Was in the middle of typing a reply on Tumblr, glanced up and saw this.
After a half-hour battle it is safely ensconced in the largest container I could find (a family-sized pretzel thing from Costco). In the morning I will journey to Mordor and throw it back into the hellish depths from whence it came.
Yep. I had dream about Pottermore. But it was more like I was actually physically in a room, rather than behind a laptop screen. And I got there and I was in the first group of people let in, and among me were Luna and Harry and Neville (the actors as of the last movie, not their 11 year old counterparts), and Jo just looked at us, pointed at four long tables representing each house and went “Sit where you think you need to.”
I was super confused. Wasn’t there a test? Some sort of written exam that I would need to score in just the right way? Some kind of board or something to jenga? And then it made sense to me. The sorting hat can be persuaded. We know the workings of Hogwarts so well that we should know our own potential, or at least what we aspire to be. This isn’t like timid young Neville, not realizing how brave he actually is but the sorting hat knowing that putting him in Gryffindor will be the best thing to bring his bamf-ness to light. This is more like Harry, where he chooses to suppress one side of himself in order to avoid a house he doesn’t feel he would do well in. I knew where I’d go. I’m a Ravenclaw.
I also remember 17-year-old Neville deciding to be a Ravenclaw too. I think his argument was that he knew he was brave and loyal, but he also knew if he worked hard he could be brilliant, and that’s what he wanted to focus on.
It was just a strange dream. And the second half was even stranger, but had nothing to do with Pottermore, so that’s a whole ‘nother story.
I really love lips. I stare at people’s mouth when they talk like a creeper because I’m fascinated how the upper and lower lip curve based on the emotion they’re feeling. I love how there’s different shapes and curves and sharpness to the way the two come together and blend into each other. I love the shadows they create on the inside of the mouth when parted, or how doing anything with them, biting one lip or pursing them together or moving them to one side, can be so incredibly expressive. I love a mouth that’s a little different from everyone else’s, because it’s so obvious to me how they smile wider, or relax in a different shape. I love complimenting people on their interesting lips.
I hate that I can’t draw them worth crap.
But I love that I can hide behind that excuse to stare at them all the time.
Don’t date a girl who reads because girls who read are the storytellers. You with the Joyce, you with the Nabokov, you with the Woolf. You there in the library, on the platform of the metro, you in the corner of the café, you in the window of your room. You, who make my life so god damned difficult. The girl who reads has spun out the account of her life and it is bursting with meaning. She insists that her narratives are rich, her supporting cast colorful, and her typeface bold. You, the girl who reads, make me want to be everything that I am not. But I am weak and I will fail you, because you have dreamed, properly, of someone who is better than I am. You will not accept the life that I told of at the beginning of this piece. You will accept nothing less than passion, and perfection, and a life worthy of being storied. So out with you, girl who reads. Take the next southbound train and take your Hemingway with you. I hate you. I really, really, really hate you.
You Should Date an Illiterate Girl, 19 January 2011
03. The year that Hannah and Hermione repeated at Hogwarts, Hannah asked for Hermione's help with a Christmas gift.
She quietly asked Hermione about the charms she had put on that beaded bag she always carried around, and how to do them. They worked together for over a month before Hannah presented her gift to Neville for their first Christmas as a couple: it was a miniature greenhouse, and he could see tiny plants growing in it. He was already beaming when she showed him how to open in and actually water and pick the life-sized plants inside.
Neville kept that small greenhouse with him everywhere he went, and it now rests on the fireplace mantle in the lobby of the Leaky Cauldron, with an assortment of protective charms around it. Every morning he wakes up early and picks a flower from it to wake up Hannah with.
02. Neville's first date with Hannah was to take her to the Room of Requirement, right after Christmas of their 7th year.
When they entered the room, it was large and full of plants, but not the dull, lifeless, depressing plants she always saw in the greenhouse nowadays. Neville took her around and told her excitedly about all the different species of flowers and why he liked them. She just listened intently and smiled when he would take her by the hand and lead her to another flower.
Years later, when he got his job as a professor, she finally told him that their first date helped her get past the stigma that plants and herbology always had in her eyes since the day she was told her mother had died. He smiled knowingly and kissed her before replying, “That was the idea.”
01. Neville left Hogwarts for two days during his sixth year.
He didn’t tell anyone but Dumbledore, but Hanna Abbot had written a letter to him and asked that he come with her to her mother’s funeral. She knew from being in DA about Neville’s parents, and even though they had barely spoken to each other she knew he would understand. He left school and stood by her, held her hand during the day and let her cry on his shoulder at night.
Browsing this site I’ve discovered something common that makes me genuinely curious.
It’s always strange to me when people say “I always follow back” on this site. It doesn’t make sense. It really doesn’t click with me. I get the whole “it’s nice” aspect, and I can understand the wanting to be nice to everyone thing. But I still don’t get it.
I got a tumblr for selfish reasons. I think most people who have a personal tumblr would agree. I wanted a little corner of the internet to call my own and fill with scribbles of all kinds and sharing things I found interesting and, sometimes, using it to complain about my life in general in that way that only an internet blog can help. (Though I can easily say I haven’t and probably won’t do that more often than a few times a year.)
As I’m selfish, I want my tumblr dash to be filled with things specifically relevant to me. Things I enjoy reading about, things that I deem worth my time. I do not enjoy having a dash dominated by one person who posts so often in a short time span that it buries everything else (and I have unfollowed people because of it - I still visit their blogs, I just don’t have them on my dash). I want to get something out of reading every single post that comes up on my dash - a laugh, a smile, an idea, something to admire/write/think about, whatever. In order for me to follow someone, the majority of their blog has to hold direct interest to me. Then I take into account the frequency of their posts and weigh the two.
In this way the blogs I follow have a lot of weight and importance to me. Each is carefully picked for a very strong and valid reason. Each has some specific importance to my life.
So saying that you always follow back is nice, yes, but it also cheapens it. I would want people who follow me to do so because they find my posts interesting, not because I find theirs interesting. Again, I’m only talking about personal tumblrs here. But when you’re following 200+ semi-active people, there’s no way you read everything unless you update this site fanatically every day and spend hours catching up. You cannot have interests that overlap with EVERYONE. I don’t understand why you wouldn’t be as selfish as I am, and in the process give more weight and thought to whose life you want to be updated on, daily, who you think posts things that would genuinely be interesting to you, who you admire/want to hold a conversation with/find inspiring/want to be around (digitally). Am I off the mark here? If you have a reason/explanation/point of view to contribute, please do!
There was a way storms worked. I remember that part very clearly. Every time, it would get very still. The air was tight and nervous and it made everyone scurry around and hide in their houses and rooms and beds. That was supposed to be the “calm”.
I saw it all the time, I saw it every second that wretched man entered the room and we lined up at the foot of our beds. The way everyone’s hair stood on end. The way we all knew it was coming. The way that, with a single drop of a hat, you knew when the winds changed and you were in for it. I remember the feeling.
I feel it now.
So why doesn’t he?
"My real name is Eugene Fitzherbert," he says. Yes, ok, maybe we both missed the start of it, the way the air tightened because the air was, quite literally, tightening already. I can forgive that. I can overlook it. But then, at the camp fire, all relaxed and telling her stories, stories I told so long ago, just because she was nervous and couldn’t sleep otherwise. Eugene didn’t feel it then, didn’t feel how the air was crackling. Didn’t feel the build up. Maybe, just maybe, he was too tired.
I felt it. I felt all of it. I was sitting on the sidelines screaming at him while he benched me because some little naive girl smiled at him in a way he’s not used to. Flynn Rider wouldn’t fall for that. Flynn Rider looks out for himself, and he’s better off for it.
He missed all the signs. Every time the thunder of guard boots on the ground came into earshot he got more and more cocky! I couldn’t keep track if the storm was coming or going over him tripping over himself to make sure this girl has a good day. And, really? A boat? It’s hard to believe that I came from such humble, idealistic, moronic roots. Does he not see the clouds? Hear the thunder? See the lightning crackle every time someone’s eyes rested on his face for half a second too long? It’s a wonder Eugene Fitzherbert wasn’t carted off and jailed today, and now he’s getting her on a boat and even hiding a lantern like he actually cares about this girl.
Flynn Rider doesn’t care for anyone but himself. Flynn Rider is an island, much like the one he’ll own once he gets that crown back. Flynn Rider thought that maybe, maybe, Eugene had learned not to care about other people too.
Apparently I was wrong. Apparently, he still cares. Cares for her.
There’s a calm before a storm, and I’ve been living on it ever since Eugene Fitzherbert pushed me to the back of his head and opened up to this girl. But no one can avoid the storm forever. Sooner or later, it hits you. You have to take notice. You can’t outrun something that’s closing in on you from all directions. But, as Eugene has proved, you could be completely and entirely oblivious to it.
It always comes. The storm always gets you. With harsh winds and hard rain and blinding lightening and deafening thunder. Sometimes it’s loud, creating a cacophony until you can’t even hear yourself think and you retreat so someone else, someone like me, can step up and know how to protect you, how to handle it, how to absorb it. Sometimes it’s quiet and you don’t realize you’re in it until there’s no way to get out, and you try and push it out of your mind and forget all the fear you felt to the point where it crippled you into submission.
And sometimes, it’s a green light shining on the shore.
“Rape culture is telling girls and women to be careful about what you wear, how you wear it, how you carry yourself, where you walk, when you walk there, with whom you walk, whom you trust, what you do, where you do it, with whom you do it, what you drink, how much you drink, whether you make eye contact, if you’re alone, if you’re with a stranger, if you’re in a group, if you’re in a group of strangers, if it’s dark, if the area is unfamiliar, if you’re carrying something, how you carry it, what kind of shoes you’re wearing in case you have to run, what kind of purse you carry, what jewelry you wear, what time it is, what street it is, what environment it is, how many people you sleep with, what kind of people you sleep with, who your friends are, to whom you give your number, who’s around when the delivery guy comes, to get an apartment where you can see who’s at the door before they can see you, to check before you open the door to the delivery guy, to own a dog or a dog-sound-making machine, to get a roommate, to take self-defense, to always be alert always pay attention always watch your back always be aware of your surroundings and never let your guard down for a moment lest you be sexually assaulted and if you are and didn’t follow all the rules it’s your fault.”—Melissa McEwan (via squaretimesquare)
When you wake up having a dream that you were going on dates with a friend. Like, wtf? It’s not going to happen, creepy subconscious. You completely alteread their personality to make them dateable in the dream. They are NOT like that in real life. Why must you, ever so slightly, encourage me to live in a fantasy world?
Go back to having me be the omniscient presence in an epic story arc, please. I enjoyed those dreams.