Random Thoughts of a Teenage Writer

Sep 15
tryitcomic:

rebloggable by request, now with 10% more sick

The second worst feeling in the world, second only to being too depressed to masturbate (which happened to me over the summer), and closely followed by being on one’s period.

tryitcomic:

rebloggable by request, now with 10% more sick

The second worst feeling in the world, second only to being too depressed to masturbate (which happened to me over the summer), and closely followed by being on one’s period.

Aug 31

deanplease:

frostedamericaniron:

sammiesundevil-at-221b:

tom-sits-like-a-whore:

rebloggable, as requested :) 

this is the most accurate description of how awful periods are that i have ever read.  *slow applauds*

LADIES I APOLOGIZE FOR MEN EVERYWHERE FOR NOT UNDERSTANDING THIS, I AM SO VERY, VERY, SORRY

Okay so I’ve reblogged this before but since then I have had a period where I did, in fact, have blood soak all the way through the mattress pad to the actual mattress. Literally, blood went through a mattress pad and the mattress cover to the actual mattress. That was fun to clean up. I also just want to add that it is 20 TIMES WORSE if you have a condition like Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome or somesuch.

Aug 31

YOUTUBE TROUBLE

I’m kind of addicted. Particularly to the Lizzie Bennet Diaries. HALP.

Aug 31

the-broadway-babe:

meggiry:

musicaltheatercentral:

If musicals had honest titles.

image

Andrew Lloyd Webber Wants More Money

OHMIGODS YASS. Also Andrew Lloyd Webber’s “Want More Money”, not coming to a theater near you, America.

Aug 31

blindsprings:

uninhibitedandunrepentant:

alliseeisthewarpandimgoingmad:

fearandlothering:

niceliwright:

fearandlothering:

megaman2:

“there’s nothing wrong with the video game community”

I DO NOT WANT TO LIVE ON THIS PLANET ANYMORE

They all need a good punch in the D, tbh.

47% of gamers are female.

47% of gamers are female.

47% of gamers are female.

47% of gamers are female.

  1. 47% of gamers are female
  • 47% of gamers are female

And did I mention 47% OF GAMERS ARE FEMALE.

IN FACT WOMEN OVER THE AGE OF 18 REPRESENT A SIGNIFICANTLY GREATER PORTION OF THE GAME-PLAYING POPULATION THAN BOYS 17 OR YOUNGER.

THESE STUDIES WERE PUBLISHED ONLINE FOR FREE TO THE PUBLIC - BY THE PEOPLE WHO OWN AND RUN E3 SO FUCK YOU AND YOUR MISOGYNISTIC BULLSHIT YOU ASSHOLES.

Flawless commentary warrants another reblog. :)

Well there’s ten individuals who’re never going to get a date ever…

Never.

Not.

Relevant.

arggghhhhhhhhh

UM EXCUSE ME BUT I LIKE TO PLAY VIDEO GAMES AND I’M PRETTY SURE I HAVE A VAGINA AND IDENTIFY AS A WOMAN. Now I’m not a gamer, I just play on occasion, but I still prefer games where I can be a female character at least part of the time, unless we’re talking Kingdom Hearts because COME ON. Anyway, I WANT MORE GAMES WITH FEMALE PROTAGS BECAUSE I WOULD PLAY MORE GAMES IF THE GAMES WITH FEMALE PROTAGS WERE EVEN REMOTELY INTERESTING. I love things like L.A. Noire and Disney’s Guilty Party and other puzzle games but so few games like that have female characters available to play, let alone as the Protagonist!! Most games I’ve found with a female protag are aimed at boys and it’s all fanservice. I mean, that’s cool and all, cause I’m Bi, but the games aren’t even things I would want to play.

Aug 31

about the blogger →

BASICS:

name: Haiden
birthday: March 1st
zodiac: Pisces
single or taken: taken
height: 5’2”
eye color: blue/grey
middle name: René
favorite color: all
lucky number: 4, 34, 17, 9, 3

SPECIFICS/DETAILS:

hogwarts house: Ravenclaw, but I identify strongly with Slytherin too

We’re creepily similar dear. XD

Aug 31

We teach girls to shrink themselves, to make themselves smaller. We say to girls, ‘You can have ambition, but not too much. You should aim to be successful, but not too successful. Otherwise you will threaten the man.’ Because I am female, I am expected to aspire to marriage. I am expected to make my life choices always keeping in mind that marriage is the most important. Now marriage can be a source of joy and love and mutual support. But why do we teach girls to aspire to marriage and we don’t teach boys the same? We raise girls to see each other as competitors – not for jobs or for accomplishments, which I think can be a good thing, but for the attention of men. We teach girls that they cannot be sexual beings in the way that boys are.(x)

Marriage is cool and all but I want a career, like my mom has. I want to somehow manage a balancing act like she does (with fewer kids — 4 is nearly impossible) and be able to support myself and my family. I don’t want to rely on a man to take care of me — what if I fall in love with another woman? What if my marriage fails despite the work we put in? How many women have found themselves lost and alone and afraid and desperate because we don’t teach them to aim for careers and financial stability, for things like engineering degrees and medical school, but instead for the “MRS degree” and dead-end jobs and paychecks that don’t contribute enough money to be counted as a “breadwinner”? I refuse to be one. If that means that I’m fighting the system the whole way then I will do so. But women have the amazing ability to, get this, think for ourselves and make decisions and do the same things men do, and we can do it backwards, in high heels, with a baby on our backs if we have to, which we sometimes do! My mother earned her doctorate two years after giving birth to her fourth child. She earned her Bachelor’s with a toddler on her leg and a baby on the way and her Master’s with an infant and that same toddler wanting to branch out and do things like take dance lessons (I never took them — too much money at the time) and she has never been anything but the most amazing mother and the best English professor I’ve ever seen. I sincerely believe that all young women need a role model like that, that all young people need a role model like that. I know I can balance a career and a family. I firmly hold that any one can balance family and career if they wish to do so. Not all women want kids, not all couples want to be a “family” in the traditional sense of the word. And not every couple needs to have kids. We have plenty of people populating the earth right now. We don’t need more simply because society deems it important that all women marry and have children. There is such a thing as adoption and fostering and people who choose to do that deserve our respect because that is a loooong tough road and it’s not for everybody, but it is for some people, just like careers and financial stability are things that everyone, not just men, deserve to have, just like everyone deserves an equal political voice and power, just like I am in control of my body and everyone else is in control of their body and no one else’s, just like equality being a belief all Americans are suppose to share. I’m an American woman, I plan on having a career and a family, and I plan on being active in politics until the very last breath I take, thankyouverymuch.

I’m a feminist, and quite proud of that. That doesn’t mean I “hate men” or that I “hate the institution of marriage” or “hate families and/or kids”. What it does mean is that I hate the inequality currently faced by women, biological females, and transgender females across the board. I hate the push from society to sit down, shut up, and spread my legs for the government to fuck me over in every single way they can. I hate when people seriously say “Women belong in the kitchen” or that we need to be “barefoot and pregnant” and to “breed like rabbits”. I hate that there are people who judge me for being bisexual (And no, I’m not confused or experimenting. Women are hot as all fucking hell, and so are men. And no that does not mean I will be more open to having a threesome. I’m monogamous/exclusive when it comes to relationships and anything sexual. SorryNotSorry) or my friends for their sexualities and for their choices in relationship styles, like polyamory which is pretty cool if ya ask me (not that I could do it without some really serious work and really awesome other people). I hate this idea that women shouldn’t have careers r be the primary breadwinner of a family unit. I hate the idea that a family unit is a mom, a dad, and 2.5 adorable kids — a family unit is made up however you want it to be made up, whether it be two moms or two dads or an aunt and uncle or older siblings or adoptive parents or a mom and a dad or just a mom or just a dad or WHATEVER YOU WANT and HOWEVER MANY KIDS YOU WANT DAMNIT. I also hate the idea that some fields are “men’s fields” and women shouldn’t “meddle”. BULLSHIT. Women can do anything they want, thank you very much. I want to be a doctor. I think I will be in fact. So screw you social norms. And maybe I won’t have my own biological kids. I’ll adopt and love those kids possibly even more than if they came from my own goddamn womb because I will have to work SO HARD to have them and have them be mine, and to make them feel like they are loved and they belong and they will never be abandoned and they’re safe and that I will ALWAYS be there for them no matter what they decide to do (except ya know, destroying the world. I would talk them out of that one). So you know what? I don’t need society to tell me what I’m “supposed” to do. I know what I wantto do and that’s all that matters. That’s all that will ever matter, is that everyone decides for themselves what they want to do, and if they want to follow the traditional “Mom, Dad, two kids, white picket fence, Mom stays home, Dad works 9-to-5, Timmy and Janie go to school every day, Timmy plays baseball, Janie does ballet, blue and pink presents at Christmas every year” then go ahead! So long as you’re choosing it for yourself and not for anyone else, then RIGHT ON. But if that’s not what you want, DON’T DO IT. Do what you think will make you happy. Everyone deserves to be happy, okay? Everyone.

Aug 31
lavenderpatil:

last-snowfall:

deducecanoe:

ppyajunebug:

thelethifoldwitch:

Imagine Hogwarts after the Battle, after the War, sure –
But imagine Hogwarts’ students, after their year with the Carrows and Snape.
Imagine a tiny little first-year whose porcupine pincushions still have quills, but to whom Fiendfyre comes easily. The second-year who tried to go back, to fight; whose bravado got Professor Sinistra killed, as she pushed him out of the way of a Killing Curse. The third-year who perfectly brewed poisons, hands shaking, wishing for the courage to spike the Carrows’ cups. The fourth-year who throws away all of their teacups, their palmistry guidebooks, because what use is Divination if it didn’t see this coming? The fifth-year who can barely remember what O.W.L.S. are, let alone that she was supposed to take them. The sixth-year who can’t manage Lumos to save their life, but whose proficiency with the Cruciatus Curse rivals Bellatrix’s.
Imagine the seventh-year who laughs until he cries, thinking about the first-years who will fall asleep in History of Magic while their story is told.
Imagine the Muggleborn first-years left alive, if there are any: imagine what they think of the magical world, when their introduction to it was Death Eaters and being tortured – by their classmates –for having been born.
Imagine the students who went home to their parents (or guardians, or wards, or orphanages) and showed them what they’d learned: Dark curses, hexes, Unforgiveables; that Muggles are filth, animals, lesser. Who, yes, still can’t transfigure a match into a needle – but Mum, there’s a hex that can make you feel as though you’re being stabbed with thousands. (Don’t ask them how they know.)
Imagine the students who will never be able to see Hogwarts as home.
Imagine the students Hogwarts has left, when it starts up again – the lack of Muggleborns, blood-traitors, half-bloods, dead and gone – the lack of purebloods; the Ministry would have chucked everyone of age (and possibly just below) in Azkaban for Unforgiveables, wouldn’t they?
Imagine how few students there are left to teach; imagine how few teachers are left to teach them.
Imagine the students who can’t walk past a particular classroom, who can’t walk through a hallway, who can’t walk into the Great Hall without having a panic attack or breaking down. Imagine the school-wide discovery that the carriages aren’t horseless after all; that everyone, from the firsties to the teachers, can see Thestrals.
Imagine the memorials, the heaps of flowers and mementoes – in every other corner, hallway, classroom; every other step you take on the grounds.
Imagine the ghosts.
Imagine the students destroying Snape’s portrait, using the curses, hexes, even Fiendfyre they’ve been taught how to wield – it has to be restored nearly every week; Snape stays with Phineas Nigellus semi-permanently. (None of the other portraits will welcome him. His reasons do not excuse his conduct.)
Imagine the students unable to trust each other – everyone informed on everyone, your best friend might turn you in.
Imagine the guilt that everyone carries (it should have been me, it’s my fault s/he’s dead, I told on them, it’s all my fault), the students incapable of meeting each other’s eyes because it’s my fault your best friend, your sibling, your Housemate, your boy/girlfriend is dead.
Imagine the memorials piled high with the wands of the dead. Imagine the memorials piled high with the self-snapped wands of the living.
Imagine the students who are never able to produce a Patronus.
Imagine Boggarts being removed from the curriculum because Riddikulus is near impossible to grasp, even for the sixth- and seventh-years. Because their friends and families dead will never, ever be funny.
Imagine the students for whom magic feels tainted.
Imagine the students who leave the wixen world – hell, the students who leave Britain entirely, because there’s nothing left for them there.
Imagine the students who never use magic again.
(Image source.)
(From the mind of the wonderful lavenderpatil, a keen look at how students might be after war.)

Reblogging this kickass post by the equally kickass
lavenderpatil
because everyone should read it

I think… I could be wrong… but everyone Prof Trwylany (sp) said would die at the beginning of every term DID die in the battle of hogwarts? BUt yeah. The year after that was probably filled with grand speeches about those who sacrificed their lives, and how they would rebuild hogwarts, etc. meanwhile… the kids knew. They were there. They knew what it was really like. And the incoming first years probably had a very different relationship with the older kids, who’d seen shit, than in years past. I think there’d be a long year of seriousness and severity… or everyone would try to put on a happy face and pretend that Colin Kreevy wasn’t working on the school paper any more because he was dead. Stiff upper lip. But with a very subdued attitude.

Imagine the seventh years who came back. Because nobody finished their seventh year. That year was a loss. But the ones it really mattered for were them. Imagine the older kids who are up in the night because they can’t sleep for bad dreams hearing the crying from the lower dorms and finding that little girl who can’t make pincushions but can make Fiendfyre hugging her knees, and saying, “You know what, bring your pillow up, you can sleep on my bed while I read.” Imagine the new first years, the ones who hear the story on the train, who’re eleven and still young, seeing an older student sitting alone staring blankly and going over to them and saying, “D’you want some of my chocolate frogs?” because they can’t think of anything else to do. Imagine one finding someone who’s sitting staring at nothing one day and asking in a quiet voice, “Do you need a hug?” and then staying for an hour while the older student cries and cries and hugs them, because some eleven year olds are really smart (and some eleven year olds already came to the school from Bad Shit) and know that sometimes it helps to hold someone you could look after. Imagine the older students who look at these younger ones coming in, all new and safe and bright, and swearing on Merlin’s grave that nothing will ever, *ever* hurt these kids. Imagine the alumni of Dumbledore’s Army, who refused to let the fucking Death Eaters win when they were here and kicking and sure as she won’t let them now, finding things to do on weekends, organizing things, refusing to have it so that people just stay there alone being sad. Fuck the third-year rule: *everyone* can go to Hogsmeade, you just buddy up the young kids with the older kids and I mean, fuck, *who’s going to be a threat to the older kids now*?Imagine them making up insulting nicknames for their old enemies, taking Voldemort and the Carrows and Lestrange and metaphorically spitting on them every time they use them. Imagine Ron volunteering to take on the Boggart that takes up residence in the one class cupboard because no, look, the stupid thing *still looks like a bloody spider* and look it’s fucking hilarious when you take its legs off and tie it up with a bow. And the class laughs. Imagine Harry staying at the school for a couple years, even when he’s done, because once people understand how the charm worked - how because he let Voldemort kill him it meant that nothing Voldemort could do could hurt any of them anymore - everyone just feels *better* when he’s there. Imagine the nights where everyone leaves the common rooms and camps out in the Great Hall and drinks Butterbeer and tells stories and cries and sometimes there are shouting matches because people get so raw, but in the end everyone falls asleep in a pile together. Imagine all the really, truly inappropriate jokes the survivors make, the ones that make their parents’ eyes fill with tears and terrify the first years, because actually when you’ve been dragged face-first through Hell the *worst shit* becomes fucking funny. Imagine how the owls don’t have to be kept in the owlry anymore, because every kid needs the animal they brought with them; imagine that for the kids that lost theirs, or never had one, their friends finding them some, buying them some. Imagine the girl who knows the Cruciatus Curse breaking down crying because she can’t believe she did that, she can’t ever believe she would and she knows she’s wrong and evil and tainted, and Ginny holding her while she cries and when she calms down, Hermione tells her the story of Regulus Black, and about how just because you made shit choices once that doesn’t mean you can’t make better ones now. Imagine that people have been dealing with this kind of horrible shit all through human history, and people are out there dealing with it today, and yes it absolutely sucks and it’s horrible and the scars it leaves are real and heartbreaking and sometimes people are too badly hurt to go on, but also former child-soldiers play team games and laugh at funny stories and refugee kids with horrible stories love colouring books with bright colours and play games with the friends they’ve made in the camps. And these are kids who fought. Who fought like little demons. Who *chose* to fight. So yeah, it could be awful. It could be nothing but bleak from beginning to end, a year (a decade) of sternness and unhappiness. But it doesn’t have to be; it isn’t guaranteed. (and as @tygermama notes, we Muggles have been figuring out this shit: we give it names and throw our best guesses at it, and some of them are good. So there’s help there, too.)

This is my favourite response to this ficlet so far, oh my goodness, thank you.

I’m sobbing and can barely breathe. A lot of us fic writers try to make it to be a regular year at school after the battle, and some (like me) choose to avoid writing about the school altogether. And this is why. This trauma, this pain, is so mind numbingly raw….it kills me to imagine this but I can’t help it….I am haunted by the echoes of night terrors, of children waking up screaming. The smell of vomit is glued to my nose as I think about how many students have to have visceral reactions to what was once home and gods it hurts. And the endless number of tear soaked pillows. Gods it’s too much.

lavenderpatil:

last-snowfall:

deducecanoe:

ppyajunebug:

thelethifoldwitch:

Imagine Hogwarts after the Battle, after the War, sure

But imagine Hogwarts’ students, after their year with the Carrows and Snape.

Imagine a tiny little first-year whose porcupine pincushions still have quills, but to whom Fiendfyre comes easily. The second-year who tried to go back, to fight; whose bravado got Professor Sinistra killed, as she pushed him out of the way of a Killing Curse. The third-year who perfectly brewed poisons, hands shaking, wishing for the courage to spike the Carrows’ cups. The fourth-year who throws away all of their teacups, their palmistry guidebooks, because what use is Divination if it didn’t see this coming? The fifth-year who can barely remember what O.W.L.S. are, let alone that she was supposed to take them. The sixth-year who can’t manage Lumos to save their life, but whose proficiency with the Cruciatus Curse rivals Bellatrix’s.

Imagine the seventh-year who laughs until he cries, thinking about the first-years who will fall asleep in History of Magic while their story is told.

Imagine the Muggleborn first-years left alive, if there are any: imagine what they think of the magical world, when their introduction to it was Death Eaters and being tortured by their classmates for having been born.

Imagine the students who went home to their parents (or guardians, or wards, or orphanages) and showed them what they’d learned: Dark curses, hexes, Unforgiveables; that Muggles are filth, animals, lesser. Who, yes, still can’t transfigure a match into a needle but Mum, there’s a hex that can make you feel as though you’re being stabbed with thousands. (Don’t ask them how they know.)

Imagine the students who will never be able to see Hogwarts as home.

Imagine the students Hogwarts has left, when it starts up again the lack of Muggleborns, blood-traitors, half-bloods, dead and gone the lack of purebloods; the Ministry would have chucked everyone of age (and possibly just below) in Azkaban for Unforgiveables, wouldn’t they?

Imagine how few students there are left to teach; imagine how few teachers are left to teach them.

Imagine the students who can’t walk past a particular classroom, who can’t walk through a hallway, who can’t walk into the Great Hall without having a panic attack or breaking down. Imagine the school-wide discovery that the carriages aren’t horseless after all; that everyone, from the firsties to the teachers, can see Thestrals.

Imagine the memorials, the heaps of flowers and mementoes in every other corner, hallway, classroom; every other step you take on the grounds.

Imagine the ghosts.

Imagine the students destroying Snape’s portrait, using the curses, hexes, even Fiendfyre they’ve been taught how to wield it has to be restored nearly every week; Snape stays with Phineas Nigellus semi-permanently. (None of the other portraits will welcome him. His reasons do not excuse his conduct.)

Imagine the students unable to trust each other everyone informed on everyone, your best friend might turn you in.

Imagine the guilt that everyone carries (it should have been me, it’s my fault s/he’s dead, I told on them, it’s all my fault), the students incapable of meeting each other’s eyes because it’s my fault your best friend, your sibling, your Housemate, your boy/girlfriend is dead.

Imagine the memorials piled high with the wands of the dead. Imagine the memorials piled high with the self-snapped wands of the living.

Imagine the students who are never able to produce a Patronus.

Imagine Boggarts being removed from the curriculum because Riddikulus is near impossible to grasp, even for the sixth- and seventh-years. Because their friends and families dead will never, ever be funny.

Imagine the students for whom magic feels tainted.

Imagine the students who leave the wixen world hell, the students who leave Britain entirely, because there’s nothing left for them there.

Imagine the students who never use magic again.

(Image source.)

(From the mind of the wonderful lavenderpatil, a keen look at how students might be after war.)

Reblogging this kickass post by the equally kickass
lavenderpatil
because everyone should read it

I think… I could be wrong… but everyone Prof Trwylany (sp) said would die at the beginning of every term DID die in the battle of hogwarts? BUt yeah. The year after that was probably filled with grand speeches about those who sacrificed their lives, and how they would rebuild hogwarts, etc. meanwhile… the kids knew. They were there. They knew what it was really like. And the incoming first years probably had a very different relationship with the older kids, who’d seen shit, than in years past. I think there’d be a long year of seriousness and severity… or everyone would try to put on a happy face and pretend that Colin Kreevy wasn’t working on the school paper any more because he was dead. Stiff upper lip. But with a very subdued attitude.

Imagine the seventh years who came back. Because nobody finished their seventh year. That year was a loss. But the ones it really mattered for were them.

Imagine the older kids who are up in the night because they can’t sleep for bad dreams hearing the crying from the lower dorms and finding that little girl who can’t make pincushions but can make Fiendfyre hugging her knees, and saying, “You know what, bring your pillow up, you can sleep on my bed while I read.”

Imagine the new first years, the ones who hear the story on the train, who’re eleven and still young, seeing an older student sitting alone staring blankly and going over to them and saying, “D’you want some of my chocolate frogs?” because they can’t think of anything else to do.

Imagine one finding someone who’s sitting staring at nothing one day and asking in a quiet voice, “Do you need a hug?” and then staying for an hour while the older student cries and cries and hugs them, because some eleven year olds are really smart (and some eleven year olds already came to the school from Bad Shit) and know that sometimes it helps to hold someone you could look after.

Imagine the older students who look at these younger ones coming in, all new and safe and bright, and swearing on Merlin’s grave that nothing will ever, *ever* hurt these kids.

Imagine the alumni of Dumbledore’s Army, who refused to let the fucking Death Eaters win when they were here and kicking and sure as she won’t let them now, finding things to do on weekends, organizing things, refusing to have it so that people just stay there alone being sad. Fuck the third-year rule: *everyone* can go to Hogsmeade, you just buddy up the young kids with the older kids and I mean, fuck, *who’s going to be a threat to the older kids now*?

Imagine them making up insulting nicknames for their old enemies, taking Voldemort and the Carrows and Lestrange and metaphorically spitting on them every time they use them.

Imagine Ron volunteering to take on the Boggart that takes up residence in the one class cupboard because no, look, the stupid thing *still looks like a bloody spider* and look it’s fucking hilarious when you take its legs off and tie it up with a bow. And the class laughs.

Imagine Harry staying at the school for a couple years, even when he’s done, because once people understand how the charm worked - how because he let Voldemort kill him it meant that nothing Voldemort could do could hurt any of them anymore - everyone just feels *better* when he’s there.

Imagine the nights where everyone leaves the common rooms and camps out in the Great Hall and drinks Butterbeer and tells stories and cries and sometimes there are shouting matches because people get so raw, but in the end everyone falls asleep in a pile together.

Imagine all the really, truly inappropriate jokes the survivors make, the ones that make their parents’ eyes fill with tears and terrify the first years, because actually when you’ve been dragged face-first through Hell the *worst shit* becomes fucking funny.

Imagine how the owls don’t have to be kept in the owlry anymore, because every kid needs the animal they brought with them; imagine that for the kids that lost theirs, or never had one, their friends finding them some, buying them some.

Imagine the girl who knows the Cruciatus Curse breaking down crying because she can’t believe she did that, she can’t ever believe she would and she knows she’s wrong and evil and tainted, and Ginny holding her while she cries and when she calms down, Hermione tells her the story of Regulus Black, and about how just because you made shit choices once that doesn’t mean you can’t make better ones now.

Imagine that people have been dealing with this kind of horrible shit all through human history, and people are out there dealing with it today, and yes it absolutely sucks and it’s horrible and the scars it leaves are real and heartbreaking and sometimes people are too badly hurt to go on, but also former child-soldiers play team games and laugh at funny stories and refugee kids with horrible stories love colouring books with bright colours and play games with the friends they’ve made in the camps.

And these are kids who fought. Who fought like little demons. Who *chose* to fight. So yeah, it could be awful. It could be nothing but bleak from beginning to end, a year (a decade) of sternness and unhappiness. But it doesn’t have to be; it isn’t guaranteed.


(and as @tygermama notes, we Muggles have been figuring out this shit: we give it names and throw our best guesses at it, and some of them are good. So there’s help there, too.)

This is my favourite response to this ficlet so far, oh my goodness, thank you.

I’m sobbing and can barely breathe. A lot of us fic writers try to make it to be a regular year at school after the battle, and some (like me) choose to avoid writing about the school altogether. And this is why. This trauma, this pain, is so mind numbingly raw….it kills me to imagine this but I can’t help it….I am haunted by the echoes of night terrors, of children waking up screaming. The smell of vomit is glued to my nose as I think about how many students have to have visceral reactions to what was once home and gods it hurts. And the endless number of tear soaked pillows. Gods it’s too much.

Aug 31

barackfuckingobama:

xinjay:

itsjustafangirlthing:

tundrakatiebean:

spooknessinsalvation:

thisbookofshadows:

barackfuckingobama:

so i bought this ring that has a little hinge and it opens up to a tiny secret box hidden under the gem and my mom told me that women used to put poison in it and then SLIP POISON INTO PEOPLES DRINKS and i was like NUH UH THIS CANT BE REAL and i just googled it and guys this is like a real thing

people are psycho

I have a few of those. I think they’re really neat!

classiest way to poison someone hands down

That’s how it all goes down in Hamlet, poison ring.

I’ve always, always wanted one of these because I have pure peppermint liquid that can ruin a drink with one drop and just kargfksernjskrn I want one.

wait why does everyone want one of these

what are all of you people planning

i regret making this post because i have been getting the creepiest reblogs in the universe seriously tumblr u scary

I want one for costume purposes. Like, a steampunk poison ring. Or using it to mimic a little communicator. And then put sugar or something in it to scare people with.

Aug 31

Her: We finish each other’s s-
Me: -ocial justice rants.

Hey! That’s what I was gonna say!