tired, pan, and a fan of all things book and music
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phoenix queens
i’m going to burn
the whole world down
and rise from the ashes,
reborn.
i will lift my princess
as i soar,
and we will rule
as phoenix queens.
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the nightclub
(the old gods are not dead, despite what someone might tell you. old doesn’t mean dead, darling, just like how greek mythology is a mythology now but back then, it was a religion. you just have to look a little closer.)
see, there’s zeus ordering drink after drink and smiling at pretty girls as they dance with their friends. except now instead of falling for his charms, they think of their pepper spray shoved into their pocket and they wonder how they will get home. you can see in his eyes that he misses the skies, but the mortals took those over, too.
and look, standing in the corner with a dress of peacock colors is hera, carefully watching her husband. she wishes she could tell the young girls coming into the nightclub to be careful, but she can’t because they can’t see her now and they wouldn’t trust her. besides, how can she give advice when she herself won’t even follow it, no matter how much she wishes she could?
and if you look out of the window, past the glowing lights of houses shoved next to each other, you can see the dark, raging ocean. poseidon is raging, too, as he walks along to beach and picks up the trash the mortals threw. the moon’s reflection reflects the saltwater of the ocean mixing with his tears. he will never be able to pick up everything. the mortals will keep throwing.
and look there, on the stage, doesn’t that singer look familiar? that’s because he’s been here every night, darling, and he always sings the same song. hear how he sings of heartbreak and young boys and chasing the sun? see his golden instrument and golden clothes and golden hair and how strangely enough, the lights on the stage are dimming yet you can still see him? that’s apollo up there on the stage, you just never noticed.
as the music pauses - but never stops, no, it will never stop - do you hear crying? someone is weeping as she hears the professors go through the motions, as she hears the passion leaving voices and the desire to learn disappears with the coffee students are chugging. someone’s voice is mixing with protesters’ as they fight for what is right because those wild people are athena’s people.
and if you peek over the shoulderof that muscled gentleman over there, you will see tears stain the table. ares is letting people see him cry as he watches the news on mute. the violence in places he used to call home makes no sense to him anymore. the children dying and the shots firing into the sky for each martyr are overwhelming. everything stopped making sense to him. this was not heroic or brave. this was senseless.
behind the nightclub’s brick walls is a young woman. her eyes glint with pain and adrenaline and a quiver is slung over her shoulder. she hesitates at the window, watching the golden singer with a rare tenderness in her sharp silver eyes. behind her are several other young women, all with elegant stances and fury in their fists. artemis and her hunters hunt down a different type of monster now. you remember her now? yes, that’s right, she broke a man’s arm last night. no one saw her move.
it’s dark in this nightclub, yes, but i bet you can still see the burly man helping another to his feet. or, foot, as the other is being replaced by the same burly man. that’s right, it’s hephaestus there. you’re getting the hang of this. he helps the disabled and gives everyone the devices they want. his family hates him no more, because the mortals have made it his age: full of technology and a need for new limbs. he begins to love himself. try to help.
and there - look quickly, look now! slipping through the crowds and then out onto the streets? do you see him, with the curly hair and light bag and feathers on his feet? hermes is young in this age, slipping from here to there to everywhere: london and new york and tokyo and mexico city. there is no place hermes hasn’t been and there is no place that he is turned away. he wears out yet another pair of shoes.
if you listen past the music and the general din, you can hear someone ranting, screaming, begging someone to listen to her. i do. do you? she speaks of global warming and children and monsters in the night. she has sources and proof and her smile is as sharp as her scythe. she tries her best to bring food to the poor. trust me, i’ve seen her do her best. but demeter is fading as more and more people ignore her. don’t let her fade away. listen to her.
hades hovers over everyone, waiting for someone to succumb to alcohol poisoning or an overdose. don’t take it personally, it’s just who he is. but he is strong. one of the strongest here, because people will always believe in death. but there’s another side of him, when the pressure of humanity gets to be too much, and sometimes i see him crying at the graves of those who died before they had a chance to live. but don’t tell him i said that.
some girls and boys and people who aren’t either are dancing with flower crowns. the ones whose innocence fled as the world came crashing down on them. persephone weaves the crowns with her own hands and hesitates before placing one on herself. she dreams of the good-old-days and she dreams of the future. but don’t look for her in the winter months. you’ll never find her.
you see the beautiful lady in the corner, eyes glaring the the disgusting people who don’t know the true meaning of love? her voice is hoarse and eyes are wet and in the centuries her idea of love has changed drastically. but she will still smile when two people kiss for the first time or when two soldiers embrace after months apart. don’t worry, the aphrodite from the stories is still there. but now she’s realized that self love is important, too.
hestia is leaning against the bar - a couple people from you, actually, but have you ever noticed? her shawl is wrapped tightly around her shoulders despite the heat in here and there are flames in her eyes. only no one notices because i don’t remember the last time someone really looked at her. she watches her family and waits for them to come home so she can embrace them and comfort them. but they will never come home. she knows this. still, she waits.
and who am i? took you long enough to ask, but i won’t hold that against you. you’re the first person in a while to ask. i pour the drinks and watch hesita watch everyone else and help the people confused about these pesky things called gender and sexuality. trust me, i have experience with both. and i’m dionysus so i’m used to the long hours and the screaming and the music and the tears. i’ve seen my family drunk more than sober but despite everything, i’ll keep pouring their drinks and maybe one day, i’ll come home.
(so don’t you see? we are the old gods but we are not dead. you’ve just never really looked before.)
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harry potter and the collapse of capitalism
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reblog to give neville longbottom an encouraging pat on the back
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you know you’re tired when you think “but it’s not a real animal”
and then
you realize
ron probably doesn’t believe that the t-rex was a real animal
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did they know, on that night, i wonder?
the potters had been in hiding for months. james had taken to pacing the front room, looking angrily out of the window every few minutes for some imagined threat. lily sat on the sofa trying to read a book, one ear to the enchanted charm that projected harry’s breathing down to her, next to the muggle baby monitor she had insisted on buying ‘just in case’. they both had their wands in their belts.
did they know that was the night they were to be betrayed?
somewhere else, sirius black and peter pettigrew were deep in discussion, only one aware of the role he was to play later that day. sirius’ mind was full of worry, suspicion towards the one he loved most of all clouding his judgement. peter was oddly calm, something sirius realised too late, moments too late, laughing in the arms of the men taking him to azkaban. words were spoken; a secret transferred. their fate was sealed.
did they know that he was coming for their son?
halloween night. lily had been raised in the muggle world - she remembered halloween celebrations as a child, dressing up in homemade costumes and bobbing apples in her mother’s house with her family. james was a little bemused by the whole affair, but played along. they decorated the house as best they could, dressing harry up in an oversized wizard hat and playing all the games lily could remember until it was time to put him to bed.
did they know that, outside, evil was sweeping through the streets?
he chose the one night of the year where he could go incognito among the muggles. clad in dark robes, voldemort made his way to the address his servant had told him, a small smile on his thin lips. there were lights on in the windows - but nobody there but the couple and the child, he knew that too. it would be almost too easy.
and by then, it was far too late.
james was the first. he fell in a flash of light, shouting for his loved ones to be safe. lily stood between the man she had feared all this time and the son she loved, tears in her eyes and a wand in her hand. she fell, too, in front of the cot where the boy lay, staring up at the world with wide eyes.
did they know who their son would grow up to be, the boy who lived and died and lived again?
years later, harry returned to the home he could not remember, to the place where he almost died. he looked upon the grave of his parents and remembered all he had lost - sirius, albus, dobby, hedwig, james, lily, countless people who had lived and died in his name. maybe he shed a tear; maybe he did not. he stood, and he thought, and he remembered.
did they know, the potter family, that they would go down in history?
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You might belong in Gryffindor,
Where dwell the brave at heart,
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry
Set Gryffindors apart;
You might belong in Hufflepuff,
Where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true
And unafraid of toil;
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,
if you’ve a ready mind,
Where those of wit and learning,
Will always find their kind;
Or perhaps in Slytherin
You’ll make your real friends,
Those cunning folks use any means
To achieve their ends.
(Everything with this illustrations on Redbubble)
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me, on friday night: yeah, i have plenty of time. i don’t need to worry about anything tonight!
me, on saturday: yeah, i have plenty of time. i don’t need to worry about anything today!
me, on sunday: yeah, i have plenty of time. i don’t need to worry about anything today!
me, sunday night: shit
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wanted to let you know that
you’re amazing
i hope you’re having a great day
i wanna be your friend
you’re so beautiful
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i personally feel like there is nothing better than sitting outside on a warm night, watching the distant lightning storms slowly approach you
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You tinted my blank pages; just like the aurora when it splotches the dark skies.
Infinite excerpts. (via infiniteexcerpts)
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I’ll be nice when you break my heart, I swear, I’ll try. I can’t promise the same for the demon in my chest, though. She’s savage and she likes to make the men that hurt me cry.
Nikita Gill
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