WARNING: KIND OF LONG POST FEATURING A CYPRIOT IN LOVE WITH THE COMEBACK OF 13 AMAZING, TALENTED AND BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE.
So…. I’m crying. I’ve actually been crying for hours. Why? Well one word: Seventeen.
I spent so many days in worry. When I heard that Seventeen are changing their concept I was extremely worried. After all,what I have noticed is that some people do not accept change. They expect a group to have the same branding forever.
Harry returns to Hogwarts for his 8th year, determined not to let Malfoy get to him. But when the snarky teasing starts up again, Harry finds that returning the jibes with compliments has a far more interesting outcome.
This fic is one of the cutest I’ve read, their relationship in the beginning and how the author turns it into something so great is brilliant.
Just one conversation between two eleven year old boys goes slightly differently, and the world changes. Just how much will be different with Harry being sorted into Slytherin, and how much will stay the same?
I honestly love these retellings, it makes me see how different it would actually be if Harry were to be sorted into Slytherin. It’s a good take on things.
‘Harry’s thoughts were of how much he would have done differently with Malfoy over the years, and of Dumbledore’s final words to the other boy … “It is my mercy, and not yours, that matters now.” Maybe, Harry wondered, he could find some mercy, too, and give Malfoy the second chance that Dumbledore had believed him worthy of.’
One beautiful sunny Sunday the Slytherins wake up after a raunchy night only to discover a very naked Harry Potter sleeping in their dormitory. Naturally, they ask themselves a logical question: Who the hell shagged him?
Draco Malfoy is forced into hiding with the Golden Trio and dragged into their search for horcruxes. What ensues is a journey of redemption, unexpected friendships and an unwanted, turbulent romance with Harry Potter. Warnings for swearing, sexual content, and dark themes.
I love this interpretation and it’s a really well written fic.
Sniper: Shot through the heart
Sniper, pointing to Fyodor: And youre to blame
Sniper: You give love, a bad name!
Dazai, when he fell: I think I fell for you
Fyodor: I widh you a life of pain and suffering
Dazai: Without you, it already is.
Fyodor: You are literally bleeding out and all you think about it flirting?
The Daft Punk shop closes today but luckily I was able to go yesterday! I was one of the last people allowed in before closing, and it was amazing!!! Tbh with you I’m still crying right now, everything was beautiful so I wanted to share some pictures.
Look at me closely, say this isn’t what the paradise looks like. When you make me feel like a garden of your love, I feel like the storage of your lies. Every sip of those words, there are thorns stinging on my neck. Draining my empty rapture. Playing with my feelings. Like a little kid picking the best part of me, tearing apart the petals until my skin is no longer sealed from storms. Burning ices, the melting fire in your camouflage eyes.
Someone says I am worthy of something better, but ripping down on my bones, I would show my scars and they would open and can easily bleed it again. I say I wouldn’t jump into the falls, either it can break or drown me, but I always do it anyway. I never care about colors that fading away. Hurt might make my life useful.
Sometimes facing what hurts, lessons are dripping down my brain, being processed by my heart, absorbs by my soul. This is not a vacation place in your life. I’m not a paradise. Maybe I like a home that you can feel the comfort of tired silhouette, through darkness, brightness, confusion, I’ll make you feel your smile grows more than what you’ve thought of me as a garden.
You made me cry as the sprinkler for my root that lost its breath. You tried so hard to make me a perfect image for people around us, but I don’t want perfection, maybe If you would be true to yourself.
Don’t build my universe in your hands, pick me up and build up my feet through your care, if it’s real.
Hurt me like I would find myself, just stop hurting me until I lost myself. I’ll never going to be your beautiful place, I’m worried to be messed up and never be good in your eyes anymore. Tell me someday someone’s going to be with me because I am the safest place, no matter how close or far I am.
There’s something pure and infinite in you, that wants to come out of you, and can come out of no other person on the planet. That’s what you’ve got to share, and that’s as real and important as the fact that you’re alive. We were able, at a really young age, to somehow protect each other so we could feel that. The world at large, careerism, money, magazines, your parents, the people at the rock club in your town, other kids, nothing is going to give you that message, necessarily. In fact, most things are going to lead you away from it, sadly, because humanity is really confused at the moment. But you wouldn’t exist if the universe didn’t need you. And any time I encounter something beautiful that came out of a human somewhere, that’s them, that’s their own soul. That’s just pure, whatever its physicality is, if the person can play piano, if they can’t play piano, if they’re tone deaf, whatever it is, if it’s pure, it hits you like a sledgehammer. It fills up your own soul, it makes you want to cry, it makes you glad you’re alive, it lets you come out of you. And that’s what we need: we desperately need you.