Imagine There Being A Grand Piano In The Slytherin Common Room. Most Of The Young Witches And Wizards

It was a hit and run type thing, her apartment had been broken into.  But, as criminals go, once you become one the police don’t particularly like to help.  Alara gave a broken, raspy cough.  Panicking would do her no good now.  She wasn’t afraid of death, almost welcoming it.  But she didn’t want to leave him alone to clean up her mess.

“What kinda problem exactly?”  He sat up, swinging his legs off of the bed and rubbing the bridge of his nose.  Normally he wouldn’t be quite so concerned about why she was calling at whatever godforsaken hour this was, but this time... this time something was different.

Her breathing grew shallower, and she bit her lip trying to hold back a whine of pain before completely breaking down in sobs, curling around herself.  She pulled her hand away from her stomach and watched the drops of blood fall off of her fingers onto the floor.

“Alara?”  His voice was sharp, all of the warning lights going off at once.  “Alara what’s going on?”  He flicked the light on, wincing at the brightness as he began the search for his jacket. 

“Something happened...”

“I know that already.”  He growled.  “So help me tell me what’s wrong.”

“Someone broke into my apartment.”

He stopped dead in his tracks for one split second, before shaking himself out of it.  She lived only a mile or two away, it would be alright.  

“Are you hurt?”  He asked carefully.

She hesitated in her answer.

“Y-you’re... Evan you’re not going to make it in time.”  Her voice was soft, soothing.  As if it would help.  

Writing Prompt #124

A sat crying, finger hovering shakily over the call button. B would be asleep, and they didn’t want to wake them- they were a bad enough morning person as it was. But they needed help, and desperately. They didn’t think they had much time left.

The phone rang for a while, the tone echoing throughout the stone walls of the room they were in, before B’s croaky voice answered.

“What sorta time do you call this?”

“Hey, B…” A said, their voice small, “I’m sorry to wake you up… I wouldn’t call if it wasn’t important…”

“It’s… it’s okay,” B replied groggily, “what’s up?”

“I have a slight problem…” said A, “I’m uh… in a little bit of trouble-”

“Oh…? That doesn’t sound good.”

“No…” A sobbed, looking down at the blood beginning to seep through their shirt. “It’s really not.”

Submitted Prompt #60

The empath let the pain run through them, embraced how it made them feel and let it sink in. They screamed as it sank through their bones, not allowing the knowledge of their plan act as a comfort.

Then, when the villain came in close to gloat, they did it. They quickly moved to touch their captor and transferred all of the pain to them.

my favourite thing about the story of hades and persephone is that the story grew up with us.

i think most of us, when we were young girls ourselves, heard that first, most tragic version of the story: persephone, the innocent child of spring, who wandered into a dark, terrible place, and ate of a cursed garden. hades, meanwhile, was cast as a shadowy, grasping seducer, looming from the darkness: here he stood, the god of riches, of gemstones and bones, of cold, dead things, who wanted to snatch a little bit of sunlight for himself.

and then came the second version of the story, when we were older, not so much a change in narrative as it was of perspective: we heard about zeus raping leta, we read the way medusa was cursed for being raped by poseidon, we read about athena’s jealousy when she was outwoven by arachne, about hera tossing little hephaestus down a cliff because he wasn’t as beautiful as a god ought to be.

once more, we considered hades: the youngest of the trinity, free of spite and hatred and fits of rage, running an empire greater than his brothers’ together, with little ego and quiet efficiency. a god who only took one wife, only loved once, and then too: wholly, completely.

like something not out of a horror movie, but perhaps, indeed, a fairytale.

then the third turn, when we had grown older, acquired a veneer of cynicism, suffered boys who never grew to men, when we realized that the only way our sexuality would not be annexed was if we conquered it ourselves.

then came kore, the woman of spring, who found in hades a quiet, dark refuge, away from demeter’s wrath and hungry possession, away from the squabbles of those tiresome, reckless gods. the girl who fell in love with darkness. the goddess whose spirit was of renewal and rebirth, and still flourished in the heart of the underworld, the duality of her nature only serving to highlight her strength.

hades remained as he ever was, unchanging, like death itself. but persephone grew, acquired facets and beauty in her change, spring given form in metaphor and mythology.

hades and persephone grew with us. that’s why they’re powerful. that’s why they’re loved.

Does anyone ever become so anxious and overstimulated that they go into that weird dissociative state where textures are GROSS *flips to image of me balancing in a boat position on my sisters bed with the fitted sheet carefully balanced underneath me where I can’t feel it* furry pillow?  NO carpet? NO touching your face or skin or anything of that nature in generaL NO

Also where everything has the wrongness.  Just.  Something is wrong.  Now.  Gotta fix it.  Is there a filter on my eyes?  What? 

I just dunno you guys but is this a thing for anyone else but me?

part of me wants to become a pianist, elegant and poised wearing long light pink skirts on a daily basis, and kitten heels, and can perfect my craft for hours on end. part of me wants to become an author who can spin stories from lost things, and snuggle up with my notebooks and tea and sweaters and just dream of worlds that i wasnt meant to live in but i could share.  part of me wants to become a rebel and wear black leather jackets while reading angsty poetry, chop my hair short and fight for what matters to me, the kind of person who doesn’t care what others think of them as long as a point has been made.  So.  I don’t know what I want to do.  But whatever I do, I can assure you that I will not be boring.

Hi!  So, I’ve been homeschooled my entire life, and am starting at a private school in a week.  I feel extraordinarily over my head, but excited.  Is there anything I need to know about what to expect or anything that I just... wouldn’t think of in the first place.

Tell me, what do I need to know to thrive?

okay so if you need more veggies/fruit, protein or fibre (bc most people do NOT eat enough) in your diet but you struggle to do so, hear me out:

look up recipes (especially snack recipes) that are child/toddler/baby-friendly

i can guarantee there is a woman with a cooking blog out there who has found away to pack a bunch of vegetables into a surprisingly delicious little snack for her kids. this process has never failed me when i feel like i am not eating enough fruits and veggies. my entire flat is eating spinach muffins at the moment, which doesn’t sounding particularly appealing to most people and yet somehow. they’re delicious.

welp, I am now over a month into quarantine.  I have not seen any person face-to-face that is not my family for over five weeks.  Chances are that quarantine will be extended anyways.  my motivation to do literally anything has plummeted, until i end up lying on the floor knowing that i should be doing something productive, but not having enough self control to make myself actually do the thing.  sigh.

everyone who reblogs this before 03-30-2020 gets a book recommendation based on their blog in their inbox

Adventures do occur, but not punctually.

A Passage to India