Just Another Disney Princess

stop! just stop. eat the special snack. drink the expensive hippie tea. use the incense or the bath bomb or whatever you paid way too much for because you were feeling really bad and retail therapy makes u feel alive

when we save things for special occasions/rainy days it contributes to us feeling like A.) our day to day existence is lackluster and B.) you have to be feeling a certain level of Bad, or have to reach a certain level of Socially Accepted Achievement, to enjoy things

just give yourself stuff. there are definitely sometimes reasons to withhold things from yourself - as motivation, if it’s something you consciously want to use sparingly, etc - but at least for me half the time it just turns into self-flagellation and also cool things and cool experiences and nice treats just collect dust while i wait for some fabled day when i convince myself i finally Deserve it

“A ‘special thing’ can make any occasion special.”

She told me this when I objected to her opening a really expensive bottle of champagne just to watch a movie. And you know, she was right. The champagne was amazing and while we always sit around and watch movies, that bottle made that night a really special occasion that I will always remember.

a group of them is called a “pride”

sleep all the time in co-ed cuddle piles

i mean. the real reason i made this post is to post all these photos of same-sex lion groups. they’re just gay look at them! so loving.

im not going to post a pic of the gay lions fucking but we all know there are many 

they’re also just so naturally dramatic and comfortable like this guy? this man could dish on anyone at the watering hole and i’d believe him 

meanwhile lionesses are like one vegan bakery short of a lesbian network to rival your average new england small city.  look at them co-parenting and generally having a womanist community 

they also are just very tender and are clearly liberated and more than happy to live a life without men.

also they’re all so butch i mean look at them. they all look like they know how to put up some drywall you know?? you know?

some of the butchest ones even grow little manes. look at her! queen of gender nonconformity. 

also? tender. 

TEDDY GUESS WHAT, THE WEIRD SISTERS ARE COMING TO TOWN. PACK YOUR THINGS, SON, I ALREADY TALKED TO MCGONAGALL AND SHE SAID IT’S COOL. MERLIN’S PANTS I’M SO EXCITED. DON’T TELL ANYONE OKAY, MAYBE YOU SHOULDN’T TELL DAD EITHER. OH FUCK, IS THIS A HOWLER? I FUCKED UP, I FUCKED UP.

Nikita Gill (via wordsnquotes)

in the song, dancing (stereotypically associated with women and gay men) represents same-gender attraction and the more “masculine” sport, baseball, represents heterosexuality. Ryan tells chad “I’ll show you that it’s one and the same” - that being gay is as valid as being straight, and that it is nothing to be ashamed of. ryan is clearly proud of being able to dance

Ryan encourages chad to “swing like him”, bearing in mind ryan is strongly implied to be gay and the word swing is often used with regards to sexuality, ie “I don’t swing that way”

Chad displays a stereotypical masculine bravado, he is clearly trying to impress Ryan, he tells him “I’ve got what it takes… so you better spin that pitch you’re gonna throw me”, while reasserting his definite heterosexuality, he adds “I’ll show you how I swing”

Chad also implies that he experiences gay feelings but represses them. When ryan tells him “You’ll never know if you never try”, chad replies “there’s just one thing that stops me every time”. this shows his fear of social rejection and his own internalised homophobia

as the song progresses this becomes more obvious, chad goes from saying he “doesn’t” dance to saying he “can’t” even though it is clear that he is actually a good dancer while also being skilled at baseball

from this we can guess that chad is bisexual and that ryan is either bisexual or gay, though we can assume his preference lies with men at this point

on top of this there is the obvious underlying sexual tension running throughout the song. they switch between confrontational and flirty; there’s a lot of smiling and eyebrow waggling going on, and when they do dance they get all up in each others personal space

the song ends with ryan falling on top of chad. in the following scene, they are wearing each other’s clothes

He finds her sitting on the edge of the grand fountain in the courtyard of the palace, knees bent and one of her hands sifting through the clear water. She is beautiful in the light of the setting sun with her hair pulled back in a twisted braid, exposing the open back of her emerald dress. The one she was given by the Princess Jasmine upon their arrival to Agrabah. He isn’t too keen on his own attire - there is a small comfort in knowing that David must endure this fabricated disaster as well - but her’s, well, he very much enjoys the female clothing of this realm.

“I had a feeling you’d find me eventually.” She doesn’t lift her head to him, keeps her gaze focused on the ripples she makes in the water. But she does stretch her free hand out to him, a silent invitation for him to join her. One he is more than willing to accept.

“If you wanted to hide, darling, I don’t believe sitting out here was the wisest decision.” He settles on the old concrete behind her, pressing a kiss to the back of her head as his hand skims across the soft skin of her shoulder.

“I wasn’t hiding, at least not from you. I just needed a moment.”

“Something’s troubling you.” It’s more of a statement than a question, he knew something was vexing her the moment she stepped out the the throne room. The tales from savior’s past surely weighing heavy on her mind and heart. And he’ll be damned if he lets her carry this burden alone.

“I’m just -” She sighs heavily, leaning back against his chest and taking her hand from the water to hold his own. “We’re never gonna have a chance to start our lives together. We’ll never be able to really live in that house or make plans for our future. Not if we keep getting swept away to different realms every two weeks.”  

She shifts again, until she’s practically sitting in his lap with her head on his shoulder as her worry for the uncertainty of their future presses against her.

He too is timorous, but more for her safety then their future. He knows he will grow old by her side, someday call her his wife and build a true home out of that old Victorian. But her role as savior has consequences, ones no one had anticipated. Ones that could cost her her life, have her magic drained from her like rum from a barrel. And that is what scares him, that no matter how hard they fight, the fate of his true love has already been decided.

So I was rereading Harry Potter, when I came across this and thought- what if instead of Cedric Diggory, Cassius Warrington had been chosen to compete in the Triwizard Tournament?

Imagine Dumbledore calling out the name of the Hogwarts champion and it isn’t a Gryffindor, or a Ravenclaw, or even a Hufflepuff, but it’s a Slytherin. A student from a House most people hate.

Imagine Cassius Warrington getting up, and three out of four Houses are booing at him and shouting things like “NO!” or, “We can’t have a Slytherin champion!” or demanding a retry. But he’s a Slytherin- he’s been dealing with this shit since he got sorted, so he keeps his head high and joins the other champions.

Imagine Harry trying to catch Warrington alone because he doesn’t really want to associate with Slytherins (plus Malfoy has this tendency of being around the guy ALL THE TIME since he got chosen), but at the same time he’s also fair enough not to want him to walk into the first task unprepared.

Imagine Warrington walking over to Harry a few months later, and Ron and Hermione both jump into a protective stance, wands out, but instead of attacking Harry he just tells him to stick the egg underwater. (Because Slytherins don’t forget those who helped them out).

Imagine Warrington and Harry helping each other out in the labyrinth.

Imagine Harry being devastated when Peter kills Warrington- because Voldemort doesn’t care what house they’re form, a spare is a spare.

Imagine the uproar that causes among the Slytherins, because some of their parents really are Death Eaters and they know what really happened.

Imagine Slytherins reaching out, asking for help from classmates from other houses. They’re terrified, truly terrified because the being their parents claimed would never hurt them because they’re pureblood, they realize that he does not care.

Imagine Slytherins in the 5th book sneaking off to join Dumbledore’s Army, to learn more about who Voldemort is without their parents acting as a filter. 

Imagine the shock when they’re told what he’s really done.

Imagine that a few talented Slytherins went with Harry and the others into the Ministry of Magic. The others are a bit wary but they prove themselves as friends.

Imagine them being confronted by Lucius Malfoy in the the Hall of Prophecy, and when the Death Eaters descend, they know that any one of them could be their parents.

Imagine the shocked gasp of a Death Eater as they realize their own child, a pureblood, is standing defiantly with Harry Potter. They choke back a cry. They can’t let their child know that they were about to duel to the death.

Imagine a DA Slytherin facing off against their own Death Eater parent. That they make the decision to let their child defeat them, because in that moment, they realize that they love their child more than they fear Voldemort. They go down, mask unveiled, and the Slytherin kid has to be dragged from the fight before he gets killed.

Imagine Book 6 Slytherins getting more friendly and cooperative with the other houses. Two years of Voldemort terrorizing the muggle and Wizarding world, two years where their parents just up and leave some days, cringing from the pain in their arm, two years after the death of the first Slytherin pureblood, Cassius Warrington, killed by Voldemort’s right-hand man, and they’re slowly hitting the breaking point.

Imagine Slytherin kids keeping tabs on their parents, sending the information to Harry, who shares it with the Order of the Phoenix, and hoping that their parents won’t be killed.

Imagine Book 7 Slytherins low-key rebelling against the new oppressive Hogwarts staff.

Imagine the final siege on Hogwarts, where Slytherins stand proudly by their fellow houses, knowing full-well they could be fighting their own parents. Some Slytherins know their parents were in the fighting. They hope to find them first and sneak them away. Their fellow students understand. Professor McGonagall allows 7th Year Slytherin, Pansy Parkinson, to duel a death eater in her stead; her father is under that veil. She knows it.

Imagine the aftermath of the battle; every house suffered loses. Slytherin students crying over the deaths of friends they made in every house.

Imagine Harry staring over her head at everyone else until Hermione steps up–it doesn’t take long, but it takes long enough that when she does all eyes are on her as a source of motion–and says “we’re never going to forget this. They’re not going to get away with it” and the girlfriend just latches onto Hermione and everyone is in wands-out stance convinced she’s about to attack the shit out of Hermione, and then the girlfriend stares into her eyes and says “do you promise me” and Hermione just gives her this super-firm nod and says “I promise” and the girlfriend just collapses on her, sobbing. 

Imagine Dumbledore trying to give some flowery speech about inter-wizard solidarity while glossing over why, because Slytherins have always been a touchy subject, and Ron gets to his feet and says “Professor, I need to say something important” and Dumbledore is so surprised he just cedes the floor, and Ron–after that awkward moment when he realizes everyone is staring at him–says he didn’t know Warrington particularly, but he knows how Warrington and Harry played. That each was always cheering on the other. Both wanted to win, but neither was willing to undercut the other by underhanded means. He finishes up saying “I think–I think it’s important everyone should know he died being what a champion should be. Because he could have abandoned Harry and instead he stood up with him to play the game the honest way, and he died for it. And–and Slytherin House should be proud, and we should all be proud, because Warrington was a good bloke.” He sits back down all flustered because he didn’t actually stand up meaning to make a speech. And then Pansy Parkinson stands up before Dumbledore can take back control of the room and says “I want to tell Weasley thank you.” And all of Slytherin House raises a glass–to Warrington, to Weasley, to Potter–and the other houses follow suit. Many years later, Wizarding scholars will say that was the moment Voldemort truly lost.

Imagine later that summer. Harry gets several owls on his birthday, all unsigned. The birds are plump and pretentious and well-cared-for. He will never know which Slytherins sent him their treasures: parchments with hexes developed by the Death Eaters; a strange locket that will only open if he whispers a special spell but that always shows him the picture he most needs to see; a page torn from a potions book that, brewed properly, will allow him extra time to summon a Patronus by giving him a few crucial seconds not just of happiness but of bliss. It doesn’t matter. Harry knows these gifts not as birthday gifts but for what they really are, and he treasures the locket and copies out the potion to send to Hermione and Mrs. Weasley, and when first summoned by the Order of the Phoenix he marches straight up to Dumbledore with the hexes and says “I can’t tell you where I got these, Professor. But they’re in use by the Death Eaters and I think you should have them.” Months later, Sirius will recognize the spell Bellatrix shoots at him, and will dive out of the way just in the nick of time.

The final battle. Everyone is there. Sirius somehow ends up herding a group of Slytherins. They all stare at him and he at them, across a centuries-old divide Voldemort has only succeeded in deepening. Then he remembers the hexes. Harry’s locket, now tucked under Sirius’ shirt because Harry’s friends are with him in this battle but most of Sirius’ are dead. The moment that happiness potion saved Remus’ life, his very soul. Snape’s final words to Harry, finally seen not as mockery but real true advice. What Harry said Voldemort said–his first words in his new form. They are kids, and they are sharing the same kind of hurt he once wouldn’t admit to, watching his mother burn his name off the family tree. “When we go in there, it’s going to be hell,” he tells the Slytherins. “Some of you are probably going to die. I might go down too, and if I do I want your best curser in the front. But I want you all to remember one thing. There are no spares.”  Later retellings of the battle never fail to mention the moment a group of angry, screaming teens burst into the Great Hall, wearing their green and silver as the badge of honor it should be, shouting NO SPARES, NO SPARES at the tops of their voices in between hexes and curses and the occasional physical punch. When Hermione is present, she always interrupts the storyteller to be sure everyone knows about the moment Blaise Zabini shoved her to the floor, dropped on top of her, fired off three curses in rapid succession and said “stay alive, Granger, we need you” before jumping back to his feet and vanishing into the melee–how, for all anyone knows, those may have been his last words, and she will not let his sacrifice go unnoted. 

The aftermath. Malfoy holds out a hand to Sirius, badly injured on the floor. Sirius asks how Malfoy is willing to trust him. Malfoy nods at his chest. “You’ve got my godfather’s locket,” he says, and when Sirius and Harry finally speak after the battle Harry gives his full agreement to the very first thing out of  Sirius’ mouth. They give the locket to Malfoy. Sirius grits his teeth and closes his eyes and opens them and says “He probably saved my life, giving Harry that.” He doesn’t say thank you. Malfoy hears it anyway.

The school reopens under a single banner: the four Houses united. The House rivalry is reduced to just that–a competition in fun–with those deep divides slowly healing to scars, and eventually away to nothing at all.

Imagine it.