#fairglenned

AHHH NOOO .

though tbh ,  does he even remember when Mother’s Day  is  ???   i’ve been living on Earth my whole life and I don’t remember when Mother’s Day is jskfhskjfhsf

he’s probably spent too long in outer space to remember the date ,  but  a.  i’m sure every day is Mother’s Day when u didn’t get to say goodbye  :))))  and  b.  i’m sure different planets and different cultures out there had their own ways of showing appreciation to the moms ,  and i’m sure if Peter witnessed these traditions it would kill him inside ,  truly tear him up ,  but he’d smile and take part and come up with some story about how his mom was somewhere out in space ,  growing her own gardens on a planet made of light .  the kinds of stories he used to make up about his dad ,  when he was a kid and going through a different process of coping   …   only these stories are much cooler bc Ego isn’t worth anything to Peter now .

he’d probably sit in his ship and pray to his Gods ,  pray that somehow his dumb stories are true ,  that his mom is out there somewhere and she’s happy ,  reincarnated into the life she deserves .   he prays to Hanuman for strength because boy  !   he sometimes really ,  really needs it .  reads over the letter that Mallika left him as if it’s holy scripture ,  memorising each word and trying to imagine her saying it ,  but knowing that picturing her face is getting harder ,  because time is cruel and it rips away from you sometimes . 

      ❝ After you. ❞ Caspian stands aside, holding the door to the cub’s room open for her. Around his neck is a pass with his ID card inside. She, however, has a visitor access pass given to her earlier at the reception area. The place was guarded with big iron doors that only worked with access cards. After taking her through the labyrinth of passage ways, they had yet to see an animal. 

Things that are going to get me in trouble lmao.

Seriously, though.  Those washed out blobby icons where I don’t know wtf I’m looking at.  Sometimes I feel like I’ve been transported back to 2007 livejournal when I was a fairly big name icon maker and we were all still figuring out wtf selective color in photoshop even did.  Also how tiny they can get, combined with the color blob.

Plug and play “words instead of” lists.  Those words do not work in the context people think they do.

“READ MY RULES.”  Layout has hidden links and have to be hovered over when the moon is exactly so over a sacrifice of unicorn tears.

“Rachel Culver--born in 1978 in Scotland, personality of an explorer and knowledge-seeker,” Death had appeared behind her in a dark alley--he had been following her, and made it painfully obvious he was doing so, “with ‘exceeds expectations’ or ‘outstanding’ in every subject; a prefect and head girl..” He flips closed his book, and hurls the thing easily over his shoulder. 

“ 10… 9… ”

it was nice of her, to give him a tour of ravenclaw tower, a place where few would say he belonged even when he knew it was exactly where he belonged. but it also reminded him of the mistakes he’d made, the fact that he was still paying for the sins of his mother, the idea that he existed simply to protect her legacy. he tries not to dwell on that, but that in itself is a challenging feat. still, now that he isn’t surrounded by judgment, he allows himself to admire the view from the astronomy tower. 

“ …8 …7… ”

he’d insisted she not follow him. he could get along on his own. the words of her fellow housemate —who, to his credit, had suffered a rather rough blow to the head just a week ago at the hands of blaise’s beaters— had not stung as deeply as they’d hoped, and he was in no way phased by them. but of course, when the footfalls began to echo behind him, he was not going to argue. instead, he’d let her catch up, walking in silence towards the staircase to the tower so that he could start his new year the way he wished to end the last — in better company than he would find in the dungeons or the nests or the dens or the burrows. perhaps she fell under that category. 

“ …6 … 5 … 4… ″

he comes to realize they’ve spent substantial time together this term, and while perhaps to anyone else a chance encounter in the library here and there doesn’t seem substantial, it was to blaise. he liked to keep such things to a minimum as it were, and so this was a bit excessive for his standards. nevertheless, he notes that she has been good company, even when his silence is overwhelming, even when he asks stupid questions. “ this is how you want to start your year then? up here with me? ” he isn’t sure he wants an answer. he’s not so sure he needs one. 

“ …3 … 2… ″

he isn’t sure why, but he’s relieved, now at least, that she’s come up with him, but he can’t say why. still, he takes her hand, and it’s meant to be coy and teasing and completely like blaise, but instead, it is timid and scary and completely unlike blaise. “ thanks. for, er, coming up. ”

“ …1 … ”

when she looks at him, with those eyes that look as though they have seen empires fall and cities built and eras born, he shivers. and he’s reminded of the implications of a new year and the traditions that it comes with, and he wonders if there is any other way he would rather spend these dying moments or these blooming seconds. he can’t think of a single scenario he would prefer instead.

“ Happy New Year! ” 

         ❛ so today is one of those days when i wonder to myself how the fuck did i get here? ❜

      Molly was the partner of a great magician, but she was... well, used to it. Her Schmendrick could make things appear or disappear or multiply, change form, anything! She watched him perform the impossible on a daily basis. But she lived with him, and she knew his power. 

      This woman was different. She’d heard she would be passing through a nearby town, Rowena Ravenclaw herself, and Molly had to at least see her. She was famous, to say the least, even on the outskirts of what was Haggard’s kingdom where the peasant woman had lived. A witch who cared for education of children, a witch who stood her ground and used her powers to create. A witch who used her mind. 

      Molly was very impressed with the rumors, to say the least-- she’d been powerless for 17 years, her voice ringing empty in the forest, and a female heroine was a welcome concept to tired bones.