IT'S MILK AND EGGS, BITCH.
the interwebs is huge. neverendingly infinite. this is where i'm collecting the tidbits i want to remember.
topics include, but not limited to social justice, adventure time, les miserables, and harry potter among many many many other fandoms.
I recently dated a man who was particularly bad about female bodies. Although he was relatively happy with my thin frame, he continually critiqued the bodies of other women. He’d point out women who had a hint of belly pudge or look away in horror when a woman had the audacity to wear a bikini without first being skinny. When I calmly suggested that he stop being such a jerk puppet, he argued that you can’t control your physical preferences. Which is true. But you can control the words coming out of your mouth. So, no, you’re not just being honest, angry man. You’re being a dick. And you should probably stop that. Because it’s 2013, and it’s ridiculous that so many men need to be told that even though they’re free to be attracted to women of any shape or size, they shouldn’t discuss women as though we’re all Weimeraners competing in the Westminster Dog Show.
'We're All Dating 'Sleepless in Austin,” by Anna Szymanski, Huff
James Potter had not died laughing.
There was no light in his eyes, then, nor smile on his lips, and for Sirius Black—who had grown to depend upon those very things—that might well have lingered most. Of what expression remained, Sirius saw only fear. Grief came upon him, then; dragged at his innards; clawed its way up each and every vertebrae of his slackening spine and made a home within his throat. His best friend had collapsed uncomfortably upon the hall stairs, and if the curse had not killed him first, the fall surely had. His neck sat askew atop his shoulders, and when once the two had sworn they were the taller, Sirius knew now that it was he. James had never looked so small; had never been so still. It was difficult to comprehend how he could have shrunk so very much, and harder to wonder where all that life could possibly have gotten to. To where had it fled?—and couldn’t it have stuck around long enough to say goodbye?
The cracks in his glasses were common, of course, but Sirius repaired them nevertheless. They sat crooked still.
Lily Potter was not beautiful in death. Her eyes were swollen even now, and all the colour drained from her cheeks. Her hair, even, strewn artfully across her pale face, had never before seemed so dull. This might well have been the world, however; draining life, leaking light. His best friend’s wife had been alight amongst the living—incendiary on their darkest day. This was not that Lily. She was neither red, nor green—but grey. Wherever her warmth had gone, it was far from here, and Sirius could not recall when exactly he had wound up on his knees. He might have crawled here, for the pureblood could not remember the journey between James and Lily; between Hogwarts and here.
Harry was screaming, or else it was him.
Cecil tells Carlos about the seasonal monarch migration
However instead of butterflies its just a bunch of current and former members of world royalty inexplicably wandering the streets with dazed looks in their eyes until they just meander out into the desert and disappear