When Professor McGonagall calls the name, “Black, Sirius,” a boy with dark hair and darker eyes emerges from the crowd of nervous first years. His back is straight, his head is high, but his eyes betray him–terror lurks behind his irises as the sorting hat is placed over his head and falls all the way over his nose.
The hat finds this boy’s mind to be full of the traditions and social niceties that come with a pureblood upbringing. There is a sense of arrogance, which sticks out, as though it has been implanted there–as though this boy has heard his family speak so highly of themselves for so long that he’s forced to believe it himself. But beyond that is a spark of rebellion, and the hat knows that if it were fed the right fuel, the fire that would ensue would be uncontrollable. The hat feels this boy’s own self-contempt; there is a deep aching to be free, so strong that it’s visceral.
The hat sees a stubbornness of the likes he has rarely seen.
A small, timid voice asks, “are you going to put me in Slytherin?” The voice says Slytherin as though it’s a poison that freezes the insides.
The hat only chuckles. It doesn’t say, “I didn’t even consider it.” Instead, it shouts to the Great Hall, “Gryffindor!” and watches as the dark haired boy walks to his new house table, with a look that is equal parts triumph, and fear.
“Lupin, Remus,” is a thin kid in robes that are a size too big. He has nervous ticks–he chews on his lower lip, and tugs at his sleeves; when he sits on the stool he can’t stop bouncing his legs.
“What have we here?” says the hat once it falls over the boy’s head. “I’ve never sorted a werewolf before.”
It’s amazing how quickly the boy’s thoughts turn cold. There’s a moment of anxiety, until he reasons out that no one in the Great Hall can hear what the hat is saying to him, and that anxiety is quickly filled by anger.
“Go on then,” the boy says briskly in his head. “Sort me into Ravenclaw, since I know you’re going to. I know I’m smart and bookish. The boys I met on the train even said so, when they saw me reading a muggle book.”
This boy is compassionate and mild-mannered usually, the hat sees, but his insides are burning. There’s a maturity that shouldn’t be there–as though every time his bones shift to make room for the monster, he ages along with them. The hat, feeling what this boy feels, notices dull pains in every corner of his body, where the wolf has scarred the skin, broken blood vessels, and cracked the joints. Along with the maturity there is a stoicism–this boy literally is always in pain, but he’d never say so; wouldn’t even hint.
“With an attitude like that?” the hat finally replies. “I think not.” And it feels the boy’s jolt of surprise when it belts out, “Gryffindor!”
“Pettigrew, Peter,” is a conundrum.
He is a mousy boy, with a lot of baby fat, and a slight tremble. But the hat can tell that there is much more to him than that.
There is an overwhelming sense of self-preservation, along with a tendency for hero-worship, and a need for acceptance. This is not a boy looking for power, however, this is a boy looking for survival. The hat contemplates Hufflepuff, but for all his passivity, this boy has an inkling of courage that the hat just can’t ignore.
“Tell me,” the hat decides to ask. “Where do you think you belong?”
“I met nice boys on the train,” says the boy. “They’re both in Gryffindor now. I think I’d like to be in Gryffindor too.”
The hat ponders this for a good long moment, before conceding and yelling, “Gryffindor!” because after all, the greatest mark of courage is the courage to ask for what you want.
The easiest sorting of the day comes from “Potter, James,” who struts up to the stool in a manner that looks somewhat ridiculous on an eleven year old.
The hat falls over the boy’s eyes and is hit by a rush of certainty; of expectation. The boy, not unlike Mr. Black, comes from a long line of purebloods, and there is a similar arrogance that lingers, but it’s less pronounced–it’s more natural. This is a boy that is sure of himself and his abilities, and also his moral convictions. The hat sees someone who stands for things strongly, and would die before seeing them taken.
He had thought he had seen the worst case of stubbornness in Mr. Black, but this boy could give him a run for his money. What a force of nature, the hat thinks to itself, those two would become should they ever decide to work together.
It takes approximately ten seconds for the hat the shout out, “Gryffindor!” once again, and it watches the boy jump down with a self-satisfied smirk.
The boy joins his house table, next to the other new additions, and they sit shoulder to shoulder, grinning at one another.
my issue with taylor swift: she does a lot of shit that seems revolutionary!!!! but when it all comes down to it, it’s always for her own personal gain. two examples: when she pulled her shit from streaming services (notably spotify) she said it was because it took away the value of music as an art form, when in reality, she wants people to not have free access to her music and in turn will have bigger album sales. she wants more money. and I think it was a selfish decision. and ass backwards because there’s probably millions of people with no other access to her music and she won’t let them have it because apparently 1.3 million album sales isn’t enough for her. second reason: whenever she talks about feminism it’s always in benefit of her and now to hear her be heralded as some sort of beacon of feminism makes me sick because she only mentions the word “feminism” when she needs it. she likes to use this clouded veil of girl power yeah! but in reality if she actually cared about feminism she would #1 drop lena fucking dunham immediately #2 speak about feminism other than times she thinks she “needs” it (like a gossip column article are you serious?) #3 research the concept of feminism more in-depth and gain a better understanding of what it means to be a feminist because i sincerely think she has no idea. she likes to call herself a feminist because it helps her image. she mentions feminism at the right times so that everyone will call her this feminist icon without putting in any of the time or research necessary and that pisses me off to no end. I always say this but the TAYLOR SWIFT trademark is so contrived her every move is so calculated and I can’t stand it. she’s so artificial and people fall for it left and right and it makes me want to scream
Your voice is nice
but I’ve never heard you whisper my name
at 2am when I’m a wreck
and I need your hug
You’ve never looked into my eyes
You don’t know all the ways
I could tell you my secrets
just by a simple look
I’m not a girl
I’m a universe
and you haven’t seen
even one of my stars
You’re never going to read this letter. Sorry. I have just enough alcohol in my system to write it, but not enough to send it.
I left you out of the letter to Bobby and Sam. Sorry for that, too. But they’re going to hate me for it, and I’m not sure I could stand you hating me as well. It’s a shitty move, but I’d rather leave you wondering instead. I’m selfish that way, and I’ve always been selfish about you.
You make me selfish, Cas. You make me want things. For me. Thanks for that, I guess. But also, screw you. Life’s a lot easier when you’re not living it for yourself.
I guess saying yes to Michael is some fucked up combination of living for myself and living for others. Save the world on my own terms, at least. Maybe by someone else’s hand, but fuck it. Besides, you guys deserve the world a lot more than I deserve it.
Cas, do what you want, but do good, man. Go back to heaven and give em hell. Stay on earth and help rebuild. You fought for free will, Mr. Comatose. Don’t forget to use it.
I would ask you to look after Bobby and Sam, but I know they don’t need no looking after. I would ask you to look after yourself, but I know you won’t do that either. Stupid dumb angel who cares too much. You’ll probably open up a puppy orphanage or something once things are settled down. (Name one after me, ok?)
I don’t give advice because I never follow advice given, but I’ll make an exception for you. Just think of it as me returning the favor.
Surround yourself with people you’d die for. But try not to die for them, because the feeling is probably mutual. See what I’m getting at? You probably don’t, and I can picture you frowning at the page you’re never going to read.
Then again, you surprise me a lot, so who knows. Maybe you know exactly what I’m saying. Again, sorry I suck at writing love letters.
Personally, my favourite German word is ‘Lebensgfährte’ which literally translates to ‘life companion’.
It’s a term used for a romantic partner which you aren’t married to, but are long enough togther to be considered more than ‘just’ a girl/boyfriend.
I like it because “partner” sounds so dry and referring to someone you’ve been together for 2 decades as a ‘girl/boyfrind’ doesnt really do them justice. But Lebensgefährte is perfect. Someone who’s accomanying you through all the tough times in life, someone who’s accomanying you to all of life’s adventures too. A companion for life, a Lebensgefährte.
Lily Evans didn’t unwittingly fall in love with James Potter -she was much too sharp for that- but she didn’t exactly jump head first into it, either. She sort of… wandered. Stumbled. Meandered, maybe. Eyes closed and trying not to think about it too much. She didn’t stride meaningfully towards it, but she didn’t up and run in the opposite direction.
In hindsight, she should have seen it coming sooner.
One day she was reluctantly laughing at his jokes and teasing him about his hair, and the next she was saving him seats at dinner and passing him notes in class and whispering secrets to him at 3am. She couldn’t remember when exactly they had acquired a million and one different inside jokes, but all of them made her laugh, and she was never quite sure how she’d ended up snuggled into his chest on the common room armchair, but she knew that it was comfy, and that she liked the smell of his shampoo.
It was quickly coming apparent that she liked James Potter a great deal more than she had intended to. She liked the sound of his laugh and the tiny mole beneath his left eye. She liked that he trusted his friends implicitly, and that in turn they did the same for him. She liked how his writing was untidy because his hand just couldn’t keep up with his brain, and she liked the way he was constantly fiddling with a quill or his wand or a stolen snitch. She liked the way he scrunched up his face just before he pushed his glasses up his nose, and she liked the way he flexed his fingers before he did magic.
It wasn’t until she found herself thinking that she liked the way his brow furrowed when he sneezed that she realised she was a goner.
Up until that point, she had seen all of the signs, but had simply elected to ignore them. And so here she was, completely and thoroughly in love with James Potter, and most worryingly of all; not all that concerned about it.
quick summary of dan phil and louise play obama llama
phil knees louise in the boob louise is very intimidating and talks very fast dan and louise are very loud and phil is very adorable phil still doesn’t understand what the sound barrier is dan calls phil (and louise) cute louise and phil don’t know how to high-five phil keeps looking at louise dan really seems to enjoy acting out stuff the little mermaid died in a fire and they all seem to be third-wheeling each other
I am learning that the most valuable gift you can give me is time.
Material possessions come and go. Make memories with me.
Let’s go for coffee and laugh off the mistakes of the past and talk about our dreams for the future. Let’s listen to music and sing along to our favourite songs. Let’s stare at the sky and find wonder at the vastness of this cosmos. Let’s wander bookstores and record stores and share our favourite books and albums and why we loved them so much. Let’s search for the best pizza or burger joint in town and make it our spot. Let’s get lost driving country roads at night.
Kendall is CONSTANTLY given shitty jazz dances and cheap costumes and as a result doesn’t win. This week she was given a beautiful solo with an interesting storyline and she nailed it and won first.
Chloe is usually given sub-par choreography with moves that aren’t up to snuff with what she’s capable of. When she’s given a unique solo that showcases all of her strengths, she nails it and wins first (aka Lucky Star, Silence).
Nia is always given odd costumes (I mean come on, a dog leash???) and choreography that’s holding her back. When she’s given an emotional routine like Goodbye Maya she nails it and wins first.
I know that the girls won’t always win first but the point I’m trying to make is when they’re given solos that showcase their strengths and individuality, THEY SUCCEED. I don’t care what you say, if you gave Maddie (just using her as an example bc she always gets great choreo) the choreography Paige had (like Ooh La La) she wouldn’t have won either. Choreography makes a difference, and so does costuming and themes! All of these girls deserve more chances to show what they can do. It’s not fair to give them shitty themes, choreo, and costumes. They deserve better!
This one shot is angsty but I try to leave a little hope at the end. I just listened to this song and it made me think of these two in a weird way and then this happened. :) SO, Yeah. Its a kind of current/future day run in. Enjoy.