I’m not sure if I’ll ever properly return to this blog, esp with she-who-must-not-be-named saying that people who like her Harry Potter stuff secretly agree with her TERF stances.
I do not stand with her ideology. Trans people and non-binary people deserve the right to live in their preferred gender identity.
So, while I am not going to deactivate this blog, mostly because the memories of this lovable and accepting fandom are all here, I am not going to be active anymore.
2020 has been a long and difficult year for everyone, and i wanted to thank some of the people who have made it more bearable for me. i have so many incredible, incredible mutuals and i want to thank all of you - whether we’ve been mutuals for the 7 years i’ve been on this website or we became mutuals yesterday, whether we’ve never spoken a word or we speak (relatively) regularly. i love every singe one of you so much!
I’m in the midst of editing the next issue that will be up tomorrow and due to several rewrites, it has has gotten super long (almost 120 panels). Because of this, I’ve decided to split it in half to ensure that an issue goes up tomorrow and I don’t spend forever editing today lol.
Because of that, the preview pic does not line up perfectly with the issue but it definitely will for the next issue.
I know this prob doesn’t need a post but just wanted to give the FYI.
Mornings at 300 Fox Way were fearful, jumbled things. Elbows in sides and lines for the bathroom and people snapping over tea bags placed into cups that already had tea bags in them. There was school for Blue and work for some of the more productive (or less intuitive) aunts. Toast got burned, cereal went soggy, the refrigerator door hung open and expectant for minutes at a time. Keys jingled as car pools were hastily decided.
Realising you don’t have to tell anyone anything about yourself or your life is.. a very liberating feeling.
Realising you can tell the trees and the rivers and the lakes and the mountains instead? Even more so.
The hall looked spectacular. Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all around the walls, and no less than twelve towering Christmas trees stood around the room, some sparkling with tiny icicles, some glittering with hundreds of candles.
There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then there were doors that wouldn’t open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren’t really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It was also very hard to remember where anything was, because it all seemed to move around a lot. The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other, and Harry was sure the coats of armor could walk.
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