😍😂

Hey all y'all Americans out there please keep this in mind, make sure your votes count and oust the cheeto from the White House

Vote Blue

I do not miss childhood, but I miss the way I took pleasure in small things, even as greater things crumbled. I could not control the world I was in, could not walk away from things or people or moments that hurt, but I took joy in the things that made me happy.

— Neil Gaiman, The Ocean at the End of the Lane

man I wish the original movie was more like this disney cruise line stage musical, who knew fucking Woody Toy Story actually had the biggest banger of a threatening villain-esque disney song?!

Thank you Jenny Han for debuting my version of This Love in the trailer for The Summer I Turned Pretty!! I’ve always been so proud of this song and I’m very 🥺🥺🥺 about this turn of events - This Love (Taylor’s Version) comes out tonight at m i d n i g h t! Pre-order now http://taylor.lnk.to/thislovetv

Blue Admiral (Kaniska canace), family Nymphalidae, found in South and SE Asia

photograph by rajesh_kumar_photography

A career for a career - Megan Fox deserves to have hers back. Michael Bay deserves to be blacklisted, something he had no problem doing to her when she exposed him for his awful, predatory behavior.

ya know like….you always hear about the classics™ authors having stupid wild shenanigans with each other. they all banded together to be dumbass chaotic english majors together. the stories are great and they’re all considered timeless genius writers….we don’t have that with modern age authors? where’s the goddamn sense of community? where’s the saucy tales of jk rowling, stephen king, james patterson and nicholas sparks locked up in an orgy cabin during a hurricane and having a writing contest. no one’s ever gotten in a fist fight with stephanie meyer. rick riordan didn’t cry face down in george r r martin’s garden after no one liked blood of olympus. jodi picoult doesn’t have a single damn calcified heart in her possession. cassandra clare and suzanne collins never had sex on a grave. neil gaiman has never gone on a week long sex-binge that would have killed him if r l stine didn’t intervene. john green has never written a book in two weeks while snorting massive amounts of cocaine. where’s the drama!!! where’s the scandal!!!! where’s the intrigue!!! modern day authors have to step it UP a notch, God dammit.

Once is Always

The first day back in England, every one of the Pevensie children managed an extravagant fall. 

Their legs are shorter than they should be, but they can’t say this out loud. 

Weeks go by. Eventually, they all relearn how to walk. 

But there are other, stranger things they can’t relearn. 

Like how:

Lucy is eight. 

Lucy is twenty-three. 

She can’t remember how to be small and unimportant, or how to play children’s games. Fifteen years in another world have left her used to being listened to, relied upon. The horrors of war are far less frightening than the horror of ignorance, of tiny uncalloused hands. Or waking in the night remembering the culture, the world she left behind.

Like how:

And Susan is twelve - nearly - thirty.

With small children of her own under her care. She can’t forget the feel of them growing inside her. 

She can’t unlearn the way her ears are always listening for them. Years later she is still celebrating birthdays for people who live only in her memory, only knee high. At night she’d kept awake wondering about the strangers she gave birth too. 

So she keeps trying to forget.

For the boys it is different. But not better:

Peter is thirteen and full of anger. The adults call it puberty. The adults don’t realize the shadow in his eyes is the same shadow in the eyes of returning soldiers. High King Peter, with so many lives under his command now commands nothing, and knows nothing. Responsibility and questions weigh on him. 

But Edmund wakes up one day and realizes that after so many years no stranger can ever go to war with him about a child betraying his family for roses and sugar. His worst mistake weighs only on his mind now. And somehow, it’s this small silver lining that lets him pull their family back from the brink. He is no longer the broken one, no longer haunted by a child he no longer is.

Even so.

The Pevensie’s are adrift in a world of smoke and debris, and the rolling empty countryside. The war here is not fought with swords and fangs, but gas, and fire from above.

A fate worse than death is not being turned to stone. 

There is no Lion coming at the eleventh hour to save them all. No lion except the one they carry inside themselves. 

And that would have to be enough. 

So each Pevensie found a way to matter, to change, to save. 

And a little bit of Aslan crept in around the corners when they needed him most. 

There was a snap and a growl to Lucy her mother had never seen. 

A spine of unyielding stone in Susan. 

A soft listening silence in Edmund. 

And in Peter a flash of fang, and reckless hope. 

The Pevensies are not in Narnia. 

So they took part of it with them. 

life’s too short to be embarrassed you read x reader fan fiction. live ur life and date as many imaginary boys as u want