This Is Happening Right Now In Ankara (Turkey)

This is happening right now in Ankara (Turkey)

I LOVE YOU MALTA, I'VE LITERALLY NEVER SEEN THIS IN MY LIFE. WE'RE ON THE LEFT WE GOT 12 POINTS

I actually love this so much. It's perfect

Gryffindors are bright mornings, leaves dripping in gold. They’re the trailblazers, unafraid of the road ahead. They’re laughing so loud your stomach hurts, the knowledge that your friends are right behind you wherever you go. They’re ice skating with someone you love, clinging on to them for dear life. They’re make-believe games with quests and dragons and swords pointing at the sky. They’re rosy cheeks, winter winds and freezing hands. They’re the adrenaline when a plane takes off, the drop at the top of a rollercoaster. They’re delighted screams and freedom, the wind through your hair. They’re panting, pillow fights, feathers bursting into the air. They’re finger painting and festivals and burning sunsets. They’re the burn in your lung after chasing something you’ll never be able to catch. 

Hufflepuffs are honey and flowers and the soft autumn sun. They’re knitted jumpers and scarves and soft tan boots. They’re fresh air and nature, the sound of birds singing. They’re rolling down a hill in the spring, grass stains on your knees, daisy chains in your hair. They’re waving at someone across a crowded room, bright smiles and laughter. They’re coming home after a long day and seeing your family. They’re playing fetch with your dog, your cat weaving between your feet. They’re fluffy socks and song birds and kraft notebooks with hand drawn patterns. They’re throw cushions on a bed, a tiny cottage surrounded by wilderness. They’re the ground beneath your feet, the air that you breathe. They’re the light you chase when you thought you’d never see the morning. 

Ravenclaws are leather bound books and overstocked libraries. They’re waking up at two am to google that thing that’s bugging you. They’re journals with half the words crossed out, scribbles and ink stains and missing pages. They’re stretching when you’ve been hunched over all day, rolling off the edge of a bed, burrowing in blankets. They’re torch light and held breaths and reverent whispers. They’re the entire night sky and everything beyond it; the embodiment of the universe. They’re desperate searches and hidden castles and ghost stories by firelight. They’re the mystery of a dark corridor, the force of a whirlwind. They’re the excitement of discovery, the rustle of crunched up paper. They’re the last whisper before you fall asleep. 

Slytherins are foggy hillsides and picturesque landscapes. They’re hand written love notes and subtle glances across a classroom. They’re black boots, long coats, buttons done up to the top. They’re tipping your head back to breathe the air, kicking up stones on a deserted path. They’re mirrored lakes, everything below the surface. They’re the confidence to get something right, the feel of magic in your fingertips. They’re holding your breath underwater, pretending to be a mermaid when you swim. They’re finding that one song that makes you want to create a storm. They’re the chill in the breeze, the force in the tide. They’re enchanted forests and lingering glances and long drives. They’re the lightning and the thunder and everything in between. 

I'm looking for this trampoline...

We’re monumentally fucked. Thank you baby boomers, you’ve screwed over our generation yet again. Thank you. Thank you for screwing an entire generation over, when, not to be callous, or anything, but you won’t be around to face the consequences. 1.5 million or so 16-17 year old weren’t allowed to vote for something that would hugely affect their futures. Our economy is tanking, and it’s your fault. But there is hope. There’s a petition to hold a 2nd referendum, where we allow 16-17 year olds to vote, on the government website, that already has 100,000+ signatures and has so much traffic, that it’s crashed 3 times already, but it needs more. It should already be planned for debate in parliament, but it might be brushed under the rug. They’ve done it before. So sign it. Do something. Don’t just roll over and let a generation of disillusioned, embittered, eurosceptics decide your future.

After I came out of hospital — everyone ignored me, shut me out — other than, that is, the boy who had everything — who came across the Gryffindor common room and challanged me to a game of Exploding Snap. […] The love I felt from you that day...