jealousofbelle:

Peter was depressed and anxious.  He always felt like the hanger-on, like he wasn’t good enough to be friends with the rest.  James was the jock, the best in their year at Quiddich with a body that made all the girls track him with their eyes.  Sirius was the best looking boy in their year, carelessly talented in a way that made Peter’s insides twist to see it.  Remus was the smartest – or the hardest worker, it was hard to say.  In any event, he had the best marks in their year, and that was with missing classes every month for the moon.  When Peter looked around at his friends, his chest swelled with pride while his stomach knotted with fear they would find him out.

When Peter didn’t want to get out of bed for a solid month their first winter, it was James who brought him breakfast and tried to coax him out of bed with promises of a workout together.  Sometimes it worked.  Other times it didn’t, and Sirius would bring him lunch and tell him about the pranks they were planning and the girls Peter had an eye on.  Sometimes it works.  Other times it didn’t, and Remus would bring him dinner, and notes from all the classes he’d missed, and read to him.  And sometimes this worked, and Peter could get up.  And sometimes, he felt even more wretched for making his friends spend so much time on him.

When the depression waned and he was able to live life normally again, the anxiety would kick in.  He’d make pages-long to do lists, things that he wanted to do for himself and for his roommates, to thank them for being there for him, and to try to make it up to them.  He organized all of his things to within an inch of their lives, to try to make it easier to keep up with when the depression came back.  He rewrote all the notes Remus took for him, with footnotes and copies of relevant textbook pages, for himself and for Remus.  He helped Sirius with every prank and worked out with James whenever he was asked.  Every time, he was certain this would be the time they began to distance themselves from him, and every time he was determined to be the perfect friend they deserved so they wouldn’t.

Once they graduated, it became harder.  They no longer lived together, but they still tried to check up on each other.  They spent time together, on and between missions, but it wasn’t the same.  Everyone had missions and everyone was in danger all the time.  Peter wasn’t a good deuller, so he poured his anxious energy into being useful in other ways.  Organizing the intelligence they received so it could be better used.  Learning healing spells and potions to help the injured who came back after every mission.  Cooking and cleaning at HQ so nobody else had to worry about it.  But without his friends there to support him and encourage him, he began to feel taken advantage of.  He began to believe the parts of his brain that told him they didn’t really love him, that he wasn’t good enough for them, and that they were simply taking pity on him.  He began to feel like they only kept him around for what he could do for them, rather than loving him for himself.  He began to feel like he had been right all along, and that they’d finally realized that he wasn’t worth it.

When Voldemort finally got ahold of him, those were the thoughts racing in Peter Pettigrew’s mind.  The absolute conviction that his friends hated him.  The bone-deep knowledge that none of them loved him, or cared for him, but they were too used to his service – or pitied him too much – to push him aside.  The nagging suspicion that they simply didn’t think enough of him to push him aside,  and that they wouldn’t even notice if he failed to show up one day.  Voldemort could see those thoughts in Peter’s mind, and recognized the chink in the Potter’s armour that he’d been looking for.  Voldemort didn’t just threaten Peter with death – he mocked Peter with the idea that Peter would die for people who didn’t care for him, who had never cared for him.  He reminded Peter of all the days he had spent, practically catatonic, while his friends were out on missions.  Of every time one of them had been short with him, or seemed distracted during a conversation, of each time there was tension he wasn’t able to resolve or favors he forgot to do.  He convinced Peter that his depression was right, and nothing mattered.  He convinced Peter that anxiety was right, and his friends barely tolerated him. And then Voldemort mocked Peter for being willing to die for those friends.

And that is why Peter broke.

the-last-hair-bender:

lyraeon:

wern:

why is it when you go to a hair salon as a transmasc/nb person and go “i want something very short and simple. masculine. here’s a photo of a man. that’s how i want my hair to look.” without fail your middle aged hairdresser is like “yes. right. i know exactly what you’re looking for. let me just ….. snip snip” and you come out of there like 2007 kate gosselin

Ok so: I’m cis female but had this problem, in that I could never get them to cut my hair short enough. I eventually found ways to get them to cooperate though – and this was with hair I was sporting from 15-23, so you can probably get them to take you seriously. Keep in mind, though, that a lot of these tips will involve recognizing that you’ve already been misgendered and voluntarily running with that.

• First of all, just go to a barbershop instead of a hair salon, if you can. It’s cheaper anyway, and you’re far more likely to get what you want from either a place where every employee has ten tattoos minimum, or from someone who’s mis-aging you not misgendering you
• Barring that, e.g. If there’s only one shop nearby or your parents control where you go, pick the stylist with the wildest hair or most tattoos
• If you can do so, make yourself sound like a huge lesbian the whole time. I could never get a middle aged white woman to actually take clippers my head if I hadn’t already talked about my (usually imaginary) girlfriend
• If you like having your hair clipped/shaved, find out what numbers they use on you next time someone does it right, then tell everyone moving forward. Some still won’t believe you, but saying “I want a 2 into a 5” was always a lot more effective than “I want it shaved up”
• Don’t tell them it’s fine until it is. I know this is something we’re socialized into accepting but this is true regardless of who you are and what hair cut you’re getting. If you’re not satisfied, say so. So what if they get annoyed? They’re not doing their job right. You’re paying for a service, you deserve it done the way you want.
• On a related note, bribery will get you everywhere. If you live in a place where tipping is normal, and you can afford it, then come prepared with extra cash. If they do it right without you complaining, tip them well and say “hey, you’re the only stylist who’s actually listened, thank you.” If they need more convincing – especially if your parents are the ones paying and you know they’re trying not to piss them off – pull out a $10 or so and go “look, seriously, I will tip you extra if you just cut it boy-short”. It motivated a few ladies for me, when it was an option.
• If all else fails, make up a reason you need it that short. You’re playing a character in the school play. You want to piss off your parents/ex/sister. Protest. “My friend has cancer and I want to make her feel less alone”. Yeah, lying sucks, but sometimes you gotta.

Hope that helps!!

Don’t tell them it’s fine until it is

As a real life stylist I cannot stress this enough. This is the most important part of the cut because if you’re smiling in the chair and crying at home it means I’m not doing my job.

And I also second the barber shop for the first haircut because once you come in with short hair and tell a stylist you want it shaved back down the majority of them won’t hesitate.

Hope this helps anyone who needs it. 🙂

docsawbonesphd:

probablybard:

There are twelve months in the year and twelve classes in D&D 5e. Idk what the rest are, but Bards are definitely June

Ok so the post was accidentally deleted. Let’s try this again. Here’s my take on all 12 months.

Jan- Paladins. We make oaths for ourselves that we (try to) live by much like the oaths a paladin makes.

Feb- Rogues. Dashing and romantic, February is the month of seduction and corporations stealing our money in the name of love. Total rogue stuff.

Mar- Sorcerers. St. Patrick’s day is the holiday of luck, revelry, and chaos and nothing screams that than a wild magic sorcerer.

April- Druids. Mid spring and earth day, April is made for druids.

May- Fighters. The strength we need to power through finals and the last throws of school can be found in a fighter.

June- Bards. It’s Pride month and no bards are straight. Nuf said.

July- Barbarians. The mid summer heat is raging just like a barbarian.

Aug- Wizards. Back to school, which is only exciting for nerds like Wizards.

Sep- Monks. The mental and physical fortitude and strength needed to get through the first full month of school is embodied in the patient monk.

Oct- Warlocks. No explanation needed.

Nov- Rangers. The harvest month is embodied by the best foraging and hunting class.

Dec- Clerics. Religious holidays and peaceful merriment. Midwinter is the cleric’s time.

anarchetypal:

so i’m currently working at a law firm and the other day one of the attorneys was talking to me and he mentioned that he’s “not very confrontational” and i was like you are?? a lawyer???

and he said “yeah but in court there are rules. i can argue with some shmuck in a suit in front of a judge no problem, but when i leave the courthouse and go home i’m not gonna argue with my wife about dinner. there are no rules in our kitchen. i would die.”

asktheboywholived:

(( OOC: TFW a bunch of family friends come over to swim and bring a bunch of their friends that you don’t know and you’re sitting in the pool that they’ve come to swim in with an eye-liner beard and you immediately jump into “I CAN EXPLAIN” mode… 

But you can’t… 

You can’t explain. )) 

sirussly:

(( OOC: Bel played by @asktheboywholived ))

Remi
paces through the streets, lit only by the yellow of the
streetlights.

Two
figures in the distance catch her eye. A man and a woman, their angry
voices low and muffled.

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