People Are Saying Do It Scared, But You Also Gotta Do It Alone. You'll Miss Out On So Much You Want To

I love this so much!!!! Its so lovely!!!!

I made a new genderfluid flag bc the old one doesnt repersent all of us tbh or that well idk if i could get people to actually use it tho tbh but id love if they would

If you ever wanna use it dont worry about credit same if you make art with it im not worried about credit i just wanted to contribute to our community

I swear Percy wears masks like no one else. Hes always been different and laughed at and put down at every turn but he’ll love his family no matter what

So, that scene where Harry retrieves Ron from the bottom of the lake and Percy loses his mind? Let’s look at that.

“Percy, who looked very white and somehow much younger than usual, came splashing out to meet them.”

“Percy seized Ron and was dragging him back to the bank (’Geroff, Percy, I”m all right!’)”

And three pages later: “Madame Pomfrey had gone to rescue Ron from Percy’s clutches.”

But you know, as Ron’s always telling us, Percy only cares about his career.

There is a very popular reading of this character that holds that he really is defined by his ambition and self-importance, and that he never does anything to show that he values his family until DH.  It’s a reading that most likely comes from taking Ron and the twins estimation of Percy as fact and it completely ignores scenes like this one.

What Rowling does here is a brilliant example of showing instead of telling.  When not in crisis mode, Percy is very verbal; he’s always talking about his accomplishments or work business that no one finds interesting but him.  Here, he’s all action.  He completely fails to act the part of a cool, impartial judge because his little brother appears to be in distress, and his affectation disappears.  What remains is a very Molly Weasley-esque kind of concern: You’re alright? Ha! I don’t believe you.  Let me smother you with affection until I’m satisfied that you are correct.

As funny as the image of Percy checking over Ron like an agitated mother cat is, my favorite part of this scene is Harry’s amazement that Percy looks young.  He’s eighteen, only four years older than Harry himself. He IS too young to be taking his boss’s place in this capacity, but Harry has bought into the affectation too. I think people sometimes forget how unreliable Harry’s point of view is.

There is no lack of evidence showing that Percy is quite different from what he pretends to be and how his siblings see him; you just have to tune out all the noise they all make about him to see it.

Oscar Wilde, De Profundis // @i-wrotethisforme // Jorge Louis Berges // @smokeinsilence //@viridianmasquerade //Jorge Louis Berges // @honeytuesday // Kaveh Akbar // F. Scott Fitzgerald // AKR //Olivie Blake, from “Alone With You in the Ether” // Kaveh Akbar, Pilgrimage

Who made this.

the v's are so funny to me. they own some of the biggest media companies in hell. they're a bunch of upstarts who have the patience of a toddler. only one of them can deal with the others shit at a time like they're playing the worst game of rock paper scissors ever. they call each other pet names. they're hells worst polycule. they're somehow the least and most efficient business partners ever. they're some of the most impulsive people on the cast. they manipulate each other constantly. they're a moth, a tv, and a clown. one of them is shown to be so much worse than the other two. i think they'd kill each other if they were allowed too. they lean on each other so heavily they'd knock over the leaning tower of piza. ive never seen three cunts try so hard in my life.

like what is wrong with them i want to put them in a terrarium and observe them with a magnifying glass.

Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes attend regular-people school for one year as children. 

Great shenanigans ensue.

Do not use without my permission.

the isolation of still being in christian spaces (without a choice) and knowing you do not believe is... insane, honestly, something i wish more people knew about. because its not just being in church that feels isolating, it extends to the outside world.

anyone you talk to in your church obviously doesnt understand you. you constantly need to police your words around them to avoid saying something "sinful" or anything that can be read as liberal in any way. the mask must stay on at all times, and then when you're away from that space, you need to slowly adjust and become yourself again, somehow.

and in secular spaces, people just dont get it. which isnt always their fault! its just hard to explain to people who mean well, why "ill pray for you" sets you off and makes your heart race and makes you shudder. "why dont you love your family?? not even your sibling? damn." you see a coworker wearing a shirt with a bible verse on it, and run through several calculations in your head, none of them ending up anywhere because you distance yourself from said coworker, even though you know you should be talking to them before coming to conclusions. "hey, please stop talking about (criticizing) religion, its a bit of a controversial topic here. hope all that church stuff gets better soon though!" your friends do not understand what you are venting about, though they try their hardest.

you try so hard to find people who have left religions and/or cults in the real world. all you seem to be finding are people who are still in them, or people who have never come close to having an experience you have.

not to mention this all becomes approximately 100 times worse if you're queer.

Hi hello the old guard have been playing DnD since it became a thing, they just think it's really fun, Andy ALWAYS names her characters Quynh or Lykon and no one can stop her, Booker has refused to play a bard so far but Joe is wearing him down, and Joe ALWAYS DMs. He's good at math, story telling, improv, AND accents. Nicky tries to kiss up to him on his characters behalf all the damn time, but in this and only this Joe is a stone cold fox who doesn't play favorities.

They've had one campaign going since the start, they've all had at least 6 characters, Andy's had nine, and Joe just keeps expanding the world. Quynh (who has been watching via Booker for 3 decades) is so excited to join the party. Nile makes her first druid a few weeks after Merrick's, and Booker is only allowed to call them for weekly sessions.

From Anthony Bourdain:

Americans love Mexican food. We consume nachos, tacos, burritos, tortas, enchiladas, tamales and anything resembling Mexican in enormous quantities. We love Mexican beverages, happily knocking back huge amounts of tequila, mezcal, and Mexican beer every year. We love Mexican people—we sure employ a lot of them.

Despite our ridiculously hypocritical attitudes towards immigration, we demand that Mexicans cook a large percentage of the food we eat, grow the ingredients we need to make that food, clean our houses, mow our lawns, wash our dishes, and look after our children.

As any chef will tell you, our entire service economy—the restaurant business as we know it—in most American cities, would collapse overnight without Mexican workers. Some, of course, like to claim that Mexicans are “stealing American jobs.”

But in two decades as a chef and employer, I never had ONE American kid walk in my door and apply for a dishwashing job, a porter’s position—or even a job as a prep cook. Mexicans do much of the work in this country that Americans, probably, simply won’t do.

We love Mexican drugs. Maybe not you personally, but “we”, as a nation, certainly consume titanic amounts of them—and go to extraordinary lengths and expense to acquire them. We love Mexican music, Mexican beaches, Mexican architecture, interior design, Mexican films.

So, why don’t we love Mexico?

We throw up our hands and shrug at what happens and what is happening just across the border. Maybe we are embarrassed. Mexico, after all, has always been there for us, to service our darkest needs and desires.

Whether it’s dress up like fools and get passed-out drunk and sunburned on spring break in Cancun, throw pesos at strippers in Tijuana, or get toasted on Mexican drugs, we are seldom on our best behavior in Mexico. They have seen many of us at our worst. They know our darkest desires.

In the service of our appetites, we spend billions and billions of dollars each year on Mexican drugs—while at the same time spending billions and billions more trying to prevent those drugs from reaching us.

The effect on our society is everywhere to be seen. Whether it’s kids nodding off and overdosing in small town Vermont, gang violence in L.A., burned out neighborhoods in Detroit—it’s there to see.

What we don’t see, however, haven’t really noticed, and don’t seem to much care about, is the 80,000 dead in Mexico, just in the past few years—mostly innocent victims. Eighty thousand families who’ve been touched directly by the so-called “War On Drugs”.

Mexico. Our brother from another mother. A country, with whom, like it or not, we are inexorably, deeply involved, in a close but often uncomfortable embrace.

Look at it. It’s beautiful. It has some of the most ravishingly beautiful beaches on earth. Mountains, desert, jungle. Beautiful colonial architecture, a tragic, elegant, violent, ludicrous, heroic, lamentable, heartbreaking history. Mexican wine country rivals Tuscany for gorgeousness.

It's archeological sites—the remnants of great empires, unrivaled anywhere. And as much as we think we know and love it, we have barely scratched the surface of what Mexican food really is. It is NOT melted cheese over tortilla chips. It is not simple, or easy. It is not simply “bro food” at halftime.

It is in fact, old—older even than the great cuisines of Europe, and often deeply complex, refined, subtle, and sophisticated. A true mole sauce, for instance, can take DAYS to make, a balance of freshly (always fresh) ingredients painstakingly prepared by hand. It could be, should be, one of the most exciting cuisines on the planet, if we paid attention.

The old school cooks of Oaxaca make some of the more difficult and nuanced sauces in gastronomy. And some of the new generation—many of whom have trained in the kitchens of America and Europe—have returned home to take Mexican food to new and thrilling heights.

It’s a country I feel particularly attached to and grateful for. In nearly 30 years of cooking professionally, just about every time I walked into a new kitchen, it was a Mexican guy who looked after me, had my back, showed me what was what, and was there—and on the case—when the cooks like me, with backgrounds like mine, ran away to go skiing or surfing or simply flaked. I have been fortunate to track where some of those cooks come from, to go back home with them.

To small towns populated mostly by women—where in the evening, families gather at the town’s phone kiosk, waiting for calls from their husbands, sons and brothers who have left to work in our kitchens in the cities of the North.

I have been fortunate enough to see where that affinity for cooking comes from, to experience moms and grandmothers preparing many delicious things, with pride and real love, passing that food made by hand from their hands to mine.

In years of making television in Mexico, it’s one of the places we, as a crew, are happiest when the day’s work is over. We’ll gather around a street stall and order soft tacos with fresh, bright, delicious salsas, drink cold Mexican beer, sip smoky mezcals, and listen with moist eyes to sentimental songs from street musicians. We will look around and remark, for the hundredth time, what an extraordinary place this is.

Sherlock: Zugzwang.

Me: *criminal minds flashbacks* HUH