sibilantly: Ursula K. Le Guin, Acclaimed for Her Fantasy...

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sibilantly:

Ursula K. Le Guin, Acclaimed for Her Fantasy Fiction, Is Dead at 88

“Ursula K. Le Guin, the immensely popular author who brought literary depth and a tough-minded feminist sensibility to science fiction and fantasy with books like “The Left Hand of Darkness” and the Earthsea series, died on Monday at her home in Portland, Ore. She was 88.”

(via The New York Times)
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aria-lerendeair: ooksaidthelibrarian: seeminglycaptivating: seeminglycaptivating: alex-riko: ros...

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aria-lerendeair:

ooksaidthelibrarian:

seeminglycaptivating:

seeminglycaptivating:

alex-riko:

rosebeaches:

I love kids they’re all like.. “when i grow up i’m gonna be an astronaut and a chef and a doctor and an olympic swimmer” like that self confidence! That drive! That optimism! Where does it go

It gets destroyed by adults not believing in you and telling you to pick a realistic career. And by society creating all these obstacles to the point that you’re too tired to try.

But they’re not really unrealistic, SOMEBODY is going to be an olympic swimmer and it might as well be you.

Actually I want to talk about this a little more than I did, because olympic swimming is incredible and works perfectly to talk about attaining goals.

I used to be a varsity swimmer, and I was damn good, but I was forced into it by my parents and completely lost my love for it and therein my drive. But in high school I was swimming against such talented swimmers like Olympic Swimmer Missy Franklin. I’ve met her, and the main difference between her and me was that I was strong but had no passion, but she was strong BECAUSE she had passion. 

And I could have been good, really good, maybe even Olympic good. I even have the predisposition for it, been swimming since I was 2 years old, have a mom who was almost an olympic swimmer. Missy didn’t have either of those things, she just wanted it, loved it, had been doing it for a long time, and decided she was going to kick ass at it.

Right, that’s great and all, but I completely missed my opportunity to be an olympic swimmer, yeah? and can never achieve those dreams I had as a kid? No, not even though. There was this whole thought that female athletes peak when they’re 17 years old and lose their skills quickly after that, and male athletes peak around 19. But then Olympic Swimmer Dara Torres shows up. She was an olympic swimmer when she was 17, 21 and 25. Pretty normal age for retirement. She had a few kids. She kicked butt at being a mom. 

And then at 33 years old she decides she’s bored or something gets back in shape and kicks so much ass at the trials that she lands herself on the Olympic Team ONCE AGAIN. And then 8 years later, she decides, heck I’m 41 now, no one has ever made the olympic swim team as old as I am, I want to get in shape yet again and teach these children how sports work.

And she still has the record for oldest US Olympic Swimmer, not even any men have beat out that record.

So basically what I’m saying is you could be an olympic swimmer, you really could be. And there are obviously a lot of things stopping you and trying to get in your way: your brain, society, too much chocolate cake for example. But if you really dedicate yourself to it and love it with all of your heart you could, you really could.

And lets say olympic swimming isn’t your jam? That’s cool too. There isn’t a single skill in this world that you can’t learn if you absolutely love it and want to. Any skill you want is going to take time. There are countless famous people who started learning a skill after 20, 30, 40, or even 50. Not a single person has even been president under age 35 (most likely because you’re not allowed to be, but there’s a reason for that). Whatever you want to do you’re probably going to be bad at first, and I’m talking really shitty.

Van Gogh got started in his 20′s and was thought to have no artistic talent at first and was forced to sit in the back of classrooms where the worst artists in the class sat. So yeah you’ll probably be bad, like really bad and everyone including you will think you’re bad. If you stick with it though, if you’re willing to work for years and years, if you keep loving it after all the pain it’s given you, 

then you might just paint Starry Night.

#looks like there’s still time for me to learn how to draw… YES. As someone who started drawing at 35 and who always was like: ‘eh, I can’t draw a stick figure to save my life, but I would love to be able to’ this is near and dear to my heart. If you want to draw, start drawing. Keep drawing. Be shit at drawing at first. Keep it up, doodle things on scraps but also draw stuff you don’t think you can draw. Challenge yourself, you will be surprised what you can do. It will be frustrating at times, but it will also be awesome. It is SO much a matter of practice and dedication, not talent.

This applies for writing, too.  

Don’t ever think for a second that it doesn’t!  Want to start writing?  Then write!  You will get better the more you write, the more often, and you will improve, all of the time, as long as you dedicate yourself.  
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funkzpiel: auroargraves: Percival Graves would probably

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funkzpiel:

auroargraves:

Percival Graves would probably have a legit driving license because, “it’s better to know about the No-Majs culture and automobiles are a big thing to help them commute, Madame President.”

he would probably own a car —a Rolls-Royce; something sleek and dark in colour— that he keeps back in the Graves Estate.

So now I’m thinking Percival Graves making his big getaway from Grindeldick’s clutch with the help of his car because his magic is confined and shackles.

Grindeldickwad thinks that it’s okay to let Percival roam the estate since he can’t do magic anyway; his little prisoner can’t apparate in and out so what’s the harm of letting Percival walk around the manor because he will still be trapped inside.

A slight miscalculation on his part that costs him a lot because, “Suck my dick, you madman. I don’t need magic to move around. I have a fucking Royce.”

so now imagine Percival —still looking ruggedly handsome except for the cuts and bruises marring his face and forearms and Merlin knows whereelse— pulling up to Woolworth’s Building, nearly collides with the spinning door and yelling that the man they all thought was him is actually an impostor.

“Sera! Ask him to drive the fucking Royce!”

She does and Grindelwald doesn’t even know what the fuck is an ignition because he is so far removed from the No-Majs culture thinking that he’s superior and that’s how he is arrested because he can’t drive.

Whereas Percival Graves is a hellhound behind the wheel.

The end.

Headcanon accepted, please proceed with filming.
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Photo

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Why did u have to give me cravings for bleach/Naruto where uchiha and senju go to soul society and s

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Good Boy

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elsewhereuniversity:

It began on a Tuesday. Later, she would tell people that this made sense. Nothing bad happens on Tuesdays. He knew better, but he was far too polite to contradict her.

The offering had changed. Usually it was the standard bowl of cream, which he ignored. He wasn’t a cat. There was one outside almost every door. Not hers.

He knew what it was long before he found her door. Floating above the heavy, yellowing smell of dairy, twisting through the shimmering scent of the Fair Folk – leaf-mould, rainwater, Sambuca and not enough sunlight – was the tang of blood. Meat.

His ears twitched. His maw began to slaver. He was hungry, so hungry. There were no offerings for him. He took what he could get at The Hunt, but it was never enough.

He followed his nose. There, outside a door that smelled greenish-blue and soft. It sat raw and wet in a little dish, piled up like rubies.

One of Them was crouching over it.

They didn’t eat meat. It was poking at it with one long, long, long finger, disgust twisting all four of its mouths. It hissed, clicked, and all the quills on its spine bristled with fury. Not the cream it was used to.

He growled.

It turned. Shifted so it was blocking the meat, just out of spite. It wasn’t going to eat the meat, but it certainly wouldn’t let him eat it, either. It shifted its smell – something the Fair Folk always did when they wanted to give him a headache – and waited for him to leave.

He snapped at it. It shrieked, flapping backwards, and scythed out a claw. He lunged forward and bit, jaws tight around its arm. There was a crack and it came away in his mouth. He shook it around, just to show the thing who was boss, and it ran shrieking down the corridor.

He spat out the arm by the greenish-blue door. He wasn’t going to eat that. The bones felt like bark and tasted like mouldering leaves, and there was fresh meat waiting for him.

He settled down to his dinner and licked the bowl clean.

There was more meat the next day. The arm was gone, though. Ripples and dents spattered the floor from where the thing had bled, but the corridor was empty. Good. Sometimes the Fair Folk needed reminding of what he could really do. Too many of them saw him as another of their shiny, knife-like hounds. He was another thing entirely.

He’d left scorch marks on the floor too. The RAs wouldn’t like that. One of them had tried to chase him off with a broom when he’d been at his weakest and the whole experience had been very undignified.

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naamahdarling: capteinwayfinder: what the FUCK kind of dragon...

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naamahdarling:

capteinwayfinder:

what the FUCK kind of dragon is that

i don’t know but i’m reblogging it because i’m afraid it’s one of those “REBLOG THIS CREATURE AND GET WEALTH” memes in disguise, and if I don’t, it’s going to come to my house, steal everything of value I own, piss on the rest, and leave without even letting me pet it.
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"We’re each of us alone, to be sure. What can

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“We’re each of us alone, to be sure. What can you do but hold your hand out in the dark?”

-

Ursula Le Guin

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paranoidbean: cobaltdays: THE BEST VERSION OF THIS POST

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paranoidbean:

cobaltdays:

THE BEST VERSION OF THIS POST HONESTLY. 
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thefingerfuckingfemalefury: uncomfortablecucumber: This is money...

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thefingerfuckingfemalefury:

uncomfortablecucumber:

This is money cat. He only appears every 1,383,986,917,198,001 posts. If you repost this in 30 seconds he will bring u good wealth and fortune.

<3 I believe in Money Cat <3
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@funkzpiel

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@funkzpiel
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Headcanon: Jane Foster Saves The Universe

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rcmclachlan:

Ever since I saw Thor: Ragnarok (which I loved SO MUCH), all I’ve been able to think about is that one throwaway line that explained away Jane Foster’s absence. It really steams my clams that we had this awesome scientist who was as awkward and earnest as any of us dorks, who humanized a bratty space prince and never compromised herself or her work, and they erased her with a single line about her dumping Thor—like it explained anything. Like, she tore apart the stars looking for him for three years, and suddenly she’s like “Peace out, girl scout”? I can’t see her giving up him and their life together—which they fought for—for anything.

After a lot of angry mumbling to myself and singing along to sad 90s ballads in my car, I realized exactly what must have happened.

Odin happened.

The All-Father himself shows up on Jane’s doorstep at like 6 in the morning on a random Tuesday, wearing a ratty bathrobe and in serious need of a bath and beard trim. She suddenly feels better about the fact that she’s not wearing a bra under her shirt.

It’s actually Thor’s shirt.

“They evacuated the nursing home and I slept under a bridge before I recalled that you resided in the next town over” is a sentence she never expected to come out of the mouth of a veritable god, and yet here they are. Instead of asking the many questions she has (most of them starting with “what” and “the fuck”), she hustles him inside and gets him seated on the couch with a mug of the really good coffee (sent weekly by Tony Stark, because “minds like ours need high test, pangolin, you’ll see what I’m talking about”).

“At least you Midgardians can do one thing right,” Odin rumbles and drains his coffee in a single go, because like father like son, and the son is a champion mead drinker on several worlds. It physically pains Jane to give Odin any more of it, because it comes by the ounce and not by the can, and it’s going to be another six days before her next coffee delivery arrives.

Odin asks if they can watch The Price Is Right. The nursing home had him follow a pretty strict routine and he hates deviating from it.

Seriously, what.

While Drew Carey explains the rules of Lucky Seven to contestant Linda, who has the chance to win a new truck if she’s left holding a dollar by the end of the game, Jane finally can’t hold it in anymore and blurts out that Thor isn’t there. “He’s gone this week. Hunting for more Infinity Stones. You know. Since the thing with Malekith, we’ve been searching for more. But he should be back by Friday.”

Odin nods sagely and says that Linda should choose 4 as her next guess.

This is the man who once compared her to a goat. Now he’s yelling at the TV because Linda picked 9.

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theredmaynefiles:A few more from The Danish Girl, because i have...

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theredmaynefiles:

A few more from The Danish Girl, because i have so many favorite moments from this incredible film. I love it & yet it makes me cry every time I see it. And I am not someone who normally cries, like ever, & especially not over a film. Eddie is such an incredible actor that he truly brings Lili to life & then your heart breaks for her in so many ways, especially at the end. Alicia Vikander’s performance is honestly equally amazing.I think she is my favorite actress that Eddie has worked with, although Felicity Jones is a close second!

@funkzpiel
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fromacomrade:

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fromacomrade:
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"don't I get a kiss for luck? It's kind if tradition, right?" - Graves to Newt before battle

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( @thegaypumpingthroughyourveins I know I’m terribly late, but I hope you had a happy birthday, sweetheart ♥ )

“Director Graves,“ Seraphina waltzes in his office like she’s owning the damn place, which isn’t entirely wrong, but still “that was completely unnecessary.“ She fixes him with the stare. He already loves where this conversation goes to.

“Was it?“ Percival says, avoiding her eyes and busying himself with the papers on his desk. Seraphina knows he doesn’t want to discuss the matter, but she’ll make him listen anyway, so  Percival braces himself for the good old scolding.

“Percival.“ Her tone is softer, but there still is sternness in the way she gives him a piece of her mind. “It was completely unnecessary to call for a duel with the new British ambassador.“ He met her gaze, knowing eyes boring into his. “I heard, he was rather“ She slightly grimaced before continuing “rude to our consultant magizoologist, but that surely didn’t mean you have to” The corner of her lips twitched into a smirk “punch him square in the face - a very unattractive one, I must add - and to call him for a duel.”

“Sera, come on, you were here, you heard what he called Scamander.“

“Yes, I did, and I would defend him too, if I were in your place.“ At Percival’s surprised face, she snorted. “Of course I would. My employees go first. But, I’m not in your place, and seriously, Percival, who in their right mind would duel you? You won’t leave the guy any chances, and I don’t want problems with the British Ministry.”

Oh, so this is the root of all this boring monologue. Of course she wouldn’t want problems, not after Grindelwald. They need to cooperate, to find comrades in every country. British Ministry of Magic is no exception.

Politics never interested Percival, but he would do as Seraphina says most of the times. Except this one, he couldn’t just overlook or pass by as if he didn’t hear or see a thing. It’s important to protect and show your dedication to the one you deeply care for, and so happened that Scamander is that person.

“It’s late to change anything, Sera.“ Percival says, his eyes meeting her with no hesitation “He accepted the challenge. Tomorrow, we will duel and nothing’s gonna change that.“

“I know,“ She rolls her eyes at him in exasperation “that’s why I’m here.“ He raised a thick eyebrow in question. “To tell you to take it easy. We don’t need a war with the Brits, because of another two Brits.“

“I really can’t promise anything.“ Percival shrugged and grinned at her annoyed huff. He’s going to have fun hexing the bastard, and more importantly, no one will stop him.

The dueling arena at MACUSA is really impressive and it also has a lot of space for those who find watching wizards dueling each other entertaining. Of course, Percival couldn’t blame them for being excited, after all, one of the duelists is the director of Magical Security himself. Nearly half of MACUSA came to see the show and he isn’t going to disappoint them, Seraphina’s words be damned.

Walking to his corner, Percival takes off his coat and jacket, leaving these into the waiting hands of Goldstein. Beside her, Scamander nervously throws him short glances and worries his bottom lip between his teeth. Percival would groan externally, if he could be sure it won’t come out obscenely, but as he doesn’t trust his vocal cords, he does it internally, and not without adding some other obscenities to complete the picture in his mind.

“Mr. Graves, I-“ Scamander’s voice makes him focus on the man “You shouldn’t, really. I am used to being called things. It’s not the first time, nor the last, so you don’t have to-“

“Shh.“ Percival shushes and approaches the man, his fingers straightening the straps on his thigh, the wand tucked in its sheath. He flexes his fingers and observes how Scamander’s blue eyes follow their movement. “Now, Newt.“ At the mention of his name, the bright eyes snap up and look into his without breaking the contact. Percival loves his eyes, because there are always genuine emotions pictured in them. There’s surprise and slight confusion in Newt’s eyes and they still as Percival approaches him further. “I will not allow anyone to say such things to you or about you anymore, so you shouldn’t get used to such attitude.“

The surprise and confusion grow, but a new emotion slips on Newt’s face. It’s happiness and it makes Newt’s eyes sparkle even more beautifully. Percival smiles at him, and tries to fool around.

“Don’t I get a kiss for luck?” He says, the humor clear in his tone. “It’s kind of tradition, right?“

He expects a smile or maybe even a short laugh in response, a friendly pat on the back, a good luck charm without any words. Or a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently in silent gratitude. What Percival never expected is warm, plush lips brushing against his cheek and lingering there a tad bit longer than should to be considered a joke.

Then Newt whispers silently a promise of more, if he wins the duel, and Percival never felt this motivated to win before.
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...I have to admit, after mentally paging back through earlier conversations/worldbuilds, I am now s

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… I tell you give me ‘happy Obi-Wan’ and you come up with this???! How is this not even more heart breaking? That said, man, imagine the possibilities of elf Obi-Wan from the most dramatic family ever. And this includes the Skywalkers. Now I want to know how this could possibly happen - and how does Obi-Wan find out? Does he stop aging? Does he start looking weirdly at really shiny jewels? (Either way, I bet you the clones and Anakin will collectively laugh themselves sick at his disgruntlement)
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dolljunk:This is the gay money robot. Reblog to bring prosperity...

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dolljunk:

This is the gay money robot. Reblog to bring prosperity to your doll purchases
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I hold that Obi-Wan Kenobi actually has a degree in some non-Jedi related subject. Dance, perhaps, o

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Oh man, imagine the latter though - he would be Padme and the handmaidens’ immediate best friend. Maybe he was learning at the time of TPM, or had just finished the qualification. His skills get a lot of a work out right around that time. Oooh, I bet he was inspired to learn it because of Qui-Gon’s glorious mane!

Years later, Anakin doesn’t believe him because ‘wtf, Master, you can’t claim to be good at everything’, and Obi-Wan looks him dead in the eye, completely deadpan, and proceeds to braid Anakin’s hair into the most elaborate do without even looking at his hands.
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