~~bad!fic roast #1

"So you don't want to break up with me?" Draco asked suspiciously.
"No, silly." Harry chuckled. "Enough talk. Me want sex, now."

*cackles*
this reminds me of something my dorky friend with the greasy hair and the ranma 1/2 obsession and the thirst for butt-kicking movies/games would say :D
    hmm... i dunno if i want this to become ``tradition" or anything, but this was too good to resist. ha. clubbing!harry&draco. *dies*
Being typical teenage boys....
ahhh... now i get it. it was always inevitable they'd shag, because you see, they're just typical teenage boys and we all know about typical hormones and typical hatred and typical, typical harry.

"Ron, Herm, I love you like family and I hope you accept Draco because he is important to me."
aww, harry. of course. we're all sensitive 'round here, aren't we now, dwakey-poo? oh yes we are....

~~look right through me....

i don't usually get morbid. i get melancholy, and wistful, and nostalgic, but not morbid, mostly. so it's in that not-really-morbid spirit that i am listening to this really kind of maudlin song, and feeling listless and trying to articulate my very strange thought... just like the song, which seems more real than me right now, because it's really taking over my head.

``i find it kinda funny, i find it kinda sad
the dreams in which i'm dying are the best i've ever had."

so if i died tomorrow, it just occurred to me, just, the kind of things people would say... if someone asked them to say something about me...
-- she was sweet. articulate. insane. quiet. intense. very strange. poetic. a good writer. she listened. brilliant? you got the sense she could do more than she did. nice. passionate. she had possibilities. it would've been nice to know her better.

-- but we never really knew her.
-- but she didn't really seem quite there, quite willing to connect with other people.

i think if you wanted to say something about me, it would be best to play some piano music-- some kind of cross and interweaving between chopin & tori & enya & just-- well a number of things, perhaps, and have a short movie play on a sheet stretched between two trees, once dusk had fallen. and everywhere, you'd have this eerie purple light, with flashes of silver and gold. and there's be the sound of water, and girls laughing. and on the screen, there'd be these disjointed images, of dried flowers, sunlight streaming through gauzy curtains, trees in october, dry, grassy fields tinged with a bronze, orangish-colored glow, cherry blossoms, tulips, library shelves, lots and lots of pencils, a girl with dark hair bent over a sheet of paper, a girl spread-eagled on the grass, smiling, and beautiful girls in strange, multi-colored dresses, running through strange castles, their expressions indescribable.
    a dark haired girl, reading, and smiling, and seeming utterly lost someplace you can't see.

in terms of wanting to change the world, i don't know anymore. but i realize i want people to know me. and nothing i've done so far, and nothing i've said, and nothing i've drawn--

and no one i've talked to... it doesn't seem to change this picture i have. what if i was near death, and someone had to say something right, something purely borne of knowledge of me, to bring me back. i still think no one could say it.

sometimes i take a leap of faith, and just one sentence, one response, makes me think-- a connection has been made, and i can die tomorrow, and leave a part of me behind. maybe that's true. when you're in love, you think these things. instead of exchange of rings, you exchange pieces of your soul. if i believed in souls, which i don't.
i'm not sure-- you can't get people to talk straight from the soul very often. in fact, i've never seen it happen, except in art, in poetry, in stories. the soul doesn't speak very rationally i don't think-- this reminds me of the story by thamiris, where god was being misunderstood, because he could only speak in metaphor and symbol, and lucifer was being frustrated.

if i had a goal, a thing i wanted to do before i died, it would be to touch the glowing things inside people, to validate my own existence by communicating with the beauty i see around me, to kind of dance on the edges of a shared dream. sometimes an image gets stuck in my mind, just something i see-- a painting of pan playing the pipes by a tree in moonlight, a ballerina dancing nearby, or the way red maples colored the ground fuzzy crimson in the yard near my house every year.

i want someone to know me enough to know that to say something about me, you should say nothing at all. paint some leaves, the rain falling, a bird's shadow reflecting in the rippling water. play a song under moonlight-- dance naked in a huge, sunlit room, and be very very happy.

we share a lot of dreams without even knowing. and i'm no sweeter than the bitter april rain. and i live in the hope i am felt rather than understood.
~~
i felt this ficlet and so i understood.

~~because we all know there's never enough art recs from me, riiight?

please bear with my spamming... eep. but this is dedicated to Great Art, and not more of my blather, so.

so... this is something i found off of digikym's page (who draws the most kick-ass harry-hair ever, hee-- well-- among other things). i was almost not going to rec tealin's page because-- well-- she said she hates slash. and i have principles. but a) she's frikking good; b) i don't have to agree with her, i just have to like her art. which i do. so there. i'm so openminded ;p

``He's not a misunderstood little boy who just needs a hug. He's Draco Malfoy." hehehee (this page is called: Draco Malfoy - Dragon with a Bad Liver). oh, i forgive her. this-- this is malfoy. forget what i've said before. this is malfoy. i may never draw him again, now. *cries*
    can't you just hear him? ``you've picked the losing side, Potter!"

this is pretty much how i see harry looking, when draco's sneering at him, heehee. weird, isn't it? she's kind of spotty. she gets too cartoony sometimes, and loses her touch sometimes, but sometimes she's absolutely, 100% spot-on.

and this is the absolute best quidditch shot i've seen drawn or otherwise.
~~
in other news:
this response to a post by musesfool answers a question i've had for awhile about why lots of good writing gets v. v. little feedback (i don't mean just me *cough*, i mean like-- i couldn't believe ishuca had like, 16 comments on `plague of legends')-- while badfic gets like, 250 comments. i love it, really i do. hehehee! intimidated! ha! oh, that's a good one.