🔥 Popular | Latest

Save
Beautiful, Blessed, and Bones: deadcatwithaflamethrower: hebic: kyraneko: balencia: kitrazzle: pissedoffweasley: wizardingheadcanon: kyraneko: elidyce: thatgirlonstage: fuckyeahdeathlyhallows: sirlestrange: #that is a human as a rat as a cup That was a long 12 years for Wormtail. Can you imagine how differently their lives would’ve gone if Ron, in trying to transfigure Scabbers, had actually transfigured him back into a human?Just take a moment to imagine McGonagall’s reaction if Peter Pettigrew had abruptly appeared in her classroom from Ronald Weasley’s rat.Take a moment. Or if Ron had fucked it up a little worse and couldn’t get ‘Scabbers’ back and McGonagall had take him to disenchant him and next thing we know there’s a naked Peter Pettigrew sitting on McGonagall’s desk and the kids in that class learn six new swear words, a hex they will never dare to use, and a fear of Minerva McGonagall’s wrath that will be with them until the day they die. Ten and twenty years later first years are being pulled aside and warned never mess around in Transfiguration seriously the last time a kid mucked something up in that class Professor McGonagall used two semi-legal hexes, took down a Death Eater and sabotaged the rise of the Dark Lord before Potter had time to get his wand out. What most of Hogwarts learned first on that otherwise-unexceptionable day was that Professor McGonagall could sure scream loud. Professor Flitwick’s Charms 5th-year Charms class was close enough to catch the full effect, and the door had been left open besides; en masse the students recoiled with shock and a miscast Hiccuping Charm broke one of the windows (out which the entire flock of ravens they were practicing on escaped to the Forbidden Forest where they only had to worry about centaurs, rather than annoying young humans with wands). Up in the Divination Tower, Sibyl Trelawny preened over her foresight to have warned her students of an unprecedented catastrophe likely to occur before the hour was out. Out in Greenhouse Five, a NEWT-level Herbology class looked up in puzzlement, and most of them were subsequently bitten by the Venomous Tentaculae they were attempting to propagate. It does not do to ignore a Venomous Tentacula when you’re prodding at its intimate parts with a cotton ball held in tweezers, so the class was cancelled while two-thirds of the students headed for the infirmary and the rest of them headed into the castle because if they stayed with the Venomous Tentaculae they’d be outnumbered, and nobody wants that. And down in the dungeons, Professor Snape turned away from comparing Lee Jordan’s Pepper-Up Potion to spoiled cream at what sounded like a woman screaming from the entrance hall. At the second scream, he ordered the class to remain where they were and behave, sweeping out of the room just in time to miss Theodore Nott suddenly jumping up and yelping as if someone had put a crocodile heart down the back of his robes. Fred Weasley stepped back from the unfortunate Slytherin, shared a smirk with his twin, and stuck his head out the door to make sure Snape had rounded the corner before leading the way out of the classroom. - Back in the Transfiguration classroom, about four minutes ago, it had started innocently enough. Ron Weasley, possessed of a broken wand and a lurking suspicion that most of the family’s magical talent had been soaked up by his siblings before he was around to get any, had attempted to turn his pet rat, Scabbers, into a teacup. Scabbers had not become a teacup. Scabbers, blast his useless furry little backside, had become a furry, vaguely teacup-shaped monstrosity out of which absolutely no one would have been tempted to drink, and to make matters worse, he still had a tail. It was moving. Harry was hiding a smile behind his hand. Dean and Seamus weren’t even trying to hide, elbowing each other and laughing. Parvati and Lavender were looking with disgust and horror at either Scabbers or him, and Hermione was opening her mouth, no doubt ready to tell him exactly what he’d done wrong. Which only made it worse that he really thought he’d done everything right this time. He snatched Scabbers off the desk (eww, the base of the cup had the same texture as rat feet) and turned away from Hermione. He made the wand movement again, picturing in his mind the way McGonagall had demonstrated it. “Erreverto.” “Erreverto. Erreverto. Erreverto.” It didn’t work. It didn’t work when Professor McGonagall stopped by and gave Hermione two points for Gryffindor for getting the spell perfect in both directions. It didn’t work when Harry made his successful transfiguration (Ron looked; the pattern was a little bit furry but it was definitely a teacup). Ron’s lips formed the shape of a word that would’ve made his mother box his ears had she heard it and attempted the reverse transfiguration, which didn’t work either. Finally, faced not only with the indignity of failure but the threat of Scabbers being stuck like that, he’d gone up to Professor McGonagall’s desk. “Um, Professor?” Professor McGonagall looked up from the paper she was grading and looked from him to the squirming teacup. “Problems, Mr. Weasley?” “Um, yeah, Professor. I can’t get it to work in either direction and it’s not fair to Scabbers to make him stay as a teacup just because I can’t do a spell right and can you maybe … ?” “I suppose so, Mr. Weasley,” she said, and waved her wand in the exact manner Ron had been doing all along. Nothing happened. Professor McGonagall looked very, very puzzled. “Now that’s odd,” she said softly. As one, the other students rose from their seats and quietly moved closer. She did not attempt the transfiguration in the other direction. Instead, she made a complex motion with her wand and murmured an incantation that possibly only Hermione recognized. The teacup squeaked. Professor McGonagall looked more puzzled than ever, and made a sweeping wand movement that ended with a sharp jab and uttered, “Arcanum finite!” And there was a loud bang, and there was a pale, pudgy, and very naked man sprawled out on her desk, and she jumped back hard enough to knock her chair into the wall and screamed. - Having taught a particularly rigorous course of magical study to children and teens for quite some time now, Minerva McGonagall had become accustomed to certain things. Students who didn’t listen. Students who did rude things to the mice when they thought she wasn’t looking. Students who accidentally turned a frog or a raven into a flock of starlings or a school of strange slimy South American fish (and tried to solve the immediate problem by filling the classroom with two feet of water, neglecting to consider the gap under the door). Students who tried to transfigure their noses into a more appealing shape and wound up in the hospital wing regrowing their nostrils. Naked men on her desk was something Minerva McGonagall had never had an occasion to get used to. What made it worse was that she recognized this one, and he’d been dead for more than a decade. Inferius! was her first thought, followed shortly thereafter by Animagus, which collided with Peter Pettigrew! and produced the utterly horrifying thought of what if all four of them were Animagi? which didn’t bear thinking about at all, so her brain jumped to if he wasn’t killed by a Dark Wizard then why didn’t he say so? and realized there was only one possible explanation why, and about that time her eyes registered that parts of Peter Pettigrew she really doesn’t want to know about were flopping about in front of her face, and she was screaming as she jumped back. The flow of invective which followed somehow failed to surprise her one bit. Some part of her registered, peripherally, the shocked faces of her students, but most of her attention was directed at Peter Pettigrew, who at very least faked his own death and at worst framed Sirius Black and if Black didn’t betray the Potters then who … did. And the words poured out of her, filthy English and filthier Latin while Pettigrew squirmed on the table, his face rage and guilt and fear and something shifty and contemptible, and he turned to look at the stunned students and lunged for Ron Weasley’s wand. - Severus Snape had reached the Entrance Hall by the time the scream died away and the invective replaced it. He almost smirked, amid the alarm; of all the things he’d never expected to hear from Minerva McGonagall … he took the stairs two at a time, still not noticing the students who followed. He did notice the Herbology class, which had stopped on the way to the Infirmary and were staring transfixed in the direction of the Transfiguration classroom, but pushed his way through them, getting Venomous Tentacula pollen all over his robes in the process. From the other end of the corridor came Professor Flitwick’s Charms class, with Professor Flitwick bringing up the rear and pushing his way between students. - Ron looked stunned as the man who’d been his pet rat snatched the wand from his hand; Professor McGonagal’s expression shifted to one beyond fury and when the entire class recoiled, it wasn’t from the naked man with the wand. “Laedo!“ Minerva McGonagall roared. - Ron Weasley’s wand cast a Splintering Curse many years beyond its rightful owner’s abilities, and it did Peter Pettigrew the poor favor of eliminating the door, which might have slowed him down a bit. - Severus Snape flailed and skidded to a halt as the Transfiguration classroom’s door shattered. He stepped back just in time, and stared, jaw dropped in shock, as a naked man he recognized from his school days flew past him and bellyflopped against the wall, bounced, and collapsed to the ground just in time to avoid the “Exitium!” which followed and vaporized an impresive chunk of the castle’s stone wall. Fred and George and Lee Jordan, determined to stay at the front of the crowd, had been pushed almost against Professor Snape by their fellow Potions classmates and some pollen-coated Hufflepuffs. Fred squirmed aside hastily as Professor McGonagall appeared in the doorway, the look on her face so utterly livid that Professors Snape and Flitwick both reflexively stepped back. Snape tripped over George’s foot and fell against a knot of Hufflepuffs, releasing another cloud of pollen and knocking them backwards. Pettigrew saw his opportunity and took it, scrambling to his feet, stumbling sideways, and launching himself towards the gap. And Minerva McGonagall made a thrust with her wand and said, “Perdo.” In the very loud silence which followed, Filius Flitwick squeaked, “The Splinching Charm, Minerva?” She might’ve looked embarrassed for a moment, and then she smiled as she looked down at Pettigrew, who lay on his belly, his arms and legs lying akimbo some distance away. “Unorthodox,” she said, “but useful in a pinch. If someone would inform the Headmaster, and send an owl to the Ministry—-not Fudge, not Crouch, someone competent—-Shacklebolt, perhaps. Students, return to your classrooms, please. Mr. Weasley, I’m very sorry, but I do believe it’s impossible to return you your rat. However, the zero I was going to have to give you for the day’s work is entirely undeserved, as you were not transfiguring a normal rat. You may make the lesson up any time this week.” - The story was, of course, much embellished by the time it reached all the students. Versions of it had the intruder peppering Snape with a Glitter Hex or transfiguring Ron’s rat into a pair of boxers, and people had to be disabused of the notion that it had been Voldemort who’d been hiding as a rat all this time. Snape gave both Weasley twins detention for tripping him, and took forty-seven points total from Gryffindor over the next few weeks for various pretend-subtle pollen references. Kingsley Shacklebolt showed up with a team of Aurors in time to meet Professor Dumbledore; the Wizengamot launched an investigation into the events surrounding the Potters’ murder; the results turned into a scandal which saw the release of Sirius Black and the forced resignation of both Director Bartemious Crouch and Minister Cornelius Fudge. Director of Magical Law Enforcement Amelia Bones was confirmed as Minister of Magic shortly thereafte, and the Daily Prophet reported that Sirius Black (“Godfather to the Boy-Who-Lived!” “Framed, Abandoned, Condemned to Living Hell!” “Heart-Wrenching: His Release In Pictures, Page 17!”) was considering applying for a teaching position at Hogwarts, “but just for a year, I’ve been cursed enough for one lifetime.” (“The Prophet reminds its readers that the so-called “curse” on a certain Hogwarts teaching position is almost certainly a mere string of coincidences.”) And, Minerva thought with relish some months later, it was almost three weeks before anyone attempted messing around in her class. A personal record. I’ve probably reblogged this before but I’m going to do it again right now I think this is literally the best au this entire fandom has produced I’ve only seen this legendary bit of writing in memes and screenshots. I feel so blessed to see it in person. Beautiful, simply beautiful! Reblogging my own post because a) it’s my damn horn and I’ll blow it if I want to, and b) I just (finally!) cross-posted this to Archive Of Our Own, so if anybody wants to go read it over there, here it is. @deadcatwithaflamethrower My only complaint is that Theodore Nott and Fred Weasely wouldn’t be in the same Potions class. *is pedantic* *reblogging because now you can bookmark it on AO3*
Save
Beautiful, Blessed, and Bones: rmh8402: pegasusdragontiger: kyraneko: balencia: kitrazzle: pissedoffweasley: wizardingheadcanon: kyraneko: elidyce: thatgirlonstage: fuckyeahdeathlyhallows: sirlestrange: #that is a human as a rat as a cup That was a long 12 years for Wormtail. Can you imagine how differently their lives would’ve gone if Ron, in trying to transfigure Scabbers, had actually transfigured him back into a human?Just take a moment to imagine McGonagall’s reaction if Peter Pettigrew had abruptly appeared in her classroom from Ronald Weasley’s rat.Take a moment. Or if Ron had fucked it up a little worse and couldn’t get ‘Scabbers’ back and McGonagall had take him to disenchant him and next thing we know there’s a naked Peter Pettigrew sitting on McGonagall’s desk and the kids in that class learn six new swear words, a hex they will never dare to use, and a fear of Minerva McGonagall’s wrath that will be with them until the day they die. Ten and twenty years later first years are being pulled aside and warned never mess around in Transfiguration seriously the last time a kid mucked something up in that class Professor McGonagall used two semi-legal hexes, took down a Death Eater and sabotaged the rise of the Dark Lord before Potter had time to get his wand out. What most of Hogwarts learned first on that otherwise-unexceptionable day was that Professor McGonagall could sure scream loud. Professor Flitwick’s Charms 5th-year Charms class was close enough to catch the full effect, and the door had been left open besides; en masse the students recoiled with shock and a miscast Hiccuping Charm broke one of the windows (out which the entire flock of ravens they were practicing on escaped to the Forbidden Forest where they only had to worry about centaurs, rather than annoying young humans with wands). Up in the Divination Tower, Sibyl Trelawny preened over her foresight to have warned her students of an unprecedented catastrophe likely to occur before the hour was out. Out in Greenhouse Five, a NEWT-level Herbology class looked up in puzzlement, and most of them were subsequently bitten by the Venomous Tentaculae they were attempting to propagate. It does not do to ignore a Venomous Tentacula when you’re prodding at its intimate parts with a cotton ball held in tweezers, so the class was cancelled while two-thirds of the students headed for the infirmary and the rest of them headed into the castle because if they stayed with the Venomous Tentaculae they’d be outnumbered, and nobody wants that. And down in the dungeons, Professor Snape turned away from comparing Lee Jordan’s Pepper-Up Potion to spoiled cream at what sounded like a woman screaming from the entrance hall. At the second scream, he ordered the class to remain where they were and behave, sweeping out of the room just in time to miss Theodore Nott suddenly jumping up and yelping as if someone had put a crocodile heart down the back of his robes. Fred Weasley stepped back from the unfortunate Slytherin, shared a smirk with his twin, and stuck his head out the door to make sure Snape had rounded the corner before leading the way out of the classroom. - Back in the Transfiguration classroom, about four minutes ago, it had started innocently enough. Ron Weasley, possessed of a broken wand and a lurking suspicion that most of the family’s magical talent had been soaked up by his siblings before he was around to get any, had attempted to turn his pet rat, Scabbers, into a teacup. Scabbers had not become a teacup. Scabbers, blast his useless furry little backside, had become a furry, vaguely teacup-shaped monstrosity out of which absolutely no one would have been tempted to drink, and to make matters worse, he still had a tail. It was moving. Harry was hiding a smile behind his hand. Dean and Seamus weren’t even trying to hide, elbowing each other and laughing. Parvati and Lavender were looking with disgust and horror at either Scabbers or him, and Hermione was opening her mouth, no doubt ready to tell him exactly what he’d done wrong. Which only made it worse that he really thought he’d done everything right this time. He snatched Scabbers off the desk (eww, the base of the cup had the same texture as rat feet) and turned away from Hermione. He made the wand movement again, picturing in his mind the way McGonagall had demonstrated it. “Erreverto.” “Erreverto. Erreverto. Erreverto.” It didn’t work. It didn’t work when Professor McGonagall stopped by and gave Hermione two points for Gryffindor for getting the spell perfect in both directions. It didn’t work when Harry made his successful transfiguration (Ron looked; the pattern was a little bit furry but it was definitely a teacup). Ron’s lips formed the shape of a word that would’ve made his mother box his ears had she heard it and attempted the reverse transfiguration, which didn’t work either. Finally, faced not only with the indignity of failure but the threat of Scabbers being stuck like that, he’d gone up to Professor McGonagall’s desk. “Um, Professor?” Professor McGonagall looked up from the paper she was grading and looked from him to the squirming teacup. “Problems, Mr. Weasley?” “Um, yeah, Professor. I can’t get it to work in either direction and it’s not fair to Scabbers to make him stay as a teacup just because I can’t do a spell right and can you maybe … ?” “I suppose so, Mr. Weasley,” she said, and waved her wand in the exact manner Ron had been doing all along. Nothing happened. Professor McGonagall looked very, very puzzled. “Now that’s odd,” she said softly. As one, the other students rose from their seats and quietly moved closer. She did not attempt the transfiguration in the other direction. Instead, she made a complex motion with her wand and murmured an incantation that possibly only Hermione recognized. The teacup squeaked. Professor McGonagall looked more puzzled than ever, and made a sweeping wand movement that ended with a sharp jab and uttered, “Arcanum finite!” And there was a loud bang, and there was a pale, pudgy, and very naked man sprawled out on her desk, and she jumped back hard enough to knock her chair into the wall and screamed. - Having taught a particularly rigorous course of magical study to children and teens for quite some time now, Minerva McGonagall had become accustomed to certain things. Students who didn’t listen. Students who did rude things to the mice when they thought she wasn’t looking. Students who accidentally turned a frog or a raven into a flock of starlings or a school of strange slimy South American fish (and tried to solve the immediate problem by filling the classroom with two feet of water, neglecting to consider the gap under the door). Students who tried to transfigure their noses into a more appealing shape and wound up in the hospital wing regrowing their nostrils. Naked men on her desk was something Minerva McGonagall had never had an occasion to get used to. What made it worse was that she recognized this one, and he’d been dead for more than a decade. Inferius! was her first thought, followed shortly thereafter by Animagus, which collided with Peter Pettigrew! and produced the utterly horrifying thought of what if all four of them were Animagi? which didn’t bear thinking about at all, so her brain jumped to if he wasn’t killed by a Dark Wizard then why didn’t he say so? and realized there was only one possible explanation why, and about that time her eyes registered that parts of Peter Pettigrew she really doesn’t want to know about were flopping about in front of her face, and she was screaming as she jumped back. The flow of invective which followed somehow failed to surprise her one bit. Some part of her registered, peripherally, the shocked faces of her students, but most of her attention was directed at Peter Pettigrew, who at very least faked his own death and at worst framed Sirius Black and if Black didn’t betray the Potters then who … did. And the words poured out of her, filthy English and filthier Latin while Pettigrew squirmed on the table, his face rage and guilt and fear and something shifty and contemptible, and he turned to look at the stunned students and lunged for Ron Weasley’s wand. - Severus Snape had reached the Entrance Hall by the time the scream died away and the invective replaced it. He almost smirked, amid the alarm; of all the things he’d never expected to hear from Minerva McGonagall … he took the stairs two at a time, still not noticing the students who followed. He did notice the Herbology class, which had stopped on the way to the Infirmary and were staring transfixed in the direction of the Transfiguration classroom, but pushed his way through them, getting Venomous Tentacula pollen all over his robes in the process. From the other end of the corridor came Professor Flitwick’s Charms class, with Professor Flitwick bringing up the rear and pushing his way between students. - Ron looked stunned as the man who’d been his pet rat snatched the wand from his hand; Professor McGonagal’s expression shifted to one beyond fury and when the entire class recoiled, it wasn’t from the naked man with the wand. “Laedo!“ Minerva McGonagall roared. - Ron Weasley’s wand cast a Splintering Curse many years beyond its rightful owner’s abilities, and it did Peter Pettigrew the poor favor of eliminating the door, which might have slowed him down a bit. - Severus Snape flailed and skidded to a halt as the Transfiguration classroom’s door shattered. He stepped back just in time, and stared, jaw dropped in shock, as a naked man he recognized from his school days flew past him and bellyflopped against the wall, bounced, and collapsed to the ground just in time to avoid the “Exitium!” which followed and vaporized an impresive chunk of the castle’s stone wall. Fred and George and Lee Jordan, determined to stay at the front of the crowd, had been pushed almost against Professor Snape by their fellow Potions classmates and some pollen-coated Hufflepuffs. Fred squirmed aside hastily as Professor McGonagall appeared in the doorway, the look on her face so utterly livid that Professors Snape and Flitwick both reflexively stepped back. Snape tripped over George’s foot and fell against a knot of Hufflepuffs, releasing another cloud of pollen and knocking them backwards. Pettigrew saw his opportunity and took it, scrambling to his feet, stumbling sideways, and launching himself towards the gap. And Minerva McGonagall made a thrust with her wand and said, “Perdo.” In the very loud silence which followed, Filius Flitwick squeaked, “The Splinching Charm, Minerva?” She might’ve looked embarrassed for a moment, and then she smiled as she looked down at Pettigrew, who lay on his belly, his arms and legs lying akimbo some distance away. “Unorthodox,” she said, “but useful in a pinch. If someone would inform the Headmaster, and send an owl to the Ministry—-not Fudge, not Crouch, someone competent—-Shacklebolt, perhaps. Students, return to your classrooms, please. Mr. Weasley, I’m very sorry, but I do believe it’s impossible to return you your rat. However, the zero I was going to have to give you for the day’s work is entirely undeserved, as you were not transfiguring a normal rat. You may make the lesson up any time this week.” - The story was, of course, much embellished by the time it reached all the students. Versions of it had the intruder peppering Snape with a Glitter Hex or transfiguring Ron’s rat into a pair of boxers, and people had to be disabused of the notion that it had been Voldemort who’d been hiding as a rat all this time. Snape gave both Weasley twins detention for tripping him, and took forty-seven points total from Gryffindor over the next few weeks for various pretend-subtle pollen references. Kingsley Shacklebolt showed up with a team of Aurors in time to meet Professor Dumbledore; the Wizengamot launched an investigation into the events surrounding the Potters’ murder; the results turned into a scandal which saw the release of Sirius Black and the forced resignation of both Director Bartemious Crouch and Minister Cornelius Fudge. Director of Magical Law Enforcement Amelia Bones was confirmed as Minister of Magic shortly thereafte, and the Daily Prophet reported that Sirius Black (“Godfather to the Boy-Who-Lived!” “Framed, Abandoned, Condemned to Living Hell!” “Heart-Wrenching: His Release In Pictures, Page 17!”) was considering applying for a teaching position at Hogwarts, “but just for a year, I’ve been cursed enough for one lifetime.” (“The Prophet reminds its readers that the so-called “curse” on a certain Hogwarts teaching position is almost certainly a mere string of coincidences.”) And, Minerva thought with relish some months later, it was almost three weeks before anyone attempted messing around in her class. A personal record. I’ve probably reblogged this before but I’m going to do it again right now I think this is literally the best au this entire fandom has produced I’ve only seen this legendary bit of writing in memes and screenshots. I feel so blessed to see it in person. Beautiful, simply beautiful! Reblogging my own post because a) it’s my damn horn and I’ll blow it if I want to, and b) I just (finally!) cross-posted this to Archive Of Our Own, so if anybody wants to go read it over there, here it is. YESSSSSSS!  Love it!!
Save
Bless Up, Booty, and Christmas: Picked up this little girl today. I never knew something so cute could have such horrendous farts @DrSmashlove Reddit u/thecasquatch Shout to u ladies bruv I see u. Pink nikes. Black yoga pants with the strategically placed sheer cutouts. Oversized coat. Dripping wet hair. Scurrying back to the office at 12:58 pm. Stinkin. Just sweatily stinking up a storm baby girl u are appreciated 🤤. See me in the lobby I’m holding the elevator door looking at u and u like “OMG smash I stink LOL!! I’ll take the next one!” No the eff u won’t 🤗😂. This is Christmas in Ferrurary. 🎅🏼 Christmas in March. 🎄 U feel me? “Don’t be silly lol! All aboard 😁.” I inhale inaudibly thru my nose and let out a small, very small like dis big 👌 pip squeak cough ... “damn! Sinuses lol...CAN A BROTHER GET SOME CLARITIN IN HERE 😤” (c) Key and Peele 😂. Ain no damn sinuses bruv. I just had to get that one wondrous serene low key whiff of pure mid Day booty sweat 🍑💦 . U could had taken a few minutes to shower. But u didn’t. U didn’t for all of us - witcha nastass 😍😂. Now u perfuming the elevator before returning to ya office to put clothes and heels back on. Again I thank u. Mid day work doldrums can be heavy but an elevator full of yoga pant booty stench, like an Umbria espresso chased by a bubbly water, awakens the senses and enlivens the loins 😍. And before u ladies attack me for being a freak first of all bish YES I AM 😂. Second of all not long ago a ting was taking a vigorous ride on Le Pony like the Ginuwine song when, half a minute prior to busting, she buried her face in my underarm and bounced-clapped Le Chèéks vigorously on mine Peepington and I’m like “wha?” And she said in that deep, satanic I’m-bout-to-buss voice “DONNNNT STOPPPP 🐲👹👺” and she let loose the waterfall harder than I had theretofore experienced and at that moment it dawned on me: Le Stínk is a gift from God (among many) visited upon humankind to bring us back to our animalistic senses. Back to the jungle. U feel me? Amazonian type isht. Embrace Le Stínk. U an me baby ain’t nothing but mammals. So let’s do it how they do on the discovery channel BLESS UP 🤤😍😂

Shout to u ladies bruv I see u. Pink nikes. Black yoga pants with the strategically placed sheer cutouts. Oversized coat. Dripping wet hair....

Save
Bad, Children, and Comfortable: SWeet Cakes We lost everything' Christian bakers fined $135K for refusing to make lesbian couple's wedding cake chaotic-tides: xaldien: startlememe-trash: karadin: trueheart46: plaidandredlipstick: hussyknee: I love how they left out the part about them giving out the lesbian couple’s personal information to send them death threats, running them out of their home, and encouraging other fundies to petition to have their children taken away. **examines fingernails** Also the fact that they raised half million dollars from other raging homophobes to fund this bigotry. I hope the dickholes lose the shirts off their backs and have to live out of a van. But that’s too much to hope for. I just wanna add that the lesbian couple were getting married because their mutual friend had just died of cancer and they were adopting her two daughters… and that the death threats were so bad that they had to quit their jobs and move. it’s never just about a cake. it’s about the precedent you set when you allow ppl to discriminate. it’s about all the disgusting bigots that crawl out of the woodwork when they feel like they have the right to hate. Yeah I mean if they don’t feel comfortable making the cake due to their beliefs then a polite decline is fine. It’s when, as previous stated, people try to discriminate especially so aggressively that things start to escalate. No, trueheart, a polite decline is NOT FINE. Let me explain why, when you operate a business, you are licensed  in your state, county and city. To get a license you agree that you will not discriminate on the basis of ethnicity, religion, gender and sexuality. When you decline service for these reasons (not for example, that the customer was rude, or bounced a check) you are breaking the law and you will be fined. The way to avoid this is to a) operate your business without a license or b) move to where the group you want to discriminate against is not protected by law. I would agree but, freedom of religion is a thing, if the bakery was solely owned by them, they would have the right to decline. If it was a mass produced workplace like McDonald’s it would be a different story. You should not force someone to do something against their religion, which is why this discussion is hard to decide for many people. Oh, fuck you. They’re a business and have to follow business laws. The courts found that freedom of religion does not apply to a law that specifically says denial of service based on sexual orientation is illegal. Point blank. If you don’t know how business laws work, don’t open a business.
Save
Bad, Birthday, and Clothes: Jordan Gleason April 1 at 9:06pm This is a longer post, so bear with me... Today I had to explain to a 60 year old man why he was banned from the pub In January he made several sexist remarks about the female staff that were working. He told them to their faces that that he liked looking at their tits while they washed dishes, and their asses while they were pouring drinks. He was told to leave and not come back. He came back last month, and was told we wouldn't serve him. He came back yet again today, and when told he wouldn't be served demanded to talk to a manger l sat with him for a few minutes as he explained that what he said would have been okay 20 years ago, and that it was just some off colour remarks. He told me he had apologized, and that he guessed my servers were too sensitive. He then told me that if what he said was a problem then I should tell them not to wear low cut shirts, and that I should face the dish washing sink away from customers. But since he apologized, he should be allowed to drink in my establishment because he lives in the neighborhood and will bring in business l told him flatly that wasn't happening, and that what he said to those ladies was incredibly offensive. The simple fact that he couldn't understand that just because they were were working didn't mean they deserve his disrespectful language. That these ladies were part of my family, and were human beings that deserved respect. They aren't objects, and they certainly shouldn't have to wear different clothes because he can't be bothered with showing them any decency or respect. "But we're men and they're females. Is cleavage just not a thing anymore?" I told him yeah buddy, it's not, and I won't be changing my mind about having him served. He threatened bad publicity, I told him I didn't care and he left. I work in the service industry, and we get the sheer joy and pleasure of meeting and talking to so many great people in our city. I've met some of my best friends here behind the bar. I live for it man. Connecting people who haven't met, making sure people can relax from a shitty day, or celebrate a great one, or just to simply enjoy a few beers with friends. I've seen wedding proposals, birthday parties, political discussions, deep philosophical debates, neighborhood organization, the absolute works The best of humanity coming together and bonding. That's my JAM. It's one of the biggest reasons l get out of bed in the morning to come in to work day after day As absolutely insanely fun as that is, the dark side of this business is we run into some pretty horrible goblin people. Folks who think that just because we're serving, we don't deserve any basic decency or respect. I've been snapped at, mocked, threatened, and insulted about not having a real job. Anybody in this line of work gets used to a degree of it and develops a thicker skin. Here's the thing though, women in this field get infinitely more disgustingly treated. The sheer number of times they get groped, or harassed, or treated like objects would blow your mind. The worst of it is how normal their harassers think their behavior is. Every single lady in here handles it with grace and aplomb, andI applaud them for it. I've had their backs as we've bounced people out for that trash, but countless times they just deal with it before it even gets to me Sometimes the dudes get so worked up that they demand to see a manager, and I get called in to speak with them. Every single fucking time they attempt to appeal to me solely because I'm a man. They try to weasel in with me about how the women are asking for it. That women shouldn't dress that way if they don't want to be stared at. They attempt to explain it away as just "dudes being dudes." It's expected for men to stare at women's breasts and make jokes about how much they want to fuck them. Wink Wink. Of course you'll understand they think, because you also have a dick. What terrifies and enrages me is how every one of them thinks that this is normal behavior, but also that other men will agree with them Men, we often don't see the level of filth that our friends, sisters, and mothers go through every day. We hope to surround ourselves with people who would never treat a woman like that. We live in a safe little bubble. But the reality of this thing? It's an insidious disease that's happening every single day, several times a day and it turns my fucking stomach So why am I writing this? I want to acknowledge the struggle of every single woman who will read this. You deserve our respect and to be treated with decency I want to stand up and say, I'm fucking sick of this To every dude out there, we need to fucking combat this disease like its the god damned plague that it is. If one of your friends says something shitty about a woman, tell him to shut his fucking mouth. Don't just laugh it off or ignore it. We need to listen when our sisters talk about this, and not just blame it on some bad apples. Not just say "not all dudes do that" or "well no one I know would ever do that." Nah man. This is an endemic cultural problem. If we want to start taking our status as gentlemen seriously we need to do more than just avoiding being a sexist prick ourselves. We need to open our eyes and fight it everywhere we see it, because the only way this thing gets better is to start calling it out for what it is Edit: Sorry for so many edits. I keep finding typos. Writing in anger isn't so conducive to well typed responses rcmclachlan: This is what a male feminist looks like.
Save
A Dream, Alive, and Ass: Cash, Rules, Everything, Around, Me C.R. E. A.M Get The Mo ne Dollar, D ollar Bill Y'alI I grew up on the crime side, the New York Times side. Staying alive was no jive. At second hands, moms bounced on old men So then we moved to Shaolin land. A young youth, yo rockin the gold tooth, 'Lo goose. Only way, I begin to gee off was drug loot And let's start it like this son, rollin with this one. And that one, pullin out gats for fun. But it was just a dream for the teen, who was a fiend. Started smokin woolies at sixteen. And running up in gates, and doing hits for high stake. Making my way on fire escapes. No question I would speed, for cracks and weed. The combination made my eyes bleed. No question I would flow off, and try to get the dough all. Sticking up white boys in ball courts. My life got no better, same damn 'Lo sweater. Times is ruff and tuff like leather Figured out I went the wrong route. So I got with a sick ass click and went all out. Catchin keys from across seas. Rollin in MPVs every week we made forty G's. Yo nigga respect mine, or anger the tech nine. Ch-chick-POW! Move from the gate now It's been twenty-two long hard years of still strugglin. Survival got me Jakes givin chase sellin base. Smokin bones in the staircase. Though I buggin, but I'm alive on arrival. I peep at the shape of the streets. And don't know why I chose to smoke sess. I guess that's the time when stay awake to the ways of the world cause shit is deep. A man with a I'm not depressed. But I'm stil depressed, and I ask what's it worth? dream with plans to make CR. Ε.Α.Μ. which failed; I went to jail at the Ready to give up so I seek the Old Earth. Who explained working hard age of 15. A young buck sellin drugs and such who never had much. may help you maintain. To learn to overcome the heartaches and pain Trying to get a clutch at what I could not.The court played me short, We got stickup kids, corrupt cops, and crack rocks and stray shots, all now I face incarceration. Pacin, going up state's my destination. Hand on the block that stays hot. Leave it up to me while I be living proof. To cuffed in back of a bus, forty of us. Life as a shorty shouldn't be so ruff. kick the truth to the young black youth. But shorty's running wild smokin But as the world turns I learned life is hl. Living in the world no sess drinkin beer. And ain't trying to hear what I'm kickin in his ear different from a cell. Everyday I escape from Neglected, but now, but yo, it gots to be accepted.
Save
Children, Confused, and Fucking: 9%D ooo Sprint LTE 3:20 PM Q Search So I took the wife out to dinner last night, and we have always talked about doing this. You put 5 singles out on the table at the beginning of dinner for the waiter/ waitress to see. (Don't say anything to them) if they mess up, you take a dollar away, and so on. At the end of dinner, how ever much is left, is their tip. I shit you not, you will receive the best service of your life. The waitress Kept looking at it as if she was confused. But she played her cards right, did a great job and received the whole 5 bucks. I did take away a dollar tho bec she forget the bread, but she bounced back and gave us extra. Haha all in all a great evening with my love and a good dinner experiment we both wanted to see play out. Try it, you will be surprised! AD LSa26665 39172063 Write a comment... Post thebibliosphere: yuleagin-nova: sidewalkwitch: hotbully: swamp: diasporagirl: i’d take the cash and spit in their drinks I fucking hate customers like this Also unless you’re just getting like a few drinks, five is a shitty tip. Honestly if I knew beforehand that the max tip u were gonna give me would be five bucks you’d get the most minimal degree of service I could provide. Don’t do this. This is the most disrespectful thing on earth. “We have always talked about doing this. Boy honey wouldn’t it be fun to taunt the person likely making below minimum wage who is already expending far more emotional labor on winning our approval than we’ll ever show our own children. What if we just left money out on the table, just to watch them sing and dance for our sense of gratification and take a dollar away for every time they don’t sit back and clap like a performing seal. Boy I sure do love being a shitstain on the underpants of humanity.”
Save
America, Black Lives Matter, and Butt: Molly Suzanna on Thursday When I was 19, I was driving home erratically, crying. I did a rolling stop through a red light. I was a mile away from my house. I got pulled over. There are wonderful police officers in the world. This wasn't one of them. He was of the psychotic variety, of which there are also quite a few. Demanded I sign the ticket. He was being scary. I didn't know, nor was I advised, that you can go to jail for not signing a ticket. Usually an officer just lets you go because you have to appear in court regardless of whether you sign it. When I said I didn't want to sign it (not understanding any of the aforementioned stuf), he demanded I get out of the car. My father died three days later; it's what l'd been crying about. I was 150 pounds soaking wet (at 6'2", that's pretty slight), halfway through a BA at a private school with a 4.0, and terrified to be on the side of the road in the dark with a very angry man whom I didn't know. Instead of getting out of the car, I locked the door. I was afraid. I didn't know better. He kept screaming at me to, "Stop f"ing crying! It would have been so easy to deescalate the entire situation He drug me out of the open car window and onto the ground. He kicked me in the ribs. He fractured my wrist cuffing me and picking me up by the link between the cuffs. He held his boot to the back of my head with my face on loose gravel, leaving what would later become scars. He bounced my head off the side of the car when he was putting me in, all while laughing. He called for backup and none of the other officers would touch me. One even said, on camera, "This is wrong, man. She ran a red light." I, understandably, was hysterical. Crying. Screaming. Huge bruises starting to form on my face and body. Clothing torn. High heel even broke off Do you know what I was arrested for and charged with that day? Resisting arrest. Can you imagine? Resisting arrest. Fast forward to the jail. I'd never been in trouble. Had no idea what to expect.I couldn't stop crying. I couldn't breathe. I told them he'd broken my wrist but they wouldn't believe me. They strapped me in a chair when I wouldn't calm down. Strap on your forehead. Strap on your chest. Strap on each arm and each leg. Like a beast. I remember begging for someone to scratch my nose, hysterically sobbing.I remember being in that chair for hours, topless, because l'd gotten "unruly" during the strip, cough, and squat procedure and refused to do it. So they ripped my shirt off and as I fought them, they put me in the chair. I tried to fight back against a female guard when she tried to rip my pants off. I didn't understand why I was there. I didn't understand what was happening. I didn't think I should have been arrested. I was livid. And loud Then they parked me. For five hours. In that chair. Strapped down. In front of a men's holding cell. I was literally losing my mind. It was a black man who, for five hours, while incarcerated himself, talked calmly and softly to me. Sang to me. Said every kind thing you could imagine. I finally stopped screaming and trying to head butt or kick anyone who passed. He said, "Stop, or they'll kill you. Just stop baby girl. It's ok. You'll be ok if you stop." He was an angel. Straight from God I didn't get to use the phone for a full 12 hours. No one on the planet knew where l was I was so crazy after being in that chair by the time they placed me in a holding cell that I began to bang my head off the cinderblock wall. They had to let me sit in the hall, on the ground, because l almost broke my own nose. I was muttering incoherently and rocking They mailed me a charge six months later saying they'd found a joint under the back seat of the bolted in police car and that it belonged to me. How do you hide a joint from an officer while cuffed with a broken wrist and get it underneath the bolted in backseat of a cop car? You don't. They offered me every plea in the book on the two charges, all the way down to a misdemeanor. I would not enter a plea. I went to trial on a felony. Because I knew my innocence. Because we had the money for a good attorney. Because the justice system wasn't already systemically stacked against me and my color and gender were in my favor, as my lawyer pointed out. During the trial they "lost" my videos. My attorney threatened the city with a lawsuit. The tapes magically appeared. My jury came back in four minutes with a not guilty verdict. They were crying after seeing the videos of my arrest and the videos from inside the jail, of me in that chair. My jurors all hugged me. They told me I should sue. My dad had just died. I was a college student. I was tired. The prosecutor dropped the resisting charge when I beat the possession rap; meaning I legally and literally should never have been arrested in the first place. How do you get arrested for resisting arrest? During my trial, my attorney asked him if he kicked me in the ribs repeatedly while I was already cuffed. He laughed and said, "Yes." My attorney asked, "Do you think this is funny?" He said, " do." A week later police in the same town shot an unarmed and senile very elderly black man in the face because he wouldn't come with them. There were no videos. There was no social media. You haven't heard about him. But he's dead. You won't hear his story. This arrest is still on my record. It doesn't prevent me from anything but I do have to explain felony charges when I get pulled over or apply for a job. I have never publicly told this story. tell it to you, today. And here's why: If I were a black man, I would be dead. Plain and simple. Pretty white girls don't get shot during wrongful arrests. Not any that I know of, and certainly not me. You can't deny white privilege and what it affords you. To deny it is to acknowledgeit exists, that you are privy to it. You don't see it because it exists for you. Something is very wrong in this country. There is a sickness. Black men (and sometimes women) are dying. They are being gunned down. For no discernible reason, and at an alarming rate, by white officers. blue-author: turakamu: lennybaby2: lanie-love09: micdotcom: This white woman’s shocking account of police brutality reveals the importance of the #BlackLivesMatter movement Molly Suzanna shared a story on Facebook that she had never told before: when she was 19, she ran a red light while crying, then was pulled over and forcefully removed and beaten by a police officer. She explains in the letter that she believes her situation would have been even worse had she been black — and she ends the letter with an important call to action. The public needs to hear more stories like this as well. Wow. This is horrifying. Cops are drunk on power. Add any ism to that, you have a bunch of abusive, gun wielding, trained to kill, non empathetic, killers running around. This woman got hauled out of a window, beaten, stripped, tortured, and humiliated, and she still is able to understand how white privilege saved her life.
Save
America, Black Lives Matter, and Butt: Molly Suzanna on Thursday When I was 19, I was driving home erratically, crying. I did a rolling stop through a red light. I was a mile away from my house. I got pulled over. There are wonderful police officers in the world. This wasn't one of them. He was of the psychotic variety, of which there are also quite a few. Demanded I sign the ticket. He was being scary. I didn't know, nor was I advised, that you can go to jail for not signing a ticket. Usually an officer just lets you go because you have to appear in court regardless of whether you sign it. When I said I didn't want to sign it (not understanding any of the aforementioned stuf), he demanded I get out of the car. My father died three days later; it's what l'd been crying about. I was 150 pounds soaking wet (at 6'2", that's pretty slight), halfway through a BA at a private school with a 4.0, and terrified to be on the side of the road in the dark with a very angry man whom I didn't know. Instead of getting out of the car, I locked the door. I was afraid. I didn't know better. He kept screaming at me to, "Stop f"ing crying! It would have been so easy to deescalate the entire situation He drug me out of the open car window and onto the ground. He kicked me in the ribs. He fractured my wrist cuffing me and picking me up by the link between the cuffs. He held his boot to the back of my head with my face on loose gravel, leaving what would later become scars. He bounced my head off the side of the car when he was putting me in, all while laughing. He called for backup and none of the other officers would touch me. One even said, on camera, "This is wrong, man. She ran a red light." I, understandably, was hysterical. Crying. Screaming. Huge bruises starting to form on my face and body. Clothing torn. High heel even broke off Do you know what I was arrested for and charged with that day? Resisting arrest. Can you imagine? Resisting arrest. Fast forward to the jail. I'd never been in trouble. Had no idea what to expect.I couldn't stop crying. I couldn't breathe. I told them he'd broken my wrist but they wouldn't believe me. They strapped me in a chair when I wouldn't calm down. Strap on your forehead. Strap on your chest. Strap on each arm and each leg. Like a beast. I remember begging for someone to scratch my nose, hysterically sobbing.I remember being in that chair for hours, topless, because l'd gotten "unruly" during the strip, cough, and squat procedure and refused to do it. So they ripped my shirt off and as I fought them, they put me in the chair. I tried to fight back against a female guard when she tried to rip my pants off. I didn't understand why I was there. I didn't understand what was happening. I didn't think I should have been arrested. I was livid. And loud Then they parked me. For five hours. In that chair. Strapped down. In front of a men's holding cell. I was literally losing my mind. It was a black man who, for five hours, while incarcerated himself, talked calmly and softly to me. Sang to me. Said every kind thing you could imagine. I finally stopped screaming and trying to head butt or kick anyone who passed. He said, "Stop, or they'll kill you. Just stop baby girl. It's ok. You'll be ok if you stop." He was an angel. Straight from God I didn't get to use the phone for a full 12 hours. No one on the planet knew where l was I was so crazy after being in that chair by the time they placed me in a holding cell that I began to bang my head off the cinderblock wall. They had to let me sit in the hall, on the ground, because l almost broke my own nose. I was muttering incoherently and rocking They mailed me a charge six months later saying they'd found a joint under the back seat of the bolted in police car and that it belonged to me. How do you hide a joint from an officer while cuffed with a broken wrist and get it underneath the bolted in backseat of a cop car? You don't. They offered me every plea in the book on the two charges, all the way down to a misdemeanor. I would not enter a plea. I went to trial on a felony. Because I knew my innocence. Because we had the money for a good attorney. Because the justice system wasn't already systemically stacked against me and my color and gender were in my favor, as my lawyer pointed out. During the trial they "lost" my videos. My attorney threatened the city with a lawsuit. The tapes magically appeared. My jury came back in four minutes with a not guilty verdict. They were crying after seeing the videos of my arrest and the videos from inside the jail, of me in that chair. My jurors all hugged me. They told me I should sue. My dad had just died. I was a college student. I was tired. The prosecutor dropped the resisting charge when I beat the possession rap; meaning I legally and literally should never have been arrested in the first place. How do you get arrested for resisting arrest? During my trial, my attorney asked him if he kicked me in the ribs repeatedly while I was already cuffed. He laughed and said, "Yes." My attorney asked, "Do you think this is funny?" He said, " do." A week later police in the same town shot an unarmed and senile very elderly black man in the face because he wouldn't come with them. There were no videos. There was no social media. You haven't heard about him. But he's dead. You won't hear his story. This arrest is still on my record. It doesn't prevent me from anything but I do have to explain felony charges when I get pulled over or apply for a job. I have never publicly told this story. tell it to you, today. And here's why: If I were a black man, I would be dead. Plain and simple. Pretty white girls don't get shot during wrongful arrests. Not any that I know of, and certainly not me. You can't deny white privilege and what it affords you. To deny it is to acknowledgeit exists, that you are privy to it. You don't see it because it exists for you. Something is very wrong in this country. There is a sickness. Black men (and sometimes women) are dying. They are being gunned down. For no discernible reason, and at an alarming rate, by white officers. micdotcom: This white woman’s shocking account of police brutality reveals the importance of the #BlackLivesMatter movementMolly Suzanna shared a story on Facebook that she had never told before: when she was 19, she ran a red light while crying, then was pulled over and forcefully removed and beaten by a police officer. She explains in the letter that she believes her situation would have been even worse had she been black — and she ends the letter with an important call to action.
Save