Latest Posts by sublimedetectivemusic - Page 6

On... death? grief? pain? not sure.

So...

I’ve never actually written a post here before, even though I’ve been meaning to for a while, but now I have too many thoughts and I need to say some things out loud and I don’t really trust my voice. That leaves me with writing them. Maybe this will stay in the drafts. Maybe I want it to stay in the drafts. I don’t know. Now that I’ve finished writing, I feel like I have to post it. The drafts are not ¨out loud¨. 

If you want to read just know that it’s not happy at all.

My grandma died today.

And I’m not crying. Not yet, at least. 

It´s not that I didn’t love her, I just didn’t see her very often; we live in different states. But now I’ll never see her again. Not in christmas, nor in summer vacation. Never. 

I mean, she was very sick already, we knew this was coming, but now it happened. It’s the first time someone close to me dies. I don´t know how this works. I’ve never even had pets, I have no precedent for dealing with this.

This afternoon my dad called my mom and asked her to tell me. He didn’t want to tell me himself. He’s never been good with emotions and stuff. Now I have to decide what to do. I obviously want to go, the funeral is tomorrow. But the pandemic is getting really bad there. They don’t allow more than 20 people at the ceremony. I’m not sure I should be in those 20. As I said, I didn’t visit very often anyway. Then again, how can I not go? I have to say goodbye. I couldn’t say goodbye. But what if I go and get covid? and spread it to my mom when I come back? what if, by attending to a funeral, I cause another? maybe my own?

I can´t do that, not when the vaccine is so close, not when we’ve managed to stay safe for so long. 

But I just want to go. I feel like I owe it to her. It’s risky, it’s impulsive, it’s all the things I usually wouldn’t do. I’m confused. I’m sad. I’m still not crying. why??

My grandma died yesterday.

2:38 p.m.: Still not crying, but my chest is heavy. I feel weak. I’m not hungry.

10:42 p.m.: I’m... fine???? I’m going. Tomorrow. I’ll see how it goes.

My grandma died 4 days ago.

I’m back home. It was... fine, I guess. Apparently everyone agrees that it was time, she had to go, it was for the best. 

Her last moments were with my uncle, he is a retired doctor. a gynecologist. It is sad and somehow ironic that he, whose job was basically keeping mothers alive and well, was the one holding her when she died. He said he’s never had a patient die in his arms before.

Yet another example of life’s dark sense of humor is that my dad’s birthday will also be from now on the anniversary of his mother’s funeral.

So I’m home, and I’ll stay locked for a couple weeks and pray that my mom and I didn’t get infected. Wich sucks, becasuse just a few hours ago, we recieved notice that my other grandma has cancer. And my mom can’t go visit her to the hospital, because I wanted to go visit my dad’s family and dragged her with me. Great. This year only gets better. I hate it. This has to stop now. Please. Please.

I think I’ll end here. I have nothing left to say. I am going to post it. Leaving this in the drafts feels like trying to yell with my mouth shut.

Trying

I got a proof wrong on an exam. No points. 

Then, I thought about it for fifteen minutes outside of the exam, wrote it down, nailed it. 

I showed a classmate and told him what happened. He looked frustrated. He’d clearly had this happen before, too (haven’t we all?).  He said, “Don’t you hate it when that happens?”

I almost said yes. What the h*ck!? No. No, I do not hate it when I can fathom a deeply abstracted concept in mathematics. I never hate that. I the opposite of hate that. Expecting myself to immediately understand topics like this is unrealistic. I’m proud of being able to do it at all. Who cares if I did it in the exam or within the next hour? I DID IT. It’s mine now. I can do it whenever I want. Missing points on that problem doesn’t take the knowledge out of my brain. How dare I be taught that my knowledge is useless because I didn’t have it right at that moment. It’s just as good now. 

Education is not about the arbitrary numeric number ascribed to your ability to do things quickly in an arbitrary, restricted time interval. Education is about being able to do progressively more things, to understand progressively complex things. 

Tenacity and challenging yourself far beyond your limits is a hundred times more important than getting good grades. Because, when you’re one of .4 percent of the population who possess complete knowledge on a very complex topic, nobody cares how long it took you to do it, or how well you did it the first time you tried. 

Grades don’t discover new mathematics. Mathematicians do (even the ones who failed a basic topic in mathematics because their base way of thinking was too complex). Grades don’t advance medical research. Scientists do (even the ones who had to apply for their PhD programs 3 times in a row before they got accepted). Grades don’t make science fiction into real-world technologies. Engineers do (even the ones who dropped out of school because they wanted to build things, not talk about building things). 

Knowledge is power. Skills are power. Grades are constructs. Never trade actual understanding for a semblance of understanding. 

fully serious, if you have a bunch of stickers and you don’t know how to use them bc you have too much anxiety about putting them in the “right” place my first advice is to accept that all joy is temporary so just put it on your water bottle or binder or whatever and accept that it will make you happy for however long it is meant to and one day be gone and that’s fine.

If you can’t do that my second advice is to get a binder full of those clear plastic card slots and create a sticker collection you can look through like Pokémon cards in 2001

Sirius is confused. She never sits with them and then suddenly she does?

Fluffy kitty by rover_thecat

HERE IT IS. THE HUMAN SACRIFICE

hey guys did you know my ancestors built floating islands and gardens for sustainable farming? yes we were architectural geniuses actually! they were called chinampas and you should look them up THEY’RE GORGEOUS

did you know the mexica empire was one of the first people to implement a system of universal compulsory education? every child was educated regardless of their social status

REMEMBER THE HUMAN SACRIFICES

also did you know that in Tenochtitlan we mastered the art of aqueducts and built a gigantic one called Chapultepec that ran for three miles and poured water into public fountains and reservoirs? Because of the city being interconnected by lakes, we constructed a revolutionary dam, the largest earthwork in the Americas at the time, and it was fitted with doors which could be raised or lowered to control the level of water behind it!! fucking awesome

HOW ABOUT THOSE SACRIFICES THO

Did you know my ancestors knew how to perform surgeries with anesthesia? Our physicians did all kind of medicinal research and had extensive knowledge of medicinal herbs and plans, for example they used the sap from the maguey tree as a disinfectant and to heal wounds; and argemone mexicana as a painkiller. Research it- it’s amazing!!

KIDS DON’T FORGET ABOUT THE SACRIFICE

also what’s hilarious to me is the two white colonizers reacting to it in visceral horror when they were responsible for the genocide of 23 million of our people- 95% of our population…. let that sink in

have you ever noticed you pick up little habits and phrases from the people you love? it’s no wonder our hearts are so easily broken when people leave. we become a reflection of the people that we care about and those personality traits stick with us even if the people don’t

the idea to make this video came to me while i was driving to school and i couldnt stop thinking about it so here it is

im reading about cowboy phrases and sayings and like 95% of them are just solid life advice

my singing voice is good for showers and mornings in the kitchen and drunken nights and lullabies for babies who need sleep and im okay with this

can we just talk about the time that Lupin was recovering from a full moon and Snape taught the DADA class and made all the students write essays on how to kill werewolves for Lupin to read when he got back I hate Snape so much it’s not funny

House of Black | Remembrance

Made by SunnyVids.

Dear Neil, I am a horrible person. How to be kinder, please?

Sometimes I suspect we are all horrible people. Or at least, we are human people. Same thing. We are impatient, judgmental, irritating and irritated, grumpy, easily offended and the rest of it.

So how to be kinder if it doesn’t come naturally? 

Fake it. 

Fake it a little bit at a time. 

Because there isn’t actually any difference between doing something nice for someone because you are naturally saintly and perfect, and doing something nice for someone because you are secretly demonic and trying to cover it up. It’s still an act of kindness either way, and you still made their lives better.

Smile at people. Say hullo. Ask about their lives. Remember what they’ve told you about their lives. Do small things to try and help them. (They will not know you are horrible, do not worry. They will just perceive that you are helping.)

Give people the benefit of the doubt. Remember that it’s more often stupidity to blame than evil, that everyone can screw up (including you) and what’s important is learning from that.

Think “What would an actually kind person do now?” – and do that. Don’t beat yourself up when you fail. Just be as kind to yourself as you will be to others – even if you have to fake that.

And good luck.

Please make this go viral.

It is so important I don’t even care if you delete what I write here, just help it be seen. 

Remember how in DMC Beckett was desperate to lay his hands on the Chest because if the Company controls the Chest, they control the sea? The second and third films make it perfectly clear that claiming authority over the heart of the captain of the Flying Dutchman gives you authority over the sea because the captain of the Flying Dutchman is the sea – hence the conundrum in AWE. Since all the rules of Jones’s curse apply to Will, there is no reason to assume that this is no longer the case once he’s taken over, and so the logical conclusion is that whoever has Will’s heart also rules the sea. And we all know what happened at the end of AWE. 

source

So yes, what I’m saying is that Elizabeth Turner can stay on land waiting for her husband to come home and still be the most powerful character in the Pirates universe because it just so happens that the love of said husband granted her authority over the sea.

twilight but instead of a dramatic reveal about how edward’s a vampire bella just shows up to class one day and slides a copy of Dracula across the table to see what happens 

HEY!!

if youre an artist who cant afford photoshop definitely DO NOT go to my google drive to pirate the program, that would be so bad!!!

do NOT click this link right here and DO NOT enter the password ghostE2008 when it asks for it!!! thatd be super bad!!

we are not born to die!! what are you talking about!! do you think a book begins just to finish? do you think a song opens with a beautiful chord just for it to end? you don’t read the book to finish it, you read the book to eat up the excitement and the emotions it evokes!! to learn and to digest and to fall in love and be heartbroken!! you listen to the song to dance and dance and sing your throat raw!!! to cry and smile and swell with the harmonies!! yes, we are born with the inevitable fate of death, we are mortal after all, but that is merely the finale of the play!! the final act, the closing of the curtains - we are not born to take a bow and exit stage left!! we are born to love and be joyous and yell and move and learn and cry and feelfeelfeel!!!  we are not born to die, silly, we’re born to live!!!

Humans being awesome

The girl from across the river waved, and I think she waved at me, so I waved back at her. She was surprised by the gesture, but she grinned. We started meeting every day after that, divided by the river and a national border.

There was no one my age in my village, and I came to suspect that it was true for the other girl as well. I named her what I wanted to name my younger sister, if I ever had one. She was Mira to me.

Our voices would not reach the other side of the river distinctly, so we gestured at each other. Our language was born out of the gestures all humans are familiar with. Pointing, waving, pantomiming, and then we started making then they became more complex.

Between us the river flowed uncaring, not content to divide us, not desirous of watching our silly games, always busy and always on the move. The river is an adult.

-

“What does Mira mean?” I asked my father once, while my mother was out of the house.

He adjusted his glasses to look at me better. “It means ‘sight’,” he said. “It means 'looking’.”

-

We read by the banks. She had a blue book, hardcover, and I had a small white paperback. We sat down and we read, and once in a while, we looked at each other. After a point, you don’t need to smile at the people you’re close to.

We also ate by the banks. I had a carrot, and a glass of orange juice, and chicken leg. I showed her what I could, but the rest was inside containers and bowls. She showed me things, too. A fried steak of some fish, an apple, a vegetable I did not recognise.

-

When the men in uniforms passed through the village, I thought it was a routine staffing of the military camp nearby. It was an odd month of the year for it, but it was none of my business.

Mira stopped visiting the bank, but I went there nonetheless. The way to the bank now had a military checkpoint. They asked me what book I was carrying, and they flipped through its pages to make sure I wasn’t smuggling a gun or anything through it. At one point, the officer scolded me for what I had been reading.

Later, the checkpoint stopped people from visiting the riverbank altogether. The announcements on the radio became more dire. More and more uniformed men streamed through the village. Sirens would sometimes blare in the middle of the night, and you’d often see the passing light of a jeep making its patrol rounds.

One night, I got out and avoided the patrols, and I took a route through the forest that bypassed the checkpoint, and I made it to the river. It was dark, and the sounds of the water was tranquil and threatening at once. The bridge between the two countries had spotlights on it now, and both sides were fortified and on alert.

Walking along the bank, I spotted a small wooden crate. My first instinct was to get away from it, but the way it was gently nestled along a washed-up branch, I decided to take a chance on it.

Inside, I found a blue hardcover book, and a small painting of a girl standing along a riverbank, wearing the same kind of clothes I own. There was a note, written in a language I couldn’t read.

It ended with the shape of a heart, though, and that I understood.

im very grateful for the lessons in photography i was taught in stop motion class because just now they made it possible to photograph the stars with my phone in spite of the camera usually not detecting the light of stars because theyre so dim,,,, enjoy these shiny motherfuckers

Astronaut readjusts to life back on Earth

> Don’t give him a baby for a while.

curious question, but what makes you think Percy would've closed the doors himself rather than someone else 🤔 I want the analysis bro 😘

hmm okay 🤔 so we already know both percy and annabeth would die for each other. it's been established by the way percy fell for annabeth, and annabeth took a knife for him, and a thousand more things.

so i honestly think it would be a little bit like a battle, like how nat and hawkeye fought at the end of the avengers series to die, kind of like that. i imagine annabeth weighing the pros and cons and being v analytical about it, saying percy's one of the greatest demigods to ever live, that to sacrifice him would be one of the biggest mistakes of all time. and then for percy, it's so simple. he thinks with his heart first, which makes him reckless, and passionate, and quick, and if you pair that with his fatal flaw of loyalty, i really think he would outsmart annabeth. i really think he would absolutely break her heart, agree that he's valuable or something, go with her plan of her closing the door (which makes her think he doesn't care at all), absolutely destroy her in an effort to fool her, and at the last minute switch places, shove her out the doors and slam it closed.

and i just imagine athena up on olympus, who knew from the very beginning that loyalty was dangerous, that he would've given up the world. i think poseidon would send the world into chaos. i think percy would be thinking of all his friends--beckendorf and silena and bianca and so many others that he couldn't stop--and i think he'd finally feel for once in his life free of his guilt.

Have you ever written any works about that clean, empty train station Harry ended up in? Or rather, what that place may have looked like for other people?

Ginny woke up with a gasp that felt like sandpaper shoved down her throat. Her lungs brimmed with rock and cold water, with the thick musty smell of snake.

She inhaled again and it was softer– she blinked her eyes open as the world rearranged itself. Mildew and stone gave way to the scent of sun-warmed grass. Apple blossoms. Branches cut the sky into shards of blue. 

She had learned how to fly in this orchard. She had stolen her brothers’ brooms out of the shed and practiced when no one was watching her. She knew this view–lying on the ground, looking up–because she had laid out here in the shade on hot summer days, because she had fallen off brooms and bruised herself all over, again and again, knocked all the air out of her lungs.  Ginny sat up. 

-

Ginny sat up. Her mother put a mug of tea down in front of her. Ginny wobbled where she sat and clutched at the rough edge of the kitchen table. 

“Drink your tea,” said Molly. 

“Mum,” she said. “I think I’ve been hurting people.” The Burrow’s kitchen was sunlit and scrubbed clean behind Molly. 

“Of course you wouldn’t, sweetheart,” said Molly. 

“Mum,” said Ginny. “There was blood on my robes.“ 

“We’ve all killed a few chickens in our time,” said Molly. 

“How did I get home?” She wrapped her hands around the steaming mug. It was cold against her palms, wet and gritty. There was dirt under her nails. She shivered. “I was at Hogwarts.“ 

"It’s not going to be easy,” Molly said. “He’ll tell you that, someday– the choice between what is right and what is easy. Isn’t that interesting? That doing the right thing is always so damn hard.” Molly put the tea kettle back on the stove. Her apron was thick beige canvas, well-used. “But you won’t really be listening. Because a boy will just have died, and you’ll be thinking about that. About whether or not he had a choice.”

“Who’s dying?” Ginny said. “Who’s going to die?" 

"No one you know well,” Molly said. “It’s alright. No one important to you. Someone very important to other people, but, of course, everyone is. And no, he won’t have had a choice. Right, or easy. But you do." 

-

Bill was trying to brush her hair. It was tangled at the back of her skull, matted, but his hands were very gentle. The chair she sat in creaked under her, old, in need of repairs like everything the Weasleys had ever owned. Sunlight dripped down through the leaves of the orchard. Bill had been the one who taught her to undo the lock on the broom shed door. 

"You haven’t done this since I was little,” she said. 

“You’re still little,” Bill said. His voice was younger, squeakier, and when she tipped her head back she saw his chin smooth and unstubbled, his hair still short and neat, his ear unpierced. 

“I miss you,” she said. “You’re going to leave. You’re going to go on adventures and forget to write home and forget to visit." 

"I’ll visit,” said Bill. 

“Not enough,” she said. “I’m glad you grew your hair out, though. It looks good. Mum doesn’t get it, but it looks more like you." 

Her skull was cradled in his hands, still tipped back, looking up at him. 

"You’re not really here,” she said. 

“No,” he agreed. “You’re all alone. You’re on the floor of the Chamber, can’t you tell?" 

Ginny touched her robes. They were cold and damp, sticking to her spine. Moldy water dripped from her hem onto the dry dirt of the orchard. 

-

"You’re just embarrassing us,” said Percy. He was fussing with his robes, picking lint off them. A sunbeam came through the kitchen window and draped itself around his shoulders. 

Ginny swallowed. “You don’t mean that.” She looked around the kitchen, but it was empty. Mum and her teapot weren’t anywhere. 

“Can you imagine how Mum and Dad will feel?” Percy said. “When it comes out their baby girl has been strangling chickens and killing Mudbloods?”

“No one died,” she whispered. “And don’t say that word." 

"C'mon, Ginevra, no one died but they were meant to. A camera, a mirror, a ghost, a puddle– the Mudbloods got lucky." 

Her whisper shrank and shrank. "Don’t say that word." 

"Mudbloods? Why? You wrote it on the wall in blood.” His face twisted, sneering, twisted and twisted– she had never seen Percy’s face skew that far. She didn’t think faces could move like that. She didn’t think they should. She squeezed her eyes shut. “You’ve been trying to kill people all year, and you haven’t even managed one,” said the thing with Percy’s voice, the voice he used to tell first years to knot their ties properly. “Embarrassing. Maybe tonight you’ll finally get it right." 

"You’re not really here,” she said. “This isn’t real. This is a dream, it’s all in my head, you’re not really here." 

"Of course it’s all in your head,” Percy said, or something that had once looked like Percy said. She wasn’t opening her eyes to see. “Why would that mean it isn’t real?”

-

“Welsh Greens are my favorite dragon,” said Charlie. Ginny pried her eyes open. Charlie smiled at her from across the kitchen table. Her tea was still gone. Percy was gone. The sunlight had faded to pale morning light. She was shivering. 

“I try not to play favorites,” he said. “You know, but sometimes you just gotta admit things to yourself.”

“Charlie, I think I’m dying.” She gripped the edge of the rough kitchen table and it bit into her palms. 

“They’re just so elegant,” Charlie said. “The first time I saw one fly. Do you remember? No, you weren’t born yet, I think. But Dad got suspended for a month, though Mum and Dad didn’t tell us that part–something with Lucius Malfoy–but he had a month off so we went to stay with that old friend of Mum’s in Newport. Right near the preserve. And we went out into it, and the twins kept trying to run off, and Bill spent all his time reading those adventure books he liked so much then, but we saw dragons. A Green sunning, across a gorge. One flying, almost directly over us. And I knew, right then, what I wanted to do with my life." 

"I think it was Lucius who put the diary in my textbook,” she said. “Why would he do that? Why did I write in it? Why did Tom make it? Why did I write back?" 

"See this?” said Charlie, rolling up a sleeve. Two long jagged lines of scar tissue bulged down his forearm, wrapping around it. “Poor thing got stuck in a trap and nicked me when I was getting it loose. Damned poachers." 

"Charlie, I think I hurt people.”

“And here,” said Charlie. He untucked his shirt and showed her a big shiny burn that went all up and down his leftside ribs and hip. “Healing skin,” he said. “It’s the weirdest thing.”

-

“We prank Filch and Mrs. Norris all the time,” said George. He was sitting in a tree in the orchard, the way the twins had used to before they got too big for the fragile branches. “But Merlin’s beard, Gin, never like that." 

Ginny sat cross-legged in the grass, picking stalks and trying to weave a crown. "Do you think Mrs. Norris’ll be okay?" 

"And Justin?” said George. “He’s a little twerp, but my god. We could have helped you put cayenne in his oatmeal or something, come on." 

"It wasn’t me,” said Ginny. “I didn’t mean to." 

"Okay, was it not you, or did you not mean to?” said George. “Those are two different excuses.”

-

“Never trust something if you can’t see where it puts its brain,” Arthur said. Her father was under the car. She couldn’t see him from the mid-chest, up. She couldn’t see his face.

-

“You know it’s not your fault, right?” Ron was lying on his back on his bed and she was laying belly-down on the floor, coloring. The ghoul in the attic banged pipes– angry, desperate sounds resounding like they were in an empty, vaulted space that swallowed up echoes and spat them back. 

“I wrote back,” she said. 

“Yeah, and? Plenty of people have penpals. That’s all you did. You were lonely. Don’t you think I get it? We’re the last ones, you and me. The point where people have seen so many Weasley kids they stop bothering to learn our names. I know.”

“I should’ve known,” she said. She rolled over onto her back, her hair tangling with her colored pencils. It sounded like the ghoul had maybe broken a pipe– a violent hissing shook the room. “Never trust something if you can’t see where it keeps its brain." 

"That’s stupid,” said Ron, sitting up, leaning over so she could see the profile of his long nose, his flop of red hair. There was a spreading stain on the ceiling above him.

“Dad says that." 

"Well Dad’s stupid sometimes. What does where something keeps its brain have to do with anything? Somebody put that diary in your stuff. Someone made that diary– and they kept their brain right in their skull, just like us." 

"So it’s ‘never trust anyone’?” Hissing, snarling, metal on stone, the drip of water. Her skull pressed into the hard floor, too heavy to lift. The noise rose and rose, but she could hear Ron’s voice just fine. 

He shrugged, lanky shoulders bobbing. “I dunno. Maybe it’s ‘do your best.’ I dunno. You’re eleven. Why do you have to be thinking about stuff like this?”

“You’re twelve. Why are you?”

“Yeah, well, I helped fight You-Know-Who in my first year." 

Ginny curled her fingers into her dark robes. She had had to throw away the ones she’d killed the roosters in. She’d never learned Mum’s cleaning spells well enough for that. 

"You could, too,” Ron said. The stain on the ceiling kept spreading, white plaster going dark. “You did. Fight You-Know-Who, your first year.” Water dripped onto her forehead. 

“How?” she said. “I helped him. Tom was in my head, my hands– He was–" 

"You tried to tell people.”

“I should’ve made them listen,” she said. 

“You can’t make people listen,” said Ron. 

“What can I do, then?” she said. 

“Wake up,” he said. “Wake up, wake up, come on, Ginny, wake up, Harry why is she so cold.”

-

“I’m so scared, Mum,” she said. The tea was steaming but her hands were shaking against cold ceramic. “I think I’ve been hurting people." 

-

"You’ve always been able to tell us apart,” said George. The leaves on the trees rustled behind him. “We appreciate that, you know? Like, there’s some pranks we can’t play with you around, but, still, it’s nice." 

-

"You can go,” Percy said, kindly, and Ginny shivered and shivered. “You’ve always wanted to. You’ve been dreaming about running all your life. Just taking a broom and going." 

-

Apple blossoms filled the air. Dry grass tickled her cheek, the curve of her calf. Branches cut through the sky– blue, broad, endless. She could feel cold, rotting water seeping into her robes, her socks, swallowing her hands. 

-

Bang. The ghoul in the attic was hitting pipes again. Hissing. Shouts. 

-

Bang. Swinging his feet, knocking his heels against the table legs, Fred sat on the rickety table in the broom shed. He trimmed the stray broken twigs from the tail of his Cleansweep, whistling, and he didn’t look up. 

The door of the shed hung open behind Ginny, the sun at her back, the smell of apple blossoms in the air. 

"If you’re going to steal our brooms,” Fred said. “You could at least help with maintenance, you know." 

"Why are you the last one?” she said. He had stopped whistling, but the sound kept going, ricocheting off the walls. “Why weren’t you with George?”

“We don’t do everything together,” said Fred. He looked up from the broom and he was smiling. “He’s going to do a lot of things without me, one day.”

“Where am I?” she said. “What is this? This isn’t home." 

"Isn’t it?” Fred said. He was smiling and she wanted him to stop. “You see, Ginny, you get a choice. Not everyone gets a choice, but you do. This is a place where people wait,” he said. “This is a place where they get to decide. To go forward or to go back." 

"What if I don’t want to go back?”

“Then you take one of these brooms, Gin, and you just go.” He stood up, holding the broom loosely in his hand. “You used to dream about it, remember? When no one was paying attention to you, or when they were paying too much, or when Ron broke your favorite porcelain doll. You thought about sneaking out here, and taking a broom, and just going. The first time you snuck out here and stole my broom, that’s what you meant to do. Run away. Find a circus, or an adventure, a new life.”

“But I came back." 

He shrugged. "You ran out of the cookies you’d packed. And it got cold." 

"It’s getting colder,” she said. “Fred, I’m so cold." 

"You won’t get cold, if you go. You won’t run out of anything.”

“What’ll I find?” The sky out the window was blue. It went forever. 

“I don’t know, kiddo. Not yet.”  

-

Bill was brushing her hair in the orchard. It didn’t hurt, but she knew it should. She tipped her head back. The sky was blue. She let him hold the weight of her skull in his two big hands, his rings digging into her scalp. 

Charlie was telling her about dragons. Percy was picking lint off her shoulder and telling her to get some sleep. George was picking dead leaves off the apple tree and dropping them on her head. 

Ron laid on his back in his bedroom and water dripped down from the ceiling. The ghoul was shrieking, the pipes were hissing. The stain spread and spread and she watched it go. She couldn’t lift her head. 

-

“You have a choice,” Arthur said. He had oil on his cheek from fixing a car he swore he never meant to drive. 

“It’s getting colder." 

"I know, baby." 

-

The handle of Fred’s broom was trapped between them, digging into her ribs, bruising her collarbone. She twisted her hands in the back of his shirt and buried her face in the front of it. Fred was taller than he should be. His chin was bristly with a beard he shouldn’t be able to grow this well, not yet. 

"I miss you,” she said. “You’re going to leave." 

"Are you?” he said. 

She gripped the back of his shirt tight. She could smell the orchard through the open door. She was crying. Her tears were the only warm things in the whole world. “No,” she whispered. 

“It won’t be easy,” Fred said, his chin pressed to the top of her head, because he was taller, he was so much taller than he should be. She cried and the stain spread through his shirt. “But it will be worth it." 

-

Apple blossoms and old stone. Snakes in the dry grass. This was where she learned to fly. She had taught herself. 

"Wake up,” said Ron. “Harry, why is she so cold? Wake up, Ginny, you’ve got to wake up." 

The blue sky was cut into a hundred shattered pieces. 

She opened her eyes. 

How do you protect yourself from being stalked online by your parents?

I often get messages from teens living with their abusive parents telling me about how terrifying it is for them to even look at my blog in case their parent finds out. I was a teenager before social networking on the internet. Honestly, when I was a teenager there was barely an internet yet. So, I don’t know how people protect themselves but I feel like probably there are ways. If you know please do share! A lot of people would find it helpful.

Cassandra Jean on Instagram and Society6

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Here is a tiger just going about life until this human gives it the fright of its life. Still cute af. Dream job to be honest. 17/10 would be such an honor to pet

more animals rated here

Rewatching atla episodes for Reasons and I just realised that Zuko found Appa the night after he found out he was missing. The gaang have been desperately searching for, what? A few weeks? And Zuko sees a poster saying Appa is missing and just squares tf up and finds him immediately. What a fucking madman.