Your wife changes her hair color every season and her personality adjusts slightly. You’re secretly only in love with Autumn wife. She just came home sporting her Winter color.

it’s my fault. it’s just that when we met it was autumn; her red-orange hair and crackling laughter. there’s a little spooky in her, a lot of play. and what a better time for falling?

i didn’t realize it for the first few years - something shifting, something so subtle. the winter makes us all cold, the summer makes us all a little out of our minds. i just loved her, because she was incredible, and i was the luckiest person alive.

it’s just that i realized that spring came with sudden bursts of cold. it’s just that summer frequently raged in with fire sprouting from her lips. it’s just that winter was the worst of all, her eyes dead. it’s just that autumn loves me different; throws herself into it without the clingy sweat of summer. i used to love that summer girl, you know? i loved how wild she was, the way in summer she took every risk she could. but i carried her home drunk one too many times, cleaned up one too many of the messes she made for no reason than to enjoy the sensation of burning. and winter was worse; the shutdown, the isolation. how she became distant, a blizzard, caught up in her own head, unable to tell me what was wrong and unable to think i actually wanted to listen.

she comes home, her hair bleached white. a dark smile on her lips. the shadowy parts of her are back. they loom like icicles overhead. she kisses me with her body held at a distance, a peck on my cheek that feels like an iceberg. she makes polite conversation and we go to bed early, our bodies untouching. 

it is a lonely season, i think on the ninth day of this. winter is cold. winter is known for the death of things. when i look at her, i see the girl i fell for, inhabited by an alien. she was the first women i loved so much i felt it would kill me. i can’t leave. when i wake her up with my crying, she tells me to shush and go back to sleep. she’s different like this, quiet, doesn’t eat. 

three days later i stare at myself in the mirror. i wonder if it’s me. if the fat on my body or something in my face or the wrinkles and she doesn’t love me. i try prettier lingerie, lean cuisine, i try different hair, more makeup, try harder. it doesn’t work. she looks at me the same; that empty gaze that neither loves nor condemns my actions. 

somewhere in februrary i lose it. we’re fighting again, from car to restaurant to car to home again. we fight about stupid things, small things; i tell her i feel she doesn’t love me, she says i’m not listening. the circle goes around and around, old pain peeling back, new pain unhealing. i sleep on the couch.

i wake up when i hear her crying, white hair around her all messed up. the kind of sobbing that only comes at two in the morning, heavy and thick and hurting. my winter girl. my heart is breaking. she looks up at me like i’m her anchor. “i’m sorry i’m like this,” she says. and i start saying, it’s okay i’m here we’re married, but she just shakes her head and says, “I know this isn’t the real me.”

i hold her cold hand. she stares at the blankets. “i am different in winter,” she whispers, “i know i am and i’m sorry.” she looks at me. “why do you think i dye my hair? cut it off? get rid of the old me?”

i tell her it’s okay. we’re together and it’s okay, and then she whispers, “i’m sorry you married four of me.”

we lay there like that, her head on my chest. she falls asleep. i stare at the ceiling, thinking of the way she sounded when she was crying. how i helped put her in that pain. how i promised in sickness and in health and everything in between.

the next day i spend at the library. there aren’t enough books on how to love someone with seasonal affective disorder so i make my own, notes and pages and little ideas on post-its. and i take a deep breath and make myself a promise.

she comes home to her favorite dinner and we kiss and she’s uneasy but that’s okay. the next day i bring home flowers and the next day she finds little love notes in her pockets. i love her quiet, the way winter demands, understand her sex drive is faltering; spend more time just cuddling. we drink wine and we kiss and some part of her starts relaxing. 

the truth is there is no loving someone out of their mental illness. the truth is that you can love someone in despite of it; love them loud enough to give them an excuse to believe they can make their way out of it.

and i learn. i remember the rebirth of spring, when she starts thawing. we kiss and have picnics in pretty dresses. i remember her joy at little birds and her rain dancing. i fall in love with the flowers in her cheeks and the little bursts of cleaning. i fall in love with summer’s slow walks and milkshakes and shouting to music playing too loud on the speakers. i fall in love with her dancing, with the sunfire energy. and when winter comes; i am ready. i remember that snow used to look pretty. i fall in love with the hearth of her, with the holiday, with the slow smile that spreads across her face so shyly. i fall in love with how she looks in boots and mittens and every day i find another reason to love her the way she deserves - they way i always should have.

she comes home with her white hair and dark smile and a package in her hands. i ask to see what it is and that small shy grin comes creeping out. it’s a sunlamp packed in with medication. she looks at me with those wide eyes and that beautiful winter blush. “i’m trying to get better,” she whispers, “i promise.”

recovery doesn’t look immediate. sometimes it isn’t neat. i can’t say we never fight or that we’re suddenly complete. but each day, that tiny girl’s strength gives me another reason. i love her. i love her while she tames the roller coaster of spring; i love her for reigning in the summer storms; i love her for taking her winter and trying to be warm. it is hard, because everything worth it is hard. she spreads out her autumn leaves; mixes the best parts of her into everything. learns to take winter’s silence for a moment before yelling in summer. learns to take autumn’s spice and give it to spring. we are both learning.

one day she comes home and her hair is different, but it’s a style i don’t know. i kiss it and tell her that she’s beautiful and the inside of me swells like a flood. i’m so glad that she’s mine. every part of her. the whole. i am the luckiest person on earth. and i always have been. but she’s hugging me and saying, “thank you for helping me,” and i can’t explain why i’m crying.

this is what love is; not always an emotion but rather your actions. the choices we make when we realize our lives would be empty if the other was absent. this is what love is: letting them grow, helping them find their way in out of the cold. this is what love is: sometimes it takes work to see how the thing you planted together actually grows.

this is what love looks like in an autumn girl: it is winter and she glows.

I’m actually sobbing jesus christ

@geooricle @jdowzell all of my ;_; and <3

@infearofblankpages

Favorite line: “The truth is there is no loving someone out of their mental illness.”

Oh my god, this whole post. 💙

Full time work should entitle someone to enough pay for rent, food, bills, and leisure activities. Full time work for a full life wage. You put in your 8 hours a day, 5 days a week? You should be able to afford the basic shit you need in life, no matter where you work.

pisses me off that this is considered a radical statement.

I do agree with this but from economic standpoint if you are working at a job like McDonalds as someone flipping burgers and making fries you are getting paid for the amount of skill needed for the job. But if its any other job that requires you to have an actual skill that you can make a career out of then yeah you should be getting paid enough to live a standard life.

If you work FULL TIME you should be able to afford to fucking live. No, it doesn’t matter if it’s flipping burgers, these people contribute to our fucking economy and they MATTER. They should be allowed to be alive.

Jesus fucking Christ do you people hear yourselves?

So, only “skilled” workers should be allowed the very basics of human survival? Only people who contribute sufficiently to the economy deserve to be able to live?

How the fuck do you define “skilled”? Are you going to make your own #3 combo meal in less than 5 minutes in time for you to rush little Timmy to soccer practice? No. You are not.

You opt to pay for the convenience and, dare I fucking say it, the skill of the fast food workers. They are providing you service that you are WILLING to pay for.

Show some human fucking decency.

If your labor can make someone else filthy rich, it should also be able to make you able to afford to live.

“The amount of skill required for the job?” You mean skills like: * basic customer service which includes remaining calm and smiling when a customer is being difficult, irate, or abusive. * manners * reading and math * multitasking bc fast food workers must remember and fill the previous order while taking the next * pleasant voice for speaking to customers * keeping the transaction short because fast food penalizes workers for a customer not getting their meal in a proscribed timeframe * learning the time clock procedures * the break procedures * the rest of the employee handbook * being able to do all the above when sick or injured or having to pee and your break is an hour and 45 minutes away * the food safety rules * the cleanliness and hygiene rules which will get the restaurant shut down if the standards are not met * how to safely operate the stoves, ovens and fryers. Again, the law will shut the place down if there are accidents * the rules and requirements for disposal of waste. One more thing that can get them shut down if they don’t do it right.

Yeah, that’s worth a fucking living wage, considering most people seem to think a four year old could flip burgers given the contempt I hear when rationalizing why they don’t deserve pay.

Coming soon: MyTransHealth, an app connecting trans people to knowledgeable, reliable and affordable healthcare providers. 

19% of trans people have been refused healthcare because of their gender identity. 50% of trans people have had to teach their doctors about trans-related medical care. 28% of trans people have been harassed in medical settings. This app is desperately needed. Follow them at mytranshealth. 

I AM CRYING HOLY SHIT. This is so important. You know I’m serious because I am actually using these things called capitalization and punctuation. You guys. Please. Please boost the hell out of this. It means so much.

*SLAMS THE SHIT OUT OF THE REBLOG BUTTON*

omg pls make this international / not just US-centric!

my Christmas gift to you guys is the best Cards Against Humanity combination ever

GET. OUT.

They were MAD, CONFUSED AND PRESSED that Marlon Brando would betray White Supremacy in this way. To this very day, they are TWISTED over this. And when Littlefeather got up there and READ THEM FOR FILTH, they GAGGED. For eons.

So I imagine there are people like me out there who’ve never even heard of Marlon Brando and are extremely confused over why this is important.

Marlon Brando was the Don in The Godfather, and in 1973, he was nominated for and won an Academy Award for it. However, he was also a huge Natives rights activist, and boycotted the ceremony because he felt that Hollywood’s depictions of Native Americans in the media led to the Wounded Knee Incident (which I was always taught as “the second massacre at Wounded Knee” but apparently that’s not the real name). He sent Sacheen Littlefeather, an Apache Native rights activist, in his stead. Wikipedia’s article on her explains the rest:

That is what this gifset is about.

You have GOT to read up on this. The Wounded Knee Incident, Marlon Brando and Sacheen Littlefeather, Anna Mae Aquash. ALL OF IT. 

And the occupation of Alcatraz. And read Lakota Woman, by Mary Crow Dog. Read everything you can find about the American Indian Movement (AIM).

Reblogging this again now that Oscar buzz is in the air.

LOOK UP BRANDO AND THE FISHING WARS

This is from a documentary called Reel Injun:

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1484114/

I watched it for research when I did an episode on Jim Jarmusch’s “Dead Man.” It’s full of some details that are pretty disgusting (indigenous languages were often faked by playing English audio backwards) and mildly hilarious (the reason so many white people think Native Americans wore headbands was because the white stuntmen who played Indians in the movies needed a way to keep their wigs on during fights) and at the end, kind of uplifting. It highlights the wave of indigenous cinema in the 90′s and 00′s in the Americas as well as Australia and New Zealand, while talking to some of the most prominent Native American actors of today about their experiences in Hollywood.

Highly recommended if you’re interested in Native American history. Or film history.

so quite a lot of people expressed interest in a guide to lion dance! and since the lunar new year is coming up in a couple weeks, which means everyone’s exposure to lions is probably going to increase, i figured i’d go ahead and make it! right click + open in new tab to fullview, etc etc, i hope it’s helpful, although if you only take one thing away from this powerpoint, it’s this: lions are not dragons

disclaimer: i learned fut san style at an american university, and the senior members of the troupe were almost all from hong kong and taiwan, so most of my knowledge is drawn from what they taught me. lion dance varies widely depending on the style and the country of origin, and many schools do things differently! this is just an attempt to establish a baseline and give you a really basic intro to one of my favorite art forms. :)

Dealing With Your Inevitable Crush On Poe Dameron

As with any organization, the Resistance found it necessary to produce training holovids on a variety of topics, from basic demonstrations of the use of important equipment to more nuanced vids on cultural or personnel issues. They were a small force, but tended to be somewhat geographically scattered by necessity, and it saved a lot of time to have a small collection of introductory holovids to show new recruits to get them quickly up to speed.

The most entertaining holovid, however, was widely held to be this one. 

DEALING WITH YOUR INEVITABLE CRUSH ON POE DAMERON

The title music swells, epic and orchestral, over a black screen. Fade in: a photo, taken outdoors, head and shoulders, of Poe Dameron, squinting slightly into the sun, jaw set in determination. His hair is tousled and he is in a flight suit and leather jacket, ruggedly attractive.

Another flourish of music, and the title pops bright white text over a black screen:

DEALING WITH YOUR INEVITABLE CRUSH ON POE DAMERON

Fade to footage of Poe Dameron, in a sleeveless tight undershirt smudged with grease and worn-thin trousers that fit very flatteringly behind, bending over to demonstrate how to use a new system of tie-downs to secure equipment such as small spacecraft in inclement weather. His hair is a little too long and falls across his forehead; he habitually shakes his head a little to keep it away from his eyes, in a charming gesture, and he frequently looks to the camera for guidance, which gives him an appealing, almost supplicant aspect, especially since he frequently smiles at the cameraman.

Voiceover (male, smooth, cultured, the same one who narrates most of the rest of the instructional holovids the Resistance produces): “It’s not a question of if, but when. It’s a natural part of joining the Resistance. Everyone says, oh, it won’t happen to me, I’m immune to that sort of thing. But everyone in the Resistance eventually ends up with a crush on Poe Dameron.”

Cut to head-and-shoulders shot of a middle-aged mechanic, female, in work attire, clearly in a spacecraft hangar, holding a wrench in one hand. There’s a label at the bottom of the screen: Yana, Mechanic. Below that it says, He Remembers Her Name. “You may think you’re immune to his looks,” she says, “but then he remembers your name after only having met you once, and claps you on the shoulder, and calls you ‘buddy’ and smiles at you.” She sighed. “And it only gets worse from there.”

Quick cut to a shot, zoomed in from a distance, of Poe Dameron standing on the ladder to the cockpit of his X-Wing. It is a video; he is watching someone offscreen do something, the wind gently ruffling his tousled hair and his helmet under one arm. His mouth is slightly open; after a moment he licks his lower lip, then grins, like he’s about to speak.

Meanwhile, voiceover:

“Don’t be alarmed. These are natural feelings. Take comfort in the fact that you aren’t alone. And you can console yourself in the knowledge that he has this effect on everyone.”

Cut to head and shoulders shot of a young pilot, female, dark-haired; she is attractively dressed and made-up, but wearing her flight suit. The label at the bottom of the screen says Jessika Pava, Pilot, and is subtitled, He Has Saved Her Life About 100 Times. “It’s not his fault,” she says. “That’s the thing you have to keep in mind. He’s really like that. He’s really actually nice to people. He’s completely sincere.”

A still shot fills the screen: Poe Dameron, very young, aged perhaps sixteen or seventeen. He is standing on a table, possibly dancing, shirtless, wearing New Republic Academy uniform trousers and suspenders. The suspenders are slipping down his shoulders, and he has his head tipped back and is provocatively mock-fellating a bottle clearly labeled “Corellian Death Rum” while staring seductively into the camera. He is clearly intoxicated.

Meanwhile, voiceover:

“Methods of coping with this affliction vary by individual. Some people pretend they don’t feel it. Others give themselves over to it. A few daring individuals have tried to actually go for it. But it seems that despite a wild youth, Poe has settled into a reasonably responsible adulthood. It is not recommended that you pursue him aggressively.”

Cut, footage of a very attractive blonde woman in her early thirties, in a New Republican Starfleet uniform. She is labeled Garella Unaeron, and subtitled Shared Single, Memorable Wild Night Of Passion. “I just broke into his quarters and got naked and lay in his bed until he showed up,” she says, looking smug. “It went well for me, but I mean, we were also like eighteen. So. I don’t imagine that’d go as well now he’s defected to the Resistance.” She tosses her hair, clearly taking a moment to remember. “But I mean, if you go for it,” she went on, “much as I loathe his politics, I gotta say, he’s really great in the sack. I don’t imagine he’s lost the knack, it’s not the kind of thing you get worse at with practice.” Suddenly her expression changes, twisting into suspicion. “Wait, who did you say you were again?” The camera jerks and the footage ends abruptly.

The next shot is a craggily-handsome man in his late thirties, with a scar down one cheekbone that speaks of a life of action. He is labeled Naeher Adamant, and subtitled Had Actual Grown-Up Sexual Relationship. “A gentleman never kisses and tells,” he says, unsmiling, but he looks pleased nonetheless, or perhaps fond. “I can tell you, though, that Dameron is never other than entirely genuine. There’s no need to play games.”

Another cut, another interview subject, head and shoulders of a shiny-polished droid. Titled CR-31T, Mechanic, and subtitled He Is Really That Nice All The Time. “I’ve never worked with any other human who went so out of his way to make sure I understood that he considered me a person, on par with a biological organism,” the droid said, a little shyly. “It’s not— I don’t mind, you know, I know what I am, but he’s just— he’s so nice.”

Cut to footage of Poe Dameron, dressed in his flight suit, clearly training footage of some kind as he is watching someone offscreen and gesturing a little hesitantly to parts of his gear, as if in demonstration. He is apparently a little bored with making training videos, however, and is making amusing faces at the offscreen person, exaggerated expressions of wide-eyed wonder and grimacing trepidation.

Meanwhile, voiceover:

“So when you find yourself suffused with inappropriate feelings for this particular individual, just remember, you’re not alone. Speak to your counselor about what coping method is best for you. And above all, don’t make it weird: we’re relying on him, and his possibly-unholy combination of dashing charm and uncanny good luck. Try to use your misplaced erotic energy wisely.”

The music swells again, and the scene cuts to another video of Poe, zoomed in on him from quite a distance; he is outdoors, watching something at a distance with a vacant half-smile. The wind, again, ruffles his hair slightly, attractively, and he laughs silently, eyes crinkling up fetchingly. The title rolls up the screen again:

DEALING WITH YOUR INEVITABLE CRUSH ON POE DAMERON

As the scene fades to black, the title is the last thing visible, then winks out as well.

____

This is part of a longer thing that’s not really coming together yet but I promise it will. @artgroves and I are working together on it and I am more excited than I can even express. 

LUV THIS.

The Pacific Rim AU nobody asked for.

—

Han and Chewie are the best and fastest Jaeger pilots in the Kaiju Resistance. Their Jaeger is low key falling to pieces, but Han won’t hear a word against it. Nobody understands how they drift so well together, considering the fact that they don’t even speak the same language, but they don’t let that stop them. 

Luke is traumatized after losing his hand and his co-pilot in his first fight against a Kaiju, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and now he’s back in the game, looking for that special drift-compatible someone.

…

(Please jump on this bandwagon with me.)

aaaaaaahhHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

AAAAAAAHHHHHH

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!

queen of the universe, space mom™ to many, professional badass, slayer of the galaxies. my fav

Here comes the General. 

RISE UP

Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you’ve been waiting for. The pride of the Resistance: Leia Organa!

Check it– Can I be real a second? For just a millisecond? Let down my guard and tell the people how I feel a second? Now I’m the model of an interstellar general, The adulated Ald'raanian Organa whose men are all Lining up, to put me up on a pedestal Forgivin’ me my relatives Establishin’ my elegance and eloquence But the Rankor is in the room The truth is in ya face when ya hear the Order’s lasers go–

PEW

Any hope of success is fleeting How can I keep leading when the people I’m Leading keep retreating? We put a stop to the bleeding as damn Hux breaks Hosnian Where’s the Force?  And worse–

WE ARE OUTGUNNED!

WHAT

OUTPLAYED!

WHAT

OUTNUMBERED OUTWEIGHED!

VVOOM VVOOM VVOOM VVOOM VVOOM

We gotta fight or else we’ll fade! Ayo, I’m gonna need a Right-hand aide.

@darncake!

OH MY GOD

anonymously message me anything you want to tell me before 2015 ends.

the only rule is that I can’t reply, I can only post it!

this sounds so dramatic lmao do it!!

Why not

whatever is in your mind, I’ll answer in private :)

You have little time. Make use of it. http://dotjpg.tumblr.com/ask

This 200 year old Chinese abacus ring may be the world’s first wearable tech gadget. :)

I love Hamilton, but something about the way white fans engage with the musical really bothers me: a lot of them are posting in the tag about the actual, historical revolutionaries and founding fathers in a way that makes them seem like funny, sweet, good people. They weren’t. I don’t just mean “Jefferson was a piece of shit”: none of them were good. Every one of their asses saw black people as inferior, even if not all of them supported slavery. All of them participated in genocidal policy against indigenous peoples. If you’re watching/listening to Hamilton and then going out and romanticizing the real founding fathers/American revolutionaries, you’re missing the entire point.

Hamilton is not really about the founding fathers. It’s not really about the American Revolution. The revolution, and Hamilton’s life are the narrative subject, but its purpose is not to romanticize real American history: rather, it is to reclaim the narrative of America for people of colour. 

Don’t romanticize the founding fathers and the revolution. They’re already romanticized. It’s been done. Your history books have already propagated those lies. The revolution is romanticized as an American narrative because it was a revolution lead by and for white men. Their story is the narrative of the nation and it is a narrative from which people of colour are utterly obliterated. 

Do you understand what it’s like to live in a nation where you are made marginal and inconsequential in the historical narrative that you are taught from your first day of school? In the Americas, to be a person of colour is to be made utterly inconsequential to the nation’s history. If you are black, your history begins with slavery, and your agency is denied; they don’t teach about slave rebellions or black revolutionaries. You learn about yourself as entirely shaped by outside forces: white people owned you, then some white people decided to free you and wasn’t that nice of them? and then you’re gone until the civil rights movement. That is the narrative they teach; in which you had no consequence, no value, no impact until less than a century ago. If you are indigenous, you are represented as disappeared, dead, already gone: you do not get to exist, you are already swallowed by history. If you are any other race, you are likely not present at all. To live in a land whose history is not your own, to live in a story in which you are not a character, is a soul-destroying experience.

In Hamilton, Eliza talks, in turn, of “taking herself out of the narrative” and “putting herself back in the narrative.” That’s what Hamilton is about: it’s about putting ourselves in the narrative. It puts people of colour in the centre of the damn narrative of the nation that subjugates them; it takes a story that by all accounts has been constructed to valourize the deeds of white men, and redefines it all. 

Why was the American Revolution a revolution? Why were slave revolts revolts? Why do we consider the founding fathers revolutionaries and not the Black Panthers or the Brown Berets or any number of other anti-racist revolutionary organizations? Whose rebellion is valued? Who is allowed to be heroic through defiance? By making the founding fathers people of colour, Hamilton puts people of colour into the American narrative, while simultaneously applying that narrative to the present. Right now, across the United States, across the damn world, people are chanting “black lives matter.” Black people are shutting down malls and highways, demanding justice for the lives stolen by police, by white supremacy. And all across the world, indigenous people are saying “Idle No More,” blockading pipelines, demanding their sovereignty. And “No One is Illegal” is chanting loud enough to shake down the walls at the border; people are demanding the end of refugee detention centres, demanding an end to the violence perpetuated by anti-immigration policies. People of colour are rising up. 

…And white people are angry about it. White people are saying “if blacks don’t want to get shot by the police they shouldn’t sag their pants”; saying “get over it” about anti-indigenous policies of assimilation and cultural genocide and land theft; Jennicet Gutiérrez was heckled by white gay men for demanding that president Obama end the detention of undocumented trans women of colour. White people see people of colour rising up and they tell us to sit down. Shut up. Stop making things difficult. The American Revolution was a bunch of white men who didn’t want to be taxed, so white history sees their revolutionary efforts as just; they killed for their emancipation from England; they were militant. That, to white people is acceptable. But those same white people talk shit about Malcolm X for being too violent–a man who never started an uprising against the government leading to bloodshed. Violence is only acceptable in the hands of white people; revolution is only okay when the people leading the charge are white. 

Hamilton makes those people brown and black; Hamilton depicts the revolution of which America is proud as one led by people of colour against a white ruling body; there’s a reason King George is the only character who is depicted by a white man. The function of the visual in Hamilton is to challenge a present in which people of colour standing up against oppression are seen as violent and dangerous by the same people who proudly declare allegiance to the flag. It forces white people to see themselves not as the American Revolutionaries, but as the British oppressors. History is happening, and they’re on its bad side.

So don’t listen to or watch Hamilton and then come out of that to romanticize the founding fathers. Don’t let that be what you take away from this show. They’re the vehicle for the narrative, and a tool for conveying the ideologies of the show, but they are not the point. Don’t romanticize the past; fight for the future. 

THROW OFF THE JANGLY YOKE OF OPPRESSION

“WE ARE THE FUTURE RUDOLPH, NOT THEM”

M: “What’s your name?”

R: “Rudolph.”

M: “What’s your real name, Rudolph?”

R: “… Red-Nose.”

M: “Quite a talent you have there, Red-Nose.”

I want a short story on Fred and George staring at this blank piece of paper and trying to figure out why Filch would label it “Dangerous”. Then I want them going through every possible variation of “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good” before actually hitting the right words.

Example: “I promise I’m gonna fuck shit up.”

Mr. Moony would like to ask Messrs. Weasley why they think such foul language is necessary to accomplish mischief.

Mr. Wormtail would like to inform Messrs. Weasley that they are getting warmer.

Mr. Padfoot would like to high five Messrs. Weasley.

Mr. Prongs would like to have a pint with Messrs. Weasley as they seem just like his kind of people. As long as they solemnly swear it.

firebender

This clip is better than the entirety of the Avatar movie

Star Wars cast read terrible Star Wars jokes on the red carpet

Hi my name is Kylo Ren and I have long ebony black hair and dark brown eyes like limpid tears and a lot of people tell me I look like Darth Vader  (AN: if u don’t know who he is get da hell out of here!). I’m NOT related to Han Solo (I’M NOT) even though he’s a major fucking hottie. I’m a goth (in case you couldn’t tell) and I wear mostly black. I love Hot Topic and I buy all my clothes from there. For example today I was wearing a black mask with matching silver detailing around it and a black robe with a black cloak. I also had my red lightsaber that goes in three directions instead of one because it’s special. I was walking outside Starkiller Base. It was snowing and raining so there was no sun, which I was very happy about. A lot of stormtroopers stared at me. I put up my middle finger at them.