It's Me And My Emotional Support Tiny Printed Photo Of David Bowie Against The World

Once I get my writing (and drawing) motivation back, I will be absolutely UNSTOPPABLE. THERE SHALL BE NOTHING I CANNOT DO.

If they had just given Dorcas a gun, the Wizarding War would have ended much sooner.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY JAMES POTTER!! THANK YOU FOR INFLUENCING MY STYLE IN CLOTHING FOREVER !!! (i now own quite a few spiderman shirts...)

I thought of this, and wrote it, late last night. Warning for a lot of angst :]

Regulus Black didn't die in that cave, he woke up with paramedics fussing around him in an unfamiliar humming room, with severe head injuries that cause the loss of basically all his memories.

He remembers his name, but nothing else. Vague recollections of a sibling, possibly a brother? Maybe the occasional glimpse of a boy when he watches the sun rise that next morning, but nothing of his previous life remains.

So, he starts a life in the muggle world.

Sometimes weird things would happen, he would think he saw skeletal horse-like creatures on the edges of forests, or complete strangers would give him sad or angry looks. He especially remembers a tired man with brown hair and strange scars across his face double-taking when he saw him, a surprised but sad expression crossing his face before Regulus quickly walks by, his mind quickly moving on his new job.

A few years later, this job requires him to take a trip to a small little town called Godric's Hollow. The house he stays in is a quaint little one, almost on the edge of town, but the whole town seems to stay away from it.

He visits the town's cemetery while out on one of his walks in the cold, the winter air biting at his skin. He wanders aimlessly, and eventually he finds himself in front of the graves of the previous owners of the house he is staying in, as he was later told who they were by the groundskeeper.

He leans down, brushing the dirt and leaves from the gravestone, digging out grime from the grooves that form letters.

As he reads the names on the rough stone, his chest begins to ache in a way he hasn't felt since that first sunrise, and he feels icy tears slip down his cheeks.

Why is he crying? He didn't even know these people.

But as he goes back to that house, as he leaves the town, and as he continues his normal, boring life, he can't seem to rid James Potter's name from his mind.

(I could potentially expand and add ghost James... then Harry could show up... is that something you guys would like to see maybe??? :D)

Being a marauders fan is so funny because wdym I'm sitting here scrolling through wolfstar fan art while my parents discuss what to get at the restaurant we are at...

Another song by The Crane Wives thats is extremely marauders coded:

Caleb Trask is the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. I don't feel like I need to elaborate further.

TRANS REMUS AAAASJFNNEND also I actually adore your art omgs

Trans remus doodle + wolfstar doodle

I find it so funny when I'm writing my fic because I have no plan whatsoever, so interactions like this happen:

Friend: So, can you explain the plot vaguely?

Me: ... I can tell you what's happened so far!

Friend: What about the ending...?

Me: ...

Me: I'll get back to you on that.

Went to see Hadestown today and I can't stop thinking about how Orpheus and Eurydice are so alike to James and Regulus.

A little snippet of the beginning of my current wip for you guys :]

tw: mentions of drowning, panic, disorientation. (it's not too bad though)

Regulus thought that he had had enough of these damned nightmares, but apparently the universe thought otherwise. He once again woke up with a start, sweating, sitting bolt upright, clutching his sheets in a death grip, with wide eyes scanning the dark void of the almost unfamiliar room. For a moment he couldn't tell where he was, or if he was even awake.

He had dreamt of the sun, the moon, the stars- and the feeling of drowning. Of being unable to get to the surface, being pulled down further from the warm, smiling face of the sun by thin, bony hands, further into the cold, lightless depths.

Regulus' dreams never made any sense, always just flashes of different scenes, as if seeing the sunlight refract off the ocean's surface. He isn’t ready, though, for the sudden freezing cold that pounces on his bare arms, goosebumps rising up towards his shoulders before he ducks under the safety of the covers again. God, how he hates these freezing January mornings.