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daisyjonhsons:

Who needs a soulmate, anyway?
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texnessa:

mediamattersforamerica:

WOW. Watch these 3 minutes from Dallas sportscaster Dale Hansen talking about what Trump doesn’t understand about the national anthem and the right to protest. Compare this to any right-wing media whining and that’s why this is one to remember.

Dale Hansen is a fucking treasure.  He admitted he was a childhood victim of sexual abuse in the hopes that it would encourage others to come forward and seek help. He has been an ardent supporter of scholar-athletes and of gay players in the NFL and of trans athletes.

“I’m not always comfortable when a man tells me he is gay; I don’t understand his world. But I do understand that he is part of mine.”
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travelerontheedge17:

Captain Philippa Georgiou in Star Trek Discovery.
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cafeconbrujeria:

teawitch:

tyrtime:

I’ve been looking into spells and sigils and such, and part of me wants to believe they work but the other part of me is stuck in the ways of “magic isn’t real and it won’t ever be real” I’m stuck

So my niece said to me very kindly “Aunt Tea, you know that a lot of people don’t believe witchcraft is real.” 

And I said “Yes, but they make the best witches.”

We’re raised in cultures that place focus on belief but witchcraft isn’t about believing. It’s about doing. The best witches I’ve known haven’t necessarily been those who’ve sat around and told me, misty eyed, how they love the goddess or enthused about fairies. 

No, the best have been those who pragmatically set up altars and did rituals, not because they believed, but because it worked. Sometimes they were trying to prove it wouldn’t work. That this witchcraft stuff would have no affect on reality. Except it did. So they kept doing…because it worked. 

They often become very knowledgeable witches because they get caught up in research. Witchcraft becomes and experiment as they work to find the best techniques. They look into Ceremonial Magic, Hermetic Quabalah, Thelema and other systems the same way a scientist pursues research. 

Sometimes I think magic works for them because it knows it has to. If it stops, then they’ll stop. And the magic wants to keep itself going. 

Some of my biggest magic has been at the times in my life where I was holding my hands over my ears and screaming NOPE NOPE NOPE.

I also had an in between period of “hahah, well, it only appears to work because something something the subconscious, nothing mysterious about it a all, its just psychology!”

And then you do some kind of really externally focused spell, because, hahah, it’s not like it will WORK anyway, so–

And then things work a lot of the time and you’re like, 

WELP. maybe i should just stop talking shit.
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bellygangstaboo:

standing ovation
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WILD PEACHES  [AO3]

.

The morning after Sarah Williams defeats the Goblin King, she gets up and makes toast. She has to brush some glitter off the toaster—it withers and vanishes at the brush of her fingertips, and she stares at her hand for a long time. 

It mostly just looks like her hand. Even when she turns it over, and sees where she scraped her knuckles against the oubliette, where the shattered mirror cut the back of her wrist. It looks like she fell, or was playing in the street. That’s all.

The toast comes out burned, and Sarah stares at that too. Eventually, she slumps down against the cabinets and cries, wracking sobs that send her dad and Karen rushing into kitchen. They check her forehead for a fever, put their hands on her, and keep asking, “Are you okay? Sarah, please, tell us what’s wrong…”

Eventually, her dad drags her into his lap and cradles her against his chest, like he did when she was little. Her legs are too long to really fit anymore, but Sarah hugs him around the neck anyway. “It’ll be okay,” he says, keeps saying. “You’ll be okay.” And Sarah—doesn’t laugh, because she can’t, and doesn’t have the words to express what—how—

(None of her stories ever talked about this. What did Sir George do, the morning after he slayed the last dragon in England? Did Tam Lin eat breakfast, or did he sit there, shivering, wondering if his hands were different, having been claws and wings and scales?)

Afterwards, she leaves the burnt toast outside on the back porch. Not an offering. Maybe a reminder.

.

It’s Didymus she sees the most often, mostly because he’s the one who invites himself rather than waiting for an invitation. He comes for tea, but even if there’s no tea—which there isn’t, usually—he comes to tell Sarah stories. She learns to love poetry because there’s no escaping it with him. (She won’t read Idylls of the King until Brit Lit in college, but she ends up scrawling a lot in the margins; Didymus’ telling of events had been much more interesting.)

Once, she falls asleep like that, her hands tucked behind her head with Didymus curled up and sleepily reciting from the crook of her elbow. “So tender was her voice, so fair her face—though I don’t think he was looking at her face, my lady, pardon me for saying so—”

Sarah buries her nose in his fur. Didymus always smells of rosewater, and a crispness she thinks is just…the Labyrinth. She falls asleep trying to place it.

She wakes up with a wild fox in her bed, animal-black eyes frightened and flat, teeth bared. The fox is whining, and she’s tempted to throw herself across the room, to get away from this wild thing and its teeth. It takes a monumental will to keep herself still and her breathing slow, even; like she’s still asleep and unafraid. 

It takes her longer to swallow, and start humming one of the songs he taught her—a knight’s round, he’d said. She’s shaky at first, but the fox’s ears flick forward. It cocks its head, and slowly, the teeth disappear behind its lips. 

She almost laughs when noses at her throat curiously, butting its head against her jaw like a cat might.

Keep reading
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bookriot:

Paula Danziger was a fat kid who didn’t get along with her dad, and she drew on that in her novels, but she also wrote about issues that weren’t getting as much attention then, like divorce, protesting unfairness locally and politically, kids’ rights, being biracial, sex (at least thinking about it), and dating a younger boy. After several years of writing YA, Paula switched to middle grade and chapter books, where she created her most famous character, Amber Brown (who is not a crayon). Amber’s image is etched on Paula’s tombstone; she died very young (53) of a heart attack in 2004. By not-so-remarkable coincidence, she is buried in the Artists’ Cemetery in Woodstock, the place where I spent many, many hours as an angsty teenager.

So where to start with her books? First, a caveat: I recommend going in with the expectation that her YA is much more like today’s MG, and that’s okay.

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theavengers:

Who would win in a fight between Harley Quinn and the Winter Soldier?
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aestheticsisters:

Character Moodboard ➤ Kathryn Janeway.

“I don’t want something even better, I want coffee.”

Requested by @tobeconquered
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tmlnsn:

Louis photographed by Phil Sharp
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flowerharry:

alec lightwood + tumblr text posts 
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A post shared by Greg Baskwell (@gregbaskwell) on Sep 4, 2016 at 9:50am PDT

surprisebitch:

theboycourt:

valykas:

This is amazing

Ok but how did they make it look like he was driving

this deserves an academy award nomination
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thegryphonsnest:

Edwardian Diamond & Moonstone Necklace!
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Photo

Oct. 15th, 2017 09:30 pm
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lionbrandyarn:

Yarn, all day every day! 
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bitterjellydraws:

I’ve been meaning to start a serie of fake vintage ad’s for monster for a while because is there anything better than good old monsters and stylish advertisement 

the answer is no 

more vintage ad by monsters, for monsters:

zombie

vampire

ghost

werewolf
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moonlightdrown:

Shadowhunters + texts (5/?)

insp
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theyreallbi:

Fig.1 A Venn Diagram about bi people.
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alecsplushpillow:

—  that kind of love   |   Nikita Gill
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christinedaaechagny:

theactorsjourney:

aw-blog-no:

Imagine the Avengers getting hit with some sort of spell that makes them revert to their first language

and everyone expects to be unable to understand Natasha’s Russian or Thor’s Norse (Allspeak is great but it isn’t his first language according to the spell)

but then Steve starts spouting Gaelic, because he grew up speaking English in public but his immigrant mother taught him her own language first

Tony speaks either Spanish or Italian, because that’s what his first nannies spoke

and the spell considers ASL a language just as much as any spoken language, so Clint is just signing and making faces at people

and Bruce is just very confused (“Why do you expect me to be speaking a different language? I’m from Ohio.”)

The Vision flying around screaming “ZERO ONE ZERO ZERO ONE ZERO ZERO ZERO ZERO ONE ZERO ZERO ZERO ONE ZERO ONE ZERO ONE ZERO ZERO ONE ONE ZERO ZERO ZERO ONE ZERO ONE ZERO ZERO ZERO ZERO ZERO ZERO ONE ZERO ZERO ZERO ZERO ZERO ZERO ONE ZERO ZERO ONE ONE ZERO ONE ZERO ONE ZERO ZERO ZERO ONE ZERO ONE ZERO ZERO ONE ZERO ZERO ZERO ZERO ONE”

INCREDIBLE
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