spacenunn-blog

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Just your daily reminders:

Racists are a problem

White people are not

Homophobes are a problem

Straight people are not

Transphobes are a problem

Cis people are not

Sexists are a problem

Men are not

And most importantly,

Hating an innocent person solely because of their race, sexuality, or gender makes you a fucking asshole

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恭喜發財！ 新年快樂！

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good luck, crispies

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(x)(x) 

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085. The tenth Doctor in black and white

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When you open your mouth and a Scottish accent comes out, people are surprised. You speak English really well, they say, and you nod politely as if your first words hadn’t been some form of ‘mum’ like 99% of the Hogwarts population. It gets better after a while—eleven year olds don’t really care where you’re from, as long as you’re nice and share your Honeydukes packages—so when the Beauxbatons delegation arrives your fifth year and that strange new potato dish appears on the table, you and Marietta Edgecombe, who’s also from Scotland, laugh and tell everyone that stovies are nothing new, really.

Still, that night when Roger Davies coaxes you to sneak up to the Astronomy Tower with him, he calls you exotic. You call him silly. Your grandparents are Chinese, but you have lived in Scotland all your life. Yet you follow him to the Astronomy Tower anyway, and let his ice blue eyes slide over your body because, for once, having porcelain skin and jet black hair makes you beautiful instead of just abnormal. For a while, at least, you are exotic.

Those Beauxbaton girls are exotic too, though, especially the girl with flowing blonde hair Davies fawns over all the way to the Yule Ball. You take that news unexpectedly well. Deep inside, you always knew you couldn’t compete with a Beauxbaton girl. They are French, and that’s the kind of exotic Hogwarts boys really want.

Except the Hufflepuff one, the one with grey eyes you had a crush on back in third year. Cedric Diggory, from Ottery St. Catchpole. He finds you by the lake, takes you aside under a beech tree as your friends giggle in the background, and shyly asks if you will go the Yule Ball with him. He shouldn’t be this shy. He needn’t be shy at all, because ‘yes’ tumbles out of your mouth with no reservation. He is so very handsome.

And good. And sweet. So deliciously, blithely sweet. He kisses you unexpectedly your first date at Madame Puddifoot’s Teashop, and then again in the alleyway behind Zonko’s. When you come up for breath and take a peak at this boy who makes your nerves tingle, his eyes remain closed as his lips reach for another taste.

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Glamour UK: What do you get riled up about in a feminist context?

Gillian Anderson: A lot. I have feminist bones and when I hear things or see people react to women in certain ways I have very little tolerance.

Glamour UK: But don't you feel sorry for modern men? Not knowing whether they should help us with our bags and open doors for us or whether we'll see it as an affront?

Gillian Anderson: No. I don't feel sorry for men.

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That’s the secret.

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Everyone’s favorite radish-earring’d Ravenclaw, Luna Lovegood. (x)

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“…all this uncertainty with You-Know-Who coming back, people think they might be dead tomorrow, so they’re rushing all sorts of decisions they’d normally take time over. it was the same last time he was powerful, people eloping left, right, and centre...”“Including you and Dad.”  "Yes, well, your father and I were made for each other, what was the point in waiting?"