Maybe I'm just a tinsy bit obsessed

me: :)

(1) daughter by his wife, antonia hybrida

(3) stepchildren and (2) sons by his wife, fulvia

(3) stepchildren and (2) daughters by his wife, octavia

(1) stepson and (3) kids by his wife*, cleopatra

“The Yule Ball is of course a chance for us all to - er - let our hair down,”

Hope you guys enjoy this scene from the Yule Ball!! I really enjoyed getting to design everyone’s dress robes and draw all the incredulous faces reacting to Hermione! (And sulky Ron of course!) 😉

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

“Yes Odysseus?”

“Where’s my crew?”

Hey. My name is Moukie, and I need your help to escape from a toxic home environment. Because the alternative is great harm to me, or actually killing myself because that option is incredibly appealing right now. And that scares the jeepers out of me.

I came out to my mom on June 1st, 2018, and while we never had the healthiest relationship (she was always abusive, but she had her sweet parts too), I truly thought that she would at least still love me in some capacity. She would defend me against my homophobic dad and insist that if I was, that would be my “choice” and has nothing to do with her. 

She led me to believe that even if she didn’t support me because of my sexuality, that she would at least tolerate me. That she would at least love me, still. 

She doesn’t. It feels like she never has.

My mom is threatening me with kicking me out, and to a gay black boy with shit credit and no money saved, that’s pretty much a recipe for insta-death. I don’t think or know if I would survive out on the streets. I have no other family or friends I could turn to or stay with or anything like that. I work two jobs and I’m still fucking broke because of all our bills, tuition, bus fare, etc. 

I’m tired. I’m exhausted. I’m consistently suicidal. Those ideas are back in my head again, and they’re doing their damnedest to make sense. The trouble is, they really are. Whether or not I act on these impulses, the jury’s still out on that one. 

I’m trying to do my best to survive out of spite, to live my best gay life without my family, to reinvent and live and love myself the way I was meant to live and love myself. Maybe that’s in Los Angeles, or New York, or Paris, or Seoul, or maybe even here in Canada. Maybe I’ll just move to Toronto and try to survive and thrive on my own. 

But I need your help to get there.

Every five, ten, twenty, fifty, whatever dollars – they are invaluable to me and could mean the difference between life and death. Even reblogs help immeasurably. Between being stuck in this hellhole podunk town and house that has me living in fear whenever she comes home, that has me wanting to kill myself every single time she messages me to harass me some more because she’s fucking heartless. I’m trying to not love her anymore, to cut her off and distance myself and put boundaries between my mother and I the way I did and continue to try to do with my father. 

But she’s my mother, the way he’s my father, and it’s hard. But I’m trying to do right by me, to put myself first for once, and maybe help convince anyone who sees me live my best life away from the toxic influence of seemingly permanent family bonds that you can escape and go on to thrive and find your own family and make a better one for yourself.

I need help with finances to prepare me with my inevitable move. Bills, food, transportation, passport, tickets, rent for apartments, whatever. I don’t know how much to ask for. I’m just trying to get as much as I can as soon as I can so I’m not left with nothing and out in the cold Canadian winter and die on the street the way she clearly expects me to.

I’ll show her. We all will.

My paypal is [email protected].

Please help me out in whatever way you can. Under the cut is some of the shit I’ve had to deal with from her. Not exactly the best idea to read if you have a horrible relationship with your mother/parent, fyi.

The kicker is…I really, truly believed that maybe my own mother, the one who gave birth to me and took care of me and saw me my entire life, who raised me, who I came from, would maybe, possibly, hopefully love me for me. I thought maybe my mother would understand me. I thought maybe she would love me, for whom there was never a time before her. She decided I wasn’t worth loving.

And I have to live with that. I have to live with that knowledge. That my own mother couldn’t love me.

God, if that ain’t depressing. Fuck.

“they’re burning all the witches”