This Is A Mushroom Hate Blog. If You Eat Mushrooms Prepare To Get Kinkshamed
Finally some kinkshaming I can get behind.
I feel so attacked right now.
I just came out to have a good time
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@luthen-esquire
This Is A Mushroom Hate Blog. If You Eat Mushrooms Prepare To Get Kinkshamed
Finally some kinkshaming I can get behind.
I feel so attacked right now.
I just came out to have a good time
First, I wanted to say that I love love love your Harry Potter fics and what-ifs! thank you so much for writing them :) And I also wondered if you ever written what if the Dursleys had refused to take Harry in?
When Petunia Dursley refused to take Harry in she forfeited his birthright protection, so Dumbledore took the baby to the safest place he knew: Hogwarts.
The applicable staff (mostly just… not Snape) took Harry in on a rotating schedule as he grew from baby to toddler to child. They traded extra credit for babysitting among the older students, and Harry grew up knowing a few dozen different laps that were safe and warm to nap in.
This was a Harry who grew up among books, among old transient walls and learned professors. They gave Binns night duty sometimes, and let him talk young Harry to sleep. This was a Harry whose world changed, on principle, daily. The stairs moved. The walls became doors. You had to keep your eyes open–you had to pay attention. So he did.
He grew up in a school. Knowledge was power, but knowledge was also joy. This was his sanctuary. There was magic in his world from birth.
“The castle will keep him safe,” said Dumbledore, when McGonagall came into his office to complain for the eighth time about Albus’s rather cavalier take on child-rearing. “That’s what it does.”
“Then why do we bother with chaperones ever,” McGonagall said, tempted to shriek it. “Should we let all the children run about willy-nilly at all hours, or just the orphan waifs?!”
“He’s not a student. He’s a ward of Hogwarts. It will take care of him, Minerva.”
McGonagall walked off fuming. A cat with spectacle markings followed Harry almost constantly from ages three through four. At some point McGonagall was far enough behind on her paperwork, and had seen enough suits of armor carry the kid back to his room, enough draperies lift off the wall and tug Harry away from edges, and enough stairs creakingly shift their slope for his tiny toddler legs. She gave a grumpy sigh, stole some of Albus’s lemon drops, and resigned herself to a magical world.
The Grey Lady, the ghost of Ravenclaw Tower, didn’t really like boys but she liked children. She especially liked patience, and politeness, and Harry had been raised by McGonagall’s stern table manners, by Victorian portraiture and quite a few House Elves. He said please, thank you, and ma'am, and as a child he was very cunning in how he got bedtime stories and bedtime snacks out of most every adult he met.
The Grey Lady told the best stories, you see, the ones with riddles in them. You had to think and ask questions to get all the way through them. So he hunted her down with big patient eyes and plates of very smelly cheese, and she told him stories that made him think.
When Harry was stable enough on his feet to walk, and then to run, Sir Cadogan would race him through the castle, the knight scattering banquet tables and galloping across landscapes, twisting through the abstract gallery up on the seventh and a half floor. Harry stumbled and sprinted up stairways and didn’t notice for years the way Cadogan waited at the end of corridors for him to catch up.
Harry was a chubby-legged toddler, in this world–cute cheeks and stubby limbs. It’s a cute image, yes– but this is important. He was a chubby kid. He ate in a high chair on the teacher’s dais, getting peas and mashed potatoes on the adults beside him– Sprout laughed. Snape didn’t.
But this is important–Harry filled his plate. He wobbled up on little legs and grabbed biscuits from the table, slurped his soup, got marinara sauce on his chin and forehead and somehow behind his ear. When he was hungry, he ate. If he snuck down to the kitchens at night, it was for the adventure of it and nothing else. When he was hungry, he ate.
When he was four, they started letting him go sit down with the students. Bill Weasley, on route to be a prefect next year, took him under his wing and scrubbed his face down after meals. Harry was passed around the Hufflepuff table; theirs was the House Common Room he most liked sneaking into, with its barrels and cozy warmth. Nymphadora Tonks turned her nose a dozen different shapes to make Harry laugh, gurgling, as a toddler (and then a child) (and then for the rest of her life, honestly–it never stopped being funny).
The whole Ravenclaw table got distracted from meals, trying to solve riddles from a book one of their Muggleborns had smuggled in.Harry pushed his fork through his gravy, trying to draw out his thoughts but only making squiggles.
It was years before Harry sat at the Slytherin table for the first time–no one had ever set him down there, like they had with the others. But he liked green–it was the color of Professor Sprout’s greenhouses, where he went and napped sometimes in winter. It was the color of his mother’s eyes, from the little book of moving pictures Hagrid had given him when he was three.
All the Slytherin kids seemed big, but everyone Harry ever met seemed big–except for Flitwick, who was seeming smaller with every growth spurt. He leaned forward, teetering on the bench, and grabbed a chicken drumstick. “Hi,” he said, because he’d had a childhood full of tea parties with high portrait society– the French nobility and the tired housewife from the third floor and an old witch with her sleeve on fire but very particular table manners. “I’m Harry. What’s your name?”
By the end of the meal, they were flicking peas across the table with their spoons, like catapult projectiles. Harry had been unwelcome in so few places in his life, after he’d left 4 Privet Drive, that he simply didn’t expect it. He asked Warrington, a Slytherin with shoulders like a bulldog’s, to help him with the juice, which was too unwieldy for his kid-sized wrists. Harry sat there blinking, smiling, until Warrington took the jug and poured him a brimming glass.
Keep reading
“No no, stop. Go owl somewhere else.”
Looks like two witches familiars arguing about something
Mr owl and lydon
(image credit to Dan Hoare on twitter)
I ONLY JUST LEARNED ABOUT THE EXISTENCE OF THIS MUSHROOM????? WHICH ERUPTS FROM AN EGG BEFORE UNCURLING HELLISH ARMS, EXPOSING ITS STICKY MASS OF SPORES TO BE SPREAD BY FLIES ATTRACTED BY THE SCENT OF ROTTING FLESH???
Admittedly, I am easily won over by all organisms that attract flies with the scent of rotting flesh. But the octopus stinkhorn (Clathrus archeri) also has tentacles, a freaky egg stage, and blackish goop, so it’s my favorite now.
i want to die
Nature is magical!
this looks so very horrid
nature is great
@ahr42p
I've been thinking a lot about water dragons but that are like, manta rays? Dragon rays? Manta dragons? Does this have potential or no???
I THINK IT DOES YEAH
single manta ray dragons are often found hiding among schools of actual mantas, and usually its only their head shape when seen from above that gives them away. despite the name, their similarities to actual manta rays are mostly superficial - instead of filter feeding, theyre avid hunters that use short bursts of speed to catch fish unawares, and they can be fiercely territorial about the schools of rays they swim with
( they ended up looking really similar to skyweiners whale shark dragons h h hah a)
retail story time: ive probably told you this before but like a year ago at work i was closing and we are like five minutes from closing the doors and leaving. it’s late. we close at 10pm during the holiday season and it was like 9:56 when this woman walks in with a shopping cart.
now, if you work in retail, you know this sort of customer. those assholes who walk in right before you close and take their time shopping and act like they dont notice the announcements that “the store is now closed. please bring your final selection up to the front for checkout.” or that every employee is so fucking done for the night and want to get home. or that they are the only customer in the store. and when they have a shopping cart, you know they’re gonna be a while.
so a solid half hour after we are officially closed this woman comes to my register, because i am the only one open. because it’s ten fucking thirty pm and everyone else is ready to leave and ive been stuck here for eleven hours because someone called out and i was already there and a fucking idiot.
and this woman, she’s a Suburban Mom ™ type and, like all the fucking moms who come into this store, she doesnt have a coupon because she expects us to just give it to her. and we will, if they ask. except i, after a solid hour of no customers and foolishly thinking nobody would come, had gotten rid of my coupons a few minutes before she walked in. so when she asks if i had a coupon i say no, i’m sorry, i don’t have one at the register.
and this woman, she leans in and tells me “you know, i’m a professional psychic.” and i think “oh christ here we go”
and long island medium here, immune to the glares of the other employees who want her to just fucking pay and leave, goes on and on about this boy who loves me. we are soul mates, she says. destined to be. but there is a power keeping us apart. she mentions this “power” keeping me from mr. right several times.
i, exhausted and frustrated and wanting to go home, reply “is it the power of me being a lesbian?”
she pays and leaves without another word.
Bat-Eared Fox (Otocyon Megalotis)
that scientific name means eardog bigears
Voice Challenge
Send me a number/numbers and I’ll make a video of me doing it! Come on guys I’m bored.
Recite a poem.
Read the first page to one of your favorite books.
Read the little blurb on the back of your shampoo bottle.
Do a tongue-twister.
Say something in a different language.
Share an anecdote.
Do the rains in Spain stay mainly on the plains?
Summarize the last film/TV episode you watched.
Let us hear your ringtone and text message sound.
Tell a joke.
What did you have to eat today?
Talk about something that really scares you.
Talk about something that makes you happy.
What is your favorite word?
What is your least favorite word?
What turns you on?
What turns you off?
What sound or noise do you love?
What sound or noise do you hate?
What is your favorite curse word?
What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?
What profession would you not like to do?
If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?
If you’re brave enough, singing us a little song.
Okay so I followed this video about foreshortening and…
Sycra. I love you so much for making this video.
guys
GUYS
SHIT
SHIT GUYS
reblogging againg because holy cow, this HELPS
I’ll just have to watch this soon
I SERIOUSLY REBLOG THIS EVERTIME IT’S ON MY DASH! IT’S SO HELPFUL!!
Sycra is really great you guys. Ya’ll should subscribe to his youtube channel if you want more cool art tutorials!
This is my favorite leap year quote.
reblogging in honor of me realizing it’s a leap year
A while back an anon requested I draw Kylo in a Star Wars shirt so…I’m just gonna…leave this here.
People keep saying BB should have a shirt too, so I have delivered!! Poe would definitely make sure his droid was included in the shenanigans :)
Hello, everyone.
I need your help for my MA thesis. Please answer this survey about fan fiction. It won’t take you long, I promise.
Thank you :)
*points vaguely upwards*
The survey is still a thing. Please answer it and share it with others.
*coughs*
I know i have some new followers who might not have seen this before. If you read and/or write fanfiction, I would really appreciate it if you took this short survey I created for my eventual thesis. I would also appreciate it if you shared it on with your followers.
Thank you :)
OK, I am legit gonna start on my thesis in February. If you could please answer a few questions on your fanfic habit, that would be amazingly helpful. If you could also share, that would be doubly amazing.
Oh shit. No. Shit. Thank you
Just gonna reblog this out of gratitude because I actually did forget…
in grade 11 i was on the phone w this boy i wanted and i owed him a favour or something so i was like “it can be anything you want” and he was like “anything?” and im like ya thats what i fuckin said and he goes “can you explain to me how a fridge works? like how does it stay cold”
This was supposed to be up last thursday, but I could only do that now.
Well, this means that this week we’ll have two comics =D
Not everything is bad.
Fun (?) Rey Facts from Before the Awakening
Rey’s section of Before the Awakening starts least a year before the events of The Force Awakens. I’m omitting most of the plot details the story, in case you are inspired to read it, but here’s some stuff that struck me.
The long wrap she wears seems to serve both to protect her mouth (and eyes, at this point, because as of the start of the book she doesn’t have the goggles yet) from the sand, as well as hands when she grabs metal that’s been in the sun for a while, like gloves.
She mentions trading her previous set of googles for “two portions, barely enough food to silence her stomach for a day”; in the movie, we see her get ¼ portion and ½ portions for various days hauls, so, like, yeesh, Rey. That poor girl is regularly starving.
Most of the scavengers on Jakku work in teams, but Rey never, ever has; she starts interacting a little more with two people over the course of her story & is very very prickly about it at first.
Over the course of her section of the book, she finds a complete ship that no one’s found yet, and her biggest fear is finding a dead body on it; she doesn’t, but she does find a bunch of rations, and a bed, which “was far too soft. She ended up on the floor.”
Literally everything she owns is due to her scavenging and trading for it (like the generator she uses to power her little home), or building it herself (the speeder: “She’d had the speeder for years, built it herself as she had so many other things, and as much as she could allow herself a sense of pride in anything, she was proud of that.”)
She has workbench where she takes fixes up a lot of the stuff she finds, because “Unkar always paid more for things that still worked.”
SHE ALSO PUTS TOGETHER A COMPUTER: “using pieces scavenged from several crashed fighters over the years, including a cracked but still-usable display from an old BTL-A4 Y-wing”, AND finds a bunch of data chips, one of which is a flight simulator.
So whenever one of the (DAYS-LONG) sand storms traps her inside her little AT-AT home, she uses the simulator: “She could select any number of ships to fly, from small repulsor-driven atmospheric craft to a wide variety of fighters, all the way up to an array of stock freighters. She could set destinations, worlds she’d never visited and never imagined she would, and scenarios, from speed runs to obstacle courses to system failures.” She’s been doing this for long enough that she purposefully programs the simulator to throw EXTREME SITUATIONS at her, to keep it challenging, but she’s had so much practice she pretty much aces them.
Like, “with a perverse sense of determination that she would not allow herself to be beaten by a machine that she herself had put together with her own hands, she learned.” OH REY.
The best explanation I’ve heard so far for why R2 only woke up at the end, is that he actually does start booting up when BB8 first finds him; he just has to get through 10 years worth of updates before that.
I can literally accept that
Please do not power off or unplug your droid. Installing update 1 of 27040 …
I guess updates to the Millennium Falcon’s graphics package are no longer being released.