson524, I agree with you. People do need a laugh, even those that live their lives stuck in chairs. But that post? It’s downright offensive.
So that’s it. I’m done blowing things out of proportion, as some of you will say. If you think I should have approached you privately and messaged you about this instead of publicly calling you out, then maybe, just maybe, you shouldn’t have PUBLICLY insulted mocked degraded an entire subset of the human population. And maybe that makes me a bad person. It certainly means I’m not being the bigger person. And I could honestly care less. I am tired. So sick and tired of constantly being the bigger person, of just staying quiet when I see things like this because what’s the use? The entire world is filled with this shit and it’s not like I can fight every time I see this kind of injustice. Nothing’s going to change, no matter what I do. But this? This is where I draw the line. Congratulations.
SO like, in my heart Harry is Ernest’s fave and he was absolutely obsessed with his hair and loved that they matched. SO he’s devastated when H cuts his. Think that clip from 1dday where the kid said he didn’t like harry’s clothes and he poorly pretended to laugh it off while obviously being deeply insulted. That sh*t is my jam.