#love of writing

[yuri-sorted-into-ravenpuff]

Trigger warning: Mentions of abuse and neglect. Character Death (or character is dead).

Harry Potter loves writing. He is especially fond of stories of adventure, of a child being loved and saved by strangers or even unknown creatures so that they could take them to faraway lands full of things that can only exist in his dreams.

He writes of children fighting their monsters, with these strangers and/or creatures on their side, supporting them in their every choice and whim. He beautifully describe the emotions of every single beings in the story, detailing how this action makes the others feel and how it makes the protagonist feel. He hums as he uses similes and metaphors that may sound weird to others that would read it.

But to people like him who's childhood is... rather sad (that is one way to describe it), it makes all the sense. Which is why when Severus Snape found his compilation of stories, the man instantly knew how wrong he was of him.

He is not arrogant, nor was he an attention-seeker. Harry Potter is a child that desperately wants to be saved from his cupboard under the stairs, away from the monsters that should supposedly care for him.

And if the man marched towards the Gryffindor Head of House, demanding to know if the woman knew, then he could only be happy.

"I-I... Severus, I have told Dumbledore that they were the worst sort! But the man insisted that they were the boy's only chance to live!" He could say that he have lived in a way. He lived through his writings, he lived through his imagination, of adventures that he could take, and of imaginary people that would save him. They never came though, and the only ones closest on being those people are dead as well.

Just like him.

"We should have done something. We should have not let this happen." He smiled, happy that at least he got some confirmation that these people, maybe the only adults that he have trusted, would have done something to get him out of that house. He watched as Professor McGonagall broke down in tears, being cradled by the man that he has had mixed feelings with.

Snape is no saint, but he is no devil either.

"Come on pup, time to go." He turns around smiling at Sirius and Remus. Yes, paradise is waiting for them; his parents are waiting for them. He is set out for a new adventure with the people who saved him, but the best thing? They are no strangers.

And if his books were published to the public, and that the Hogwarts' policies of new students having to undergo a general check up every start and end of the year was named after him, then he certainly is satisfied.

No one else would suffer the same fate as him and many others before him; bleeding away slowly until the wounds kill them (or either permanently affect them). All because he found a way to be free, even if it's just in writings.

[my-shields-are-down]

Miss you Mom.

Thank you for my love of the written word; of story telling, of mystery and intrigue, of cleverness, subtle back-handed insults, witty repartee. For road-trip cow puns and singer-songwriters who speak to my soul.

For A.A. Milne. For Agatha Christie. For Jane Austen + JD Salinger. For Tom Clancy and Norman Maclean. For Emily Dickinson and ee cumming.

For Paul McCartney and Dan Fogelberg. For Buddy Holly, the Temptations and Tom Jones. For the Beach Boys, Mick Jagger and the BeeGees.

For Francis Ford Coppola, Robert Redford, and Woody Allen. For Spike Lee, Tupac Shakur , Maya Angelou and Ray Charles.

I miss you every day, but see your smile in every well structured sentence, every correctly used homonym, and I laugh at every blue pencil I find.

You, more than anyone gave me - a fellow Gemini - the gift of gab, the ability to spin a story, and the voice to argue a point.

#gocallyourmom #22yearstoday #missyoueveryday

[blurredlandscape]

FLIGHT PATH

Flitting across like stirred birds in a quiet forest

These sunbeams flashing through thickets

Of tall, knobby spires replicating

Sparse and dense

Again and again

Put me in a state-

Trance like

Glimpses of subtle meanings past

Sparkling yet elusive

Nostalgia resplendent

Behind the rapid beats of my involuntary eye blinks

Timed to the rhythm of my heart

I am racing now

The sun,

As it’s light dances across the planes of my face

My breath catches in the branches above

And I glance over the hump of my burnished shoulder

Turning my chin against the wind of our passing

Relieved to see that we’re equally matched

And I will not be outpaced

My memories fully mine

Despite the flight of my feet’s embrace

[so-many-ocs]

[on the verge of having a complete breakdown] i need to make some kind of list or perhaps sort things into categories

[sleeplessv0id]

what doesn't kill you makes you weird at intimacy

[evidently-endless]

i think we should remind musicians they can absolutely make up little stories for their songs btw. it doesn’t have to be about them at all. you can invent a guy and put him in situations to music. time honoured tradition in fact.

[almondpiglet]

ppl were drawing mikus from all over so heres habesha miku and her lil twin sibs rin and len!!

[soul-from-another-era]

Unconditional love isn't a free pass to hurt me.

[ptimepoet]

- Clementine Von Radics

[usefulquotes7]

[flowrrs4u]

I am good. I am loved.

[what-iz-life]

I confuse people. i have a happy personality and a sad soul. i'm bold but shy. i love deeply but sometimes i feel heartless. i'm healing and hurting at the same time. i'm dedicated to growth, but i self sabotage

[palatial-monstrosity]

the self care industry will sell you face masks and teas and whatnot so i'm here to remind you not to forget the most important self care activity which is masturbation

[within-the-last-minute]

stay safe because i like being alive at the same time as you.

[daughterofchaosstuff]

done healing my inner child. next up is my inner teen. her highness demands a sword.