it will be read



Hate is a hard thing to prove. Many are unwilling to recognize it in people with whom we share a country; far more are unwilling to recognize it in themselves. Hate can be brushed off, minimized: Some faceless bigots slinging slurs online might not seem like so much of an individual threat, but they start to look a little different in light of the news that Dylann Roof was motivated to slaughter nine black churchgoers in Charleston by “things he saw on the internet.”

Hate can also be discounted, excused: If one thinks that Matthew Shepard had bought or sold meth, then perhaps one could regard his brutal killing with a sense of inevitability rather than only anger and horror — the power of hate blunted by its victim’s failings. But no victim can be, or should be, a secular saint. In Trump’s America, the victims of hatred will not be martyrs, but complicated human beings, just like everybody else. And many will be targeted by acts of hatred that aren’t nearly as sensational as murder, but with burdens of proof just as high — or, potentially, higher.

The LGBT movement, like every other battle for civil rights, is not a simple, straightforward march toward liberation. In the coming years, as being labeled a racist or bigot is falsely equated with acting out of racism or bigotry, as evidence of hate and its terrible outcomes is clouded by self-interested, suspicion, and denial — it’s worth remembering that in 2016, love did not trump hate. Far from it. Hate in America is alive and well. And without at least attempting to recognize it, we have no hope of defeating it.

im doing a 3 word OC challenge on Instagram,, the words for this one were beanie + sharp teeth

Complicated Little Emotions- Part 1

Part 2 should be posted in the next couple of days. That’s where the direct sherlolly interactions will begin. Thanks for bearing with me, readers. ;))

The door to her flat shut, not even hard, but it still made Molly wince in pain. She stood there for a few moments, frozen with her arms crossed tightly over her middle as she felt heat pool in her face and pressure build throat. She could hardly breathe at first, and when her body finally insisted on air, the process became an agonizing combination of respiration and sobbing.

With her vision now horribly blurred, Molly marched down the hallway and into her bedroom. The force of her steps set Toby on alert and he jetted from the bed to hide underneath the armchair by her window. Which was fortunate for him, seeing as Molly was in no mood to be gentle with the bed linens.

She whipped the duvet and sheet from off the bed and tossed it on the floor, along with the throw blanket that hung on the footboard. She violently removed the pillow cases; all four regular ones and the two shams. Amongst sobs that were growing louder by the moment, she climbed onto the bed to tug the corners of the fitted sheets and mattress pad away from the mattress, sniffling as she finally balled them up and chucked them at the floor along with the rest of the items.

She collapsed then, atop her completely bare bed, curling up and weeping uncontrollably. How stupid she felt; utterly ridiculous and childish! Molly couldn’t even believe that she’d managed to convince herself that somehow things would be anything other than what they were this morning. How, in the moments that it took for her to make that decision the night before, did she conclude that things would somehow turn out well?

Molly lay there fifteen minutes later, spent from crying, staring blankly up at her ceiling. Toby felt it safe to join her and she absentmindedly scratched his fuzzy head and felt the soft rumbling of his purring against her side. It hurt so badly to lay there feeling like she did at that moment. The contrast to twelve short hours before was so very extreme. It really was too awful to dwell on. She decided that she really shouldn’t.

A few minutes later, Molly Hooper forced herself to get up, start the linens washing, get ready for work, and get on with her life.

Sherlock pulled up a chair and sat down across from his brother, both of their expressions weary, even three weeks after their lives completely changed. Mycroft dumped a file on the desk in front of Sherlock and smiled tightly.

“All loose ends officially tied then?” Sherlock questioned softly as he picked up the file.

“Yes, I should say so. Even Mummy and Daddy seem relatively at ease.” Mycroft sighed. “Largely thanks to you.”

The two brothers exchanged a look for a moment, both fully aware of the part that each of them had played, good and bad, and the way their lives would never be the same.

Mycroft drew a deep breath. “Oh and the search was done, as you requested. During the work day of course, so she was completely unaware.”

Sherlock’s leaned forward in interest and he set the file down again. “And?”

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anonymous asked:

hello! i sent this a couple of weeks ago but i remember reading this fic where phil was home schooled and he went to a pool party where he met dan. they went back to phil's house to have sex. fast forward a bit and one of them gets a puppy named winston. it's a looonnggg fic and it was honestly so amazing to read! thank you for your help!

Love is Easy



hey so all of u should go read @knaccfornerdiness‘ wonderful beautiful fic “something about us” because it’s a really lovely story and it’s definitely worth your time if u love genyatta!! i love it a lot and i just had to draw a thing for it dgfgfh