Rainbows and flutterbies

And when she was done, and coming off the stage, I saw a pre-teen approach, a pride flag clasped around their shoulds like a cape, a sketchbook hugged to their chest.

"Excuse me. May I draw you?"

It was said with such hope, and such respect, and I winced anyway. The Queen had just put on a hell of a show, and she'd been paid for her skills, and she had to have been exhausted. I expected her to say no, and honestly, I would've thought that was her right.

But she looked down at this child, and flicked her hair back, and said, "Honey, for you? I. WILL. POSE."

And then she did, perched on the edge of a stone wall, in the June sunshine, as a young artist sat in the grass and filled pages of their sketchbook. For 30 minutes or so, she posed and chatted with fans and laughed.

1) put that guy into situations

okay so for legal reasons this is all a very funny joke and none of it is real I promise

basically there’s a property listing floating out there somewhere online that lists my phone number as a contact for the owner of a house in a suburb of [redacted], ohio, even though that is a town I have never lived in. about two years ago, I started getting calls and texts from people who were asking if I was interested in selling the property. when I told them no and they had the wrong number, the amount of calls increased, and I had to block their numbers. 

since then, once about every 3 months I get a call or text from people wanting to buy this house in ohio as they think I’m the owner. I got fed up at one point and just started replying “yeah I might be interested in selling, but the property I have is haunted. like super haunted. lots of ghosts everywhere, so you’ll have to get rid of those before putting it on the market.” to my delight, they stopped replying after that, so I now do that when I get these messages. 

Hire new 12 year olds that haven’t condemned JK Rowling’s horrendous views

Aggressively condemn the inevitable people who say shit about said 12 year olds online to take the moral high ground

Harry doesn’t believe in happy endings.

Because when you come back from the dead at seventeen, that’s the happiest ending you can imagine. It’s reckless to ask for more, you’d only tempt the fates to take it all away again. 

So, Harry lives with just enough.

A roof over his head, food in his cupboard, a fire in his hearth—there’s nothing else he could possibly want. 

And then Malfoy sweeps into his life, upending everything Harry thought he knew. Malfoy, who becomes Draco within a week and Darling within a month, teaches Harry about want.

No, that’s not right—Draco teaches Harry about need.

There’s never been anything, anyone, Harry’s needed quite so much.

Harry doesn’t know he’s starving, until Draco feeds him lush orange slices, hands slick with juice.

Harry doesn’t know he’s cold, until Draco’s evocative magic flickers around him, warm and familiar.

Harry doesn’t know he’s lonely, until Draco says ‘I’ll stay’ and never leaves.

A hand in his, gentle kisses before bed, every room filled with light and laughter—there’s nothing else he could possibly need. 

Harry doesn’t believe in happy endings, because when Draco says ‘I love you,’ Harry knows his life is just beginning.

sick baby take your juice