I Love This Piece So Much! The Writing Style Is So Unique And Allows Such Depth Of Perspective :)

I love this piece so much! The writing style is so unique and allows such depth of perspective :)

fight just a little to bring back the fire in my eyes

CW: vague references to suicidal thoughts, depression/mental illness. Based on "She Used To Be Mine" from the musical Waitress.

I gave out pieces of myself like candy, after the war. I did before it, too, and during, if I'm honest with myself. But it got worse, somehow, even after I proved to be the hero they demanded, the savior I needed to be.

But it wasn't enough. People want to be saved from more than dangers outside their own control. They want to be saved from the dirty work of confronting their own prejudice, of the struggle of reckoning with trauma from battle. And just because my entire life has put me through a crucible of one soul-wrenching struggle after another doesn't mean I want or need to do that for anyone else anymore.

I look in the mirror and see a twenty-three-year-old man, and while I am hardened and calloused and scarred and used, I am in so many ways still eleven years old and reckoning with the fact that there are other "freaks" and "degenerates" like me in the world. I don't know why I feel like I still need to earn my place here, to be worthy of this home away from the Dursleys. Maybe if I'm useful enough strong enough powerful enough willing enough enough enough enough—they won't send me back.

I still can't believe you are now on the very short list of people I've met to tell me that I don't have to be anything else; with a full household of their own, the Weasleys did more than enough to nurture and love me, but I let myself slip through the cracks, to not be needy, to eat and smile, and to accept and return their love whenever it was given.

But despite Molly and Arthur's best efforts, I didn't have parents to tell me that I was special no matter what. So I guess I'm glad one of us, at least, had one parent alive and willing to teach us that we reach the minimum requirement for love just by breathing.

You're not my father. You're not my mind healer. You're my boyfriend, and I'm sorry if there are times that I make you feel like your job is bigger than that. I know, you'd tell me that I'm not a burden, and I'm starting to realize that, but Draco I don't expect you to carry my burdens for me. I will go to you with my problems, as I hope you still do with me, but I don't need you to do more than love me, as you do.

You're enough, too.

Enough to love me in a way that still takes my breath away, and enough to receive it in return. Enough to be one of the people in my life who make it all worth it, to be worth fighting for. Worth saving, and saving myself for.

I save myself for, well, me. But also for you. And Ron and Hermione, and the Weasleys, and Teddy and Andromeda, for my parents. I save myself every day, and I think that, alone, is all the heroism I need.

It's enough, for me.

Yesss that’s such a cool concept! I love using songs as my inspiration

Thank you for the tag Ravena <3 @ravena-wrote

Last Line Challenge

(Basically its where you reblog with the last line of a story or poetry you're currently writing)

Okay please, this is dark though. It's from a fic I'm writing-

God okay, here goes-

"Boys only want love if it's torture," she sung, her voice coming out in whispers, breaths hitting his bare restrained thighs; a steel knife dropped it's reflection on his thigh and as it dripped blood, "Don't, say I didn't, say I didn't-" the knife pierced the skin and the person whimpered through a ball gag, "-warn you," she fixed him with glare.

I'm tagging @emikadreams and @myopicmeerkat and whoever who writes and finds this.

The room remains silent as they gather their scattered paperwork off of the table. Harry’s just sliding his papers onto the back counter when he feels a warm hand clasp his shoulder. He turns into it and Draco is there, looming over him. Harry tries not to notice the way their tussle has loosened Draco’s braid and left his hair falling over his face in gentle waves. He looks softer like that, reminiscent of youth.

“You’re in my way Potter,” Draco tightens his grip on Harry’s shoulder and tries to shove him to the side. Harry digs his heels in, succeeds in remaining still.

“On the contrary I think you're in mine,” Harry responds coolly, “Why are you here anyways, at my job, in my ministry? I think it’s time you leave.”

“I like it here in London,” Draco says, his tone bored, “I missed my friends, and my mother’s sick. She needs me. You don’t own the place you know. You’re just going to have to deal with it.” He pauses briefly, a glint in his eyes, “Or you know you could quit, leave your precious Ministry in my hands.”

“Like hell I will,” Harry growls back, “I don’t give a shit about your presence.”

Draco inches closer, so close Harry can feel the body heat radiating off of him. His gray eyes look lighter now, almost playful, his lips shape into a more genuine smile, “Oh please Harry, you’ve been watching me all day. I bet you didn’t read a single word of your silly little case file.”

“You’re just self obsessed Malfoy. I was very focused on my reading.” Harry hopes Draco doesn’t hear the tiny tremor in his voice.

“Oh?” Draco steps even closer, caging Harry in against the counter behind him. Harry’s throat goes dry, his lungs feel tight like he’s forgotten how to breathe. “Then what was your case about?”

And, Harry should know because he’s spent two weeks on the case they’re talking about. He’s spent hours on it, named suspects, even chased several through the streets and yet now, when it’s most important he draws a blank. Draco’s eyes are fixed on his face and there’s tension in the set of his shoulders, a twist in the shape of his lips. He looks like a wolf who’s caught it’s prey, like he’s waiting for Harry to give in.

One of my fav excerpts from my new fic Inexplicable Things

Helloooo

When you get this, please respond with five things that make you happy (but only if you want to)! Then, send to the last ten people in your notifs (anonymously if you want). You never know who might benefit from spreading positivity ♡

This is such a wonderful idea! Here are 5 things that make me happy in no particular order :)

1. A really good book

2. The smell of fresh cut grass

3. My dog sage who I love an extreme amount

4. Slam poetry (any type of poetry actually)

5. Spending time with the people I love!

Thank you so much for this fun and positive ask! Answering it really put me in a better mood 💜💚

Closing his eyes he tips his head back against the steady wooden wall and wills his head to stop spinning. When he peels his eyes open again Draco’s there beside him.

Harry sucks in a breath, holds it and feels unsteady on his feet.

“Come with me.” Draco tells him, hand outstretched. 

Harry doesn't even wait a beat before taking it. 

Draco’s skin is soft against his and his palm is bigger than it used to be. Harry forces himself to draw a breath against the tightness of his ribcage. Heat crackles down his spine.

Draco tugs him through the loo door and stops suddenly, making Harry stumble a little. He catches him and presses him up against the wall.

When Draco kisses him Harry’s lips are already parted.

There’s less anger in it this time, just the casual pleasure of open mouths and tongues sliding together. Harry moves his hand up, clenching his fingers around Draco’s wrist, and watches as he squeezes his lids shut. He feels like he’s standing on the edge of a cliff, the strong wind pushing him closer and closer to the edge.

Draco groans into his mouth and the inside of Harry's thighs flare with warmth. He reaches up with his free hand and tangles it through Draco’s long golden locks tugging gently. “Fuck,” Draco exhales quietly, slotting his thigh in between Harry’s and pressing him more firmly to the wall.

Excerpt from my new fic Inexplicable Things 

Harry spends the next hour carefully focused on the parchment in front of him. He focuses on the scratch of his pen over the parchment, the rough edge of the paper against his fingertips, the couch steady and solid under his body. He refuses to look at Draco. He can go an hour without looking at Draco. It shouldn’t be hard.

It’s excruciating.

Eventually, Harry gives up and lets his gaze skitter across to where Draco is sitting. He freezes for a second, his breath caught in his throat.

Draco’s asleep. He’s tucked up against the side of the coach, his papers still hovering in the air around him. He’s curled into himself with his limbs bent awkwardly, quiet snuffling breaths escaping him. The flames of the fireplace leave his features in shadow. As he dreams, his lashes flicker against his cheek.

When Draco had sauntered into the DMLE Harry had pictured it would end in angry words and an ache in his chest. He’d never thought it could lead to this, Draco wrung out and seeking comfort on the left side of his couch.

Maybe Theo was right. Maybe Draco had cared more than he’d let on.

Read full work here